A collection of memories from those in the service of gedolim — away from the public eye, the small interactions of great men
For 15 years I learned a weekly chavrusa with Rav Yaakov Edelstein, the longtime beloved rav of the upscale Tel Aviv suburb of Ramat Hasharon, and in that capacity, I was also with him on nights that he would receive the public.
As a brilliant disciple of the Chazon Ish, Rav Edelstein could have spent his life secluded in the beis medrash surrounded by disciples and avreichim. Instead, he threw in his lot with a different crowd, of religious and secular alike, who basked in his warmth and blessings for 67 years until his petirah in 2017. Most people would expect a place like Ramat Hasharon to have a more “modern” chief rabbi, someone who could be a better fit for the locals — yet Rav Edelstein chose to open his home to everyone, even to those who had differing worldviews. People came from all over to get a brachah from him or to hear his sage advice — and it didn’t matter if they were secular, religious, or traditional. He could relate to everyone, and helped so many because he often understood them better than they understood themselves. And for so many years, I was there watching it all happen.
In later years the Rav couldn’t hear so well, so he wanted me to repeat people’s questions to him. During the last year of the Rav’s life, when he was ill, I was responsible for his medical file. That year was a story of its own. The Rav had asked that all questions about treatments should be brought to his brother, Ponevezh Rosh Yeshivah Rav Gershon Edelstein, since he didn’t want to pasken about himself. The Rav was treated in Laniado Hospital, and because I live in Netanya, I was with him daily up until the time of his petirah, when he wrote to me his final instruction, to make a siyum on Maseches Makkos. I finished learning the Gemara aloud, made a siyum, and the Rav soon lost consciousness.
In the early years, Rav Edelstein used to receive the public in his apartment, but because the crowd was sometimes a disturbance to the neighbors, the Rav moved the Thursday night kabbalat kahal to the shul. There was another reason as well: If there was one thing this gadol who knew all of Shas could not understand, it was the possibility that a Yid would park in someone else’s parking spot. How could it be? He couldn’t allow running the risk, so he moved over to the shul, where there was a parking lot — and I was present with him on those Thursday nights when he would receive people for hours on end.
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