My Eulogy for Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l (5/30/22)

This is the text of the eulogy I gave for my beloved rebbi, Rabbi Morton Moskowitz zt"l, at Sephardic Bikur Cholim (in Seattle, WA) on Erev Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5782 (May 30th, 2022).

May 18, 2023

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This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Marci in loving memory of Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l with gratitude for enriching the lives of his many students.

This week's Torah content has also been sponsored by my mom, Terri Schneeweiss, in loving memory of Rabbi Moskowitz for showing us the light of Reality and giving us the courage and confidence to grow (and warmest aloha to Leya).

Click here for a printer-friendly version, click here for the video, and click here for the podcast version.

me delivering Rabbi Moskowitz’s eulogy at Sephardic Bikur Cholim

My Eulogy for Rabbi Moskowitz zt"l (5/30/22)

Rabbi Moskowitz was my rav muvhak: my main rebbi. Halacha defines rav muvhak as the teacher from whom you learned the majority of your chochmah (wisdom). Upon the death of a rav muvhak, the talmid (student) is obligated to tear their garment in the same way they would tear for the death of a parent. The source of this law is from a story about Eliyahu ha’Navi, and his prophetic disciple, Elisha. Upon witnessing Eliyahu’s heavenly departure, Elisha cries out, “avi, avi, rechev Yisroel u’farashav!“ (“my father, my father – Israel’s chariot and horsemen!”) after which the verse continues: “[Elisha] grabbed his garments and tore them into two pieces.”

One of the first ideas I learned from Rabbi Moskowitz was about King Solomon’s use of the term “son” throughout Sefer Mishlei (The Book of Proverbs). Rabbi Moskowitz explained that there are three types of father-son relationships. One is determined by genetics. Another by upbringing and parenting. The third is the unique relationship that exists between a teacher and his students. Ralbag explains that just as a biological father produces the physical body of his son, a rebbi produces the intellect – the soul – of his talmid. It is for this reason that one is obligated to honor one’s rebbi than one’s father. Rambam explains why: “because your father brought you into Olam ha’Zeh (This World), but your rav who taught you chochmah brings you into Olam ha’Ba (The World to Come).”

How many of us have been brought into Olam ha’Ba by Rabbi Moskowitz? How many of us were introduced to The World of Ideas and the beauty of Torah through the clarity of his teachings? How many of us can identify an exact moment in time – whether during a class, a discussion, or a Q&A – which, in retrospect, marked a crossroads and a turning point in our lives? When I flew back to Seattle yesterday, I had to think about what I would say if my seat partner asked me why I was crying. It dawned on me that the most accurate way to convey my anguish to a stranger, who doesn’t understand the nature of a rebbi-talmid relationship, would be to say: “my father died.” Rabbi Fox acknowledged this fact in the tribute he sent out yesterday, writing that Rabbi Moskowitz “is survived by his wife, Leya, and by hundreds of students who were his children.”

Rabbi Moskowitz didn’t just bring us into Olam ha’ba, but also Olam ha’Zeh. How? In so many ways. By teaching us Mishlei. By showing us how to make decisions with chochmah to maximize the pleasure and minimize the pain we experience in This World. By teaching us that if you forego an opportunity to enjoy a permissible and harmless pleasure, then God will hold you accountable for not enjoying the world He created. By listening patiently to our problems and offering practical advice and psychological counsel to alleviate our suffering and facilitate our happiness. Rabbi Moskowitz showed us that learning can be filled with laughter and jokes. He showed us that there is a time for Torah and a time for tiddlywinks. Depending on what era you were from, he may have taken you camping and hiking, taught how to chop wood and build fires, and maybe even blasted you with a super-soaker. Years ago, Doug Taylor wrote a series of articles about a fictional character modeled after Rabbi Moskowitz named The King of Rational Thought. When asked how best to live, the King replied: “Just do the right thing and enjoy yourself.” Both elements are critical.

Why does Elisha refer to his rebbi as “Israel’s chariot and its horsemen”? Abravanel writes: “Eliyahu stood with his nation and fought against the enemies of Israel with more power than a chariot and riders.” Those of us who have benefited from Rabbi Moskowitz’s wisdom are aware of how many antagonistic forces he has saved us from, both from without and from within. My brother, Jonny, once expressed to Rabbi Moskowitz a sentiment that many of us have felt. He wrote: “If I imagine never having met you, I honestly don't know where I'd be. There are so many unhealthy lives you prevented me from living.” My mom really sums it up the best whenever she talks about the impact Rabbi Moskowitz has had on her life: “Thank God for Rabbi Moskowitz teaching me about reality.”

Before Eliyahu ascends to the heavens he asks Elisha, “What can I do for you?” Elisha responds: vi’yhee na pi shenayim b’ruchacha elai. Most commentators translate this as: “please, let a double portion of your spirit be upon me.” The Abravanel is bothered by this interpretation, commenting: “How could Elisha be so brazen as to ask to be greater than his rebbi?” Rabbi Moskowitz would not have been bothered by such a request. He took satisfaction in watching his students challenge his ideas. His greatest wish was for his students to become greater than him. He used to say with a smile, “I’m teaching you methodology of thinking so that one day you’ll be able to use it against me to defeat me.” And I’ll always remember those times when Rabbi Moskowitz would look wistfully into the air and say, “One of my greatest achievements was making Rabbi Fox.”

The Abravanel offers his own interpretation of Elisha’s request. He explains that pi shenayim doesn’t mean “a double portion,” but literally “two mouths.” The Abravanel gives poignant expression to Elisha’s thoughts, saying: “Until now, it was just the two of us alone together. We used to talk together all the time about matters of Torah, God, and chochmah. There was no one else but the two of us … but what am I going to do once you leave me?

This resonated deeply with me. My relationship with Rabbi Moskowitz began when I came to NYHS in 11th grade. I had my first class with him right around the time I converted to Judaism. This learning relationship extended beyond school hours to the classes he gave at his house on Sundays and during the summer. Those sessions were the highlights of my summers and exposed me to the type of relaxed, casual, banter-filled learning that epitomizes Rabbi Moskowitz’s joyous approach to Torah. Equally good were the discussions we’d have afterwards, for endless hours in the infinity of the Seattle summer afternoons. After the untimely passing of Shmully (a”h), Rabbi Moskowitz gradually stopped giving public classes, but a handful of his talmidim continued learning with him. Eventually, even these group learning sessions stopped. Then it was just me and him “alone together” – sometimes in person, and sometimes on the phone; sometimes every week, and sometimes every day. It was during that transitionary period that I ceased viewing Rabbi Moskowitz as “just” my rebbi. I realized that he had become one of my best friends. In that sense, I feel like Elisha must have felt. I just want to hang out with him again, talking about life and ideas and the life of ideas with my dear and irreplaceable friend, my rebbi chaver. And the amazing thing is: I know that my experience wasn’t unique. Rabbi Moskowitz cultivated so many individual relationships like this in each and every generation of his talmidim. He had a gift for making each of us feel special.

What, exactly, was Elisha asking for in his request for “two mouths”? Abravanel explains: “Up until now we spoke mouth to mouth (i.e. face to face), but from now and on, let your spirit speak with me in prophecy, just like we used to do in person.” I don’t fully grasp what the Abravanel means, but I do know how it applies in the case of Rabbi Moskowitz. Not a day goes by that I don’t quote Rabbi Moskowitz in my own shiurim. His voice is with me in the questions I ask, the answers I give, and in my relationships with my talmidim. When I shared the Zoom info for the levaya with my talmidim yesterday, I underscored this fact by borrowing a line from R’ Akiva and applying it to Rabbi Moskowitz: she’li ve’she’lachem she’lo hu – “your Torah and my Torah belong to him.” And yes, I even have his literal voice with me on my phone in my favorite voicemail I saved from him which he begins with the words: “Hey Matt. This is your yetzer ha’ra speaking.” And let me tell you, if Rabbi Moskowitz is the voice of your yetzer ha’ra, then that’s a pretty good deal.

It is impossible to fully express the magnitude of what we have lost. It is impossible to fully express my gratitude for what Rabbi Moskowitz has given me, along with all his other sons and daughters. All I can do is to cry out: “avi, avi, rechev Yisroel u’farashav.” On behalf of all his children, I want to say: “thank you, rebbi u’mori v’avi, for the lives you have given us.”

If you have any thoughts on this or any of your own memories of Rabbi Moskowitz you’d like to share, I would love to hear them! I’ll make sure they reach Mrs. Moskowitz as well.

The Rabbi Schneeweiss Substack

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