In honor of his seventh yahrtzeit, Rav Elyashiv’s daughter, Rebbetzin Sura Yisraelson, recalls a childhood among giants
The Rebbetzin welcomed us into her first-floor abode, a cozy little escape from the traffic of Rechov Chazon Ish below. Her soft features and gentle, almond-eyed gaze carry an uncanny resemblance to her saintly father.
Not only did Rebbetzin Yisraelson grow up in the vicinity of greatness, but her children, too, were surrounded by it. In addition to having a father who was a noted talmid chacham, Rav Steinman ztz’’l lived in the apartment below theirs. “Rav Steinman and his Rebbetzin were like family to us,” she tells me. “I used to knock at their door to borrow eggs.”
On our way up, I’d noticed the metal nameplate, “Steinman” in the center of the simple wooden door.
“Does anyone live there now?” I ask the Rebbetzin.
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