Rav Mordechai Zelig Schechter, Z’tl
By Eliakim Willner
The Chaim Berlin community is shell-shocked, having suffered
the loss of our revered Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Aharon Moshe Schechter, z’tl,
and his son, the Mashgiach, Rav Mordechai Zelig, z’tl, in a
matter of weeks.
My relationship with the Rosh Yeshiva – a talmid/Rebbe
relationship, was primarily one of yirah. My relationship with Rav
Mordechai – a peer, a valued member of our close-knit chaburah, with
whom I spent years in Bais Medrash and Kollel – was that of a yedid.
Today’s hespedim dealt with Rav Mordechai’s shlaimus
– his insistence on getting to the bottom of an issue, a seeker of emes,
his obliviousness to gashmius, his total absorption in the physical and
spiritual well-being of the talmidim of the Yeshiva – and his devotion
to his father’s and to Rav Hutner ztl’s Torah.
The hespedim brought me back in time, to when Rav
Mordechai was one of the chevra, forty or fifty years ago. I felt a
sense of dissonance; of disconnect. None of us suspected the greatness that
Mutty (as he was known to us then) was destined for. He never gave himself
airs, as son of the Rosh Yeshiva, or acted “holier” than the rest of us.
As I said, we were (and to a large extent, still are) a
close-knit chaburah. We had deep and passionate late-night discussions
(especially in Camp Morris) about the kinds of things bochrim that age
talk about – subjects ranging from hashkofo, the latest Yeshiva hock,
politics, etc. Mutty participated with gusto, along with the rest of us. His
views were sometimes off the beaten track but they were always well-thought
out; never ad hoc.
We might not have recognized the Mutty of those years as the
Mashgiach, Rav Mordechai, that he would become (indeed, Mutty himself
might not have recognized himself as the Mashgiach he became). Thus the
dissonance. And yet, in retrospect, had we looked more closely, we would have
seen the seeds that sprouted and grew into the greatness that the hespedim
described.
The first such seed was his passion for cutting through
nonsense and seeking truth. Even as a bochur, he was never content with
the notion of “conventional wisdom” – if the hamon thinks it, it must be
true. If any of us took that position with him, Mutty would confront him with
pointed questions that exposed the weak foundations of that person’s argument.
As Rav Mordechai matured, that seed was directed more and
more toward his limud Torah. I remember listening with him to tapes of
the shiurim of his father. He would not rest until he, personally, got
to the bottom of every difficulty. He would never content himself with the
thought that “the Rosh Yeshiva said it so it must be true”. Yes, he KNEW
that it must be true. But he HAD to understand WHY it was true.
The seeds were there. The disconnect was in us. We didn’t
see it then but we see it now.
Rav Mordechai (in one of the few ways he wasn’t like his
father) appreciated cool, rather than heat. Yet, in the early years of his
marriage – and later as well – despite
his access to Camp Morris, he preferred staying in the city. I asked him why,
since it was cooler and more comfortable in the country, and he responded that
he didn’t see the need for the additional expense. “But what about your
comfort?” I asked him. “Don’t you prefer cool?” He responded, “Eli, if I ran my
air conditioner day and night all summer, it would cost a fraction of what it
would cost to take a bungalow in the country!”
That was the frugality seed that sprouted into his
almost-complete eschewal of indulgence in gashmius in his later life.
The seed was there. The disconnect was in us.
Mutty got along with everyone, notwithstanding their
background. He was non-judgmental, but without giving the slightest ground when
it came to matters of principle. And yet, he was capable of kanaus l’shaim
shomayim when the situation called for it. But unlike others who gloried in
their kanaus, his was well-thought-out, carefully disciplined, and not
tainted by personal enmity.
There was a fellow in the Bais Medrash who, for
whatever reason, made certain slight noises during lail Shabbos Maariv,
and it bothered some of the other mispallelim in his vicinity, I spoke
to Rav Mordechai about it and he said, calmly, that there was no stopping the
fellow without taking drastic action. And he asked me, “Do you really think, in
the grand scheme of things, that this behavior merits drastic action?” It hit
me that perhaps I was over-blowing the issue. His words made me look at it in
an entirely different light. And I conceded that he was right.
A “kippa sruga” cousin of mine once visited from
Israel and I took him to the Yeshiva to daven. It was his closest
experience to date with the Chareidi world. As was my custom, I went to
say good Shabbos to Rav Mordechai after davening and introduced him to
my cousin. After the usual “Nice to have you here, where are you from?”, he
engaged him in conversation about the Yeshiva where he learned, where he served
in the army, what he thought of the political situation…” They spoke in easy
conversation for about 20 minutes. It was very clear that Rav Mordechai knew
what he was talking about. Afterwards my cousin told me, “I didn’t know Chareidi
Rabbis were like that”. Indeed, not all of them are.
Before his illness the Mashgiach always made a very
early-morning appearance in the Bais Medrash and sat and learned by his shtender
with single-minded devotion. After he became ill, and the learning was more
difficult, he nonetheless made his appearance in the Yeshiva at his usual
hour. He would wander into the Bais
Medrash and out, back in again, and out.
In his hesped, Rav Yitzchok Meir Sendrovitz compared
this behavior to that of a yid during yimei hadin, recoiling from
Hashem in awe and fear, and running. Running where? Why, back to Hashem, of
course, since that was his only possible source of salvation. Rav
Mordechai knew, even when his mind wasn’t at its best, that his place was the Bais
Medrash. This was home. This was the place that nurtured him and in which,
in turn, he himself nurtured the Yeshiva’s many talmidim. Even when his
usual learning was no longer possible, for him, there was no other place to
run.
In those dark days, the Mashgiach kept a cot in his
office so he could lay down and rest when he felt weak. At times, in the early
morning, he would ask me to get him a coffee, or something to eat, and then ask
me to stay with him as he rested, appealing to me to daven for him. I
promised him that I would. And I did. We all did.
It is likely that Rav Mordechai would not have liked this
article. To him, it was never about him. But in justice to him, after his petira,
and for the sake of kovod hatorah, I think these things must be said. Rav
Mordechai, I beg your mechila but I believe I am doing the right thing.
The Yeshiva has lost another part of its heart. Our chaburah
has lost a valuable member. I have lost a cherished friend. Yehi zichro
boruch.
