When giants fall

I probably should have written these words earlier.

I fell into the all too familiar trap of pushing things off until they are seemingly too late.

In the past two months I, along with the Los Angeles Jewish community, lost two giants and I failed to tell them how much they meant to me before they moved on from this world.

However, just because they’re gone doesn’t mean it does not need to be said.

At the end of November, Rabbi Eliyahu Stewart, my rabbi at YULA passed away after a battle with Leukemia. Just last week, my rabbi and principal at Harkham Hillel Hebrew Academy, Rabbi Menachem Gottessman moved on from this world.

Jews in the diaspora have faced increasing challenges as times goes on and Jewish education has certainly not been exempt from the wreckage. The loss of these two great educators is yet another blow.

In my opinion, Jewish education is not about the parsha, halacha and gemarah. It is about using these ancient and holy texts to live a life of righteousness, kindness and humility. These three positive terms, among many others, can easily be assigned to both Eliyahu the Giant and Menachem the Giant.

Perhaps, in taking Rabbi Stewart and Rabbi Gottessman from us now, G-d is reminding us what a Jewish educator should be. These two great men were Jewish education personified, and to say that combined, they touched the lives of thousands of people is not hyperbole, it’s fact.

Alas, I can not speak for the thousands, I can only speak for myself.

Rabbi Gottessman had an influence on my life before I was even born. My grandparents, Holocaust survivors who arrived in Los Angeles with three children and no money, had miraculously hung on to their religion. There was nothing they wanted more than for their middle child, my uncle, to get a Jewish education, but they could not afford it (imagine if tuition was at its current rate!). Rabbi Gottessman admitted my uncle without batting an eyelash. Anyone who knows me knows that my uncle had a profound influence on my childhood. Upon hearing of Rabbi Gottessman’s passing my uncle wrote, “So sorry to hear the sad news. If any of you make a shivah call please share with his family that I received a religious education only because he made it possible, and I owe him a debt of gratitude.” Therefore, I must owe him that same debt.

I learned at the Shiva, not surprisingly, that this story was not unique when it came to Menachem the Giant.

Perhaps my story is.

In 7th grade, I (suprise!) had a mouth on me. I couldn’t keep quiet for an entire class period to save my life. After finally being tossed out of my morning gemarah class for good, I was looking at some pretty grim prospects for moving forward with my Jewish education.

Rabbi Gottessman to the rescue!

Despite being endlessly busy with his duties as principal, he agreed to take me, and another chronic troublemaker, under his wing and teach us gemarah in his office every morning. I fell in love with Torah that year but it wasn’t because of the text we were learning. It was because of the man who taught it and the Torah that shone through his every action. Sure we ran errands every once and a while with Manuel, the head of maintenance, but this was a pittance to pay in order to be personally mentored by Menachem the Giant.

His compassion and patience were an inspiration. His smile and declaration of every child as “beautiful” was infectious and uplifting. His positive attitude, warmth and wisdom loom large over my Jewish personality until this very day.

By the time I arrived at YULA I was a bit more well behaved but I had my moments. I found myself in Rabbi Stewarts Hebrew language class in 10th grade and immediately felt at home. This is most likely due to the fact that he was convinced we were related. Our families came from the same town in Czechoslovakia, and to Rabbi Stewart that was enough. He regaled the class with stories of my grandfather, making me proud to carry on the Kandel name. He would later do this with my sister and two cousins, who wound up in his class as well.

My experiences with Eliyahu the Giant do not stop there.

I had Rabbi Stewart again in 11th grade. Then, in my senior year, he was assigned to teach the high level class but my Hebrew was still on an intermediary level. I began the year in the middle class, but the teacher could not control the wild students and nothing was being learned. I knew I was planning on living in Israel one day and thus, learning Hebrew was essential, but I was just not ready for the advanced classes.

Rabbi Stewart to the rescue!

After explaining my problem to him, he went to battle for me against the administration. He told me he had begged them to open up another class for kids who fell between the two levels. Although he failed to get this class established, he succeeded in having me switched into his class. He then had me sit next to him every lesson, and encouraged me to stay afterwards so that we could review what was taught that day. In my after-class sessions with Rabbi Stewart, we would often shoot the breeze as much as we reviewed. Again, I was lucky enough to have access to a personal session with a giant. I got to see up close and personal how passionate a person he was. Often, when discussing issues that frustrated him, he was moved to tears.

Since YULA, I moved to Israel, studied my BA in Bar Ilan University entirely in Hebrew and work in a Hebrew-speaking office. I relished my early trips back to LA, so i could see Rabbi Stewart and show him how improved my Hebrew had gotten. There was no one I wanted to show more, as my success was so much to his credit.

His compassion and determination are templates I try to model every day of my life. His dedication to his family, students and the Jewish community are cornerstones I have tried to build my life upon.

These two giants were what Jewish educators are meant to be.

With Rabbi Gottessman and Rabbi Stewart now gone from this world, I feel a gaping hole that constantly hurts. These two giants had become so ingrained in my DNA, that their absence makes me feel somewhat incomplete. I know, however, that this is not what they would want. They would want me to live a happy and fulfilling life, and luckily for me they both showed me how to achieve this.

Thus, as the world is left with an empty crater where these two great men once stood, there must have been a serious moving day in heaven to make room for these two larger-than-life tzadikim.

May G-d comfort the mourners, together with the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem and may we all aspire to live life as large as these fallen giants.

Doni Kandel is a columnist for Communities Digital News. He holds an MA in Counter-Terrorism and Homeland Security from the IDC Herzliya. He is originally from Los Angeles, now living in Givat Shmuel, Israel.