Rabbi Hershel Schachter

One on One

with Rabbi Hershel Schachter

Rabbi Hershel Schachter is a world renowned posek, Rosh Yeshiva and Rosh Kollel at Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary of Yeshiva University. Last month, Avi Borgen asked Rabbi Schachter to reflect on his connection to Eretz Yisrael and the State of Israel.

You have a very deep and emotional

connection with Eretz Yisrael. How did you create that connection while living in the Diaspora?

Over the years, we spent many summers in Eretz Yisrael. When I joined NCSY Kollel for a few summers, I saw how the boys just fell in love with the Land. 35 years ago, I spent three summers in the Nir Yeshiva, a hesder yeshivah in Kiryat Arba. At that time, everything was peaceful; we would go to Chevron, the Me’arat Hamachpela, and there was no trouble at all. It was only a few years after the Six Day War, and the Arabs were still too frightened to cause any trouble. My children would travel freely on their own on buses up and down the country, from north to south. These summers were transformative for my family. Today, my three older daughters all live in Eretz Yisrael.

Is there a place in Israel that you connect with in particular?

I love the whole country, and especially Chevron. There is a fellow there, Rabbi Yitzchak Rodrig, who runs a machon for rabbanim called the Chevron Rabbinical Research Institute. He has an office building with offices for rabbanim, and each rabbi has his own office with his own Shas, Rambam and Rishonim, and he encourages the rabbanim to sit there and write sefarim. Whenever he bumps into me he says he wants me to come to Chevron, to live there permanently! I feel very connected there, and with many other places. Last month I gave a shiur in Rav Druckman’s yeshivah, and when they introduced me they said: “The last time he spoke here was 31 years ago; we hope we won’t have to wait so long for the next time!” I gave shiurim in Sderot, in Merkaz HaRav, in Mitzpe Yericho. I feel connected to these places; I have grandchildren living there.

How has the State of Israel impacted the Modern Orthodox community in America?

I remember a Shemitta year, 14 years ago, when I was in Israel with NCSY Kollel. A group of Young Israel rabbis had plans to visit farmers who had decided, for the first time, not to rely on the heter mechirah and I joined them for the trip. We visited three different farmers, and then went to Moshav Komemiyut. Many years ago, the rabbi of Komemiyut was Rabbi Binyamin Mendelson, who worked with the Chazon Ish to convince farmers not to rely on the heter mechirah. His son is now the rabbi of the moshav, and he spoke with us. When he realized that I was from Yeshiva University, he said he was recently in Washington Heights and drove through the campus, where he saw boys with their tzitzit out, looking like bnei Torah! He had been in Yeshiva University many years ago, and the boys then were not as serious as they are now. He asked me: “To what do you attribute the change?” I knew it would rub him the wrong way, so I said “Tziyonut, Zionism!” Surprised, he asked me what I meant. I explained that the boys’ parents are strong Zionists and

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they feel they have to send the children to Eretz Yisrael for a year or two or three to learn Torah before college, and this is how they become bnei Torah! He had never heard of this system where our young people go to yeshivot in Israel; he thought that our young people were going to Israel to study in colleges like Hebrew University. In Yiddish, he said “What do you mean? They go to university and become bnei Torah?” I said: “Not university! They go to Kerem B’Yavneh, to Sha’alvim, to Yeshivat Hakotel – to many different yeshivot!” He had never heard about any of this! The common practice of sending young people to learn in yeshivah in Israel was instituted by Rabbi David Eliach, who recently passed away. He and some friends and colleagues were the ones who engineered this change, and that is what made a major change in the American community. It’s a huge s’char (reward)! Modern Orthodoxy used to be much further from Torah learning and mitzvah observance. But now the young people come back from yeshivah in Israel, and they have a powerful influence on their families and the entire community. We have to celebrate Yom HaAtzmaut! The establishment of the State of Israel was like a new Matan Torah for American Jewry! Israel has had a tremendous impact on the community. n

“The Three Mothers”

Lieutenant General Aviv Kochavi

At last year’s official ceremony at the Kotel marking the beginning of Yom HaZikaron, the Ramatkal (Chief of �taff) of the IDF, Lieutenant General Aviv Kochavi, delivered a short speech entitled “The Three Mothers.” Widely celebrated throughout Israel, we are honored to share an abridged English translation of his powerful speech.

The journey home of the Jewish people to its land, from all corners of the world, is an unprecedented event in world history. We must remind ourselves that it is a miracle, even though we now take Israel’s existence for granted. But the story of our people and our land is also a story of individuals, young and old, fathers and mothers, and it is about three mothers that I wish to speak today. The first is Rachel Imeinu, who did not have the chance to live in this land. She arrived at the land, but died shortly afterwards without meriting to live in it. When her children were exiled generations later, and they passed by her grave, ָהיֶנָב לַע הָכַבְמ לֵחָר םיִרורְמַת יִכְב יִהְנ עָמְׁשִנ הָמָרְב לֹוק, “A voice was heard in Ramah, a bitter and mournful cry, Rachel, crying for her children” (Yirmiyahu 31:14). Her cry was heard, and the Navi tells of the promise, םָלובְגִל םיִנָב ובָׁשְו …הָעְמִדִמ ךִיַניֵעְו יִכֶבִמ ךֵלֹוק יִעְנִמ, “Stop your voice from crying, and your eyes from tears… for your sons will return to their land” (Yirmiyahu 31:15–16). Rachel may not have lived in the land, but G-d promised that her children would one day return. Our people lived the majority of its history outside of our Land, where we were powerless and persecuted. Zionism fundamentally changed this situation; with incredible determination and despite enormous challenges, waves of Jews began to return to Israel, forming

Lieutenant General Aviv Kochavi delivering his speech, "The Three Mothers."

a new society and the State of Israel. We are the banim sheshavu ligvulam, the sons of Rachel who have returned to their land. We have returned, to remain here forever. But the journey home has come with an unbearable price, which brings us to the second mother.

Nechama left her home in Ukraine, and together with her husband Yosef who had fled from Nazi Austria, made Aliyah to Eretz Yisrael. They changed their family name to Yisraeli, and set up their home in Kibbutz Dovrat, a home filled with Zionism and Jewish values. She had five children, two of them sons – Effi and Dedi, the closest of brothers. Effi became an officer in the IDF, and then a trainer for tank officers. Dedi followed his brother to serve in the tanks, and became Effi’s student in a tank officer course that was never completed. The Yom Kippur War interrupted that course and both brothers were sent to the Sinai Desert.

On the second day of the war, Dedi’s tank was hit by a missile. Despite the fact he had been severely burned all over his body, Dedi returned to the tank to rescue another crew member, and only then was taken to the hospital. His brother Effi remained in the battlefield, and despite the fact that his tank had been hit, he joined another tank and continued fighting. On the 12th day of

the war, when the IDF was fighting on the West Bank of the Suez Canal, Effi was struck again and killed. Yosef and Nechama Yisraeli received the dreaded knock on the door – the knock that too many Israeli families have experienced – and were told the news of Effi’s death. Dedi was still in the hospital, and despite his serious burns, his situation began to improve. He was alone in his room, shielded from the news of Effi’s death. Dedi was so weak he could barely speak, but after a few days, when his father Yosef entered the room, he said, “Abba, I managed to write a letter to Effi.” Yosef, who had only recently become a bereaved father, was silent for a moment, and then he said to Dedi, “There is no-one to send the letter to. Effi is no longer.” Dedi began processing the news, and the pain gradually began to sap all his strength. He sunk into sadness, stopped fighting for his life, and slowly faded away until he too died. Two mothers, Rachel and Nechama, cried over the fate of their children. One of the mothers, Rachel, was unable to live in the land, but is told her sons will return to live in it. The other mother, Nechama, lived in the land, but for that right paid the unbearable price of her two sons. I would not dare to say to Nechama הָעְמִדִמ ךִיַניֵעְו יִכֶבִמ ךֵלֹוק יִעְנִמ, “stop your voice from crying, and your eyes from tears.” But I will rely on the words of the Prophet when I say ךֵתָלֻעְפִל רָכָׂש ׁשֵי, “there is reward for your actions.” There is a reward, and it is the third mother who benefits from that reward. I don’t know her name, but this third mother represents countless mothers who fill this land. These mothers have built families, and they and their children have built Medinat Yisrael. They are religious and secular mothers, from cities and villages, who have children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and who are able to live securely in their land because of the sacrifices of the first two mothers. On behalf of the IDF, I salute all of the bereaved families, all of the mothers and fathers, the widows, siblings and orphans as one. You all deserve to be honored with deep gratitude. I salute, embrace and support you with all my heart. You are all an example of strength and resolve and serve as an ongoing testament to the power of our nation when we work together for that which matters most. And this is the strength of Nechama, who said, only days after losing both her sons: “If there are no values to dedicate life to, life itself has no value.” May the memory of our fallen boys and girls be a blessing for all of Am Yisrael.  Search for “Yom Hazikaron 5781: The Three Mothers” on Mizrachi’s YouTube channel for the full video with English subtitles.

A BULLET FACTORY IN THE CATSKILLS:

Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm zt”l Reflects on the War of Independence

A leading light of American Orthodoxy, Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm, zt”l was one of the great leaders and thinkers of our time. Elected president of Yeshiva University in 1976, he brought the institution to new heights. As a pulpit rabbi at the Jewish Center in Manhattan, Rabbi Lamm was famous for his powerful sermons, still studied by rabbinical students to this day. A scholar of Jewish philosophy and law, he authored over 15 books on Judaism’s relationship to science, law, technology and philosophy.

In 2008, Eric Halivni (Weisberg), founder and Executive Director of Toldot Yisrael, interviewed Rabbi Lamm about his experiences during Israel’s War of Independence and his lifelong relationship with the Land of Israel. The following is an abridged transcript of their conversation, edited for clarity.

Tell us a little bit about your family, and your connection to Israel as a child.

I was born in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Today it’s a very strictly Chassidic community, but then it was a Modern Orthodox community without much extremism, and generally a good neighborhood to grow up in, if you couldn’t afford to go to a better place. I went to school at a yeshivah, Mesivta Torah Voda’ath, which today is regarded as a right-wing yeshivah, but in those days we didn’t have right or left; it was one of the only ones. It was a happier time. As a student in yeshivah, of course I had a relationship with Eretz Yisrael. I remember I was probably in the fifth or sixth grade and they showed us a movie. In the movie you find Yossele Rosenblatt, the famous chazzan, singing a moving song about Jerusalem while standing in a rowboat on the Kinneret. I was completely taken by it. It was the first exposure I had to modern Israel, and it was overwhelming. I remember it to this day, and that’s quite a long time ago. But it was something that attracted me. Those were my first feelings for modern Israel. In my younger years I was a member of Pirchei Agudath Israel, the children’s Agudath Israel, but I also went to HaShomer HaDati, which was a Religious Zionist youth organization that later became absorbed into HaPoel HaMizrachi. In yeshivah, some of the groups were more Zionist, some less, but everyone was attached to Medinat Yisrael.

I was here in Yeshiva University as a college student from 1945 through 1949, at the time of the founding of the State of Israel in 1948. We were very concerned because we knew the Haganah was vastly outnumbered, and we felt we had to do something. I went with many of my classmates at Yeshiva to a place in the West Village where they were sending blankets to Israel, and in between every blanket there was a rifle to be smuggled in. The kids were very empowered and excited to do it.

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Meanwhile, I thought – just packing things, anyone can do that. Maybe I could do something special. I was a chemistry major; I did four years of chemistry in Yeshiva and one year of post-graduate work at Brooklyn Polytech. I thought that maybe science students could do something more to help. So I got hold of a few of my friends; my chavruta Shmuel Sprecher who got his Ph.D in chemistry from Columbia and went on to become the Rector in Bar-Ilan, William Frank, who became a brilliant physicist and mathematician, and Matty (Matthew) Katz, of blessed memory, my roommate, who was very good in technology, and I gave them my idea. I picked up the phone and I called up the Jewish Agency and they connected me to a man called Professor Pekeris. [Ed. Note: Chaim Leib Pekeris became a professor at the Weizmann Institute of Science and created the Weizmann Automatic Computer, WEIZAC, the first computer in Israel.] I told him what I had in mind, but as I’m speaking, he stops me. He says, “Shut up and come over here immediately!” I’m not accustomed to that kind of talk and I was taken aback, but I just did that. I shut up and I went down to see him. When we

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met, he apologized. He said: “The reason I was so abrupt is because our wires are tapped, and what we’re doing is none of the FBI’s business.” I began to understand the nature of the project. Well, Katz and Frank were assigned to do some work at a storefront in the West Village, and Sprecher and I were sent up to East Fishkill, New York, a small town in the Catskills, but not in the Jewish part of the Catskills, to a home owned by a Zionist sympathizer. I walk into this place and I see a little man lying on his back underneath a frame of a bed and he’s painting. He said, “Hello, zis is okay, no?” I said, “No, it’s not okay.” He was very upset, though I was just being funny. Turns out that this man was Professor Ernst David Bergmann, who would later become the head of the Israel Atomic Energy Commission.

What struck me immediately was that my Zionism was a Hava Nagila, singing and dancing Zionism – which is important, but not very serious. But here I found people who never talked about Zionism or patriotism; they just did very good work. Israel had some guns, and they had the Davidka. But they needed to manufacture bullets. They didn’t have enough natural resources then, so our mission was to develop a bullet that could be produced from the material available to the Jews in Israel. Each of us had our jobs, and we did them well. One day there was an alarm and we all scrambled – we had to quickly put away all of our papers and chemicals and take out some books and papers relating to fertilizer. It turns out the FBI was coming and our cover story was that we were doing research on fertilizers. They came and left and, of course, they winked. They knew what it was all about, and we knew what it was all about. As soon as they left, everything went in reverse. All the stuff about fertilizer went into the drawers, and the materials we were working on came out.

I was appointed to be in charge of burning the garbage. I was a young man with a bit of an ego and so I thought to myself, “this is why I studied chemistry for four years, to burn the garbage?” I reluctantly threw the garbage outside and threw a match into the garbage bag. The engineers start to scream, “run, run!” So I ran. A few moments later the garbage blew up; it was all combustible materials that we were using to develop the bullets! I barely saved my life because I listened to them and ran.

Everyone in Yeshiva was involved in some way with the war effort. It was a great opportunity to express our ahavat Yisrael (love of Israel) and Zionism in a very practical way. Again, no hora. No, heveinu shalom aleichem, rather real serious stuff. Did we succeed? I think we did in the end. We got the formula and the Israelis were able to manufacture the bullets, which is something which made us very happy and pleased.

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How long were you there for?

Several weeks. In order to do it, we had to prevail upon the dean of the college to let us go and not take finals, but to still give us a passing grade for our courses. I was worried because the dean, Dr. Moses Isaacs, was an Agudah-nik (a member of Agudath Israel). But when we told him the story he gave us permission to go. Surprisingly, he was the first Republican I ever met; I couldn’t imagine how a Jew could be anything but a Democrat!

Do you remember where you were on November 29th, 1947, for the UN vote?

I was sitting in my grandparents’ home, in front of a big radio; in those days, before transistors, a radio was a piece of

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furniture. We sat there listening to the UN General Assembly vote. When Guatemala voted in favor, we knew we were going to win. It was a very exciting time.

Looking back now, 60 years later, do you have any regrets?

Regrets? No, nothing at all. I regard it as one of the highlights of my life. I met people whom I really respected and realized that everything else was secondary to the important work that was being done. I’m grateful for it. It taught me that sometimes you have to do things quietly, even if it’s against the law, because there is a higher law we have to obey. And it worked out, thank G-d.

I always dreamt of Aliyah. When I graduated from college, I was offered a four-year scholarship to Hadassah medical school, but I wasn’t interested in medicine. In those days, I was interested in something that challenges the brain, and that was research; for me, medicine was more or less my menu for dinner. And of course I was mistaken, because it later turned out that medicine was very much on the front line of scientific research. Anyway, I didn’t want to become a doctor, so I turned down the offer.

But then they offered me a scholarship to study for a Ph.D in chemistry at Hebrew University. And now I was faced with a dilemma. Half of me yearned to learn and teach Talmud, but the other half of my life was oriented towards Israel. I didn’t know what to do; I remember writing out the reasons for going to Israel and for staying in America on a pad, side by side. It came out even! I decided to ask my parents. My father said, “Go to Israel. We have enough rabbis here. Go to Israel. Become a Torah scholar on your own, but go to Israel.” My mother said, “No, don’t. Stay here.” They couldn’t help me, because they were one against one. So I went to a man who then was my rebbe, Dr. Samuel Belkin, the President of Yeshiva; years later I would become his successor. I told him, “Rebbe, I want you to tell me what to do. But don’t give me any reasons, because if you give me reasons, I’ll find other reasons to go against it. Just tell me what shall I do!” He said, “stay here,” so I stayed in New York for most of my career. Many years later, I was asked to take over the presidency of Bar-Ilan and we considered it very seriously. In fact, my wife and I were already looking for a house in one of the towns next to Bar-Ilan. But as luck would have it, we couldn’t get along on certain details and it didn’t work out. But I was almost there.

We were never politically involved in this kind of Zionism or that kind of Zionism; the politics didn’t matter to us much. We just loved Israel – we were tzionim! My family has followed this path. Though my children don’t live there, I have grandchildren who do [Ed. note: Two of Rabbi Lamm’s granddaughters, Peninah and Bracha, founded Here Next Year, an organization dedicated to helping young religious Jews make Aliyah]. I am blessed to have a family that feels very strongly about Eretz Yisrael and Medinat Yisrael. n

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Toldot Yisrael is a Jerusalem-based nonprofit dedicated to recording and sharing the firsthand testimonies of the men and women who helped found the State of Israel. 1,300 video interviews (more than 4,000 hours of footage) have been conducted to date and are housed in The National Library of Israel, the official library of the State of Israel and the Jewish people. The interviews and several acclaimed film series are shown in schools across the Diaspora, sent by Israel’s Ministry of Education to every history teacher in Israel, and can be viewed at www.youtube.com/toldotyisrael. More information about Toldot Yisrael is available at www.toldotyisrael.org.

Our Aliyah Push, Pull and Jump

Rabbi Aaron Feigenbaum

We have always been a Zionistic family. We have talked about Aliyah at every major turning point in our lives and we consciously decided to stay in the States, but now we’re making Aliyah. I think that our Aliyah journey seen through halachic lenses represents millennia of Jews’ yearning and struggling with Aliyah. When we first got married, Malki and I discussed moving to Israel. I was studying for semichah at Yeshiva University and Malki was in the middle of a joint degree program between Stern and FIT. We decided at that time that we would stay in the States so that Malki could finish her college degree. This decision perhaps mirrored the Gemara in Avodah Zarah (13a) which allows a kohen to leave Eretz Yisrael to study Torah. The Gemara explains that דֹומְלִל םָדָא הֶכֹוז לֹכַה ןִמ ןיֵא, not everyone can learn everywhere or from anyone, and it is permissible to leave Eretz Yisrael for a better learning environment. At our first inflection point, we decided that we would stay in Manhattan to finish school.

When we both finished schooling, me with semichah and a Masters in Education, and Malki with degrees in Studio Art and Millinery, we were ready for our next step as a family. There were two ideas which were motivating us at the time; we wanted to be giving members of society and we thought that living out of town would provide an environment for raising our children more in line with our goals. We pushed off Aliyah at that stage because I felt that I could contribute more as a rabbi in America than I could contribute anywhere in Israeli society. Again for halachic and historically illustrative purposes, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef (Yechave Da’at 5:57) uses this reasoning to justify all forms of shlichut leaving Israel to strengthen Torah life in chutz la’aretz. At our second inflection point, we decided to move to Memphis as shlichim. After 8 years in Memphis, we were again looking to move our family. In Memphis we found the out of town environment and attitude we were looking for. We loved our time there, but we underestimated how far we would feel from our family. Tashbetz (3:288) allows leaving Eretz Yisrael to fulfill kibud av v’em, and at inflection point number three we pushed off Aliyah to live closer to family.

We are dropping everything, a little too much like Avraham Avinu and Sara Imeinu, without an exact sense of where we’re going, but like they did, we’re heading home.

Looking back, we had three moments in our life when we talked seriously about making Aliyah. Each time we decided, using the same rationales that many Jews have historically used, not to return to Israel. Which brings us to the present. We see our children growing and we realize that if we don’t go now our window of bringing all of our kids with us could close. Our delays, each one of them justified, could cost us the dream altogether. And so we are dropping everything, a little too much like Avraham Avinu and Sara Imeinu, without an exact sense of where we’re going, but like they did, we’re heading home. We still have some planning days in which I say to myself that Rambam (Melachim 5:9) allows one to leave Israel to earn a living. We have steady income in New York and total uncertainty about providing for ourselves in Israel. I tell myself that Tosafot (Ketubot 110b) argues that the danger involved in making Aliyah and living in Israel exempts us from the mitzvah. While we are not as nervous about the journey that Tosafot would have been, we are quite nervous about bringing our kids half-way around the world with the difficulties of learning a language and finding their place in new schools and foreign social structures.

Halachah aside, what has been most remarkable to me in the past few weeks since we told our community that we’re making Aliyah has been the number of people that have told us that they are jealous of us, that they don’t have the courage we have, that they wish they were coming too. I guess there always will be acceptable reasons not to return, but the Jewish soul feels a pull to Israel, we can subconsciously hear Hashem knocking at the door. There have historically always been Jews who jumped across the sea of uncertainty and halachic leniency because they knew that the destiny of the Jewish people is in the Land of Israel. For us, it’s our fourth chance to be a part of it and we’re jumping in.

Rabbi Aaron Feigenbaum is the Rabbi of the Irving Place Minyan in Woodmere NY and the Rav Bet Sefer at HAFTR in Lawrence, NY. He, his wife Malki and their six children, will be making Aliyah in August 2022.

Rabbi Yechiel Morris

Remembering the Meron Tragedy

Donny Morris z”l

Ihave a favorite picture of my nephew, Donny Morris z”l, though it is not the famous picture that many have seen. The more wellknown picture is of him hovering above the dancing masses in Meron. It depicts his sweet, shining and angelic countenance, and has captured the attention of thousands. That picture reflects the elevated and sanctified level of deveikut with Hashem that Donny achieved in his remarkable life. I certainly cherish that picture, but the one that I love the most was captured a year earlier. It was taken in front of Metlife stadium in Rutherford, New Jersey. In the picture, Donny is standing in between my brother, Aryeh, and my nephew, Akiva. All three are wearing winter knitted sports hats. Aryeh and Akiva’s hats have the New York Mets emblem on them, while Donny’s hat has the MTA Lions emblem, his high school alma mater, embroidered on it. With broad smiles, the picture was taken moments before they entered the stadium. But they were not there to cheer on the New York Giants or Jets; they were there, together with over 90,000 Jews, to attend the 13th Siyum HaShas.

The reason why I love that picture is because it explains the exalted picture from Meron. Since Donny’s tragic passing last year on Lag BaOmer, family, teachers, and friends have recalled Donny’s love of Torah learning, his acts of kindness, his affinity toward the Land and State of Israel and his all around kind and pleasant nature. What is remarkable is that all of these descriptions are absolutely accurate and true. But what is also true is that Donny wasn’t born that way. Each one of those qualities were imparted and modeled for him, most directly by his loving parents, Aryeh and Mirlana, but also by a larger caring support system. His grandparents, Rabbi Joel and Malka Morris and Rabbi Ira and Fagie Kronenberg, helped raise and inspire Donny. Loving members of his extended family, along with a wonderful community, with rabbis, rebbeim, teachers, family friends and a large network of personal friends and peers, all reinforced and modeled the values that Donny would ultimately internalize and embrace. They all passionately and thoughtfully passed along a mesorah of Yiddishkeit to Donny. To his eternal credit, Donny learned from all of them and then made those teachings his inner essence.

When speaking to students and children about Donny, I always remind them that my holy and exalted nephew was a regular kid, just like them. He too loved sports, played video games, got into an occasional fight with his siblings, and had qualities that would sometimes frustrate his parents and teachers. But at the very same time, he strived to better himself and grow in his avodat Hashem. He took davening seriously, he diligently worked to strengthen his Torah learning and comprehension, and he made a concerted effort to be kind and caring. Yes, he loved sports – but he also loved Torah. He certainly concentrated when playing video games, but also davened with intense kavanah. He may have worn a sports hat to the Siyum HaShas but he also dressed like a mensch in the beit midrash and at shul.

To me, the picture of Donny in front of Metlife stadium is a lesson to all of us. It depicts a normal child. But even more so, it depicts someone we can all strive to become. Like Donny, we can all learn from, and then emulate, our parents, grandparents, rabbis and teachers. We can be normal, but also achieve greatness. We can root for the Giants, but also work to become giants in Torah and yirat shamayim. We can tap into the inspiration of daf yomi inside a stadium in Rutherford, New Jersey and then utilize that moment to soar and grow in Torah in Eretz Yisrael. That is Donny’s legacy. That is Donny’s crowning achievement. And that is Donny’s eternal message to us.

Rabbi Yechiel Morris is the Rabbi of Young Israel of Southfield in Southfield, Michigan.