Rabbi Itzik Amitai has published a deeply personal and moving account marking the anniversary of the death of his brother, Land of Israel researcher Ze'ev Hanoch (Jabo) Erlich, who was killed in Lebanon.
In his account, he reveals a letter of rebuke his brother wrote to him years ago, following a eulogy he delivered for his teacher, Rabbi Benny Eisner.
Rabbi Amitai begins: "Fourteen years ago, my teacher and rabbi, Rabbi Benny Eisner, passed away. He was a student of the late Rabbi Zvi Yehuda HaKohen Kook at Mercaz HaRav Yeshiva, who taught many students and connected them to the love of God, His Torah, His people and His land." He adds: "I was asked to eulogize him at the funeral."
In his eulogy, he described Rabbi Eisner's home, where yeshiva students were hosted on Shabbat, and the profound impression it had made on him:
"A boy arrives from Tel Aviv with certain ideas about what a home looks like, and on his first Shabbat finds himself in your 'study.' We sit around a large table in a room filled with books, and you teach the writings of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Zvi Yehuda, of blessed memory, with vitality and joy. The boy looks around and is impressed by the 'study,' but wonders to himself: Where is the living room? And where are the sofas and armchairs?... Over time, the novice yeshiva student understands that the entire home is a home of Torah... In your home, Rabbi Benny, we saw a home of Torah for the first time, and we tried to build our own homes in its image."
The eulogy was published, among other places, in the Ma'ayanei Hayeshua bulletin for the Torah portion of Vayera in 5772. Only after his brother's death, however, Rabbi Amitai discovered how Jabo had reacted to those words.
He recounts: "Since then, we have been working to locate, sort, organize and edit the writings, articles and extensive reflections he left behind." He continues: "Opening the boxes reveals many surprises: original articles, notes hinting at a new idea that had occurred to him, and artifacts from days gone by. But this week I discovered something else, an arrow to the heart! Since then, I have been unable to stop crying. I discovered a letter of rebuke he wrote to me - and I do not know why he never sent it."
He explains that the letter concerned the way he had described their childhood home: "For my brother Ze'evi, the Torah he studied at Yeshivat HaKotel and with Rabbi Hadari was a continuation of our father's and grandfather's home, while for me it was the opposite."
He writes: "It is terribly painful that I did not have the chance to thank my brother for pointing out my mistake and to apologize to him as well, as someone who felt hurt when the honor of our father's home was slighted. Precisely because of his connection to our family lineage, the love between us and the justice of his rebuke, the pain is so great - above all, because I hurt him."
Rabbi Amitai then shares the letter Jabo wrote on the Saturday night after the eulogy was published:
"And I wonder [yes, here I am going on the offensive]: I, too, grew up there, in that same home in Tel Aviv, in those same years! Are we really talking about the same home?
I, too, grew up there, in the Tel Aviv home, with 'the living room... the sofas and armchairs,' alas, but also with 'a large table in a room filled with books.' I, too, grew up there... But those things did not interfere with discussions and teachings on the weekly Torah portion, a chapter of the Bible or a passage in the Talmud. I, too, grew up there, in the Tel Aviv home, and there, in the Tel Aviv home with the living room, sofas and armchairs, there - I saw a home of Torah for the first time [without quotation marks]...
How is it that only there, in Rabbi Benny's home, 'we saw a home of Torah for the first time'? Did we not see one in our parents' home? In our grandparents' home, and, thank God, in our other grandparents' home as well - did we not see a home of Torah there?
...Or perhaps, for the first time, you were willing to accept, to listen, not to rebel, to sit and study things that, to put it mildly, you had not particularly liked in your parents' home?
In short - perhaps the issue is the lens? How do we look at things? How do we interpret them? What is astonishing is that if you meant only to describe your feelings back then, some 40 or more years ago - fine. But a few years have passed since then, and you now have the ability to understand, accept, embrace... I was disappointed. Deeply disappointed. And in a public article, no less, clearly intended to praise Rabbi Benny, of blessed memory, who truly deserves every word of praise - that same Rabbi Benny who, as you know better than anyone, knew and valued the home you came from...
The question now is: How does one atone, how do you atone, for such an affront to our parents' home, that home with 'the living room... the sofas and armchairs,' but also a home of Torah... How does one atone, how do you atone? With open rebuke and great, abundant love held within, Ze'evi."
After sharing the letter, Rabbi Amitai writes: "That is the essence of his justified letter, which opened my eyes. And because I sinned publicly, I am trying to put things right publicly."
He returns to the home of his parents and describes his late father's Torah study: "When he returned from work, he would open books, study and write. The books would pile up on the table, and the notebooks would fill with articles about leading Torah scholars and Hasidic rebbes."
He explains that his father worked on books about Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, the Kotzker Rebbe and the rebbes of the Sochatchov dynasty, alongside his research into Jewish history. He also recalls his father's efforts to preserve his connection to the world of Torah:
"How willing he was to endure humiliation, to go from place to place pleading that I be accepted into a yeshiva so that I would remain on the path of Torah. How many tears he shed over this at the graves of his teachers. How much he worried and arranged study partners for me in various ways so that I would remain connected to the heritage of our forefathers."
He then describes his grandfather, Rabbi Yehuda Erlich, who studied daily with a study partner after his work as a bank manager and worked to publish the writings of the late Rabbi Aryeh Tzvi Fromer, author of Eretz Tzvi. He recalls:
"Every Friday night, and every Shabbat morning after prayers, we would go up to our grandparents' home, and there, after Kiddush, my brother and I had to study aloud at least one teaching from the Sochatchov work Shem MiShmuel. And Grandfather would scrutinize it as he would the writings of the medieval rabbinic authorities. 'Stop. There is a period. Explain what he is saying...'"
He also recalls the home of his other grandfather, Rabbi Yehezkel Shraga Ginzburg, and his grandmother Esther, as a home of Torah, connected to Sanz Hasidism and the teachings of Bnei Yissaschar, where great care was taken to educate the children in the path of Torah. Rabbi Amitai writes: "How fortunate we are that these are our roots, which demand that we not disappoint them."
He concludes with a message to future generations and a personal request for forgiveness:
"With a prayer that I may merit cherishing, appreciating and honoring those who came before me, from whom I drew nourishment. And we, the young married Torah scholars - despite our justified admiration for the light of Torah and the Torah scholars in the yeshivas we entered - must not disparage the homes we came from. It is probably no coincidence that we came to the yeshivas from homes like these. Please forgive me, Ze'evi, and please forgive me, Father and Grandfather."