Working on this week’s tribute issue to two generals Reb Moshe and Reb Yaakov was a journey back to my childhood. Twenty-five years ago when Klal Yisrael sustained the loss of two larger-than-life leaders I was ten years old listening wide-eyed as rebbeim and teachers attempted by means of stories to convey the magnitude of the loss.

They were our gedolim the ones in whose shadows our childhood was shaped. Their stories were the bread and butter of our elementary school years. As we grew older their rulings hashkafic and halachic shaped policy and practice for the yeshivah world we inhabited. And when we matured we first began to realize that the fact that we’d lived at the very same time as them was itself a mandate an achrayus.

This issue called for the collective dedication of the Mishpacha staff as Rabbi Eytan Kobre the visionary behind the magnificent project assigned everyone different tasks in trying to present an accurate picture of what was as he formed a kaleidoscope of greatness.

As usual when I work on an article about a great man the stories I glean during the day become supper-table conversation at home. Inevitably my children asked me if I ever merited seeing Reb Moshe and Reb Yaakov. They have at various times asked me if I saw the Chofetz Chaim the Rambam or the Avos. I was forced to tell them that I hadn’t (though I once met someone at the Kosel who insisted that he was in fact the Rambam and seemed genuinely convinced of this).

But when they asked me about these two gedolim I sat up a little straighter in my chair. “Yes” I nearly shouted “I did.”

And I remembered a trip from Montreal to New York. There we were in the pre-seat-belt pre-child-safety era three of us kids lying in the tailgate of an old Caprice wagon eager to get out of the car. But we children — perhaps I was four or five — heard snippets of conversation drifting back from the adults and we learned that we were taking a detour leaving the relative smoothness of the Thruway for the bumpy mountain roads.

It was the summer and we were going to drive to Camp Staten Island. My parents thought we should see Reb Moshe and this was the opportunity. There were no GPS’s back then so it was a long uncomfortable and (though I don’t recall this part and can only imagine) noisy and complaint-filled affair for my parents. To be honest I don’t remember anything of that visit but I do remember the announcement. We were going to see Reb Moshe. I remember that it was important to them.

We were spending Succos in Flatbush when my grandfather took my seven year-old hand in his and informed me that we were going to daven Minchah at the home of Reb Avrohom Kamenetsky as he was hosting his great father for Yom Tov. Walking into that very living room to interview Reb Avrohom last month brought those memories back in a flood. I remember getting a brachah from Reb Yaakov in the corner of the room remember his smile and warmth. I remember the pride I felt that he knew my grandfather the current of understanding that seemed to flow between them.

So at the supper table I was able to tell my children that yes I had seen both Reb Moshe and Reb Yaakov. But rather than make me proud the thought filled me with a vague sense of unease. Because deep in my heart I wondered if I would make the detour or think to take my young children into crowded rooms or to wait on long lines to see tzaddikim to receive the blessings of great rebbes as my father and grandfather did for me.

I hope the answer is yes. Inspired by the memories I am determined to try.