There is a place of tears
A hall
A palace
A Heichal
Where I meet Reb Shlomo.
His raspy voice never moved me
His music folksy and repetitive
Never inspired my “sophisticated” classical musical Critical ear.
But when he speaks
My tears well up
Every time…
I cannot explain it.
In this hall of tears
Heichal hadima’ot
Things make sense
And life takes on a tragic but real quality
And his words ring out with TRUTH
Like none others.
In this hall of tears
My life is brought into perspective
So rare in the clutter and noise of daily living
And the chasing of things of no import.
His insistence on the majesty of the Jewish soul Without trite answers to the
philosophical questions. This gives me hope
After all the words have failed.
His teaching is so simple
Worthy of the Holy Baal Shem Tov
The search for the real question
Is a life-‐time quest
A heroic quest
And that question is not “what” but “who” [1]
Abraham asks “who” is the master?
Responsible for the burning inferno?
The Holocaust back then
And the one within;
Only then, for the first time in history
The midrashic divine responds
“I am the master” “ani baal habira”
Insufficient a response to the inquiry
But sufficient to establish a connection.
Those tears arise from a deep grief
That my life, and yours
Has within its core
this unbelievable tragedy
That only he understood
in his songs
his raspy voice
And his Toirah
And his hug.
Shlomo never really answered your questions-‐
On the surface that is-‐
For the question you may have asked him
Triggered within him
An autobiographical question he must have once posed
So the answer was as much his own response
To his own question.
But his insistence that the answer was also good for you
Was enough
Of a comfort,
That he too had struggles with the same issue
The same pain, like the Baal Habira.
Tormented by the Six Million
Like no other, he bore it in his guitar,
It haunted his melodies,
Did you ever see him laugh?
Did you ever not see the sadness in his melody?
The tears and the madness
Moishe-‐gut-‐Shabbes haunted his strings.
His music and his Toirah
Was the response to the tears
His life was the response
He saw the “Birah Doleket”
“The Pain is so infinite”
he once said:
“you could sing it for 10000 years non stop
and then maybe we will have covered the first second of pain”
Who else introduced us to the world of Rebbe Nachman and the Izhbitzer?
Who else taught us that Chassidus meant more than Chabad?
That connection to another Yid was as important as davening?
That singing was as important as leining noch a blatt?
“Ani Baal Habira!”
Sometimes I think he felt like he was the only one alive
Like Abraham his forefather
Who felt the presence of the Mayor of the burning city
Whose Presence
Tormented him
With his gaze
“Ani Baal Habira!”
18 years ago
he died
and without him
there is no prophet
to kill us with kindness
and hug us with unconditional love
and the streets of New York
have never been the same
and the homeless
have no Rabbi since
to pitch in a dollar or two.
Like the Kalever Rebbe
Whose funeral cortege was accompanied by hundreds of shepherds
We once again relive
His memory
And accompany him
We beggars, and thieves
We the nameless flock
Who live in fear
Of authority and social pressure.
His soul was unique
His mission was singular
His silent talmidim
Now remember
And sing.
I can only connect to him in this hall of tears
So today I pray:
לפני בעל הרחמים.משמיעי תפילה השמיעו תפילתנו לפני שומע מכניסי רחמים הכניסו רחמינו
תפילה. משמיעי צעקה השמיעו צעקתינו לפני שומע צעקה. השתחוו והרבו תחינה ובקשה לפני
ל רם ונישא.-מלך א
[1]
לאחר יצחק 'ר אמר (יא מה תהלים) אביך ובית עמך ושכחי אזנך והטי וראי בת שמעי פתח יצחק 'ר .'וגו לך לך אברהם אל י"י ויאמר (א) יב א
לפי כך ,הבירה בעל הוא אני לו אמר הבירה בעל הציץ ,מנהיג בלא היתה שבירה תאמר אמר ,דולקת אחת בירה וראה למקום ממקום עובר שהיה
תהלים שם שם) יפיך המלך ויתאו ,העולם כל אדון המנהיג הוא אני לו אמר ה"הקב הציץ ,מנהיג בלי שהעולם תאמר אומר אבינו אברהם שהיה
אברהם אל י"י ויאמר (ה"מ תהלים שם שם) לו והשתחוי אדניך הוא כי ,בעולם ליפותך (יב ה"מ
