He was Reb Moshe, comfortable everywhere, belonging nowhere; the towering genius who attracted talmidim in the alleys and corners of a world so much smaller than him, leaving his mark on a generation of roshei yeshivah, rabbanim, and mechanchim who derived their inspiration from his persona and shiurim
He was surrounded by concentric circles of talmidim — a diverse array of roshei yeshivah, kollel yungeleit, academics, professionals, businessmen — drawn to his shiurim through the force of his incredible personality and the treasures he shared with them every week. Respected by the most prominent figures of the Torah world, yet always hovering slightly at its periphery, Rav Moshe Shapira drank from the reservoirs of virtually every major yeshivah, distilling their waters into his own unique offering of life-giving wisdom. With his passing this week, all those circles of talmidim have lost the focal point that gave them meaning and clarity
They struggled, the daily newspapers, to find the terms to express the loss. No attributes — neither gaon nor mechanech nor mekarev nor mekubal — came close to doing justice to Rav Moshe Shapira, who left this earthly world as the 10th of Teves draped its darkness over it. He has no famous yeshivah associated with him, no formal position that fully defined his ambit.
He was Reb Moshe, comfortable everywhere, belonging nowhere; the towering genius who attracted talmidim in the alleys and corners of a world so much smaller than him, leaving his mark on a generation of roshei yeshivah, rabbanim, and mechanchim who derived their inspiration from his persona and shiurim.
He was a man of the city bus, a figure you might see ducking into a small shul, then reappearing just as suddenly. You could see him davening in one of the shtieblach of Zichron Moshe or on a Brooklyn street corner or deep in conversation in the back of a shul in freezing Moscow.
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