A rebbe who saw latent greatness in even the humblest of Jews

Photos: Yoely Strohli

Budapest, Hungary, in 1944 was a pile of red-hot coals about to ignite into flame. The country was on the brink of the German occupation that would massacre Hungarian Jewry. Against the backdrop of destruction, hiding in a bunker from the Nazis, the Chuster Rebbe, Reb Ahron Moshe Leifer, welcomed his first son into the world. The baby symbolized hope in the darkness, a new link to a distinguished dynasty that traced its roots to Rav Mordchele Nadvorna.

Rav Shmuel Shmelka Leifer, whose shloshim was last week, was my great uncle. He was born bein hachomos, between two worlds, and he embodied the passion of a previous generation with the approachability of a gadol raised in America.  I always marveled at the dichotomy.

He was simultaneously a chain in the link of his illustrious ancestors, but also a member of the new generation, which had its eyes set on new frontiers. He carried within him the last flicker of a lost world, and also the sunrays of a new beginning.

He was my grandmother’s brother, but he treated me as a son, and from the age of 12, I spent every Yom Tov and many Shabbosim in his home. I was an American- born, Upper West Side kid who attended the local day school and didn’t speak a word of Yiddish, but none of that mattered to him.

He was a master at relating to those around him in a way that pulled them up to his level. His jokes and small talk lulled us into feeling a sense of relatability. And then he would take us on a journey, sweeping us in his fervor to the passionate Yiddishkeit of a previous generation.