Rebbetzin Faskowitz was 94 when she returned her soul to its Maker on Zos Chanukah. The last living grandchild of the Alter of Novardok, daughter of Rav Avraham Yafen, first cousin to Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz, the tiny woman with the strong personality was a bridge to a different time.

Her son, Rav Moshe Faskowitz, rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Madreigas HaAdam, spoke at the funeral, passion and sorrow suffusing his words.

“This is more than a levayah of my mammeh,” he cried, tears streaming down his face. “This is the levayah of an entire dor. Because who else do we still know who met Rav Boruch Ber and Rav Shimon Shkop, who spoke with Rav Elchanan and Rav Chaim Ozer? Who do we have left? Who will tell us about those days?”

Laughing through his tears, he recalled a favorite family story about young Raizel. Rav Boruch Ber Leibowitz had come to visit Rav Avraham Yafen in his home while the Rebbetzin was out. Eight-year-old Raizel, excited by the special guest’s presence, bravely stepped forward. “Efsher volt der Rosh Yeshivah gevolt a gleisel tei?” she asked.

Rav Boruch Ber looked at the little girl’s earnest expression. “Yes,” he said kindly.

And Raizel, who had never made tea before in her life, filled the glass half-full of tea essence before adding hot water, rendering the tzaddik’s tea completely undrinkable. She’d still chuckle about the incident years later, saying, “My hands were shaking as I served him. Even as a little girl I felt the awesomeness of his kedushah.”

Raizel, who was born in Poland in 1925 to Rav Avraham and Rebbetzin Sara Yafen, the daughter of Rav Yosef Yoizel Horowitz, the Alter of Novardok, was named for her holy grandfather. (Raizel is a phonetic combination of the words Reb Yoizel.)

Like her namesake, young Raizel showed fire and perseverance; when she set her mind to something, she made it happen. When Sara Schenirer opened the first Bais Yaakov school in Krakow, Raizel, though far younger than the other students, was determined to join them. Thanks to her persistence, she was accepted to the Bais Yaakov, but attended classes for only a short time before the war broke out and the girls disbanded. Despite her aborted schooling, she continued her pursuit of education; until her last day in This World, Rebbetzin Raizel Faskowitz’s bedside table was adorned with a sefer Tehillim, mussar sefer, or sifrei halachah.

In 1940, the Yafens and their three children traveled from Bialystok until they reached Kobe, Japan, where they were granted refugee visas for America. They traveled by ship, with the Shkops, Shatzkes, and others, and finally arrived on the shores of the US.

In 1945, at age 20, Raizel was married to Reb Chaim Boruch Faskowitz, a brilliant talmid of Novardok and a musmach of Rav Avraham Yafen, who became a member of the presidium of Agudas Harabbanim. Over the course of the next 50 years, the two of them served in the kehillah of Rochester, New York, where Rav Chaim Boruch was chief rabbi; the Brisker shul in Williamsburg; and eventually founded what is today Yeshiva Madreigas HaAdam in Queens.

Along the way they created a network of students who shared their passion for learning, who understood the paramount importance of mussar, and whom they inspired to pursue a life of giving and sharing. Rebbetzin Faskowitz would tell her children over and over again: There are two kinds of people in this world: the givers and the takers. The more mussar and yiras Shamayim you possess, the more of a giver you will be. Without learning mussar, you become a taker, in both ruchniyus and gashmiyus.

She enjoyed seeing her offspring dressed neatly and properly; she’d tell them to stop in and visit her on their way to simchahs. She wanted to ensure that whoever saw them would know that bnei Torah are put-together and display dignified personas. But her true nachas was clearly for their Torah.

As one grandson-in-law shared at the levayah in Yerushalayim, “Bubby loved me. She would call me, talk about me, and make it clear how she cared for me, not only because of who I was, but because of the Torah I learned.” He’d dedicated the sefer he’d written to her, and there was nothing that could mean more to her. “It wasn’t me that Bubby loved,” he sobbed. “It was my Torah. She knew I spent my days learning, and there was nothing she valued more.”

Rebbetzin Faskowitz was the cheerleader of the broken, the supporter of the weary, and she had a mussar lesson for every occasion. A grandson once came to visit her on his way to a chasunah, looking tired and down. He brushed away her concerned inquiries, but she persisted. Finally, he admitted that business wasn’t going well. She nodded and offered her sympathy.

Later, when he was at the wedding, someone notified him that his grandmother was waiting outside for him. Startled, he rushed outside to find Rebbetzin Faskowitz standing there, holding two bulging manila envelopes.

“Here,” she said with a smile. “These are for you.”

He opened an envelope, and his jaw dropped. After their earlier conversation, Rebbetzin Faskowitz had headed to the bank, where she’d liquidated her life’s savings and stuffed them into the envelopes, all to ensure that the smile returned to her grandson’s face. The only way he could convince her that he couldn’t accept her gift was by arguing that airport security would not appreciate the large amounts of cash.

After returning home, he called Rebbetzin Faskowitz. “I’m mortified that you thought things were so bad that you went out and did that,” he said. “I was just kvetching, Bubby, I didn’t mean to look so broken.”

“Aha,” Rebbetzin Faskowitz said knowingly. And with a jolt, her grandson realized that the mussar he’d just been given was perhaps the strongest he’d ever received — but it had been done with such love that he could easily accept it.

She valued time, in true Novardoker style, and she utilized every conversation, every visit, every opportunity to ask those around her, “You have a vort?” Pesukim and maamarei Chazal would roll off her tongue with ease, and every conversation blended her knowledge with mussar and chizuk.

She spoke to her daughter Miriam every day, leaving her with the same two messages each day: Look after your health, and you are a tzadeikes.

In her last years, her son-in-law bought her a beautiful watch as a gift. She enthusiastically told her family about her gift, praising her son-in -law, and showing it to her admiring family members. Finally, someone commented on her unusual enthusiasm for the gift.

Rebbetzin Faskowitz smiled. “The watch shows that he understands that it doesn’t matter how old or weak I am. Every minute and every second of life still counts.”

As even as her end drew near, she still made every word and second count. “Hashem Hu HaElokim” was her constant refrain — a glimpse of her essence. Ninety-four years of Hashem Hu HaElokim.

L’ilui nishmas Raizel bas Rav Avraham.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 623)