By Judith S. Lederman:
Exactly one year ago, I woke up on a Shabbos morning, inspired – ready to go to shul and prepare for the Pesach holiday with joy and anticipation. It was a grey day, dank and rainy. I enjoy being the first person in shul – greeting the sanctity of our beautiful prayer hall in solitude. So I put on my special Shabbos sneakers and hastened out the door for the mile plus walk.
As I turned the corner I noticed a heavy, smoky smell mingling with the humid mist. The road was blocked off with police barricades. I asked a policeman what was going on. “There’s been a fire,” was the curt reply. My rabbi lives on that block, I thought. But what was the likelihood that anything had happened to his house – of all the houses on the block. But I knew others on the block and my pulse was racing. My blood ran cold. I took a detour around the street and saw the house from the back. It was so burned, I wasn’t sure which house it was…It couldn’t be…I wouldn’t let my mind go where it wanted to. It was Shabbos Kodesh.
My hands itched for my siddur. I sprinted to the synagogue – about one mile. The walk usually takes me twenty minutes. I was there in six minutes flat. Rabbi Jonathan Morgenstern, our assistant Rabbi, stood at the gate to the parking lot with some of the shul’s balabatim. Their expressions were grim. I didn’t dare guess.
“What?” I asked.
“The Rabbi – and his wife – there’s been a fire,” Rabbi Morgenstern told me, his heart breaking clearly through his clouded blue eyes. “They’re dead.” (YWN report on fire posted HERE)
Some moments are forever destined to hang in the air along with the vivid memory of the odor of acrid smoke for a lifetime, maybe more. My life motto is, “Crumbling is not an option!” But that day I crumbled. Fell to my knees at the gates of The Young Israel of Scarsdale in spiritual and emotional agony. My Rabbi, my mentor, my confidant, my father-figure, my friend. His wife – the woman who complimented me, supported me–always had a smile for me. It can’t be true. One year later, the feeling is the same. It can’t be true. But it is. Scarsdale was struck by lightening and they were gone – forever.
Shabbos – THAT holy Shabbos – the Shabbos before Pesach, the holiday of renewal and liberation – it is supposed to be a day of rest, of hope, of excitement. Mourning is forbidden on Shabbos. Sniffles, sobs, and choking sounds filled the sanctuary as we all tried desperately to maintain a semblance of Shabbos peace, the kind of peace that is never supposed to be blighted by the horrific tear in the fabric of a community.
That was a Shabbos that taught me what Shabbos should never, ever be. A Shabbos where each of us fought to suppress the pain of losing two Tzadikim who represented the spirit of Achdus, Chesed and deep abiding respect and love for every Jew and non-Jew. A couple who exemplified the vision of Kiruv – bringing Jews of all walks of life together under the roof of The Young Israel of Scarsdale. Rabbi Rubenstein was the epitome of dignity, a scholar, an orator, who literally embraced his congregants with Torah and an unbridled love for Klal Yisroel. Watching him speak each week, his tallis always slipping off his shoulders as he gestured animatedly to the crowd, engaging them, challenging them to provide an answer to a complicated question, was pure joy.
This Shabbos, Rabbi Morgenstern is slated to deliver Rabbi Rubenstein’s Shabbos HaGadol drasha–the one that didn’t get delivered on that difficult day. As we sit in shul, we will remember the Tzaddik and his wife who will, no doubt, be bringing before the Heavenly throne, our tfillos for Geulah this Pesach.
Today – 7 Nisan, the Scarsdale community and Jewish communities all over the world commemorate the one-year passing of Rabbi Jacob and Debbie Rubenstein, Zichronam Livracha, their beautiful lives, their tragic removal from our physical world, and I, along with so many others, pray their souls ascension to the highest levels of Heaven.
(Special thanks to thethinclub.com for this article)
Join the official YWN WhatsApp status
One Response
tragically, when aaron hachohen lost his two sons thru a fire , it was a serious and difficult moment for aaron hocohen. yet the torah says , ‘vayidom haaron’. its unfortunate for those that suffer, yet they must learn from our forefathers how to react.
time has a way of healing , some differently than others. we should only hear of good things from klal yisroel and baskt in their glory accordingly.
everybody have a freilichen and happy chag pesach.