Perfect Harmony

Photos: Shlomi Treichter, Ezra Trabelsi

We’re outside, waiting for the Yanuka.

It’s silent in the deserted courtyard of the little shul, for even though coronavirus restrictions have been eased and the streets have again come to life, most people are in bed at this hour. But we’re waiting — and then we see him. Soon we’re face to face with this bashful young man who’s taken the Torah world by storm — self-effacing, unremarkable in appearance, but so remarkable in the impact he’s had on the lives of the thousands who flock to him, hanging on his every word.

He’s really just a young avreich, yet his shiurim are an attraction for the masses, from all ages and stages: elderly chassidim and litvish talmidei chachamim and everything in between. When he sits on the dais of packed halls, expounding on all parts of Torah by heart, the brim of his hat is just about covering his eyes, and at the same time that he’s electrifying the crowd with his depth and breadth, he seems to be melting into himself, erasing his very yeishus. After all, he’s just a vessel, a kli — it’s not about him at all. And then, when the shiur is over, the spellbound audience already knows what to expect: A Roland keyboard is brought out and this shy genius — the Yanuka, as he’s been known since his teenage years (a reference in the Zohar to souls who already from childhood are exceptional in their Torah knowledge) — will begin to play a medley of stirring songs sure to awaken slumbering souls.

His name is Rav Shlomo Yehudah Beeri (to most people, he’s simply known as Rav Shlomo Yehudah), and although he’s not really a yanuka anymore — he’s 32 years old — he’s still decades younger than many of his followers. Aside from the fact that he commands such respect despite his young age, his popularity has skyrocketed even though he doesn’t peddle yeshuos, kameios, or mystical deals. His merchandise is pure Torah — all of it, on the tip of his tongue.

The shul where we meet has just been reopened for the public, but even during weeks of closure, the ezras nashim was still his private learning space. This is like his second home, and as he invites us in and flicks on a small light, we take our seats in the shadows.