In honor of HaRav Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin’s 4th yartzeit

I met HaRav Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin zt’l at Temple Israel, an orthodox shul in Springfield, one Shabbat morning 30 years ago, while I was still in the 12-month mourning period after the loss of my dad.

A man whom I had never met before came into shul with his son. He wore a threadbare black suit and a large black hat. A scraggly beard framed his face. They asked if he would lead services and he humbly accepted.

He put on his gartel (the belt worn by the ultra-Orthodox when they daven, which separates the pure from the profane, the intellect from man’s baser instincts), walked up to the shtender, and began.

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I couldn’t believe my ears. His voice was cracking, he was in and out of tune, and I sat there listening in disbelief. I wasn’t allowed to lead minyan on Shabbat, I was a mourner, but where did they dig this guy up from?

The man’s davening continued, and after about 10 minutes I turned off my ears and turned on my heart. The aura that surrounded the man praying that Shabbat morning, Rabbi Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin, was so palpable that not only was I completely drawn into his world, I was drawn into his soul. I had never in my life experienced that depth of soulfulness, those heights of spirituality.

We spoke at the kiddush when services ended, and he told me that he was the head of a kollel (an institute for full-time advanced study of the Talmud and rabbinic literature) in Springfield, and if I ever needed a minyan to say kaddish for my dad, Maariv, the night service, started at 9.

It is important for the soul of the deceased that the immediate mourners lead the service, but Rav Sorotzkin told me, with no disrespect intended, that even though I davened beautifully, he always led.

One night I missed the late prayers, so I drove over to Springfield. Rav Eliyahu Meir gave me a big hug, told me how happy he was to see me, walked up to the lectern, and began.

He was caught up in each of the opening 19 or 20 words of the evening prayers with more intensity than I had ever felt before.

The translation of the opening prayer is: God is merciful and grants atonement for sins. He does not destroy us. He restrains his wrath and does not let his rage consume him. Save us, God. Answer us, our King, when we call. (There is a mystical reason for this because that sentence is associated with warding off malicious spiritual entities, and nighttime is more propitious for these forces.) We do not want them to intercede or cause damage to our prayer, so we begin the evening prayer with this verse to keep those forces in abeyance. (Source: Zohar II 135b).

The first words — And He is merciful — in Hebrew are V’hu rachum, and when I lead all 19 or 20 words are done in less than 10 seconds. That wasn’t the case when Rav Eliyahu Meir led.

Services that night were close to 50 minutes — 30 minutes longer than when I lead — and I wished Rav Eliyahu Meir a yasher koach — which means thank you, good job, or congratulations — said goodnight, and drove home.

He invited me for Simchat Torah, and since we were celebrating in Springfield anyway, a few of us walked over to the kollel to rejoice with him, his family, and his students.

He stood over the Torah, motioned for me to come over to him, and grabbed my hand firmly.

There are seven circles — hakafot — as we dance around the shul, with the Torahs in the air, and Rab Sorotzkin still held my hand tightly.

It was close to one a.m. when we started the third or forth hakafa, and he wasn’t letting go of me. Finally, the sweat running down our arms reached our hands, and mine slipped out of his grasp.

I wished him a gut yontif, smiled, and left.

We spent many joyous hours together. He wanted me to come to his kollel and study with one of his older students. You are the only chavrusa (study partner) that I want to work with, I said.

There are many more stories that still resonate with me about this tzadik (not all of them are about his righteousness), but that Shabbat morning, the first time I met Rav Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

There is no doubt in my mind that his resting place is with every Lamed Vavnik who ever existed. (Lamed-Vavniks are the group of 36 righteous people who, Jewish mysticism tells us, protect the world from destruction. Lamed Vavnik means “thirty-sixer.” The letters Lamed and Vav have numerical values of 30 and 6, respectively, which add up to 36.)

Rabbi Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin lived his life yirat shamayim (in awe of or in fear of Heaven) and yirat cheyt (fear of sin). The word yirat is also translated as to see, so in either case, that person can see Heaven (referring to God) and see how bad sin really is.

Rav Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin, zt’l, is bound up in the bonds of life eternal, and I pray that each and every one of you meet your own Rav Eliyahu Meir Sorotzkin. That meeting will change your life.

Cantor/Rabbi Lenny Mandel, who left the wilds of Manhattan almost 50 years ago and lives in West Orange, has been the hazan at Congregation B’nai Israel in Emerson for the past quarter century.