As we mark the shloshim of Rabbi Moshe Hauer ztz"l, Mishpacha contributors share more memories

Photo: Jeff Cohen

It’s hard to believe a month has passed since Rabbi Moshe Hauer was silently and suddenly taken from us. The shock has somewhat lessened, but the realization of what we have lost grows stronger with every passing day. As we mark his shloshim, Mishpacha contributors share more memories.
Chaval al d’avdin v’lo mishtakchin

Leader with Heart

Rabbi Yissocher Dov Krakowski

W

hen Rabbi Hauer first assumed his position as a shul rabbi 30 years ago, very few people realized that the young, reserved rabbi, passionately in love with Torah, was going to engender a renaissance for the Orthodox Jewish community in Baltimore.

Under his leadership, two vastly differing congregations merged together in total harmony. The shul flourished, growing into one of the largest  in the community. People would walk miles to hear his derashah Shabbos morning. There were even those who would make the walk Friday night, just to hear the thought-provoking question that he would regularly ask between Kabbalas Shabbos and Maariv. He didn’t offer an answer until the following day at the shul’s Seudah Shlishis, and over the course of Shabbos, mispallelim would often come and present their possible solutions to him.

Rabbi Hauer was a true leader who valued every member of his congregation and was determined to find the path to each one’s heart. On one occasion I was the shaliach tzibbur for Mussaf in his shul. As I approached the amud Rabbi Hauer whispered a request, asking me to sing at least two segments of Kedushah. He later explained that not everyone can be inspired by the words of Kedushah alone, but through singing a bit more, everyone would be inspired.

Another time, I was in his shul on Tishah B’Av, and the gabbai approached me and asked me to read one chapter of Eichah. Later, after the service, he explained to me that Rabbi Hauer had wanted to divide the reading equally among his constituents, but was short one who he knew would feel comfortable leining. He didn’t want to embarrass anyone with a spontaneous request, but didn’t want any one person to be asked to read more than the others. Asking me was his way of preserving the dignity of all concerned.

Rabbi Hauer had a deep connection to Eretz Yisrael and took his constituents on yearly trips to visit the Land and strengthen their connection to it. On one of these trips, two years before he assumed his position in the OU, he called me with an urgent request. It was Thursday, and the planned outing for Friday had been canceled. He didn’t know what to do. It was so important to him to have something hands-on and interesting on the schedule every day. He asked me if the group could visit one of the OU’s factories.

We took them to see the Jerusalem Ramada’s new, large high-tech kitchen on Friday morning and showed them the intricacies of the kashrus setup. He turned it into a memorable learning experience for all those who attended.

Rabbi Yissocher Dov Krakowski is the director of OU Kosher in Israel.

He Pulled Us All In

Rabbi Hillel Goldberg

I don’t live in Baltimore or New York. I met Rabbi Hauer only once, perhaps twice. We communicated via email a few times. So many others knew Rabbi Hauer far better than I. Yet when I received the notice of his passing, I broke down in uncontrollable tears.

To be in Rabbi Hauer’s orbit, it was not necessary to be in his geographic proximity.

A Torah scholar must articulate the Torah orally or literarily. A baal middos, though, a person who embodies the Torah, is different. The Torah animates his whole person. It’s not necessary for a baal middos to say one word in order to convey the Torah, to project what the Torah wants a person to become. A Torah scholar speaks. A baal middos is. He or she reaches everyone, learned or not, Jewish or not.

In Sefer Shmuel I, we read how King Shaul dispatches his emissaries to capture Dovid, who was then with Shmuel Hanavi and his band of neviim. But when these emissaries reach Dovid, the Navi tells us, “and they also prophesied.” Undeterred, again King Shaul dispatches emissaries with the same purpose, and again the Navi records, “and they also prophesied.” And the same thing happened a third time. King Shaul’s intentions came to naught.

Nowhere in the Navi does it say why these emissaries, instruments of evil, suddenly prophesied, nor does the Navi relate that they had a change of heart, that they repented, and that out of repentance they attained the stature of prophets. Nor does the Navi record what they prophesied, or even that because they prophesied, their evil mission was aborted. The Navi simply states, “and they also prophesied.”

Nevertheless, it seems clear what happened. Men, bent on one purpose, came within the field of Shmuel Hanavi and within the field of his band of neviim. That spiritual field was so pervasive, so “thick,” that the field suffused these men. It transformed them. Once transformed, it could not be imagined that they would capture Dovid, nor was it necessary to say as much.

What the Navi does tell us is that they prophesied. They became wholly different people. They ascended. They embraced the spiritual life. They did so without even speaking with Shmuel Hanavi. The Navi records no words exchanged between them. Merely being within the field of the nevi’ei Hashem altered their plans and altered their very selves.

I hardly exchanged words with Rabbi Moshe Hauer. But to be within his field was to be transformed, to be altered. Rabbi Hauer’s humanity, his commitment to the Torah and to the Jewish People, came through because of who he was, a wise scholar and baal middos, a rare servant of the Almighty.

Rabbi Hillel Goldberg is the editor and publisher of the Intermountain Jewish News, for which he has written a weekly column, “View from Denver,” since 1972, and the author of numerous seforim about the mussar movement and other subjects.

Only Torah

Rabbi Moshe Schwed

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ven after taking on his role in the OU, Rabbi Hauer never actually left the beis medrash. He often shared with me, “You think I took this job to fight anti-Semitism, to speak to politicians, and do TV interviews? I came to work with you — to be involved in inspiring, enabling, and encouraging Jews to learn Torah daily.”

And he never stopped learning and teaching. He always had a sefer with him. He never stopped saying shiurim. He’d call in to deliver or join his early-morning shiur from the Amtrak train en route to NYC.

Back in 2020, there was an eighth grader in Teaneck, NJ, Charlie , who was inspired at the Siyum HaShas to start learning Daf Yomi. When school was canceled because of Covid, he started listening to a shiur on All Daf and then learning with his friends on Zoom. We made a video of Charlie sharing his story, which was viewed by thousands and inspired many.

Two years later, Rabbi Hauer was in the Mir Yeshivah on Simchas Torah in Eretz Yisrael, when he thought he noticed a familiar face. “Are you Charlie?” he asked the boy.

“I am,” the boy said.

Rabbi Hauer smiled with such pride, then gave him a kiss. “Keep bringing nachas to our people,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

The Torah he learned permeated who he was. You couldn’t get him to say a bad word about any person or any organization, even if they were causing him tremendous angst. I once shared with him a picture of someone who I told him was about to cause him significant agmas nefesh. His immediate response, with complete sincerity, was: “He looks like a nice person, a really nice person.”

The morning of my son’s bar mitzvah in Lakewood this past June, Rabbi Hauer left me a message that he would be coming, b’ezras Hashem. I was pleasantly surprised and asked him if he’d speak. Anticipating his response, I added that I wasn’t asking out of obligation.

He replied that if I truly wasn’t asking for protocol’s sake, he’d be honored to speak, but asked me to tell him about my son. “I know your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, but I don’t know your son. Please share his mailehs, his personality, and anything that will allow me to speak to your son at his bar mitzvah.”

At the simchah, Rabbi Hauer walked in holding two seforim and apologized that he didn’t have a chance to get them wrapped. Upon noticing the titles — Sh’eilos U’Teshuvos Divrei Yatziv — I looked at him with a puzzled expression. There was no way he had purchased these seforim for a young bar Mitzvah boy. There had to be a story.

He leaned over and opened the cover, leaving me really confused. It had my grandfather’s name, Rav Yehoshua Brisk. Rabbi Hauer explained. He told me had a yearly custom on Tishah B’Av to speak about a Holocaust survivor who later made an impact on Yiddishkeit. The year 5771, he spoke about the Klausenburger Rebbe, and in preparation, spent time with my grandfather, a close talmid of the Rebbe who lived in Baltimore. Before he left, my grandfather handed him these two seforim, suggesting he might find more anecdotes for his shiur.

After Tishah B’Av, Rabbi Hauer called my grandfather to thank him and arrange to return the seforim, but my grandfather said he should keep them. Rabbi Hauer felt uncomfortable though, and always looked for a chance to return the seforim. Now, 14 years later, he had found an opportunity. He gifted them to my son, my grandfather’s great-grandson, at his bar mitzvah, including a beautiful two-page message with this story and a heartfelt brachah. On top of the note he wrote: Moshe (Hauer) kibbel miYehoshua (Brisk) u’mesarah l’Yeshaya (Schwed). That was trademark Rabbi Hauer — finding a clever way of making us smile while showing the bar mitzvah boy how special his great-grandfather was.

Rabbi Moshe Schwed is the director of All Daf, the OU’s Daf Yomi Initiative.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1087)