“What a shame that the world will never know of all the things he accomplished for Klal Yisrael by not doing, by not speaking, by not publicizing”

Photo: Naftoli Goldgrab

T

oday, anyone with an opinion can share it. Even if that opinion contains a personal affront to an entire segment of Klal Yisrael or to its acknowledged gedolim, people feel no compunction about spreading their “take.”

Just a month ago, we lost a great man: Rabbi Moshe Hauer, a talmid chacham, rav, and leader who excelled in Torah, leadership, ahavas Yisrael, and many personal qualities. Yet there is another quality that Reb Moshe excelled in — a quality that seems increasingly rare, and increasingly necessary, in this age where everyone feels justified going public with their opinions, however ill-informed.

The quality I refer to is Reb Moshe’s middah of shtikah — the herculean strength he harnessed to remain silent even when his mind had sure knowledge or his heart screamed out in pain.

Allow me to explain.

I first became acquainted with Reb Moshe back in the days of the Jewish Observer. He had just begun his rabbinic career, and he called me from time to time with either a compliment or his own personal thoughts regarding articles I had written.

Several years ago, our relationship became much deeper and stronger after a Shavuos morning in Yerushalayim. My wife and I were graciously invited to an early-morning kiddush at the beautiful home of Jerry and Sora Wolasky in the Rova. There we met Rabbi Hauer, the Wolaskys’ rav back in Baltimore, who was also spending Shavuos in Yerushalayim and had just concluded a shiur that had lasted through the night.

“Rabbi Ginzberg,” he said, “you might be interested to hear the topic of the shiur: ascending Har Habayis. I know that you have written extensively on this topic and I would love to discuss it with you.”

He gave me a copy of the thick source booklet he’d prepared for the shiur, and asked me to share my feedback with him. After my return to New York, I did so — and we continued to speak regularly.

When we discussed the current issues facing Klal Yisrael, we found that we agreed on almost everything. But more important than his own opinion was whether I knew of any gedolim’s insights on the issue at hand. He listened eagerly and often called me later on, asking me to repeat the words of the gedolim, so he could internalize their perspectives. His deep reverence was so clear.

I remember how moved he was by a story I published in this magazine: I described driving Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky ztz”l from his Monsey home to a shloshim event in Brooklyn for one of the ziknei hador. It was a frigid winter day, and Reb Yaakov had a bad cold. During the drive, he sat with his eyes closed; it was clear that he was very weak.

The hesped he delivered was just three minutes long: “This gadol at some point in his life taught in a particular institution that was somewhat controversial, and people would question, ‘what was he doing there?’ To them I would say, ‘he was an adam gadol and on an adam gadol we don’t ask questions.’”

During the ride back to Monsey, I asked Reb Yaakov why he felt it necessary to travel all that way, in poor health, for a three-minute hesped. “It was a message of kavod haTorah that the young bnei Torah in the room had to hear,” he said firmly, “and it was worth the trip.”

Rabbi Hauer was so moved by the story that Reb Yaakov’s line became a refrain of his. During our conversations, if we discussed a citation or ruling of a gadol that we could not comprehend, he would immediately repeat, “he’s a gadol and on a gadol we don’t ask questions.”

Just a few weeks before that Yamim Noraim, I was asked to speak at a political event in Washington DC. I was unfamiliar with the nature of the event and so I reached out to Rabbi Chaim Dovid Zwiebel of Agudath Israel of America and Rabbi Hauer, to hear their perspectives. When Rabbi Hauer asked me what I was planning on doing, I told him that in such cases I always refer to daas Torah. Since the passing of my own rebbi, the rosh yeshivah of Chofetz Chaim Rav Henoch Leibowitz ztz”l, and later of Rav Dovid Feinstein ztz”l, I have been consulting Rav Elya Brudny shlita. In this particular case, I had left a message for Rav Brudny and was waiting for his reply.

“In the meanwhile, what do you think I should do?” I asked Rabbi Hauer.

His response encapsulated both his humility and his greatness. “My opinion is not important,” he said. “What is important is what you hear from Rav Elya. Anything else is not significant. When you hear back from Rav Elya, please let me know what he says, and that will become my opinion on this matter as well.”

IN our large and varied community, some people don’t have their own opinions on communal issues. Other do have opinions, but are unable to express them. Then there are those who can express themselves, but don’t have the confidence to do so in the public sphere. Those who have opinions, the power of expression, and the necessary confidence usually tend to make their opinions heard.

Then there was Reb Moshe, who had strong opinions on communal issues, was able to express himself superbly, and also had the confidence to do so. But he possessed something else, something very rare: an ability to keep some of his ideas and concerns to himself if he felt they might be seen as disrespectful of a Torah leader — or if they would cause division in Klal Yisrael. That ability to hold back surely demanded great strength. His shtika hhsurely thundered loudly in Shamayim.

A case in point: Around two years ago, a large rally was organized in front of the Capitol in Washington, D.C., to express American Jewry’s pain following the events of October 7th and its plea to the Biden administration to support Eretz Yisrael in this difficult time.

At previous similar events, it was difficult to attract the Orthodox community due to concerns of Kol Isha and potential speakers coming from other denominations known for expressing heretical statements.

Among others, Rav Moshe worked tirelessly to alleviate those concerns, so the Orthodox community could attend this important event without any compromise of religious values. His efforts bore fruit, and many yeshivos and kehillos made the trip to Washington.

Then, as everyone surely remembers, less than an hour before the event was to begin, with most people either there or on their way, a letter from various rabbanim was publicized prohibiting participation in the rally. To all who’d worked to arrange the event, this was devastating: months of efforts and planning wiped away with a brief letter.

When Rabbi Hauer called me to discuss what took place, I felt the pain and disappointment in his voice. Yet he did not voice a single comment or criticism. What incredible fortitude and strength. The volume of his silence was deafening.

I heard the same silent strength in his voice a few years ago, when upon the request of several Gedolei Torah in Eretz Yisroel, in particular Rav Dovid Cohen of Yeshivas Chevron, I wrote an op-ed decrying what they feel is a chillul Hashem as well as an act that endangers Jews: the public visits of government minister Itamar Ben-Gvir to Har Habayis.

Soon afterward, a very respected writer wrote a critique of the article on his blog. I forwarded it to Reb Moshe, and showed him the response that I had penned. Then my phone rang. “Rabbi Ginzberg,” Reb Moshe said, “it’s a great response and I agree with everything that you wrote. But I beg you, please do not have it published. Your message in your article was very clear and needed to be said. However, anything more will just create more division and more controversy, and we can’t afford any more of it.”

It was such heartfelt and honest advice from a heart brimming with ahavas Yisrael that right then and there I erased the whole piece.

At Reb Moshe’s levayah in Yerushalayim I stood next to a long-time dear friend and colleague of his, and we shared our feelings of our personal loss. “What a shame,” my friend said, “that the world will never know of all the things he accomplished for Klal Yisrael by not doing, by not speaking, by not publicizing. If he felt something would not enhance achdus or kavod Yisrael —or worse, diminish it — then he held back, even if it was important to him.”

Two responses to that concern.

First, after reading this article, hopefully many Jews now do know just how much Reb Moshe accomplished.

Second, it is told that Reb Leib, the son of the Chofetz Chaim, related that once he had spent many days along with his father refining one line of the Mishnah Berurah. After they moved on to the next halachah, he said to his father, “The Mishnah Berurah reads so smoothly by the time you are finished writing each line, but who will ever appreciate all the hard work that went into it? Who will know of the time and effort invested in each and every line?”

“What does it matter to you if they don’t know?” the Chofetz Chaim responded. “After all, are we working for appreciation? We are working for the Ribono Shel Olam. And He knows what we are doing.”

Reb Moshe is now in the Olam HaEmes and receiving his eternal reward for a lifetime of learning, teaching and leading Klal Yisrael in so many areas. No doubt, he’s also receiving his eternal reward for all the times that he held back his thoughts and comments, despite having so much to share. We may not have heard a single word of his powerful silence, but in the World of Truth, every syllable resonated with respect and love.

Yehi zichro baruch. 

Rabbi Aryeh Z. Ginzberg is the  of the rav of the Chofetz Chaim Torah Center of Cedarhurst and the founding rav of Ohr Moshe Institute in Hillcrest, Queens. He is a published author of several sifrei halachah, and a frequent contributor to many magazines and newspapers, where he writes the Torah hashkafah on timely issues of the day. He is also a sought-after lecturer on Torah hashkafah at a variety of venues around the country.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1087)