Rav Mordechai Zelig Schechter, Z’tl

 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.