Every year, even before assuming his senior position at the OU, Rabbi Hauer would travel to Eretz Yisrael with a group of prominent chaveirim from his community. They would study social and communal initiatives across the country, exploring how they, too, could contribute. I often accompanied him on those visits, and I recall vividly how we once toured a project where 20 women, all wives of avreichim, worked on developing components for the Iron Dome defense system. Rabbi Hauer was visibly moved. He saw in those women a living example of devotion: giving their all for their husbands’ Torah while simultaneously contributing to the sacred mission of protecting the Land, without compromising their standards even slightly. It was a glimpse of the vision he longed to see realized.

Rabbi Hauer didn’t hesitate to reach out when something in the magazine concerned him. He cared deeply about Mishpacha’s role in shaping the public conversation, and viewed that platform as a vehicle for constructive, elevated discourse. Often, he would suggest how we might use it to bring important issues to light, whether through his own writing, and at other times by encouraging broader communal reflection.

More than once, I found myself sharing the substance of our discussions with gedolim and rabbanim from across the spectrum, and it was heartwarming to hear the genuine respect reflected in their responses. I have rarely encountered another individual who was held in such esteem across the frum spectrum, his integrity and clarity of purpose earning the respect of Torah leaders in every circle.

Turning toward Yerushalayim, toward the unity of Klal Yisrael, was the compass of his life. “The Ya’avetz writes,” he said, “that one should face Yerushalayim when he prays, to indicate that this is where his aspirations lie. And the question one must always ask is: How are you drawing yourself closer to that goal? How are you bringing yourself to Yerushalayim?”

The mission of fostering Jewish unity ultimately became his life’s defining pursuit. The division in our people pained Rabbi Hauer deeply. After the horrific Simchas Torah massacre, when we were all reeling in shock and sorrow, I spoke with him and asked how he understood what had happened.

“What is there not to understand?” he asked, anguished. “How can one fail to grasp what has unfolded — both physically and spiritually — after everything our society has been through?” His words were laden with pain.

Over the past three years, we spent a lot of time together, meeting and conversing with others from the entire spectrum of Israeli society. He was in constant contact with gedolei Yisrael as well as askanim from all camps, social activists, and with organizations from both the right and left. He was empathetic, attentive, and sensitive — giving each side the opportunity to be heard while faithfully relaying the guidance he had received from the gedolim.

It wasn’t an easy path to walk, but Rabbi Hauer wouldn’t give up on a single Jew. He met with anyone willing to speak, unwilling to forfeit dialogue with any member of Am Yisrael.

Still, there were clear red lines. The pursuit of unity did not sanctify every means, and there were boundaries that could not be crossed.

I remember when we met with a bereaved father, a talmid chacham from the dati-leumi community, who had spoken sharply against the stance gedolei Torah have taken on the draft issue. Rabbi Hauer — who felt so deeply the pain of families who paid dearly for the safety of the Land, who was so anguished by the rift dividing those loyal to devar Hashem, who was so frustrated by the inability of each side to see the other’s suffering — was uncharacteristically firm: “There are lines that cannot be crossed,” he told him. “Speaking against gedolei haTorah is one of them. It’s a red line that cannot be crossed — not even in the name of holy unity. Even when it hurts, one cannot speak over the heads of gedolei Yisrael.”

“The greatest chibur that Yerushalayim represents is the one that brings about ‘V’yei’asu kulam agudah achas la’asos retzoncha b’levav shalem.’ True unity is that which binds us together in the service of Hashem.”

Unity devoid of yiras Shamayim, unity that tramples Torah, is not the unity of Yerushalayim.

“This is the connection that defines Succos,” Rabbi Hauer explained. “After we have been purified from sin on Yom Kippur, after dwelling under the Tzeil haShechinah in the succah of Ananei HaKavod, after pouring the mayim tachtonim upon the Mizbeiach — this is the time of great simchah, the Simchas Beis Hasho’eivah, the simchah from which ruach hakodesh was drawn. And it’s then that HaKadosh Baruch Hu says to us as we leave the succah: ‘Kasheh alai preidaschem’ — it is hard for Me to part from you — and He gives us one more day, Shemini Atzeres — just Me and you.”

And on that sacred day, on that day of unity between Heaven and earth, of unity within Klal Yisrael, just as we rejoiced at the return of our captives, tragedy struck. The heart of that precious man, so full of ahavas Yisrael and ahavas Torah, suddenly ceased to beat.

Only days earlier, I had shared with him a report in the Israeli media about secular young people flocking nightly to recite Selichos. Rabbi Hauer was deeply moved. “I cried,” he told me. And now — it is we who cry.

Oy, Reb Moshe, our separation from you is unbearably painful. The loss and the grief are overwhelming. Only the Borei Olam can fill the void you leave. Our hearts still refuse to accept the enormity of this loss, the passing of so precious a man, taken in the prime of his life, precisely when Am Yisrael needed him most.

And yet, perhaps we can still hear your voice, your gentle whisper lingering in the air. Perhaps we can feel the comfort you would surely offer us: Yes, you have suffered a great loss. But you have not lost everything. You still have the power to bring Am Yisrael together. You still have the ability to unite them with the Shechinah that has never fully departed from Yerushalayim.

U’v’Yerushalayim tinuchamu — and in Yerushalayim you shall be comforted.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1083)