Early this morning, Levi ben Allegria’s neshama returned to its Maker. He went to the mikveh, purified his body, laid his head down in the synagogue, and peacefully passed away. His soul didn't need a mikveh; it was already pure when he gave it back to His Maker, his body lying in the very place it had spent so much of his life. Leiby, as he was known, would constantly sing the niggun "Retzisa Hashem"; it rarely left his lips. His neshama returned to its holy abode on a day when millions of Jews will recite the very same Retzisa Hashem as part of today's daily psalms. Yet only a lucky few will know they are singing along with him.
For those of you who didn't know him, let me paint a picture: Leiby was a man with a great love of Torah. Throughout all nearly 15 years I've known him, I can only think of a handful of times when he didn't say a vort, a small word of Torah, whenever we met. It was usually on the weekly Chumash or the middos a Jew should integrate or refine as part of his character. It didn't matter if you were late and on your way somewhere; he'd stop you to share whatever he had to share. He did not need an open book; he could always quote by heart the teachings he was referring to, and always ascribed them to the Sages they originated from. At least until the last year or so, when it became harder for him to speak. Not a surprise, coming from someone who had studied in 770.
His emunat chachamim, his faith in our Sages, shined through. You could hear the reverence in his voice whenever he discussed one of our Holy Rabbis, whether a Tanna, a Moroccan chacham, a Chassidic master, or an Ashkenazi luminary. It was rare for the yartzeit of a tsaddik to be celebrated without Leiby sitting by the meal.
Above all, it's clear that his mission on this earth was to motivate any Jew he met to do a mitzvah. It was inevitable; as soon as he saw you, he would come up and ask you to do a mitzvah on the spot, no matter how big or small. He would ask not only you, not just everyone in the synagogue, but everyone in many synagogues. He did his daily rounds for years.
Our Sages write that the reward of a Jew who motivates another to do a mitzvah is much bigger than the one who performs it; therefore, since he prompted the public to do so many mitzvot, his merit is immeasurably more significant than all of ours combined.
If Leiby had lived two hundred years ago, people would tell stories about him as they do people like him. They might even describe him as a tsadik nistar, a hidden holy man. Yet Leiby wasn't born 200 years ago, and it's much easier to appreciate the Leibys of this world through stories than on a day-to-day basis due to our egos and faults.
"We don't cry on her part; we cry for our loss."
It has been a challenging 48 hours for our community. Yesterday, another holy soul passed away. She was a young mother of 32 who heroically fought with all her strength against a relentless and unforgiving disease. Throughout her fight, she had become a living example to the Jewish world of dignity, perseverance, emunah, and so many other fine qualities that it would take an entire book to extol them all.
Thanks to her, tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of Jews, did mitzvot in her merits. Millions of mitzvot, really, if you could count them all. How much money was given to tzedaka? How many people took on mitzvot and still do them daily for her sake? How many couples, siblings, and former friends made peace on her behalf? Only her Maker knows.
A couple of thousands attended the funeral. Many more watched the broadcast. From where I was sitting, there was not a single dry eye in the room. Not that I would have been able to see anything through my own tears.
Her praises were sung, most beautifully by her bereaved father-in-law who, despite or maybe because of the pain, was able to turn her loss into beautiful and uplifting words of comfort about how much her precious neshama had achieved in those 32 years, and how much more she helped us accomplish as well. The venerable Dayan who followed exclaimed that we are not crying for the departed since, without doubt, she inherited a station in the Heavens like few ever will; we are crying because of our loss. We are crying for the three children and loving husband left behind, for her family and friends, for her acquaintances, and for all of the people she inspired and will keep on inspiring.
An upside-down vision of the world
When G-d created us, He fashioned a curvature in the front of our eyes. When the retina first captures an image, it is turned upside down as the eye's curve bends the light. It is then up to our brains to correct our faulty vision and show us the world as it truly is.
This is not only true of our physical sight but of our spiritual perception as well. The Talmud in Pesachim tells us how Rav Yosef became deathly ill and suffered a near-death experience. After his recovery, his father, Rav Yehoshua ben Levi, asked him what he saw. "I saw an upside-down world," he answered. "Those who are on top here are on the bottom there, and those who are the bottom here are on the top there." His father replied, "My son, you saw a clear world."
Too often, we are guilty of using our brains to twist the upside-down image we first perceive as something entirely different. We see the world or people as we want to see them, not as they indeed are.
On Monday, it will be Leiby's levaya. I don't know if the seats will be as filled as yesterday or if eyes will be just as filled with as many tears, either. I don't know if many will watch remotely, except for relatives abroad. On the surface, they were very different. Leiby was older, not married, had no children, and left only a few extant family members behind. I'm not sure how many would have counted him as a close friend if prompted until this morning. He also suffered terribly for years, afflicted by a disease that wreaked havoc on him, but it certainly did not elicit the same kind of response. Yet, why should he not be mourned just as profusely?
Both of them motivated the public to do mitzvot. However, Leiby's mitsvah, referred to as the mitsvah in the Jerusalem Talmud, was not always received as positively. Few people seemed to look at him and perceive the holy and precious neshama that he was. Many sadly only saw a nebach asking for money.
It's easy to see why she and he were perceived differently. She was discreet, gentle, a quiet woman with a constant smile and the picture of elegance a bas Torah is supposed to be. He was a big guy and had an even bigger personality, a very gruff voice, and rarely dressed in his Shabbos best. Yet, what do any of those things have to do with their souls?
Our Sages explain that the most significant attribute of Moshe, his humility, was directly linked to his capacity to see just how unique and extraordinary every Jew is, despite externalities, faults, or idiosyncrasies. He would look past everything and see their true value. Chassidic masters and mystics likewise revealed to us that our souls are all united and unified in their source. This means that the differences we perceive in this world are false; every soul is ultimately just as precious in the eyes of our Creator. As a result, we need to develop the sensitivity required to see everyone around us as equally precious as well.
Few people in this life are lucky enough to be perceived in a way that does them justice. I am confident that yesterday's eulogies and stories do not cover a fraction of who this young mother was. Only her Creator knows the true extent of just how special she was, even if we had the merit to witness a fraction of it. The same is true for Leiby.
I'll be the first to admit: there are times over the years when I saw him and, either because I was in a rush or didn't have money on me, I'd take a detour because I didn't want to have to deal with him. And I will not lie either; more than once, I took that detour with a sigh or an "I don't have time for this" attitude. It didn't happen often, but I now regret each and every one of them.
Whenever I did have money on me, even if it was my last $5 or $20 in those years as a poor student, I would give him. "Well, at least I don't need to go around asking for money" was my reasoning, and I would simply wait for the next paycheck or stipend to come instead. When I started to work, I also started to make sure I carried cash on me just in case I met him. I kicked myself whenever I didn't have money and met him, always apologizing and saying, "Sorry! Next time". Whether I gave him something or nothing, he always had a smile for me and a parting blessing. I didn't realize until today how much of my daily routine had been affected by him.
On my way to write this, I met a former student. We started to talk about Leiby. This student, unprompted, told me how he always made sure he carried money so he could give it to Leiby in case he saw him. This very morning, he had already set aside for him before he heard the news. How many others out there also had the same routine? Who will be there every morning to encourage us all to do a mitzvah on the spot, no matter how big or small? Who will answer "Amen, yehei shemei rabbah" with all of their strength the way he used to?
Our Sages say that more than the poor man needs the rich man, it is the rich man who needs the poor man. He needs him in order to be able to fulfill his duty with the money G-d granted him.
Turns out it wasn’t Leiby who needed us, it was we who needed him.
In his memory, I'll try to constantly keep carrying money on me so that if I ever meet another Leiby, I'll be able to give to him right away and with a smile. And I hope G-d will provide me with the upside-down vision needed to appreciate him immediately, not when it's too late.
May the neshama Levy ben Allegria have an aliyah, and may we all be reunited soon with Mashiach Tsidkeinu.
Amen!
Sorry but we can only judge with our eyes some people have a much more difficult tikun than others but it doesn't make them saints .
A young mother with little children that passes away does and rightly so elicit and deserve much more empathy than someone whose only responsibility
was to himself ,true we don't all have the same strength of character but you can't compare the two. One was a life that did not get a chance to realize it's potential while the other was one that wasted it's potential for whatever reason but wasted nonetheless.
May Hashem have mercy on both and on his people Israel