He was a combination of surrogate father, mentor, confidant, friend, and, most importantly, the role model I aspired to be like
MY son Meir called me on Motzaei Shabbos at 2:30 a.m. Israel time to tell me personally rather than simply send a text. When he told me the family had asked him to inform me of the news, I already knew the reason for the call. I asked when the levayah would be.
My beloved uncle, Rav Avrohom Shlomo, whom I knew simply as Dod Shlomo, was no longer with us. His levayah was a week ago on Sunday morning. I boarded a flight to Israel later that day.
I had to go; about that, there was no question. The only question was which side of the room would I sit on at the shivah house — with the aveilim or with the menachemim?
My uncle was born in Yerushalayim on the 22nd of Elul, 5696, corresponding to September 9, 1936 — but my uncle would have been dismayed if I used the secular calendar. Even his personal checks were written with the Hebrew date.
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