Divrei Azkarah for HaRav Aharon Walkin zt”l — Torah, Middos, and His Legacy

Topics

• Divrei Azkarah for HaRav Aharon Walkin zt”l
• Speaker One — Anavah and Maasim
• Speaker Two — Turning Everything into Avodas Hashem
• The Geshmak That Comes from Giving Yourself to Torah
• Every Individual Is Klal Yisrael
• His Influence Continues in the People He Built
• Speaker Three — Learning from the Maalos of a Tzaddik
• "Lehagid Shivcho Shel Aharon Shelo Shinah"
• Three Lessons from Rav Walkin's Derech Halimud
• Talmidei Chachamim Build People
• My First Meeting With Him
• Giving Kavod Until People Grow into It
• Eyes for People Who Cannot See Their Way
• A Kiss That Gave a Lifetime of Chizuk
• His Anivus and Desire to Make Room for Others
• How Do We Understand Such an Early Petirah?
• A Mission Completed—And a Lesson in Humility
• Rabba Bar Nachmeini and the Shailah in Shamayim
• He Is Still With Us Through His Torah
• Speaker Four — Hakaras Hatov and Care for Every Yid
• His Hakaras Hatov Was Personal
• Ayin Tovah: Seeing the Good in Every Person
• The Last Vort I Heard from Him
• He Davened for Every Person
• Speaker Five — His Kiruv Was His Way of Teaching Torah
• Pesach Sheini: "Lamah Nigara?"
• A Yachid Is a Whole World
• The Dinner He Tried to Attend
• The Torah He Gave Over Was Different Because of His Kiruv
• A Rebbe Who Shared His Torah Without Holding Anything Back
• Who May Enter the Beis Medrash?
• Speaker Six — The Gift of His Chumash Shiur
• A Rebbe Who Welcomed Us as His Own Children
• "Ein Li Makir" — What Have We Lost?
• Chinuch Means Living What You Teach
• Living with Hashgachah Pratis
• The Emotions Behind His Torah
• An Ayin Tovah That Could Not Dismiss Anyone
• The Open House in His Grandparents' Home
• "The Rebbe Goes into Galus with His Talmid"
• "The Final Chapter Hasn't Been Written"
• Speaker Seven — A Neighbor's Memories
• "It's All Good"

Transcript

# Divrei Azkarah for HaRav Aharon Walkin zt”l

*Edited from a multi-speaker memorial recording. Each speaker's first-person perspective is preserved; identities are not supplied where the transcription does not establish them.*

## Speaker One — Anavah and Maasim

I heard the great *kavod* that was given to Reb Aharon. He was a fine *bachur*, but my connection with him was more than the ordinary relationship of a *rebbe* and a former student. I knew the family. His father had been my roommate in Telz, and there were family connections as well.

Whenever he saw me—whether on the street, at a gathering, or elsewhere—he made a point of coming over. He would speak to me about the people he was teaching, the *shiurim*, the *she'eilos*, and what was happening at Chazak. He never came with the attitude, "I am the Rosh Yeshivah of Chazak." It was never about his title or his standing. His concern was always the people and their needs.

He was an **anav gadol**, a man of true humility. And he was a **baal maasim**. What he believed was what he practiced; he was not *echad b'peh ve'echad b'lev*, saying one thing and feeling or doing another. He accomplished a great deal, *Baruch Hashem*. His passing is an immense loss to the community and far beyond it.

When you recognize the qualities of the person you have lost, you at least know what qualities you must seek and preserve. May you have tremendous *hatzlachah*. *Yehi zichro baruch*. He was a *brachah* to Klal Yisrael, and remembering him should be a *brachah* to us.

## Speaker Two — Turning Everything into Avodas Hashem

I want to share a few thoughts about Rabbi Walkin, who was so profoundly *mashpia* on others.

In Parashas Naso, the Torah uses the words **"ואת כל אשר יעשה להם ועבדו"** (Bamidbar 4:26). There is an interpretation spoken of here—attributed in the address to the Targum—that whatever happens to a person, he continues to serve the Ribbono Shel Olam. I would suggest a further point: whatever happens **can itself become an avodah**. [The precise Targum attribution requires verification.]

With Rav Aharon Walkin, I saw both of these ideas throughout the years. He went through challenges, and in spite of them he continued in *avodas Hashem*. But more than that, he took the very circumstances of his life and found in them an opportunity for *avodah*. Everything around him, large or small, could become a *limud*, a *remez*, a way to grow.

I remember traveling with him in Manhattan when a bus scraped the mirror of the car. He was naturally upset for a moment. I could see him make the effort to release the frustration and regain his calm. It was a small incident, but he treated it as an occasion to work on his *middos*. I saw that same attitude in much larger challenges as well.

I saw a written *shmuess* of his lying here, prepared by one of his sons. He explained there that Torah learning is not necessarily easy in the beginning. A person has to throw himself into it, and then the **geshmak**, the sweetness, begins to develop. This too was a principle that he lived.

### The Geshmak That Comes from Giving Yourself to Torah

Those of us who knew Rav Aharon found it hard to imagine him having to work at developing a *geshmak* in Torah. He seemed to enjoy everything he learned. But perhaps we never knew whether his delight was in the *vort* itself or in the person who was telling it to him. In truth, he had a *geshmak* in both. He made people feel that their Torah was precious.

I remember him telling me, around Hoshana Rabbah, that he had decided to take a *sugya* for which he felt no particular attraction and devote the night to learning it **for the Ribbono Shel Olam**. He did not begin because of the pleasure. He began because it was Torah, and he wanted to serve Hashem. I imagine that by the time he was deep into it, the *geshmak* came.

There is a *vort* attributed here to Rav Yechezkel Abramsky, connecting the bitter waters at Marah with Torah. In Parashas Beshalach, the waters were bitter until Moshe was shown a tree and cast it into the water (Shemos 15:23–25). In the speaker's *derush*, the *eitz* suggests throwing oneself completely into Torah. What first seems bitter becomes sweet through total engagement. [The precise attribution and exchange with Rav Chaim Brisker were not established from the transcript.]

I saw Rav Aharon do exactly that. He put himself into learning, into difficult challenges, and into every *avodah* before him. From that investment came *mesikus*, the sweetness of feeling close to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

### Every Individual Is Klal Yisrael

I want to relate a story he himself told us at the table on Purim. At a **Knessiah Gedolah**, his distinguished *zeide*, the **Beis Aharon**, was speaking. In the middle of the address, a man came seeking help and money. Many people would have told him to wait until the distinguished speaker had finished.

But the Beis Aharon responded that the gathering was there to discuss helping **Klal Yisrael**. Who is Klal Yisrael? This Jew, and that Jew, and every individual Jew. Klal Yisrael is not an abstract idea; it consists of living people who need help. He took off his hat and passed it around to collect *tzedakah* for the man.

Rav Aharon showed me a photograph associated with that episode, pointing out how the hat had lost its shape from being used to collect donations. The story delighted him because to him **each individual Yid represented Klal Yisrael**.

There is also a thought attributed in this address to Rav Dessler: a person enters this world for his allotted time, plays the role given to him, and leaves; the Ribbono Shel Olam continues His great work. Rav Aharon used to tell a family story about asking his grandmother whether she feared dying. She answered that everyone must eventually make room for others.

But Rav Aharon did not spend his life merely making room for others. He **built** others. He helped other people become more than they had been before. That was the legacy he left us.

### His Influence Continues in the People He Built

I noticed this soon after I first came to know him. He would stand up in honor of young people, making them feel important. Once I told him about a man who had made a deep impression on me many years before. Whenever a young man entered while he was learning, he rose for him. Rav Aharon recognized the name and said, "He is my *talmid*. He learned that from me." Then he added that he had learned it from **his own rebbe**.

That was his whole life: receiving from his *rabbeim*, carrying their teachings faithfully, and passing them on to others. It was important for him to be a *ma'atik hashemuah*, a transmitter of what he had received. But he did more than repeat their words. He built people, one individual at a time, and taught them how to build others.

His time on the world's stage has ended, but the work he did there has not ended. It continues in the people he taught, encouraged, and strengthened. They will pass that influence on. May his *zechus* remain with us until *Bias Goel Tzedek*, *bimheirah v'yameinu*. Amen.

## Speaker Three — Learning from the Maalos of a Tzaddik

*Birshus the chashuve tzibbur*—and I ask those watching by camera to forgive me if I turn away from the camera to speak to those gathered here.

The Gemara in Kesubos speaks of a great person leaving life behind for those who remain. The expression in the transcription is **"שבק חיים לכל חי"**. We might understand this to mean that a *talmid chacham* leaves his *maalos* behind, and that at a *levayah* or *hesped* we can learn those qualities and take them into our own lives.

The Gemara (Kesubos 103b) tells us that a **launderer**, a *koveis*, had not attended the burial of **Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi**. When he heard that a heavenly voice had declared that those attending the funeral were destined for *Olam Haba*, he was overcome with anguish. The Gemara relates what followed and the heavenly declaration concerning him. The speaker draws a lesson from this account: even someone who missed the gathering had lived near Rebbe and had benefited from his example in life.

So many of us had the *zechus* to see Rav Aharon closely, to learn from his *hanhagos*, to take something from his *middos* while he was alive. Tonight we are reviewing those *maalos*, not only to honor his memory, but to take more of them for ourselves.

The greatest *kavod* we can give him is to **apply his ways in our own lives**.

Because tonight is Thursday night, when Rav Aharon used to give a Chumash *shiur*, I want to begin with some points in **Parashas Behaaloscha** that connect with his life.

## "Lehagid Shivcho Shel Aharon Shelo Shinah"

The Torah says about Aharon HaKohen lighting the Menorah: **"ויעש כן אהרן"** (Bamidbar 8:3). Rashi, citing the Sifrei, explains: **"להגיד שבחו של אהרן שלא שינה"**—the Torah tells us Aharon's praise, that he did not deviate from what he was commanded.

What is the *chiddush*? Would Aharon HaKohen have disobeyed Hashem? What praise is there in saying that he did exactly what he was supposed to do?

Rav Aharon used to bring several approaches. One, attributed here to the **Chasam Sofer**, is that Aharon did not search for ways to excuse himself from the *avodah*. There were reasons he might have allowed someone else to perform certain aspects of the lighting, particularly given the sorrow of his sons' deaths. Yet he performed the *avodah* himself. [The precise Chasam Sofer passage and halachic formulation require verification.]

Another explanation is that Aharon's **hislahavus** never diminished. The first time he lit the Menorah he certainly felt tremendous excitement. For most people, a repeated *avodah* eventually becomes routine. But Aharon performed it again and again with the same inner fire. **שלא שינה**—he never lost that enthusiasm.

A further thought, attributed here to a teaching from the Alter of Kelm, concerns the seemingly small details of the Menorah's lighting. Aharon held himself responsible for every single *prat*, even though he had so many greater responsibilities. A great person is built through the care he gives to apparently small actions.

Rav Aharon Walkin lived all of these aspects of **shelo shinah**. Even when he was tired, even when he endured *tzaros*, he continued with the same *ahavas HaTorah* and *ahavas Yisrael*. He watched the smallest *pratim* in *halachah* and *bein adam lachaveiro* with extraordinary care.

I once heard a great *posek* explain that authentic *rabbanus* is a rare art, especially in America. It requires a great deal of skill and selflessness. He considered Rav Aharon an exceptional example of genuine *rabbanus*. Rav Aharon did what was right because that was what the Ribbono Shel Olam wanted—not because it was easy or convenient.

## Three Lessons from Rav Walkin's Derech Halimud

I want to focus on three aspects of Rav Aharon's **derech halimud**.

**First, his ability to uncover the underlying *yesod* of a sugya.** He could take a *siman* in Shulchan Aruch, find the central conceptual point, and show how one *machlokes* after another emerged from it. The Shach would ask a question because of one understanding; the Taz or another *nosei keilim* might not ask because he learned the underlying issue differently. Everything fit together, one point after another. It was like listening to beautiful music. It flowed with remarkable clarity.

**Second, his eagerness to learn from any *talmid chacham*.** I remember a *shiur* in Hilchos Chanukah where he discussed difficult situations involving the placement of Chanukah lights in homes with different windows, entrances, and street exposures. Rather than relying solely on his own conclusions, he approached **Rav Forshheimer** in Lakewood and asked whether they could drive through Westgate together and examine actual houses. Where should the Menorah be placed in this house? What about the one facing a side street? It didn't matter how well they knew one another. Rav Aharon wanted to learn the correct *halachah* from a competent *posek*, so that he could teach it clearly.

**Third, he brought the sugyos of Torah into the real world.** I remember a night *seder* when few people came. He said to me, "Shapsel, no one's here tonight. Let's learn a *sugya*. I have a *sugya* I want to learn with you."

"Which *sugya*?"

"The *sugya* of **Gilad Shalit**."

I asked what *daf* that was on. He answered: **Gittin 45a**—the *sugya* of **pidyon shevuyim**. He wanted to know the *din Torah* of exchanging prisoners for an Israeli soldier: the halachic questions, the *shitos*, the different possible considerations. He learned it through and wrote a *teshuvah*.

For a moment I thought this meant he was deeply involved in politics. But no. He cared about the *matzav*, and therefore he wanted to understand it **al pi Torah**. What could be permitted? What could not be permitted? What should a Jew do?

His *derech halimud* taught us that **life itself must be approached through Torah**. What we see around us becomes the subject of honest, careful learning. That is what he gave over to his *talmidim*.

## Talmidei Chachamim Build People

I want to share another *yesod* that Rav Aharon said over and that was deeply *mashpia* on me. Chazal teach: **"תלמידי חכמים מרבים שלום בעולם"**—*talmidei chachamim* increase peace in the world. The teaching cites the pasuk **"ורב שלום בניך"** (Yeshayahu 54:13) and explains **"אל תקרי בניך אלא בוניך"**—do not read only "your children" but "your builders" (Berachos 64a and other concluding passages in Shas).

Why are *talmidei chachamim* described as **builders** precisely in a statement about peace? Is there a connection between *binyan* and *shalom*?

I think Rav Aharon's life showed us the connection: you bring peace by **building up other people**.

The Gemara relates of **Yehoshafat HaMelech** that he fulfilled the pasuk **"ואת יראי ה' יכבד"** (Tehillim 15:4). When a *talmid chacham* appeared, the king rose from his throne and honored him with exceptional warmth (Kesubos 103b and Makkos 24a discuss this theme). But why is Yehoshafat singled out? Surely many others throughout the generations have embraced and honored *talmidei chachamim*.

There is something special in being honored by a person who is himself truly honorable. Yehoshafat was great in *ruchniyus* and in *gashmiyus*. He was a king and a *tzaddik*. When he rose to honor another, the honor meant something profound.

Rav Aharon was an **adam mechubad** in that same sense. In *ruchniyus*, he was a *lamdan*, a *masmid*, a person of deep *yedi'as HaTorah*. And in his personality he carried an extraordinary dignity—warm, noble, sweet, and gracious. When he honored somebody, that person felt honored by a genuinely great human being.

But I think Rav Aharon went further. **He created the greatness in the other person so that he could honor it**.

### My First Meeting With Him

I first came to his *minyan* in Westgate on Yom Kippur. I had been looking for a smaller place to *daven*, and my brother directed me there. Before Maariv, after Kol Nidre, I watched Rav Aharon with a Rambam in his hand. He was looking around the room.

I sat in the back wondering whether he would notice me, whether he would know I was not from the neighborhood. Our eyes met. Without hesitation he called out gently, **"Talmid chacham, come here."**

*Talmid chacham?* Who said I was a *talmid chacham*? He didn't know me! But he called me over and began discussing a difficult Rambam with me. It was not a superficial compliment. He brought me into his learning and treated me as someone capable of thinking it through.

He didn't simply honor *talmidei chachamim*. **He built a *talmid chacham* by treating me as one.** That is *bonayich*: the people who build others. And that, I think, is how *talmidei chachamim marbim shalom ba'olam*.

## Giving Kavod Until People Grow into It

We have to ask ourselves how we can build people as Rav Aharon built us. He didn't wait for a person to have reached a certain level before giving him *kavod*. His *kavod* itself helped a person grow.

I remember a Thursday-night *shiur* in Westgate shortly before Maariv. People began entering one after another. Each time the door opened, Rav Aharon looked up. One *rosh kollel* entered, and he rose and greeted him with tremendous honor. He returned to the *shiur*. The door opened again and a young *talmid chacham* came in. Rav Aharon stood for him too, showered him with *kavod*, and made him feel welcome. Again and again it happened until he could hardly finish the thought he had begun.

Some of these people were much younger than Rav Aharon, and not remotely his equals in learning. That didn't matter. He wanted to honor them.

We had heard that he received this *hanhagah* from his *rebbe*. I once accompanied him to visit the *rebbe* and saw that same movement: the warm greeting, rising from his place even while speaking to distinguished visitors, showing such *chashivus* to the person entering. Rav Aharon had **internalized** what he saw from his *rabbeim*.

He wrote a remarkable *yesod*: a person should be honored according to the level at which **he sees himself**, not only the level at which you judge him. If somebody sees himself as a great *talmid chacham*, don't make it your business to shrink him.

He gave a memorable comparison involving **Mordechai** and **Haman**. Look at another Yid with the *chashivus* you would give Mordechai HaTzaddik; but remember that he may need *kavod* with the hunger for recognition that Haman displayed. Do not say that a truly great man ought not need it, and therefore withhold the encouragement. You must consider what the other person needs.

The *kavod* he had for **his own rabbeim** was beyond description. When he stood near them, he did so with extraordinary *hachna'ah*. Photographs show him attending to them as an *eved lifnei rabo*. It was not theatrical. It was the simple expression of what they meant to him.

## Eyes for People Who Cannot See Their Way

There is another *pasuk* in this week's parashah, when Moshe tells Yisro: **"והיית לנו לעינים"** (Bamidbar 10:31)—you shall be for us as eyes.

Why should they need Yisro to show them the way? They had the **Ananei HaKavod** and the signs with which Hashem guided them. Rav Aharon brought an explanation attributed to **Rabbeinu Bachya**: Yisro could give "eyes" to people who lacked clarity, strengthen their *emunah*, and help them see what was already before them. [The exact commentary needs textual checking.]

Rav Aharon was that kind of guide. He gave people eyes with which to see Hashem's *hashgachah*. He helped someone who was bewildered by a difficult *matzav* find the right *derech*.

His little *beis medrash* in Westgate was known for this. During discussions about organizing the local *shuls*, people spoke of preserving the smaller *minyan* because there were people who needed precisely such a place—a place where they could be seen, welcomed, and strengthened. Rav Aharon turned it into a center of *chizuk*, not merely a room in which people *davened*.

That is how his *kavod*, his *ahavah*, and his Torah became **binyan**. He built the people who came to him.

## A Kiss That Gave a Lifetime of Chizuk

There is a story about the **Yid HaKadosh** and the future **Radomsker Rebbe**. The latter was a child, saying Shir HaShirim beside his father before Shabbos. The Yid HaKadosh heard him and said that the boy was saying Shir HaShirim as though he were Shlomo HaMelech himself. He kissed the boy.

The story relates that in later years, whenever the Radomsker faced a difficult situation or doubted himself, he would recall that kiss. Someone great had seen something in him, had believed in him, and that memory continued to give him *chizuk*. [The precise historical source for the story has not been established.]

That's what Rav Aharon did. He gave people words, hugs, *brachos*, and attention that lasted long after the moment had passed. His *talmidim* can continue to draw strength from those encounters.

### His Anivus and Desire to Make Room for Others

Only a few weeks before his *petirah*, we were discussing the possibility of opening a yeshivah. Would Rav Aharon take charge of the daily details while continuing his work in Queens? Or would he give a *shiur klali* and allow younger people to run the institution?

We discussed it more than once. Then he told me, **"Shapsel, I've been a *marbitz Torah* for many years. It's time for other people to be *marbitzei Torah*."**

Hear that! It was his *shul*, his name, his *talmidim*, and his opportunity. Yet his greatest desire was not that he personally hold every position. It was that **his talmidim should succeed**. If younger people could gain confidence and grow into *marbitzei Torah*, their *hatzlachah* mattered more to him than keeping everything under his own control.

This was a true *anav*. He could step aside not from lack of strength, but because he wanted others to become strong.

## How Do We Understand Such an Early Petirah?

I want to say something that may sound sharp. I think we all need some perspective on why the Eibishter took Rav Aharon from us at such a young age. I am not claiming to know **darchei Hashem**. None of us can know that. But there are teachings of Chazal and our *gedolim* that may help us think about it.

There is a letter attributed to the Rambam, brought here with an explanation attributed to the **Chasam Sofer** on Gittin, about the *tafkid* given to each person. Every person has a specific amount of *tikkun* to accomplish in the world. When that work has been completed, his days in this world may end. The wording quoted includes **"ואשרי מי שחתם ימיו מהרה"**—fortunate is the one who completed his days quickly. [The letter and Chasam Sofer location need verification.]

Rav Aharon accomplished in his life what might take another person two hundred years. He possessed the talents, the energy, the *mesirus nefesh*, and the devotion to accomplish enormous things in a comparatively short time. We mustn't mistake the length of his life for the size of his mission.

There is one more *maamar Chazal* I want to share, and then we'll conclude.

## A Mission Completed—And a Lesson in Humility

The teaching attributed to the Rambam describes this world as a place of toil and temporary dwelling. Every person has the work allotted to him. The Chasam Sofer, as quoted here, explains that Hashem gives each individual a particular **measure of what he must accomplish**.

When I think of Rav Aharon, I think of someone who packed an extraordinary amount of learning, *psak*, teaching, concern for Klal Yisrael, and personal encouragement into a relatively short life. That is not an explanation of Hashem's secret decisions. It is simply a way of acknowledging the extraordinary **scope** of what Rav Aharon managed to do.

Now let me bring a Gemara that suggests a different perspective.

## Rabba Bar Nachmeini and the Shailah in Shamayim

In **Bava Metzia 86a**, the Gemara tells of a dispute in the Heavenly Academy concerning a case in *Hilchos Nega'im*: if there is doubt whether the *baheres* appeared before the white hair or the hair before the *baheres*, what is the *din*?

Rabba bar Nachmeini was uniquely qualified in these laws. The Gemara calls him singularly knowledgeable in *nega'im* and *ohalos*. His judgment was sought. It describes how he was so continuously immersed in learning that his departure from the world was delayed, and how, at the moment of his passing, he declared **"טהור, טהור"**.

There are further *halachic* issues connected with this account, including the rule **"לא בשמים היא"** and the relationship between the Heavenly narrative and practical *psak*. I don't want to flatten such a difficult *sugya* into a quick answer. But for our purpose, the central image is powerful: a *talmid chacham* whose unique knowledge is needed to decide a great *shaylah*.

And it makes me think about Rav Aharon's particular qualities. He understood the difficulties of Klal Yisrael. He knew how to look deeply into *halachah*. And he had personally gone through great challenges while maintaining his *emunah*. His heart was open to people who suffered.

I want to offer a **mashal**, not a claim to know the actual discussion in Shamayim. Perhaps there is a Heavenly *shaylah* about the way Klal Yisrael will come to the *Geulah*: through suffering, or through a gentler path. Who could speak from experience about the pain of Yidden, while also knowing the Torah and the ways of *psak*? Somebody like Rav Aharon would have all three qualities.

Again, this is a *derush* spoken in the pain of loss. We cannot know what takes place in Shamayim or why any particular person was taken. My prayer is that Klal Yisrael should come to the **Geulah Sheleimah without further yisurim**.

## He Is Still With Us Through His Torah

Rav Aharon is no longer physically in this *beis medrash*, but when I come here I still feel him. When I look at his writings or say over a Chumash *vort*, I hear his voice. At *shalosh seudos* I sing his *niggunim*, with the same movements and *hergesh* that I remember from him. **Rebbe lebt noch**—his influence is still alive.

Our responsibility is to make that statement true through our actions. We must take his *hanhagos*, his *ahavas HaTorah*, his care for others, and continue to *shteig*. That is the legacy he would want us to preserve.

And we owe him **hakaras hatov**. Think of the years, the hours, the difficulties he accepted to teach and guide us. The least we can do is take what he gave and give it forward. We must become *mashpia* on other people the way he was *mashpia* on us.

May his *zechus* stand for his family, his *talmidim*, and all of us. May his family find *nechamah*, and may we live with his Torah in our learning, our *tefillos*, and our treatment of others. *Yehi zichro baruch.*

## Speaker Four — Hakaras Hatov and Care for Every Yid

It is difficult to speak in a way that does justice to Rav Aharon's greatness. Even those of us who knew him understood only a part of him. But one *middah* I saw consistently was his **hakaras hatov**.

If someone did anything for him, for the *kollel*, for the *beis medrash*, or for the *kehillah*, Rav Aharon went to extraordinary lengths to show appreciation. He traveled to *simchos*, gave of his time, and made people feel that what they had done mattered to him. His gratitude was not a formality; he truly meant it.

I feel my own deep *hakaras hatov* for the nine or ten years in which I was able to be near him, learn from him, and see the way he lived.

There is an old story about a great *rebbe* returning from a period of exile. He heard that a child named Shloimele was ill and hurried toward town, thinking it was his own son. When he learned that it was another child with the same name, he slowed down. Then he stopped and reproached himself: if another Jewish child does not move me as my own son does, what has all my spiritual work accomplished? [The name of the *rebbe* is unclear in this transcription; the story's attribution requires checking.]

That is how Rav Aharon lived. **Every Yid was precious to him like a child of his own.**

When somebody asked about a difficulty in his own family, he often answered with quiet confidence, *Baruch Hashem*. Then he immediately remembered another person's child who needed a *refuah sheleimah*: "We have to *daven* for him."

After *davening*, when there was a *kiddush*, I hardly remember seeing Rav Aharon sit down to eat. He was busy making sure **everyone else** had food and felt comfortable. His mind was always on the other person's needs.

He traveled back and forth to Queens, taught for long hours, and came here exhausted only to give another *shiur* with tremendous *chiyus*. We were tired and falling asleep; he stood there with the same life and enthusiasm. For him, Torah and people were the source of energy.

That is the Rav we knew.

## His Hakaras Hatov Was Personal

I want to say a little more about Rav Aharon's *hakaras hatov*. He never viewed it as enough merely to say thank you. If somebody had helped the *shul*, the *kollel*, or any of his projects, he would go to that person's *simchah* even when it required a long drive. He wanted the person to **feel** how grateful he was.

There is a *maaseh* told about a great *rebbe* who returned from traveling and heard that a boy named Shloimele was ill. Thinking the boy was his own child, he hurried home. When he discovered it was a different child, he slowed his steps—and then rebuked himself. If he had gained anything from his spiritual work, why should a Jewish child not his own matter any less? [The identity of the *rebbe* and the original source of this story remain uncertain.]

Rav Aharon made no distinction in the value of a Yid. When someone in his own family was ill, he spoke with *bitachon*, *Baruch Hashem*, and then turned the conversation to someone else's child who needed a *refuah sheleimah*. **"We have to daven for him."**

He lived for the needs of others. At a *kiddush* in the *beis medrash* he would be moving among the people, making sure they had enough to eat, greeting everyone, seeing who needed attention. I hardly remember him sitting and eating himself.

He would travel back from Queens on Thursday night after an exhausting week, and then give a *shiur* with the same freshness and animation as though the week had just begun. He didn't allow tiredness to take away from the people who came to learn.

And I remember how he delighted in the *achdus* of the *kollel*: the Litvishe and Chassidishe *olam*, different people learning together as one group. That gave him tremendous *nachas*. This was not a small thing to him. A *beis medrash* in which Yidden from different backgrounds could learn in harmony was itself an accomplishment.

That was Rav Aharon's way: whatever separated people was less important than what brought them together around Torah.

## Ayin Tovah: Seeing the Good in Every Person

He would sometimes say, **"Teirah, Teirah—shein vi gold."** The Torah was so beautiful to him. I remember he once asked me for coffee before a *shiur*. There was no hot water and no milk. I told him I couldn't really make a proper cup. He said, "Just put some cold water in it. I need the coffee to give the shiur, not to enjoy a drink." His purpose was always the Torah and the people who came to hear it.

One theme he repeated again and again was **ayin tovah**—seeing the good in another person. He could not understand how someone who sat and learned Torah could at the same time look at another Yid with contempt. To him that was a contradiction in the very meaning of being a *ben Torah*.

I remember one Purim when a *Kohen* from the neighborhood was present. Rav Aharon asked him for a *brachah*. What *brachah* did he request? I thought perhaps that he should give more *shiurim*, understand more Torah, or have further success in *harbatzas HaTorah*. Instead, he asked: **"Give me a brachah that I should love every single Yid."**

Think about that. Rav Aharon, who already loved people so deeply, wanted more *ahavas Yisrael*. He knew there was always room to grow.

His *kavod* for *gedolim* was equally remarkable. I once went to Eretz Yisrael, and he cautioned me not to become involved in arguments about this rav or that rav. People say one is greater, another is not; he told me to keep away from the politics. They are *gedolim*, and I should honor them.

But he did not reserve respect for famous *gedolim*. Even a child who came to tell him a small *vort* was received with delight. Rav Aharon knew far more than the child, of course. That wasn't the point. He wanted the child to feel that his Torah mattered.

### The Last Vort I Heard from Him

On Purim, he discussed a question about **Esther HaMalkah**. In the Megillah, Klal Yisrael was saved and so many people emerged victorious. Yet Esther herself continued to bear the burdens of her position in Achashverosh's palace. Why should she, of all people, pay such a price?

Rav Aharon said that sometimes a great individual must go through difficult things **for the sake of the dor**. That may be part of the person's *tafkid*. I remember this as one of the last *vertlach* I heard directly from him. After his *petirah*, it sounded to me like a description of his own *mesirus nefesh* for others.

I remember another of his final *derashos*, when he spoke about a difficult situation affecting Klal Yisrael. He wept through much of the *shiur*. He said that one cannot be indifferent when fellow Jews are suffering. The **Rambam, Hilchos Taaniyos 1:3**, calls refusing to respond properly to communal suffering **"דרך אכזריות"**, a path of cruelty.

Rav Aharon felt that pain with his whole being. And he felt other people's *simchah* just as intensely. When he came to a *simchah*, he was there completely, heart and soul.

At the *kevurah*, the rain began to fall. I remember thinking that the heavens seemed to be weeping with us. That was how I felt in my grief; I am not claiming to know a heavenly cause for the rain.

## He Davened for Every Person

Rav Aharon once told me something that I have never forgotten. Some people in the neighborhood may have thought that he was too busy to remember them, or that he did not know their struggles. But he told me that he **davened for every person in the neighborhood**. He carried them with him in *tefillah*.

What we gave him was so little compared with what he gave us. May he be a *melitz yosher* for his family, his *talmidim*, and all the people who were strengthened by him. His voice, his *niggunim*, and his *tefillos* remain with us.

## Speaker Five — His Kiruv Was His Way of Teaching Torah

First of all, I want to thank those who arranged this gathering. We did not have an opportunity until now to come together and speak about the Rav zt”l, and it is a tremendous *zechus* to be here.

I have been part of this night *kollel* for the last few years, and the greatest gift I received through it was the opportunity to know Rav Aharon. I also want to thank his family. You shared your father and husband with so many others, and we owe you an immeasurable debt for that.

I hardly feel worthy of calling myself a *talmid*. There were so many aspects of the Rav that I never saw. He had his *yeshivah*, his *kehillah*, and a world of responsibility. I knew him principally through the small corner of his life that was the night *kollel*. I can only tell you what he meant to us here.

I think the foundation of his approach as a **melamed Torah** was **kiruv**—bringing the *talmid* close.

That is not to say he did not have extraordinary *chiddushim*. Of course he did. But his goal was not to compel a person to accept one of his *chiddushim*, or to make a student feel that he had failed if he did not understand. If a person asked a *kashya* and disagreed, he could say, "Fine, fine," and continue working with him. He cared more about **drawing the person into learning** than about winning an argument.

He also didn't use pressure as his main tool of *chinuch*. His *hasmadah* and *yedi'as HaTorah* were immense, but his message was not, "You must become exactly like me." He showed people that learning was something to love and something they were capable of doing.

There were two dimensions to his **kiruv**. First, the act of caring for the *talmid* was itself a lesson. Second, the Torah he taught became something different, something deeper, because it came through a real relationship.

I want to explain those two points through two sections of this week's parashah, **Behaaloscha**: **Pesach Sheini** and the episode of **Miriam and Moshe Rabbeinu**.

## Pesach Sheini: "Lamah Nigara?"

The Torah says that in the second year after leaving Mitzrayim, Klal Yisrael prepared to bring the Korban Pesach. But certain men were **temei'im lenefesh adam**, impure through contact with the dead. They came to Moshe and Aharon and asked:

**"אנחנו טמאים לנפש אדם למה נגרע לבלתי הקריב את קרבן ה' במעדו בתוך בני ישראל"** (Bamidbar 9:7).

"We are impure through contact with a dead person. Why should we be diminished and not bring Hashem's offering at its appointed time among the Children of Israel?"

What kind of question is that? They have already told us the reason: **they were tamei**. They could not bring a korban in the ordinary way. So what did they expect Moshe to answer?

There is a striking explanation attributed to the **Rosh on the Torah**, which I want to examine. The *halachah* of Korban Pesach recognizes that under certain circumstances the *tzibbur* may offer it despite *tumah*. The men were asking: why is a *yachid* considered so much less than a *tzibbur*? Why is my inability to bring the korban regarded as though only one insignificant person has lost out?

They knew they were *tamei*. But they were saying that **one individual is also an entire world**. The effect on that person's life, home, family, and future is tremendous. He cannot simply be dismissed as one among many.

And Moshe Rabbeinu responded: **"עמדו ואשמעה מה יצוה ה' לכם"** (Bamidbar 9:8). Stand, and I will hear what Hashem commands concerning you. He took their question seriously.

That is how Rav Aharon treated a person who came to him with a *shaylah*. He understood that the effect of his answer was not limited to the next five minutes. It could shape a person's family, decisions, children, and entire life.

## A Yachid Is a Whole World

Consider the people who came with the question of **"למה נגרע"**. Of course, an individual bringing a korban is not technically the same as a *tzibbur*. The *Rosh* explanation, as presented here, is a *derush* on why they felt their exclusion so keenly; its precise wording requires source verification.

But the human point is deeply true. A person may look at himself and say, "I am only one among thousands; who cares what happens to me?" Rav Aharon never saw a *talmid* that way.

When he answered a question, he saw far beyond the immediate situation. What will this mean for the man's children? For his wife? For his confidence in Torah? For the way he makes decisions twenty years from now?

He had so many demands on his time. Sometimes I would call him with a question, unsure whether he could possibly answer. If he missed the call, I would see a missed call from him a few minutes later, and sometimes another. He wanted to reach me.

When we finally spoke, he did not make me feel as if I had interrupted him. He was sorry that he had been occupied, and he wanted to know what I needed. In that moment, I understood: **I am not lost in the crowd. I matter.**

That was his way of teaching. He brought a person close and, by doing so, made him realize his own value and his own obligations.

### The Dinner He Tried to Attend

I remember an incident that captures this so vividly. I had been named one of several honorees at an organization's dinner in Brooklyn. I was not the major donor, not the principal *guest of honor*. I was, in my own estimation, one of the smaller names added to the program. I mentioned the dinner to Rav Aharon perhaps two months in advance, without expecting him to attend.

He was traveling back to Queens on Sundays, and attending the dinner would mean a long trip across Brooklyn. I assumed there was no reason for him to rearrange his schedule for me.

But the Friday before the dinner, he called: "Daniel, the dinner is this Sunday, right? Where is it? What time should I come? How does the evening work? Do these dinners run late?" He was taking it seriously. **He was coming.**

Then a snowstorm struck on Sunday. The roads became very difficult. Rav Aharon called and said he was trying to get the car out. He would ask someone to help drive. A little later, another call: perhaps they could still manage. Then another: "If I can get there in an hour, is it too late?"

He tried again and again. Eventually he called to say he couldn't make it. The roads were dangerous, and he couldn't safely get there. But instead of leaving it at that, he asked me to forgive him.

When I saw him at the next Thursday-night *shiur*, he returned to it: **"Daniel, you're *moichel* me? You know I really wanted to come."**

That was Rav Aharon. He was not apologizing because I was a great *rosh yeshivah* or a major benefactor. He was apologizing because, to him, **my little evening mattered**. For him, every *yachid* was a whole *olam*.

This is what I mean when I say that his **kiruv** was a form of teaching. He taught me the value of a person by the way he treated me.

## The Torah He Gave Over Was Different Because of His Kiruv

There was a second aspect to his way of being *mekarev*: not only did it teach us how to care about people, it changed **what the learning itself became**.

The relationship was not an extra decoration around a Torah lesson. Rav Aharon wanted to give something of himself to his *talmidim*. He wanted us to receive the way he thought, the way he weighed a *sugya*, the way he lived with the Ribbono Shel Olam.

I want to explain that through the end of **Parashas Behaaloscha**, where Miriam and Aharon speak about Moshe Rabbeinu.

The Torah records their question: **"הרק אך במשה דבר ה' הלא גם בנו דבר"** (Bamidbar 12:2). Has Hashem spoken only through Moshe? Has He not spoken through us as well?

Rashi and the *Rishonim* explain their concern in relation to Moshe's separation from his wife. Why should Moshe live differently from other *nevi'im*? They too received prophecy and had family lives. Moshe's unique level of *nevuah* required him to be continuously available to Hashem.

But notice how Hashem answers them. In the *pesukim*, the emphasis is not simply that Moshe must be available to receive occasional messages. Hashem says:

**"לא כן עבדי משה בכל ביתי נאמן הוא. פה אל פה אדבר בו"** (Bamidbar 12:7–8).

Moshe's relationship with the Ribbono Shel Olam is **different in kind**, not merely in frequency. He is faithful in all Hashem's house. Hashem speaks with him *peh el peh*.

What does this teach us about Torah? A message can be transmitted as a list of instructions: do this, do not do that. But Torah is not only a set of directions. Torah is something deeper, a sharing of the divine will and closeness to Hashem.

There are teachings of Chazal that describe the inseparable closeness of **Kudsha Brich Hu, Oraysa, and Yisrael**, and the gift of Torah as a gift bound up with Hashem Himself. Such Torah cannot be reduced to detached commands.

I want to suggest that this is why Moshe's constant *kirvah* to Hashem mattered so much. His relationship was the channel through which Torah could be given over at its deepest level.

And *lehavdil*, Rav Aharon's *kirvah* to his *talmidim* meant that he was not only delivering information. **He was giving us the Torah as something alive within himself.**

## A Rebbe Who Shared His Torah Without Holding Anything Back

Rav Aharon didn't keep certain things hidden until a student had proved himself. He brought us into *sugyos* and *she'eilos* that many other teachers might never have discussed with us.

When we learned **Hilchos Yichud**, he came with lists upon lists of real questions and scenarios. "You have to know this. What if it happens this way? What about that situation?" He wasn't showing off the complicated cases he had dealt with. He wanted **us** to know how to think.

Once he related an unusual question involving a possible *chashash kiddushin* in a completely unexpected setting, apparently at a sporting event. He worked through the sides of the *sugya* with us. He wanted to share his experience and the method of applying the Torah to real situations.

### Who May Enter the Beis Medrash?

The *Aruch HaShulchan* discusses the rule that one should not teach Torah to a **talmid she'eino hagun**, an unworthy student. The Rambam writes in *Hilchos Talmud Torah* (4:1) that such a student must first be directed to correct his conduct. But there is the famous Gemara in **Berachos 28a**: when Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah became *nasi*, the guard at the entrance was removed and permission was given for more students to enter the *beis medrash*.

How do those teachings fit together? Must a person first prove himself worthy, or can the invitation to enter help turn him into a worthy *talmid*? The *poskim* distinguish different situations, and the precise treatment in the *Aruch HaShulchan* needs checking inside.

Rav Aharon's way of dealing with people answered the human part of that question. When he met someone, he did not begin with an examination: how much do you know? How learned are you? He **believed** in that person. His *kiruv* drew the person toward Torah. He made the *talmid* want to become better.

I used to ask him for advice about my future: should I pursue this kind of work, this position, or something else? Often he would answer, "Daniel, just do what the Eibishter wants."

He would tell me about difficulties in his own life—positions that hadn't worked out, plans that went differently than expected. Then he would point to his family and his *yeshivah*, blessings he never could have predicted. "I did the simple thing," he told me. "I asked the Ribbono Shel Olam to guide me."

Sometimes I wanted a more specific answer. But over time I understood his deeper *hadrachah*: **make your life an effort to follow Hashem's will**, even when you cannot see exactly where the road will lead.

Rav Aharon saw potential in people when they could not see it in themselves. We must take that *limud* from him. Do not give up on somebody. Do not give up on yourself. Draw people close to Torah and help them grow.

*Yehi zichro baruch.*

## Speaker Six — The Gift of His Chumash Shiur

Although Rav Walkin spent most of the week in Queens, his time with the *bnei Torah* here in Lakewood brought him extraordinary **simchah**, *sipuk*, and *chizuk*.

I owe a special debt to **Reb Shapsi**. Years ago I told him I needed a *rebbe*. He said, "I have a *rebbe* for you. Come to a Chumash *shiur* in Westgate." I came on a Thursday night, around Parashas Bamidbar, and immediately felt drawn to Rav Aharon.

I remember a tragic incident involving a young boy in the area that caused Rav Aharon terrible pain. On Tishah b'Av morning, reading the *haftarah* from Yirmiyahu, he reached the words **"כי עלה מות בחלונינו בא בארמנותינו להכרית עולל מחוץ בחורים מרחבות"** (Yirmiyahu 9:20). He broke down crying. The pain of that loss was still with him.

Coming back into this room after his *petirah* was terribly difficult. So many times I had walked in and seen his smile, heard his warm greeting, and received *chizuk*. Now we gather in the same room for *divrei hesped*.

We lost someone immense in Torah, *lomdus*, *hasmadah*, *halachah*, mussar, *emunah*, and *bein adam lachaveiro*. Perhaps we never understood how much we had while he was here.

## A Rebbe Who Welcomed Us as His Own Children

More than two months have passed since Rav Aharon's *petirah*, and I cannot think of a day when he has not been on my mind. Sometimes I still reach for the phone because I have a *vort* I want to share with him. Then I remember that I cannot call him.

We went through two *Yamim Tovim* without him. We missed more than a *shiur*. We missed the preparation he gave us—the way he explained the **mahus** of a Yom Tov, the meaning of its mitzvos, and the spiritual growth we should take from it.

Every *talmid* felt as though Rav Aharon was his father. The warmth extended to our children. I have videos from Purim of him giving my children *brachos* and hugging them as if they were his own. I asked one son what he remembered. He said that he used to cry when Rav Aharon gave him a *brachah* on Purim. The connection was that deep.

Even his mussar was delivered with affection. He repeated a *vort* from his *zeide* on Aharon HaKohen lifting his hands to bless Klal Yisrael. We know **"שמאל דוחה וימין מקרבת"**—the left hand pushes away and the right draws near. A teacher sometimes needs both firmness and closeness. But the *vort* emphasized that the *Kohanim*, whose task was to bless **באהבה**, could accomplish through closeness what others might require sharpness to achieve.

That was Rav Aharon. His mussar was **yemin mekareves**. He corrected us while making us feel more loved, not less.

## "Ein Li Makir" — What Have We Lost?

I was saying Tehillim and reached a pasuk in **Mizmor 142**:

**"הבט ימין וראה ואין לי מכיר אבד מנוס ממני אין דורש לנפשי"** (Tehillim 142:5).

"Look to my right and see: there is no one who recognizes me; refuge has been lost to me; no one seeks out my soul."

Those three expressions—**makir**, **manos**, and **doresh lenafshi**—capture what Rav Aharon was for us and what we now feel we have lost.

He was our **makir**. He knew us. Sometimes before we began to explain what troubled us, he understood. He could tell whether we came with a *kashya*, a personal difficulty, or a *vort*. His advice was so precise because he understood the person asking.

He was our **doresh lenafshi**. Our worries became his worries. Our pain became his pain. Our *simchah* was his *simchah*, and our success brought him pride.

And he was our **manos**, our refuge. When something went wrong, he was the first person we wanted to call. He gave comfort, *hadrachah*, and a sense of Hashem's *hashgachah* even in pain.

He believed in his *talmidim*. I remember him saying that this *kollel* was full of younger men who would become **marbitzei Torah**. I don't know how he knew what each of us could become, but that is how he saw us.

When I was leaving yeshivah and considering work, he sat with me and discussed possible careers. When we reached something he did not know enough about, he picked up the phone and called people: what does this position involve, how many hours, what kind of income? He did what a father would do for a son.

No wonder the words **"אין לי מכיר ... אבד מנוס ממני ... אין דורש לנפשי"** strike so deeply now. He filled all three roles for us.

## Chinuch Means Living What You Teach

There's a thought of **Rav Schwab** about Manoach and Shimshon that Rav Aharon used to connect with *chinuch*: a parent cannot simply tell a child to live with spiritual standards while personally living by different standards. The home must embody the values being taught. [The exact Rav Schwab source was not identified.]

Rav Aharon said something similar on **Parashas Emor**. The Torah says **"אמור אל הכהנים בני אהרן ואמרת אלהם"** (Vayikra 21:1). Why the double expression, **"אמור ... ואמרת"**? Rashi brings **"להזהיר גדולים על הקטנים"**, adults being responsible for the younger ones.

Rav Aharon explained that a *Kohen* who wants his children to live with the special *kedushah* of *kehunah* must live that *kedushah* himself. Children absorb the unspoken messages of a home. They see what parents take seriously.

He told a pointed *maaseh* about a *rebbe* who asked his students what was more important than Torah. Every child answered, "Nothing." Then one boy said, "Cholent." The *rebbe* was shocked. The child explained that whenever he shared a *vort* at the Shabbos table, his father told him to wait until after the cholent.

The story makes the point: **children learn from what we actually do, not only from what we announce**.

Rav Aharon's life was a *dugmah*. He didn't merely describe *ahavas HaTorah*; we saw it. He didn't merely teach *emunah*; he lived with the Ribbono Shel Olam.

### Living with Hashgachah Pratis

I remember a small *vaad* in which we learned from **Daas Torah** of Reb Yerucham. Rav Aharon knew the passages so well that when his son read them, he corrected the slightest deviation. We were learning about **hashgachah pratis**, Hashem's personal involvement in our lives.

Rav Aharon told a childhood story. His family was in Eretz Yisrael for the summer, and because of the timing of Elul he needed to return to America for yeshivah. He was young and frightened of flying alone. The family learned that **Rav Shneur Kotler** might be on the same flight, and asked him to look after the boy.

At the airport, Rav Aharon looked around and could not find him. He became anxious. Then he saw Rav Shneur and felt immediate relief. Rav Shneur took him by the hand and helped him through the journey.

Rav Aharon used this to explain **hashgachah pratis**. A frightened child feels safe when someone dependable takes his hand. The Ribbono Shel Olam, too, is present in our lives, holding our hand through situations we cannot control.

That was how Rav Aharon lived.

## The Emotions Behind His Torah

When he spoke about Torah, his *ahavas HaTorah* and *simchas HaTorah* were visible. When he mentioned a *talmid chacham*, you heard his *kavod*. When he spoke about *bein adam lachaveiro*, the sensitivity was unmistakable.

And when he spoke of the *Churban*, *Galus*, and *tzaar HaShechinah*, he could barely contain his tears. If you never heard him read **Eichah**, you missed something extraordinary.

He would cry as he read, then explain the *kinnos* until *chatzos*, exhausting himself. Once I heard he had not slept the previous night. When asked why, he answered, **"Who can sleep on Tishah b'Av?"**

When he sang **Eli Tziyon**, it was with a cry of anguish. In later years I could not always attend the whole reading of *kinnos*, but I would come just to hear him sing it.

Every *sugya* was alive for him. Every *Yom Tov* was alive. Every other Yid's pain was alive. That is the *dugmah* he left us.

## An Ayin Tovah That Could Not Dismiss Anyone

We could speak for hours about his **ahavas Yisrael**. Rav Aharon saw the good in everybody. He was especially troubled by the way one person can belittle another with a dismissive sound or a single word—*eh!*—as though the other person's Torah or efforts were worthless.

He spoke about it often in his later *shiurim*. It was the opposite of who he was. When a person's name came up, Rav Aharon could scarcely say it without adding a compliment: "He's such a *tzaddik*," or "He has such good Torah." He wanted the person to be seen with an **ayin tovah**.

### The Open House in His Grandparents' Home

Rav Aharon often told stories about the *hachnasas orchim* in his parents' and grandparents' homes. His grandparents in Queens invited needy people for Shabbos meals. Some were deeply troubled or had no stable home. Rav Aharon grew up seeing them treated as honored guests.

He told a story about going to camp as a boy and discovering that people sang **Shalom Aleichem** before Kiddush. When he returned home, he told his grandfather about this surprising practice. In his grandfather's home, when needy guests sat at the table, they went straight to Kiddush rather than keep hungry people waiting. He explained this as connected with a *minhag* of the **Chofetz Chaim**: when people need to eat, their dignity and comfort come first. [The precise textual attribution of this custom requires verification.]

When those guests left, his grandfather would thank **them** for coming. The guest was made to feel he had done the host a favor. The host was grateful for the opportunity to do a mitzvah.

Rav Aharon treated his *talmidim* in the same way. When we attended his *shiur*, he behaved as though **we were doing him a favor** by coming. He valued us so much that listening to him seemed, in his eyes, a gift we were giving him.

When I went to speak with him, he might begin discussing something personal of his own. He treated me like a *chaver*, an equal whose thoughts mattered. Even if we never reached my original question, I came away strengthened because he had shown me so much *chashivus*.

I also heard of an incident in which someone came angrily with complaints and tried to draw him into a *machlokes*. Rav Aharon smiled and said, in effect, "You think you're going to fight with me? You can't." He simply refused to make an enemy of another Yid.

## "The Rebbe Goes into Galus with His Talmid"

I want to end with a *halachah* I never fully appreciated until now.

The **Rambam, Hilchos Rotzeach uShemiras Nefesh 7:1**, writes that if a *talmid* must go into exile to an *ir miklat*, **his rebbe goes with him**. The source is the requirement **"וחי"**—arrangements must be made for him to live. The Rambam explains that for those pursuing wisdom, a life without Torah learning is considered like death.

I used to ask: why must the *rebbe* accompany him? Can't he find another *rebbe* there? The *halachah* sounded almost impossible.

Now I understand. **You cannot simply replace the Torah of your rebbe.** His *hadrachah*, the way he understands you, the way he helps you live—those are not interchangeable.

What will we do without Rav Aharon at our side? Who will help us interpret the difficult moments of life? I don't have an easy answer. But I want to close with a *vort* from Rav Aharon that offers a little *nechamah*.

## "The Final Chapter Hasn't Been Written"

Rav Aharon once gave a *shiur* called **"The Final Chapter Hasn't Been Written."** It was connected with **Shiras Chana**, the difficulties Chana endured, and how Hashem raises a person out of hardship. He spoke about how *nisyonos* can lift a person and shape who he becomes.

He brought a *vort* attributed to the **Skulener Rebbe** on **"ברוך גוזר ומקיים"**. We usually understand the phrase to mean that Hashem decrees and fulfills His decree. But the *vort* hears something additional in **ומקיים**: Hashem **sustains us through the decree**. He gives us the strength to endure what we face. [The printed source of this interpretation remains unverified.]

Rav Aharon gave a *mashal* of a father teaching his child to swim. The child is frightened by the water, but the father holds him, saying, "I've got you. Don't worry. I've got you."

Life is like swimming in an ocean. There are waves, and sometimes it is frightening. But the Ribbono Shel Olam holds us up. He is with us through the *nisyonos*.

Now we must go into the ocean of life without Rav Aharon physically holding our hand. That is terribly difficult. But he **taught us how to swim**. His Torah, his *emunah*, his *middos*, and his *hadrachah* remain with us. We have to carry those teachings into the future.

May we be able to live what he taught.

## Speaker Seven — A Neighbor's Memories

I want to say a few brief things. Rav Walkin was a **kolbo**—a person who contained so much within himself. His knowledge of Shas and *halachah*, his *middos*, and the many parts of his personality were extraordinary.

I became his neighbor some years ago. There was a *shul* behind my house, and I started *davening* there without realizing how much Rav Aharon would become part of my life.

One thing struck me: **his anivus**. He spent the week in Queens, where he had a yeshivah and enormous responsibilities. I heard from others what a central figure he was there. But when we spoke about local matters in the *shul*, or what needed to be done in the neighborhood, he never said, "You have no idea how much else I do." He didn't try to impress us with his standing elsewhere.

His *ahavas Yisrael* was beyond what I was accustomed to. I brought family and guests to the *shul*, and they immediately noticed it. Even people who knew many *rabbanim* commented on how warmly he treated everybody. It was genuine and constant.

Then came the night of his *petirah*. We could see the emergency vehicles from our home. It is still hard to believe. Sometimes when I hear his sons saying Kaddish, the words come to me: **"Nisht tzu gloiben"**—I cannot believe it.

He was so alive, so present, so filled with energy. It is hard to accept that he has left us. But there is an expression of his that I have taken with me since that night.

## "It's All Good"

There is one expression Rav Aharon used so often that I can still hear his voice saying it:

**"It's all good. It's all good."**

He would say it with such confidence, even when circumstances were difficult. He wasn't pretending that nothing hurt. He was living with the Ribbono Shel Olam, believing that a person must find a way forward with *emunah*.

Since his *petirah*, I repeat those words many times during the day. When something becomes difficult, when I think of him and feel the shock of the loss, I hear his voice: **"It's all good."**

There may be a *halachic* or *hashkafic* source connected with that expression, but the transcript here is too unclear to establish the exact passage. I won't guess at a source.

What I know is how much strength those words have given me. A person can carry an entire *mahalach hachayim* in a few words. This is something we can all take from him.

May Rav Aharon be a *melitz yosher* for his family, his extended family, this *kollel*, the *shul*, and all of Klal Yisrael. May we continue to live with his *ahavas HaTorah*, his *ahavas Yisrael*, and his *emunah*.

*Yehi zichro baruch.*