What made Rabbi Wein’s quips timeless was their economy. He didn’t need a paragraph; he needed a line. He didn’t need theatrics; he needed timing

Photos: Elchanan Kotler, Mishpacha and family archives

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fter my father, Rabbi Dr. Samuel I. Cohen, was niftar, my mother, Mira Cohen, eventually remarried — and the man who stepped into that role was none other than Rabbi Berel Wein. What followed was a relationship that was not guarded or conditional, but genuine and overflowing with warmth. We called him Zaydie Berel, and he embraced us as though we were his own children and grandchildren.

At the bar mitzvah of our son, Zaydie Berel rose to speak. And in a moment that startled me with its grace and selflessness, he chose not to highlight himself, but to focus instead on my father, and his extraordinary contribution to Klal Yisrael as a frum executive vice president of the Jewish National Fund (JNF). It was a class act in every sense. Many men might have subtly recentered the moment on their own role in the family, or sidestepped the memory of the man who came before them. Zaydie Berel did the opposite. He honored my father’s legacy openly and warmly, in front of a room filled with family, friends, and community. That gesture said more about his character than any introduction could have. It showed us that he was not competing with my father’s memory — he was embracing it.

We quickly learned that Zaydie Berel was the master of the zinger. To speak with him was to spar with a master.

What made Rabbi Wein’s quips timeless was their economy. He didn’t need a paragraph; he needed a line. He didn’t need theatrics; he needed timing.