When I asked Rav Moshe how I should prepare for the birth of our first child, he told me, among other personal pieces of advice, to learn well the halachos of birth on Shabbos. Our firstborn son, Yehuda Michel, was born on a Friday night.

I was euphoric — and exhausted — when I knocked on Rav Moshe’s door. I had been up all night clutching my Tehillim in Shaare Zedek hospital, and come morning, we had a baby boy, and I had become a father.

In retrospect, it was definitely not the right time to visit my rebbi’s home. Their daughter Shulamis was fighting a losing battle with cancer, and they deserved their space and privacy. But I was 23, I wanted my rebbi’s brachah, and I was hungry and secretly hoping to enjoy the Rebbetzin’s baking.

For Rav Moshe, every adventure in life offered lessons and insights, and my wife and I had just experienced childbirth. What had I learned?

I thought for a moment and said, “Never in my life have I seen so much suffering followed by so much joy.”

Rav Moshe responded with words I’ll forget: “Menachem, you should know, zeh tamid kachah, life is always like that. All meaningful suffering is followed by joy.”

At that point, the Rebbetzin interjected. “But it’s not really true. What about death? With death there is suffering and no joy.”

Rav Moshe let out a deep sigh. “There is joy,” he said. “It’s just that we don’t see it.”

I am forever grateful for having been Rav Moshe’s Friday driver for almost a quarter of a century. After our weekly shiur in the ezras nashim of Beit Knesset Nezer Aaron on Rechov Torah V’Avodah, I would drive him to the Bayit Vegan mikveh at the end of Rechov Shaarei Torah and then drive him home. These drives were my opportunity to ask questions. The only time I wouldn’t ask a question was on the occasion that Rav Moshe would enter the car post-mikveh humming a niggun. Hearing him sing after kedushas mikveh was a special treat.

One of the biggest regrets in life is not writing down the lessons from my conversations with Rav Moshe. I learned again and again how much wisdom could be gained in five minutes.

Rav Moshe would often quote the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbos 6:9) that gives us a novel perspective on the concept of bas kol. It teaches us that when Hashem “talks to us” through events of nature, that, too, is called a bas kol.

Rav Moshe added that everyone is given a chance to reach their potential, to climb to the proverbial top of the ladder of Torah that was taught to them by the malach in their mother’s womb. One just needs to listen to what Hashem is saying to them.

I asked Rav Moshe how this could make sense. There are so many people who are so distant from Yiddishkeit and could never have a chance to hear a bas kol.

I pressed my case with an example: My mother used to have a Scottish cleaning lady every Sunday morning. She once casually shared how her parents had met, something along the lines of “my Scottish father met a Jewish Lithuanian woman who was on her way to America, when the boat had made a stopover in Scotland.”

It didn’t take rocket science to do the math. It meant that our cleaning lady was Jewish. I asked Rav Moshe, “Somewhere in London, there’s a woman who’s halachically Jewish, and after 120, she will go up to Shamayim and be shocked when asked why she didn’t keep Shabbos. Why is that fair?”

Rav Moshe responded, “And Who do you think sent this woman, out of thousands of homes where she could have worked, davka to your mother’s home, cleaning her Shabbos candlesticks in the presence of your father’s seforim?”

Rav Moshe once mentioned in a shiur that if we could see just a little bit more of how Hashem runs our lives with Hashgachah pratis, we would immediately lose our sense of bechirah.

For over two decades, I have been a Senior Educator of NCSY, one of Klal Yisrael’s most successful kiruv organizations. Rav Moshe was inspired by the stories of the mesirus nefesh of NCSY teens on their road to teshuvah. On several occasions, when hearing about the suffering and emotional abuse they endured along the way, he was moved to tears.

When my sefer Rigshei Lev: Women in Tefillah came out in 2001, Rav Moshe graced it with both a haskamah and ongoing guidance in the writing of the book. Soon after the publication, The Jerusalem Post ran a generous review of the sefer. A week later, in the letters section of The Jerusalem Post, one of the leaders of the “Women of the Wall” wrote a scathing attack against the review. She asserted that Menachem Nissel didn’t understand the nature of women’s tefillah.

I was upset about the letter. I had managed to go my whole life without ever being publicly attacked, and here it was, in black and white, for all to see. I shared my pain with Rav Moshe. His classic response: “Until you got this letter, I never really knew if you had ever done something with your life.”

The new release, Looking into the Sun, actually began as a series of articles for Mishpacha Magazine’s Family First section, under the enthusiasm and professionalism of former longtime editor Mrs. Bassi Gruen, and it’s been a labor of love since she first reached out to me.

In the book, I share with you a tiny sliver of Rav Moshe, mainly through the one-dimensional lens of my personal memories. I know too little of his talmidim from his 30 to 40 shiurim a week, or from his constant travels to Europe, Russia, the US, and South America.

I know too little of his vast knowledge and his ability to penetrate depths in all spheres of Torah, which was unparalleled in our generation. Or his ability to take the most complex political changes, wars, atrocities, and tsunamis and pass them through the lens of daas Torah in a way that gave us clarity and empowered our emunah.

I know too little of his attraction to the leading linguists of Hebrew University who would come to him for advice in understanding the Hebrew language; or why Gideon Saar, who in those days was a rising star of the Likud, would want to put on a kippah and learn with him b’chavrusa.

I know too little of why a man who was offered to be rosh yeshivah of some of the world’s leading yeshivos, would turn them down to work with talmidim who did not fit into the system. Or his extreme affinity, patience, and love for special needs children. Or what it means, as Rav Yonasan David said, that he would regularly fast for us. I know too little of the kiruv revolution that he led and the countless lives that he impacted through the force of the purity of his Torah and boundless ahavas Yisrael.

But I do know that for almost 37 years, from those early days in Mishkan HaTorah until Rav Moshe’s petirah on 10 Teves 5777 (January 2017), I was looking into the sun.

In His Light

The following are excerpts from the soon-to-be-released Looking into the Sun: A Taste of the Torah, Life and Legacy of Rav Moshe Shapira (Feldheim)

By Rabbi Menachem Nissel

Precious Prayers

Rav Moshe davened neitz at the Kosel for 14 years until he became too weak to travel. I asked his driver, Rabbi Tzvi Klebanow, to share his experience:

“When Rav Beinish Finkel, rosh yeshivah of the Mir, passed away, the minyan he started after the Six Day War, warmly known as ‘Reb Beinish’s minyan,’ quickly became known as “Rav Moshe Shapira’s minyan.’ Everyone felt uplifted just to be able to daven with him. If anyone urgently needed to speak to him, catching him at his minyan was the easy solution.

“Rav Moshe was very passionate about davening at the Kosel. People often asked him if it was a segulah to daven there. What if they had better kavanah elsewhere? He would tell them to daven where their kavanah was best and then go to the Kosel and say Tehillim.

“Occasionally, bochurim would ask him if they should accept ‘chumros’ in order to reach higher levels of spirituality. He would say ‘Tiheyeh normali [Just be normal].’

“I kept a Gemara and a flashlight in the glove compartment. I would pick up Rav Moshe and he would take out the Gemara. Every time we came to a traffic light, the Rav would read another few lines. In this way, we finished eight masechtos! The Rav chose to make the siyumim on Purim with our minyan. He thought it was important for everyone to see what can be accomplished with proper use of spare moments. Everyone looked forward to the siyumim. Sadly, it all ended on the 37th daf of Maseches Sotah.”

Frozen Hands, Melted Hearts

Rav Moshe would travel wherever he felt he could have an impact. His influence was felt from Buenos Aires and São Paulo all the way to Minsk, Odessa, and Tbilisi.

Okay, I admit we were jealous.

For years, we took for granted that Rav Moshe would speak at his home on the night of Shvii shel Pesach. Beyond the dazzling shiur, it was a time of closeness with our rebbi, bringing an elevated closure to the Festival of Freedom.

In his last years, we lost that zechus. Rav Moshe spent Pesach at Yeshiva Toras Chaim in Moscow. Leaving Yerushalayim for Yom Tov could not have been an easy decision for the rav and his rebbetzin. It was clear that he did so because Russia had a special place in his heart.

When one of the chevreh asked Rav Moshe, “Why do you abandon us for Pesach?” he answered, “If you can find me another place where bochurim arrive having never heard of Yetzias Mitzrayim, and a year later they are asking on their own the highly complex questions of Rav Akiva Eiger, maybe I will go there, too! In Russia, I feel I’m keeping the mitzvah of v’higadeta l’vincha b’hidur rav [relating the story of the Exodus on the highest level].”

He once shared with us how deeply inspired he was when the heating broke down in the yeshivah one freezing day. In Russia, “freezing” means freeeeezing. With deep emotion, Rav Moshe described how the bochurim came to the beis medrash and simply wrapped themselves in blankets, continuing to learn with tremendous hasmadah. He said it was a scene that belonged to a different era.

Rav Aharon Leib Steinman once asked him good-naturedly, “Vos host du mit di Russishe [Why are the Russians so important to you]?” Rav Moshe answered, “Toras Chaim iz de shtoltz fun Klal Yisrael [The talmidim of Toras Chaim are the ‘cutting edge’ of Klal Yisrael]. The bochurim are baalei mesirus nefesh and therefore have extra siyata d’Shmaya. Their success is outstanding.”

With tears in his eyes, Rav Moshe described a young man making a siyum on a masechta. Six months earlier, he had known nothing about Hashem, Yiddishkeit, or Torah. What was the occasion of the siyum? His grandfather’s bris. “I was watching 70 years of the Communist freezer melting in front of my eyes,” he said.

Rav Moshe Lebel, the rosh yeshivah of Toras Chaim, described how from the moment Rav Moshe arrived in the yeshivah until his return flight, he would give shiurim or talk Torah with the students. At night, he would retire to his room for his personal learning. The light was almost always on in his room. Rav Moshe didn’t care much for sleep.

To be honest, it was hard for the bochurim to process that they were in the presence of greatness. Rav Moshe would often open the floor to the bochurim and let them ask any question on any topic. These sessions would often last five or six hours. Once a student asked, “So why do chareidim dress in black and white?” Rav Moshe, without hesitating, spent the rest of the shiur brilliantly dissecting the subject in both halachah and hashkafah.

When Rav Moshe spoke to the whole yeshivah, he did so with an interpreter. On his last Shvii shel Pesach, however, he asked to speak without a translator. “I will speak neshamah language. Your neshamos will understand me.”

The following is a synopsis of his final words to the bochurim: “My children! You have such a zechus to be learning here. The Rishonim say, ‘Ein baal haness makir b’niso [The recipient of a miracle is not aware of what has happened to him].’ Your ancestors were wrenched away from Yiddishkeit by the cursed Bolsheviks. You are living in the land of Czar Nikolai, who declared war against Torah. He closed the yeshivah of Volozhin. You are living in the city where Stalin reigned, where religion and Judaism were subjected to 70 years of terror. Now look at you! You are in a holy yeshivah. You are sitting next to Shasim, Rishonim, and Acharonim. You are sanctifying the streets of Moscow with your holy Torah. You are bringing merit to the neshamos of your zeides and bubbes. I envy you! You are shaking up the world!”

Tefillah and Tears

Rav Moshe was fond of relating a story he heard from his father-in-law, Rav Aharon Bialistotsky, who heard it directly from the Chofetz Chaim. The Chofetz Chaim said this story had special meaning to him because it combined two sublime forces: Love of a fellow Jew and the power of tears.

The sun was setting on the Galician town of Kalush. It was the time of raava d’raava, the holiest time of the holiest day of the week. A poshuter Yid was clutching his tear-drenched Tehillim, sobbing uncontrollably. Another poshuter Yid was observing this stirring scene and it touched his heart. This Jew was clearly in deep pain. Maybe I can help him?

“Reb Yid, I don’t know who you are, but I can see you are in distress. Share your tzaar with another Jew. Who knows what will come out of it?”

“Oy! I doubt you can help. I have a wonderful daughter at home with aleh maalos and no money to help her get married. The years are going by, and my financial situation is not improving. I can’t bear to watch her getting older. All I have to lean on is our Father in Heaven.”

The caring Jew thought for a moment and said, “Look, baruch Hashem, money is not my problem. I have a son who is a fine yeshivah bochur. What do we have to lose? Let’s redt the shidduch here and now!”

That moment, said the Chofetz Chaim, was a moment of sublime holiness. It was the fusion of chesed and tefillah and everything that is beautiful about “poshuter Yidden.” From that zivug, five sons were born who would shake the Torah world to its core. Two of them are traditionally referred to by their classic seforim, whose penetrating questions and analysis form an essential heartbeat of every beis medrash. They are the Ketzos Hachoshen and the Kuntras Hasfeikos.

How Much Hidden

Rav Moshe once shared a childhood memory of a chaburah of Gerrer chassidim, Yidden from Warsaw who had survived the war. They would get together on Shabbos afternoon to share Shalosh Seudos vertlach at the local shtibel in the Neve Sha’anan neighborhood of Tel Aviv.

One of them shared an exquisite idea that would have a major impact on the young Rav Moshe. He explained the seemingly bizarre exchange between Dovid Hamelech and his wife Michal when the Aron Bris Hashem was returned to Klal Yisrael (Shmuel II 6:14–23).

Dovid was “mecharker b’kol oz lifnei Hashem — dancing with all his strength before Hashem.” Michal found his behavior abhorrent and chastised him, saying, “Is this the way the King of Israel behaves, k’achad hareikim — like one of the empty commoners?”

Dovid responded, “Un’kalosi od mizos — I would gladly lower myself further in honor of Hashem.”

The Gerrer zakein explained that Michal was accusing him of something much deeper than just undignified behavior inappropriate for a royal. His dancing was so ecstatic that he revealed his soul. She was censuring him for revealing that inner world. She was expressing the ultimate bedrock of tzniyus. For every layer expressed, there must be wellsprings of layers that are suppressed.

Michal compared him to k’achad hareikim, which can be translated as someone who has emptied himself completely. By doing so, her husband had cut himself off from the hidden wellsprings that should nourish him in the future.

Dovid Hamelech’s response was emphatic. “Do you really think I exposed my inner worlds? Un’kalosi od mizos — there are layers upon layers that remain hidden. For the honor of Hashem, I exposed a fraction, but my true self remains unfathomably concealed.”

In his hesped for Rav Moshe, Rabbi Akiva Tatz retold this story. He marveled at how Rav Moshe had internalized such a subtle idea at such a young age. To us, this idea truly reflected Rav Moshe. In Rabbi Tatz’s words, “we always felt we were standing in front of a mountain where all we could see were foothills. We were fortunate that Rav Moshe revealed what he chose to allow us to see. Occasionally, we would be reminded of his tzniyus, hiding worlds of depth and dveikus that were reserved for his Creator.”

Last Sandekaus

Zevi was 15 when his father, Reb Sholom (names changed), called him in for a talk. Zevi was not a rebellious son but was spending more time in the local Seven-Eleven than in the beis medrash of his mesivta. It was hardly his fault; he had a severe reading disability.

Learning was torture, and he hated every moment in yeshivah. Reb Sholom got straight to the point with his son, telling him, “Isn’t it better to be a frum balabos than an angry yeshivah bochur? Maybe you should leave yeshivah and learn a trade.” Zevi readily agreed and became an apprentice to a family friend who was an electrician.

Two years later, Zevi decided he wanted to go out on his own. He had developed into a mature young man with dreams to become wealthy and support his brothers in learning. He told his father he would like to get a brachah and some hadrachah from an adam gadol before embarking on his new chapter in life. The family was going to Eretz Yisrael for Succos, and Reb Sholom suggested that he talk things over with Rav Moshe. An appointment was made, and Rav Moshe told Reb Sholom, “Tell Zevi to come over to my house right after Simchas Torah.”

Something unusual happened during Chol Hamoed. Someone suggested to Zevi to meet with Rabbi Zvi Zobin, who had developed a system for dealing with reading disorders. Zevi had tried every expert that America had to offer and was reluctant to

go through the pain of submitting himself to another maven. Yet on a whim, he decided to go. To his amazement, he felt that the wise rabbi actually understood him. The rabbi told him he would need three months to see real progress. That meant staying in Israel.

Zevi didn’t really mind. He was excited to get a position volunteering for the Ezer Mizion health care support organization.

Meanwhile, back to Rav Moshe. Zevi was wearing a polo shirt and khakis when he and his father knocked on the door of 107 Rechov Uziel. Rav Moshe answered the door, looked at Reb Sholom and said, “I thought I was meeting with your son.” Reb Sholom sheepishly returned to the car and waited anxiously to find out what had transpired.

Forty-five minutes later, Zevi came out looking irritated. “Rav Moshe just didn’t get me. He didn’t know what he was talking about.” He refused to share the conversation. Eventually, Zevi shared the details. Rav Moshe had asked him to tell over his life story from day one, hiding none of the gory details. Bizarrely, Rav Moshe then suggested that he check into the Mir Yeshiva and get into a good blatt shiur. But instead of learning from a Gemara, he should prepare the blatt by listening to classes on tapes. He added that he should live in a dirah with quality boys who don’t have access to secular influences. And he promised he would be a big talmid chacham. Rav Moshe might as well have asked him to be an astronaut.

Reb Sholom took a deep breath and said, “Why don’t you try it for a few days? You never know. You can always go back to Ezer Mizion.” Zevi was adamant and said, “Sorry, Ta, it’s just not happening.”

Of course, there was another small little problem. Zevi was 17 and literally hadn’t opened a sefer in years. How would he be accepted to the Mir? Reb Sholom took a gamble and arranged, though his Mir connections, a meeting with Rav Nosson Zvi Finkel, the rosh yeshivah. He convinced Zevi to at least take the opportunity to see a holy tzaddik. Zevi reluctantly agreed. When they arrived at their appointment, Rebbetzin Finkel apologized that the Rosh Yeshivah was too sick to accept visitors. When Reb Sholom explained the situation, the Rebbetzin ushered them into Rav Nosson Zvi’s bedroom.

Zevi would never forget what he saw. Reb Nosson Zvi was learning a difficult Tosafos in Yevamos with his chavrusa. He was lying on his back racked in pain from his crippling Parkinson’s disease. His limbs were flailing from involuntary spasms. Yet he was pushing himself to understand the words of Tosafos. Zevi was overwhelmed by what he was witnessing. In those few moments, he went through a transformation that unleashed a deep yearning to be a talmid chacham.

He came out of that room with a precious one-word note written in Rav Nosson Zvi’s handwriting: Hitkabel.

Zevi had been accepted to the Mir. Probably one of the youngest students and certainly the one with the least Gemara experience. Reb Sholom once again used his connections and a maggid shiur generously accepted Zevi under his wing. Meanwhile, Zevi continued working on reading skills under Rabbi Zobin.

Three months later, Reb Sholom saw his wife crying. She said she had just gotten off the phone with Zevi. Choked with emotion, she explained that Zevi had told her that he thought of the same question that the Ritva asks on the Gemara. But that wasn’t why she was crying. Her tears came when Zevi added that he had found his question in the Ritva. On his own. Zevi could read.

He stayed in the Mir for five years and then, at age 22, went back to the States and met his zivug. Zevi returned to the Mir and shteiged for another five years. He then joined an outreach kollel in America. When he and his wife were blessed with a boy, Rav Moshe happened to be in New York receiving medical treatment. Those were Rav Moshe’s last days, and he was no longer accepting kibbudim. But Zevi asked the family to please tell the Rav that he was the illiterate electrician whom Rav Moshe had sent to the Mir.

Rav Moshe made an exception for Zevi. His face was aflame with simchah as he performed sandekaus one last time.

Listen to Our Prayers

A prominent rosh yeshivah told me that Rav Moshe’s many shiurim on Yishmael are the guidebook for dealing with the challenges we now face from the children of Hagar. There are 28 shiurim on the lehavin.org website alone. As I write, with a war raging in Gaza that began on Simchas Torah 5784, Rav Moshe’s shiurim continue to give many a sense of understanding, direction, and solace.

I remember the deep emotion that Rav Moshe expressed when he quoted Rav Chaim Vital (Eitz Hadaas Tov, Tehillim 124): “Aval od yesh galus chamishi, acharon l’kulam, v’kashah mi’kulam, v’hu Galus Yishmael — There will be a fifth and final exile, more difficult than all of them, and that is the Exile of Yishmael.”

His shiurim would often focus on Yishmael’s remarkable power of tefillah. Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer, written two thousand years ago, makes two observations about Yishmael’s name. The first, explained in Chapter 30, observes that his name, “Yishma–Kel” (literally, “G-d, listen!”), refers to his power of tefillah. Rav Moshe explained that this corresponds to the name that was given to him by the angel that revealed himself to Hagar (Bereishis 16:11).

Obviously, Hashem doesn’t listen to their prayers when they ask to succeed in committing acts of terror. But in general terms, this is the main source of their strength. This is why Hashem allows them to control Har Habayis and receive parts of Eretz Yisrael. They can only flourish, however, where Klal Yisrael leaves a void.

Rav Moshe would often express derision at those who think we can solve our problems with our Arab neighbors through diplomacy or military might. In his words, “Zeh elbon l’intelligencia shel yeled ben eser — It is an insult to the intelligence of a ten-year-old.”

The only possible solution has been spelled out for us clearly two thousand years ago. It is Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer’s second interpretation of Yishmael’s name, found in Chapter 32, corresponding to the name given to him by Avraham Avinu (Bereishis 16:15): Why is he called Yishmael? To teach us that in the future HaKadosh Baruch Hu will listen to the cries of the people’s pain, suffering from what the children of Yishmael will inflict upon them in the Land of Israel at the End of Days. That is why he is called Yishmael, as the pasuk says, “Yishma Kel v’yaanem — Hashem will listen to their tefillos and answer them” (Tehillim 55:20).

We have found the solution. The true battlefront is in their mosques and our shuls. Rav Moshe explained that ultimately our tefillos will prevail based on the two interpretations of the name Yishmael. Their prayers are Yishma-Kel — G-d, listen! It comes with an arrogant tone that expects Hashem to listen to their narrative. The brashness is rooted in Yishmael’s grandfather, King Pharaoh of Egypt, father of Hagar.

Our tefillos are rooted in the mesirus nefesh of Yitzchak Avinu, the total clarity that we are in His hands. At the right moment, Hashem will respond with Yishma Kel v’yaanem and bring the Geulah. May we merit to see it speedily in our days!

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 991)