Being a Rav During Trying Times
December, 2018
I am writing this article from my car, in the parking lot of a funeral home.
But first…
Adverse possession is a legal term that most laymen don’t know, but it is a
concept that should be known to most yeshivah bachurim.
From Wikipedia: “Adverse possession, sometimes colloquially described as ‘squatter’s rights,’ is a legal principle that applies when a person who does not have legal title to a piece of property—usually land (real property)—attempts to claim legal ownership based upon a history of possession or occupation of the land without the permission of its legal owner.”
Every state views this concept differently. For example, in New York State,
it would take ten years of “squatting” to make it possible for a property to be
granted to the squatter, and even then, only if the squatter was using the property continuously during that period and in an open manner.
While this law may sound bizarre and inexplicable, many bnei Torah are likely reminded of a similar halachah in the third perek of Bava Basra, Chezkas Habatim, which introduces—perhaps to the secular world as well—the idea of chezkas habatim b’gimmel shanim. The halachah describes
adverse possession of property that can take place in three years (as opposed to New York State’s ten). However, there is a critical distinction between the secular law and its possible source in the Gemara.
The New York Times reported (2007), “The court ruled that even if a person knew the property he was using was not his, he could indeed make a claim of adverse pos- session, provided the time period and the other elements were met.”
In other words, while Chazal only used such squatting as proof of ownership should the legal owner no longer have his title at hand, in secular law it can be used as an actual form of acquisition, ripping away from someone what we know to be rightfully his!
All of this, while interesting, is just to introduce a pun I invented last week.
I had recently mentioned in this space the talk I gave at a rabbinic training seminar. There was more to that story.
The evening was dedicated to the topic of end-of-life issues. The first speaker was Rabbi Elchonon Zohn, head of the Queens Vaad chevrah kaddisha and one of the world’s leading askanim in matters of chesed shel emes. He is also the founder and president of NASCK, the National Association of Chevra
Kadisha. Rabbi Zohn is the person to whom chevrah kaddisha members in other cities turn when they need help—for example, assistance in stopping an autopsy or arranging for a meis to be flown to Eretz Yisrael.
His speech was followed by dinner. I was to speak afterward, focusing on the
topic of levayos. When I arrived during dinner, Rabbi Zohn looked at me and said in a humorous tone, “They had to find one of the few
rabbanim who is also a kohen to give the shiur on levayos?” Of course he was joking, but we all knew he had a point.
However, I explained to Rabbi Zohn and Rabbi Hammer, the event organizer, that I viewed my topic simply as a suggested one.
I began my shiur by saying, “I am a kohen, and you may be wondering why
I would give a shiur on this topic. There is an important lesson in the fact that a kohen can serve as a rav. Whereas we have
a famous rule of chezkas habatim b’gimmel shanim, a more important rule for rabbanim to be aware of is this: ‘Chezkas baalei batim b’shivah yamim’—one can be ‘koneh’ a baal habayis during the seven days of mourning.
“These are the moments when a rav can show why he is needed in people’s lives; this is when a rav can foster real, long-lasting relationships.
Whether you are a kohen or a new rav, whether you are asked to give a hesped or not, never let these opportunities go.”
I shared with them that I had recently missed a levayah, and although it was
painful, the most important thing is that the rav be there for the family, both before a death and after.
I spent the next two hours exploring counseling issues, what a rav should say
and do during a hospital visit, when he is informed of a death, and at other important times. I also discussed the importance of a rav having frum medical and mental health professionals on speed dial.
I stressed that a rav needs to visit a choleh who is a member of his congrega-
tion every day, and even if he can only make it once a week, the goal of a daily
visit must remain the standard.
I explained that in the case of a tragedy, it is impossible to give instructions for what to say; rather, a rav needs to surrender to siyata dishmaya. He cannot plan such remarks in advance.
After the shiur, having recounted some of the more painful experiences I had had in the rabbinate, I was emotionally knocked out.
The next morning, Erev Shabbos, I was teaching in Shevach High School. For some reason, I had forgotten to shut off my cellphone.
Suddenly, the phone was attacked by calls and text messages. Some-
one in my shul, a young man with a family, had been run over by a car!
I left the class and ran to the hospital, wondering what I could say. I had been
so confident the night before that this answer always comes, but I was running on empty.
Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz used to tell students that sometimes all that people in pain need is a hug and the rav’s tears.
Although the young man was severely injured, over the next few days he began to rally and had a miraculous recovery.
The following Monday, I was in the hospital visiting him when my phone was deluged once again by texts and calls.
Another congregant’s relatively young brother had been niftar suddenly and
without warning. I left the hospital and made some return calls.
I knew the brother, who had suffered from a host of issues. He had often stayed with his brother and had come to our shul on Shabbos. He was a gentle soul who had been a tremendous masmid as a
young man. When he was about 18 years old, he was afflicted with a number of ills that made it impossible for him to learn.
He became a shivrei haluchos, and his three brothers took amazing care of him.
When he stayed with his brother for Shabbos, he would force him to go to my Daf Yomi shiur with him. He wanted to be surrounded by the kol Torah even though he could no longer embrace it mentally.
His love of Torah was built into his DNA.
What could I say to a brother, a caretaker, after such a loss? Again, a hug and a tear.
And so I am writing this article from my car in the parking lot of the funeral home.
After leaving the kohen room and not being able to go to the cemetery, I know I can show my love and care in the coming week.
Bila hamaves lanetzach u’machah Hashem Elokim dimah mei’al kol panim!
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