Leonard Matanky
Editor’s Note: The following eulogy was delivered by Rabbi Matanky this past Thursday, December 12, 2020.
Last night, I was in the midst of delivering an online shiur on the subject of Hanukkah and kiddush Hashem. I had reached the words of the Rambam in Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah, the fifth perek, halakhah yud alef, when a text message flashed across my computer screen that simply said, “BDE Rabbi Schwartz.”
For a split second, I was unsure of what to do – to apologize and cancel the shiur; to share the news that our mentor and guide HaRav Schwartz had passed away and then teach, or simply to plow ahead and deliver the shiur as planned. I wasn’t sure.
But then, just as quickly, I thought of what Rabbi Schwartz would do. And I decided to say nothing, teach the class, and only afterward did I share the terrible news with those who had joined.
I thought of what Rabbi Schwartz would do… which is something I and so many others who learned from him do so very often. Because just as Yosef ha-Tzaddik saw at that critical moment in life the deyukno shel aviv, the image of his father, and knew what to do; we, so many rabbanim and ba’alei battim in America see the deyukno shel Ha-Rav Schwartz and know what to do.
And so last night, I put aside the tragedy and ignored the incessant vibrations of my phone. Because at that moment, there was nothing I could do other than take a deep breath, move forward, and teach Torah.
For while it is true that Rabbi Schwartz was one of the most compassionate, gentlest, kindest men I had ever met, he was also one of the strongest, determined, and most resolute of men I ever knew.
He was a true Litvak. The proud namesake of a talmid of the famed Volozhiner Yeshiva and a talmid of the Rav, Reb Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, zt”l.
And he possessed a strength of character that was awesome.
When Rabbi Schwartz would consider an issue carefully and then take a stand, he would not be swayed even if it were controversial. I saw it many times: early on in his days in Chicago when he took a position on the legitimacy of gittin despite the New York Get Law; and then in his stance on brain death; and even his decision to support the very first eruv in the Chicago area but his unwillingness to be involved with the second – because as he told me then, quoting from Reb Yakov Yosef, sometimes the answer to a question is to choose not to answer.
And of course so many of us saw it in his strength during the many years he supported his first Rebbetzin through her illness while serving as the Av Beit of the Beit Din of America, the Av Beit Din of the Chicago Rabbinical Council and still helping with household chores, preserving the Rebbetzin’s dignity and always caring for her. And we saw it with his second Rebbetzin as well – may she have a refuah sheleimah.
And I was privileged to see it once in his living room when he asked me to be present as he took a swift but very difficult action to preserve the integrity of the Beth Din. Rabbi Schwartz did what needed to be done: carefully, deliberately, firmly, and with a deep understanding of human nature and the integrity of Halakhah.
Because Rabbi Schwartz was an ish halakhah, a man who was master of Shas and poskim, and yet who possessed an innate understanding that Halakhah is not merely a code, but a guide that must be used to bring people closer to God – as the Rama teaches us with his opening challenge of shiviti Hashem le-negdi tamid, always place God in front of me.
And therefore, Rav Schwartz not only interacted with great rabbanim and poskim, giants of Torah past and present, for whom he had great respect, and which they had for him. But he also treasured his opportunities to meet with people beyond the Orthodox community, creating relationships that, for example, brought the Jewish Federation to rely on the cRc Beit Din to resolve financial issues with immigrants from the Former Soviet Union.
Joining us on missions to Europe and Israel, I remember his pride in visiting Volozhin and the pain he felt in Auschwitz. I remember the joy he brought to elderly Jews in Berdichev and the thrill he had giving a shiur in Hachmei Lublin. And I remember the respect he showed for everyone, that ultimately brought non-Orthodox clergy to rely on our Beit Din for gittin, and then say to me – more than once- how fortunate we were to have Rav Schwartz lead us.
His life was not always easy. His challenges were significant, but so were his achievements. He was the first second generation American talmid hakham to publish hiddushei Torah, and it earned the approbation of Reb Aharon Kotler. He was chosen as a member of the very first Kollel of YU. He was a Rav in communities large and small, communities that appreciated rabbanim and communities that tried to change their rabbanim.
And he built, and he created. And he became the gadol ba-Torah that we knew understood our challenges in the field. The man who, if you would ask for his da’at Torah, would inevitably respond, “I don’t know what da’at Torah is, but if you want my opinion, let me hear the issues, and I will respond.”
Rav Schwartz loved history and languages, and of course, he loved learning. And his knowledge and memory were awe-inspiring.
Just a few brief memories.
Every year before the Shabbat Shuvah and Shabbat ha-Gadol derashah that he would deliver in my shul, I would call him erev Shabbat, and he would give me a list of sefarim he wanted for the shiur. One time, I forgot one of the sefarim he needed. As he spoke, he started looking through the pile of books until he realized, as did I, that I forgot a gemara. He gave me a look, and then he proceeded to quote the gemara and the Tosafot by heart – speaking as he always did without notes and without a watch and precisely for one hour.
And then there was the time when a teacher at Ida Crown was studying with her class Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. Knowing that Rabbi Schwartz had once taught English literature, I asked him if he would speak to the class about Shylock from a Jewish perspective.
Naively, I thought he would refer to Rav Zevin’s famous halakhic analysis of Shylock. But he didn’t. Instead, he came, and he began comparing Marlowe’s image of the Jew to Shakespeare’s. He then spoke about Venetian Jewry’s history and ended by describing when he was a student in Yeshiva, and they were given tickets to a Yiddish production of the play. He told the story and then produced a clipping with the review, suggesting that the Yiddish version was even better than the original.
And one painful memory… from a couple of years ago – after the stroke. I was visiting Rav Schwartz at home. He was in bed in the living room. I had come to say hello, tell him a bit of what was going on in the community, and ask him a few questions.
Somewhere in the middle, he turned and asked me for the name of someone we both knew, a Dayan in the Rabbanut ha-Rashit. I told him the person’s name. And he thanked me and said that sometimes it feels as if a page in his mind was erased, and he just couldn’t remember things he knew he once knew.
Rabbi Schwartz was one of a kind. An Ish Eshkolot – a polymath who could understand the science of absorption to rule on kashering questions, who could recall comments of his teachers from Rav Mendelson of Newark, to Rav Shatzkes, Reb Dovid Lipshitz, and the Rav, who created relationships that transformed our community, and whose humility, warmth, and authenticity created a kiddush Hashem.
Which brings me back to where I began, to the Rambam I was teaching when the news of Rav Schwartz’s passing, flashed across my screen.
Wrote the Rambam in that very Halakhah:
וכן אם דקדק החכם על עצמו – When a talmid hakham is careful with himself,
והיה דיבורו בנחת עם הבריות ודעתו מעורבת עמהם ומקבלם בסבר פנים יפות – and speaks pleasantly, is engaged with others, receives them pleasantly,
ונעלב מהם ואינו עולבם, מכבד להן ואפילו למקילין לו – does not respond to insult and honors people, even if they don’t honor him…
Concludes the Rambam:
עד שימצאו הכל מקלסין אותו ואוהבים אותו – ultimately, when they that all praise him, love him,
ומתאוים למעשיו – and find his deeds attractive –
הרי זה קידש את השם – such a person sanctifies God’s name.
That was Rabbi Schwartz. He was our mentor, our guide, our inspiration, and most of all, our kiddush Hashem — a man who brought us closer to God through his every action.
In the words of Elisha Ha-Navi – “Avi, Avi, rekhev yisrael u-farashav.” Rabbi Schwartz: Your example of living a life of Torah, both when you were well and even when you took ill, transported us higher than we could ever imagine. And now we are orphaned, without our connection to a mesorah of beauty and dignity, engagement, nuance, and depth.
On behalf of a grateful community and a grateful people I ask your mehilah for not always appreciating the gift you were to us – the bridges you built and the kiddush Hashem you lived.
May the image of your determination and understanding never leave us. You were our hod and our hadar – our glory and our splendor.
May you memory – your deyoken – guide us and help find the wisdom and strength to move our mesorah forward to yet another generation.
And finally to the entire Schwartz family, thank you for sharing your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather with us. The Rav was always so very proud of you, he cherished the opportunities to meet his great-grandchildren when we travelled together to Israel and looked forward to your visits to Chicago.
Your loss is profound and we pray that just as we will seek inspiration in the life and deeds of our beloved rebbe, you will find comfort in the life and deeds of your beloved patriarch, a man who changed the world in which he lived.
בלע המות לנצח ומחה ה’ דמעה על כל פנים
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