Rav Dovid Soloveitchik didn’t remain in the past, but neither did he veer from his message of emes and the uncompromising derech of Brisk. Yet his was also a journey of joy, warmth and love — the very life-force of Torah
There were many words I would have used to describe the apartment.
To me, it was, first and foremost, intimidating. I came with nothing except an assurance from my rosh yeshivah in America that I was on the reshimah for the new zeman, but there was no confirmation number or bar code to prove it.
On the morning of the first day of Rosh Chodesh Elul we gathered, a cluster of jetlagged new arrivals in shirts that were still crisp and white from the American dry-cleaners, standing nervously outside Amos 28, waiting for the door to open. We made small talk — where’s your dirah, how does the money-changing thing work, does Rav Dovid expect you to say a shtickel Torah? — when at precisely 11:00, the door was opened by the Rosh Yeshivah himself.
Rav Dovid Soloveitchik, in a large yarmulke and blue silk robe, with eyes as pure and clear as those of a child.
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