Where Life Comes From

Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky — the address when it comes to the challenges of the yeshivah world — gives words of chizuk during surreal times
Photos: Meir Haltovsky
It wasn’t so long ago, just about seven months to the day.
Nothing from that world makes sense anymore — not the crowds or dancing huddles or carefree atmosphere — but the words endure. The outer trappings of the event have fallen away, but the core has become more relevant than ever.
On January 1 the world celebrated; by April 1, the world had near imploded. And the promises invoked on that cold winter day were put to the test.
In his hadran at the Siyum HaShas in Metlife Stadium, Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky paused for a moment when reciting the names of the ten sons of Rav Pappa, part of the hadran text. “They all became gedolei Torah,” the Philadelphia Rosh Yeshivah said. “We learn from here that you have to keep going on and going on, again and again.”
He teared up — out of character, for those who know him — when pleading that the Torah not diminish or wane, that it live on in our mouths and the mouths of our children.
Shelo yamush haTorah mipicha.
Now, on a summer morning more than half a year later, he sits across from me at the dining room table at the home of his son, Rav Sholom, and picks up where he left off in the winter.
That the Torah not diminish or wane.
Keep the Priorities Straight
Recent months have left the energetic 95-year-old rosh yeshivah a bit weary. The phone in his home — active in regular time — has been unyielding, and the questions, always important, were suddenly questions of pikuach nefesh.
Five months after Covid-19 slid into reality and parked there like a massive truck blocking traffic in every direction, Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky is able to take a step back and analyze, to discuss what happened and what is happening, how we reacted and how we might have reacted.
In history, says the Rosh Yeshivah, we never faced a situation like this, virtually every beis medrash on earth closed, the sound of talmud Torah b’rabbim stilled.
Still, there is much to be proud of: the on-the-fly reaction of parents and teachers, the willingness and resilience of children, the communities’ respect for the law and guidelines.
“But,” says the Rosh Yeshivah, “we need to remind ourselves what the priority is, what it always was.”
His face doesn’t give many clues. The trademark smile is there, but now it’s shaded by what appears to be a shadow of pain.
“The beis medrash is the best place to be. We have to live with this in mind and then make decisions.”
Rav Sholom Kamenetsky, the Rosh Yeshivah’s son, himself a rosh yeshivah in Philadelphia and respected talmid chacham in his own right, qualifies his father’s approach.
“There are halachos of pikuach nefesh and there are halachos of safek pikuach nefesh. There are nafka minos — differences between older people and younger people. Everything is in Shulchan Aruch, and once poskim get the relevant facts from doctors, they can work through the fog. The reason that didn’t happen here was because the information kept changing, the doctors themselves weren’t really certain.”
And it’s in this area that Rav Shmuel wishes to give chizuk. Breathing is life, and Torah is life.
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