Articles
The Mashgiach’s Heart
January 16, 2025
A conversation with Rabbi Binyomin Jacobs, R”M in Mesivta Keren HaTorah and son-in-law of the mashgiach
Shaya Saposh
Rav Matisyahu’s humility, kindness, and love for every Yid were visible in the way he spoke, the way he interacted with others, and the way he carried himself. His ability to connect with even the smallest child was unparalleled.
The people felt his love, and they responded. People would rush not only to ask Rav Matisyahu she’eilos, but to offer any form of help they could. They simply loved being around the mashgiach.
As Rav Jacobs remarked at the recent Torah Umesorah convention, “When you went in to ask him for advice, you left not only with a response, but with a relationship.”
Thrust into the role
“While Rav Matisyahu embodied the quintessential mashgiach in many ways, it wasn’t the path that he had originally set out on,” R’ Binyomin tells me candidly.
He’s quick to clarify. “This is not to say that he had no leanings toward the mussar approach. That he chose to learn by Rav Elya Lopian in Knesses Chizkiyahu, while the preferred destination for boys his age were Ponovezh and Mir, is testament to that.”
Rav Yehuda Jacobs once said, “We learn mussar. Rav Matisyahu is mussar.”
“He lived it,” R’ Binyomin explains. “It was so real to him.”
After his marriage, Rav Matisyahu learned in Kollel Harabbonim of Gateshead, one of the most prominent kollelim in all of Europe. “He learned b’hasmadah rabbah and was kol kulo shakuah in his learning,” R’ Binyomin says.
Rav Matisyahu’s entry into the “mashgiach world,” as R’ Binyomin puts it, was in his early 30s when the Gateshead roshei yeshivah, Rav Leib Lopian and Rav Leib Gurvitz, offered him a position as mashgiach of the yeshivah alongside Rav Moshe Schwab.
Reluctant to accept, he sought the advice of the Steipler Gaon. The Steipler’s answer was emphatic. He should—and must—accept the job. “Rav Matisyahu had tremendous emunas chachamim. He would always consult with gedolim and do as they said,” Rav Binyomin says.
Often, he elaborates, people ask advice because they lack a definitive opinion of their own. “My shver had a definitive mind of his own,” he says with a smile. “But he was always ready to be mekabel.”
For the next ten years, Rav Matisyahu would return to the Steipler every single year and ask if he could step down as mashgiach and return to the beis medrash. Every year, the Steipler told him, “No.”
Retirement
When Rav Matisyahu accepted the roshei yeshivah’s invitation to become mashgiach in Bais Medrash Gavoah 26 years ago, he never fathomed the position it would eventually become.
“He told me that he actually thought he was coming for a semi-retirement.” R’ Binyomin laughs.
“He’d been offered the position ten years prior,” he shares. “However, he declined then. Throughout the following 10 years, Rav Nosson Wachtfogel, the mashgiach at the time, was pushing hard for him to come. Various things shifted in the course of the decade, and eventually, he decided to accept the offer.”
In fact, many people were shocked at his decision. They asked Rav Matisyahu, “What are you going for? No one will come to the schmuess.” Despite this, the mashgiach was determined. “If only a hundred bachurim come to the schmooze, I’ll be happy,” R’ Binyomin remembers him saying.
As we know, his schmuessen were given in rooms packed with over a thousand bachurim and yungerleit eager to glean from the mashgiach.
True selflessness
Kindness, chessed, and compassion were the mashgiach’s signature approach to others.
One can do loads of chessed and still not achieve true selflessness.
How?
“Because in the end, he gets satisfaction from what he did,” asserts R’ Binyomin.
From counseling time slots during yeshivah to meeting people late into the night at home, Rav Matisyahu gave himself over to the tzibbur to the point that he hardly slept at night. The mashgiach gave everything for the klal. But beyond the time and energy that he gave, the mashgiach had no “zich,” no ego. All that he did for the klal was so that the klal should have what they needed. It was never about him.
Source of my success
“De bissele hatzlachah vus ich hub iz veil ich tu vus ich vil nisht tun.” (The little success that I’ve had is because I do that which I don’t want to do.)
These were the words that the mashgiach shared with R’ Binyomin while walking with him in more recent years. Belying his remarkable humility, the mashgiach was a tremendous ish matzliach, successful in all that he did. Nonetheless, he hadn’t wanted any of it. “Had it been up to him,” R’ Binyomin elaborates, “he would have sat by himself in his study and learned, undisturbed.”
But, true to his character, he shelved his preferences, deferring to the Ribono Shel Olam’s plan and Klal Yisrael’s needs.
Sidebar:
The way he lived
A collection of various shittos and hanhagos of the mashgiach
Pesach Seder
The Pesach Seder was geared completely to the children. Everything was said in the simplest of manners. “When the Yidden were in Mitzrayim, they were sad. When they left, they were very happy!” R’ Binyomin recounts with a smile. “The first year after I got married,” he says, “I came to the Seder with a fat looseleaf of divrei Torah from Brisk. But there was no place for it. The Seder would go on until three in the morning, but it was all for the kids.”
The Shabbos seudah
One might think that as a noted and prolific mashgiach, Rav Matisyahu would surely say divrei mussar or hisorerus at the table. But it was not that way. “Maybe he would say a little vertel,” R’ Binyomin says. However, there were no jokes. “It wasn’t heavy,” he makes sure to clarify. “It was very comfortable. But it was serious. You didn’t make jokes or talk about Trump.”
“Truthfully,” he says with a smile, “that may have been more from the rebbetzin than from him. If the kids got too wild, she would let them know.”
“Additionally,” he says, “he was very against testing children on their parshah knowledge at the table. What if they don’t know it? The child will be very embarrassed.”
Discipline in chinuch
While the mashgiach was a very loving person and his approach to chinuch was very loving, he warned strongly against unchecked love without any discipline. The Gemara in Makkos says that even if a child is good, the parents should try to find something to discipline them about. Rav Matisyahu explained that although the child didn’t do anything wrong, if he doesn’t get disciplined, he’ll grow up viewing his father like an equal.
Anger in chinuch
“People think,” the mashgiach would say, “that if they’re having a bad day and are very frustrated, they can take it out on their kids in the name of chinuch. But kids know the difference. They can tell when anger is just an expression of your frustration.”
In Gateshead, he had a talmid who was the child of an adam chashuv. Sadly, however, the boy wasn’t on speaking terms with his father. One day, Rav Matisyahu asked the bachur, “When exactly did you stop speaking with your father? What was the first break in the relationship?”
The bachur replied that one day while eating breakfast, he spilled some of the milk in his cereal. His father, frustrated, berated him angrily. “From that day on,” the boy said, “I realized that he’s just a ka’asan—someone who gets angry easily.”
Walking with the Mashgiach
A conversation with Rabbi Mordechai Levi, gabbai of Rav Matisyahu
Shaya Saposh
For everybody, always
For the Mashgiach, whether taking a late-night visitor or running out to an almanah on Purim morning, it boiled down to one simple question—do they need me? There were no other considerations. His physical limitations or time constraints weren’t relevant. If he was needed, he was available.
Even at weddings, people would be speaking to him the entire time. In Gateshead, he was noheg not to go to
weddings during Elul, due to the seriousness of the time. Rabbi Levi once remarked to him that in America he can go even in Elul, for either way he was talking to people the whole time, so what’s the difference if it’s in his house or at a wedding?
Even in the summer in Camp Agudah, when the Mashgiach was officially “unavailable,” if the matter was urgent and demanded his immediate attention, one could call Rabbi Levi, who would pass the message on to the rebbetzin, who would in turn connect the person with the Mashgiach.
Years ago, the Mashgiach was recovering from a procedure and wasn’t officially taking any appointments. However, there was a man that was adamant about his urgency to speak with him and managed to catch Reb Matisyahu after Minchah in yeshivah.
Afterward, on the way out of the beis medrash, the Mashgiach explained to Reb Mordechai, “This man has a son who’s struggling with his Yiddishkeit, and another son who’s on the brink of being thrown out of yeshivah. The only person the menahel was willing to speak with is me. You all say, ‘No visitors.’ But to this man, it’s a matter of pikuach nefesh. What else should he do?”
“He was there for everybody, always,” says Rabbi Levi. His very house was a reshus harabim. People were constantly coming and going.
Not only was he available at any time, but he was willing to do anything, no matter how strenuous. He was once on the way to South Fallsburg to spend a few days there. Upon arriving, he heard that a yesomah he was being mechazek who was at the brink of getting engaged had gotten cold feet at the last moment. Immediately, without hesitation, the Mashiach turned around, made the three hour trip back to Lakewood, was mechazek her, and a l’chaim was made. Only then did he set back out to South Fallsburg.
There were no other considerations. He couldn’t fathom otherwise.
There was a local school that was unsure if they’d be able to reopen for the coming year. The night before the start of the school year, at 12:45 a.m., the Mashgiach asked Rabbi Levi to call the menahel of said school. When Reb Mordechai suggested that he might be asleep, Reb Matisyahu responded incredulously, “Four hundred children may not have a school tomorrow! Ver hut a recht tzu shluffen, who has a right to sleep?”
Ten steps ahead
When dealing with any she’eilah or situation, the Mashgiach was yored lesof da’as—he thought everything through until the very end.
There were times that in the here-and-now, the correct approach appeared to be one way, but when the Mashgiach would consider all angles and outcomes, he would explain otherwise.
A father once mentioned to Reb Matisyahu that his son wanted a (regular, not electric) scooter, but the father was reluctant to buy him one. The Mashgiach instructed him to send the boy over so he could convince him out of it. However, unexpectedly, when the boy came, the Mashgiach told him that he could have the scooter.
Bewildered by the response, the father asked the Mashgiach for an explanation. He explained that this was the first time in his young life that the child was asking a she’eilah from a rav. If he were to receive a “no,” he may not want to ask the next time he has a she’eilah, as his association with asking she’eilos would be negative.
Even if at the moment he felt that the child shouldn’t get the scooter, he took the distant future into account and decided otherwise.
A principal of a certain girls’ school once mentioned to him that she had two options for the role of first grade teacher. One option was a veteran teacher with 15 years of experience under her belt, and the other was a younger assistant with significantly less experience. At first glance, this was a no-brainer. Of course the teacher with more experience should be given the job. However, the Mashgiach reasoned otherwise. If the assistant wouldn’t get the job, it would deter girls from becoming assistants in the future, as it would make it seem that there’s no room for growth.
“Even when the Mashgiach had a general shittah, he didn’t always feel that that would be the best path for every individual,” Rabbi Levi explains. “If one would come to him to ask about themselves specifically, he would approach it with a fresh perspective and was able to consider the possibility that for this yachid it wasn’t the best path.”
The aftermath
There are times when the right thing to do isn’t always comfortable or pleasant.
The Mashgiach never had any difficulty doing what must be done. “Everything I do is emes al pi my rebbe’im,” he would say. “It’s all according to what I’ve learned from my rebbe’im.” He knew that what he was doing was the right thing, and therefore had no qualms doing it.
However, he wasn’t callous to those affected by a decision he made. On the contrary, he took extreme responsibility for his decisions.
The Mashgiach famously stopped certain concerts and events from occurring in Lakewood. However, if an event was already planned and money had been invested, Reb Matisyahu would offer to take responsibility for the loss.
While in Gateshead, the Mashgiach felt it necessary to decline a certain bachur entry into the yeshivah. Years later, this bachur, now a yungerman, came to speak to him in Lakewood. Reb Matisyahu revealed to him that he knew all the yeshivos and kollelim he’d learned in and even whom he married. Astonished, the yungerman asked him why someone as busy as the Mashgiach had taken the time to follow his whole life’s story. Reb Matisyahu explained that he hadn’t been completely certain that not accepting him was the best way for him to be matzliach. He therefore kept track of him to make sure that he found success elsewhere.
Reb Matisyahu once decided that a certain boy could no longer stay in the yeshivah due to his violations of a yeshivah policy. When the boy was informed, he complained that this would have a terrible effect on his shidduchim. Reb Matisyahu agreed and told him that he could stay in the Mashgiach’s house, and he would learn with him at some point during the day. This way, he explained, he could list Reb Matisyahu as a reference on his resume, and this would dispel any doubts about the boy’s quality, for if he slept in the Mashgiach’s house and learned with him, people will reason he must be a good boy.
Constant vigilance
“The Mashgiach was always aware,” says Rabbi Levi. He was always aware of everything that was going on around him and proceeded with thoughtful sensitivity. “At mussar seder, he was uncomfortable coming in through the main entrance in the back, for he knew that anyone leaving would bump into him and would surely be embarrassed to be seen by him.”
Once, while driving the Mashgiach, Reb Mordechai encountered a lady about to make a k-turn. Surprisingly, rather than wait for her to make the turn, the Mashgiach instructed Reb Mordechai to quickly drive forward before she started turning. This seemingly hasty and slightly rude act was obviously extremely out of character for Reb Matisyahu. Bewildered, Rabbi Levi voiced his confusion. The Mashgiach explained that had they waited, the lady would have noticed that she was keeping the Mashgiach waiting. “I can’t think of anything more uncomfortable for her than having to make the turn with me watching.”
One day, in need of a walk and fresh air, Reb Mordechai and the Mashgiach went to the nearby Spring Lake. When the Mashgiach noticed a couple having a picnic, he decided to walk in a different direction to avoid making them feel uncomfortable.
Great, yet simple
While on the one hand, the Mashgiach was a picture of majestic gadlus, at the same time, in stark contrast to his lofty stature, he acted with tremendous pashtus.
He was shichmah l’malah, head and shoulders above the average man, yet at the same time, mutzav artzah, his feet were planted firmly in the ground.
Simply put, he was down-to-earth.
“I found it difficult to feel a yiras haromemus, awe of his greatness, from being around him,” says Rabbi Levi. “He was so normal.”
After a schmooze, the Mashgiach would frequently ask him, “Nu, what’s the oilam saying about the schmooze? Did they like it?”
Being in his presence was always extremely pleasant. There was zero keveidus, not an ounce of heaviness surrounding him. If you told him a good line, he appreciated it.
“I would often take pictures of him with the cholim he visited,” Rabbi Levi reminisces. One day, Reb Matisyahu playfully remarked that he felt like the president, who has a private photographer. To which Reb Mordechai responded, “Hakadosh Baruch Hu gave the Mashgiach the ko’ach to be mechazek the choleh by simply being there for a few minutes. I wasn’t given that ko’ach. My ko’ach is to take pictures of the Mashgiach being mechazek them, which in a lot of instances they keep by their side and get chizuk from the picture.
He possessed such greatness, yet at the same time he acted with such simplicity.
Kamayim panim el panim
In tandem with his ordinary way of carrying himself, the Mashgiach’s ability to connect and relate to anyone, be it yungerleit, bachurim, ba’alei batim, women, or children was legendary. People would meet him, and it was “kamayim panim el panim.” They connected with him like no other and would therefore open up to him.
Tragically, there was a bachur in yeshivah who was niftar. Before the levayah, the Mashgiach went to speak with the boy’s father. Immediately upon seeing him, the man started speaking his heart out to the Mashgiach. He completely opened up.
“I attribute it to the fact that he had a heart rechavah menei yam,” Rabbi Levi explains. He cared about people. He hurt for them. And most of all, he understood them.
Club president
The Mashgiach famously had a special place in his heart for the almanos and yesomim of the world. “Almanos and yesomim run our schedule,” he would say.
Every night of Chanukah, a different family of yesomim would come by hadlakah time and would afterward sit down with the Mashgiach and the rebbetzin for a mesibah.
Reb Matisyahu, himself a yasom, would famously tell the little yesomim, “We’re all part of a club, and I’m the president of the club.”
The Mashgiach spent his summers in Camp Agudah. At one point, a yasom he knew was attending Camp Achim. So he decided to make the hour-long trek to visit the boy and give him a bag of treats. When the staff at Camp Achim became aware of his arrival, they asked him to speak to the camp. The Mashgiach declined. “If I speak,” he explained, “the boy will think that I primarily came to speak, and as an afterthought I visited him.” That couldn’t happen. The boy had to know and feel that Reb Matisyahu came just to visit him.
Ribono Shel Olam a reality
To the Mashgiach, everything was the Ribono Shel Olam. He constantly spoke about the Ribono Shel Olam and made Him a reality in his life.
Before the asifah in Citi Field, someone suggested to him that they should make a rain date. The Mashgiach responded that he wasn’t making the asifah for himself. He was doing it for the Ribono Shel Olam. If Hashem wanted it to rain, it’ll rain. (Interestingly, not only didn’t it rain, but it was exceptionally good weather for that time of year. However, later in the evening, after the asifah concluded, it rained.)
This was the way he lived. The rebbetzin testified that his personal cheshbonos never played a role in his decision making. All that mattered was ratzon Hashem.
“It’s important to note that the rebbetzin’s role wasn’t merely secretarial; she didn’t just answer the phone,” Rabbi Levi adds. “More than simply supporting him, she was very much a part of the shutfus. She was involved in all that was going on and whatever the Mashgiach was dealing with.”
The Mashgiach saw tremendous siyata d’Shmaya in all that he did. In his later years, his son asked him what he attributed his success to. The Mashgiach responded with something that summed up his entire life, his entire mehalech hachaim. “At every step of the way,” he said, “with every decision that I made, I would ask myself what was the ratzon Hashem.”
Like a Father
Dovid Sandler remembers
- Weiss
I grew up with Rav Matisyahu as part of the fabric of my life. He was my father’s mashgiach in Gateshead, and my family was close with him before he became world-famous.
After my father was niftar, my mother would talk to him often, and he would guide her on how to deal with each of us. But more than that, he took the time to really get to know me and my siblings. He didn’t just know all our names and ages. He knew what we liked and didn’t like, what our hobbies and interests were.
When I was younger, I was very involved in politics and Rav Matisyahu remembered this. Once, when Rav Ezriel Tauber (who knew us both) visited him in the hospital, Rav Matisyahu picked up a New York Times that was lying around and joked that he should give it to Dovid Sandler, he would enjoy it.
Whenever we saw him, whether in his house or at a BMG Purim mesibah, his eyes would light up and he would look so excited to see us, making us feel that we were the only people that mattered. He made us feel like a million dollars. When I had to make a decision about which beis medrash to apply to, he sat with me in his study, and we went through the pros and cons of each one.
One year, the yeshivah I was in made a dinner in recognition of my father. I spoke at the dinner, and although Rav Matisyahu was already sick at the time, he made sure to listen on speakerphone. Afterward, he called me to tell me how much he enjoyed it, and for years after, whenever I saw him, he would comment on that speech. He was unable to attend my high school graduation, but the rebbetzin came instead, sitting in the front row like a proud grandmother.
He was the one to put tefillin on me. He spoke at my bar mitzvah and stayed the whole time, beaming with pride. Every Erev Yom Kippur, my whole family would go to his house, and we would receive brachos.
One year, he and the rebbetzin sent inscribed copies of his Haggadah to my whole family. Somehow, one of my sisters was mistakenly left out and didn’t receive one. The next year, my sister received her own inscribed Haggadah, along with a box of chocolates. For an entire year, they had remembered that she hadn’t gotten her Haggadah and tried to make it up for her then.
Being close to Rav Matisyahu also allowed me to see his greatness up close. Once, I was staying there for Shabbos when a group of bachurim came knocking on the door for a scheduled va’ad. There had been a miscommunication, and Rav Matisyahu was sleeping at the time, unprepared. His grandson knocked on his door, and Rav Matisyahu asked his grandson to find out what he had told them last year. Then he came downstairs and delivered a full drashah. If I didn’t know, I would never have dreamed that he hadn’t known in advance that they were coming.
To me, what’s exceptional is that even though he was involved in so many things and worked with so many people, he also knew how to make each person feel like the only one. I know I always did.
A Talmid Remembers
A conversation with Rabbi Menachem Savitz
- Weiss
The very first day that Rav Matisyahu came to BMG, Rabbi Savitz, then a yungerman learning in BMG, went to his office to introduce himself. “I’ll never forget that exchange,” Rabbi Savitz reminisces. “He was so warm, so gracious, so interested in me. He was a gadol, he was BMG’s new mashgiach, and yet he gave me so much time, telling me that he sees we’ll be good friends.”
That was the greatness of Rav Matisyahu. He carried Lakewood and all its needs on his shoulders, and at the same time, he was always able to focus on the individual.
A revolution in mussar
From the first day, he created a new phenomenon in BMG. Rabbi Savitz describes the beis medrash when he would give his schmuessen. “A thousand yungerleit would sit there, completely absorbed. It wasn’t a new topic each week; he would give over a sugya in mussar with clarity and depth. Every person walked out of the beis medrash with a completely new and deeper understanding of a Chazal they’d known their whole lives.”
He was a powerful speaker, inspiring the rabim and also inspiring the yachid by his care during personal encounters.
“I used to visit him on Chol Hamo’ed Sukkos each year. Over the years, more and more people would come, and he would speak. One Chol Hamo’ed Sukkos, he had to leave in the middle for a bris. He felt terrible that he had to leave when so many people were there, so he turned to me and announced that I would be taking his place. He asked me to speak in learning to the oilam. In the same moment, he gave kavod to me and kavod to all the people there by showing them that he didn’t want them to leave; he was offering them a substitute until he got back.”
Whoever, whenever
He was there for anyone who needed him, for all types of people, at all hours of the day. Rabbi Savitz repeats a story of when Rav Matisyahu asked someone to drive him to Monsey at 12:15 a.m. “Because there was a couple who needed help with shalom bayis. If you do the math of an hour and half each way and at least an hour there, he wouldn’t have a night, but that didn’t matter to him.”
In another famous story, a newcomer to Lakewood showed up at Rav Matisyahu’s house looking for him. Unfamiliar with the protocol, he headed down to the basement and found the mashgiach sitting on the floor with a group of struggling boys. The visitor was stunned, but Rav Matisyahu, who had been giving out chocolates to the boys, smiled and offered the visitor one.
“A friend of mine, Rav Moshe Chaim Halpern, once asked Rav Matisyahu if he could set up a learning seder with him on Friday,” Rabbi Savitz shares. “Just a few minutes after they started, the phone rang, and Rav Matisyahu spoke to the person on the other end of the line for 10 minutes. Two minutes after he hung up, the phone rang again. The scene repeated itself for the next hour, and finally Rabbi Halpern asked him what was going on.
“‘This is when the yesomim call to say good Shabbos,’ Rav Matisyahu responded. ‘They have different slots so I can talk to each of them.’”
Rabbi Savitz’s close relationship with Rav Matisyahu allowed him to see the exquisite thought and concern with which he treated every person he came in contact with.
Years ago, Rav Nosson Eisenstein, the rav of Forest Park, Rabbi Savitz’s neighborhood, was marrying off his son. It was a chashuv shidduch; the kallah was Rav Matisyahu’s niece. However, since the wedding was scheduled to take place in England right before Pesach, no one in the community and almost none of his extended family was planning to come. “Rav Matisyahu saw how disappointed Rav Nosson was and instructed the Forest Park community to chip in to buy one ticket, and I would go to the wedding.”
Rav Matisyahu instructed Rabbi Savitz to keep it a surprise. With his knowledge of human nature, he understood that the joy for Rav Nosson would be greater that way.
A gadol in avodas hamiddos
As great as he was, he never stopped working on himself.
“Years ago, when Rav Matisyahu was learning with Rav Elya Lopian, the two of them made a kabbalah to always stay calm on Shabbos,” Rabbi Savitz shares.
For the layman, such an undertaking would mean not losing one’s temper on Shabbos. For a gadol, it meant never losing his equilibrium on Shabbos, never getting even the slightest bit frustrated, no matter the provocation. No one knew of this kabbalah until one Shabbos in Lakewood.
“There was someone hanging around Rav Matisyahu’s house who wasn’t all there, and he was driving everyone crazy to the point where the rebbetzin wanted to ask him to leave. Then, the rebbetzin stopped and told the other people there to just watch the mashgiach.”
Looking at his serene face enabled everyone to remain calm. When asked about it afterward, he responded that he was keeping the kabbalah he had made. A kabbalah that had been made decades ago!
Fighter for Klal Yisrael
In closing, Rabbi Savitz recalls the time when he spoke to Rav Matisyahu about the psak he got to name his son Mordechai, as he was born on Purim. “There’s an inyan to name a child after the Yom Tov, since the neshamah of the name goes into the child. When I told Rav Matisyahu this, he responded that was why he was named Matisyahu—after Matisyahu the kohen gadol; he had been born on Chanukah.”
Rabbi Savitz gets emotional as he muses over the appropriateness of the name.
“Matisyahu stood up for Klal Yisrael. He was the fighter, the defender; he cried out Mi l’Hashem eilai.”
And for the Lakewood community, for Klal Yisrael, Rav Matisyahu was the one who stood up for the yesomim and almanos, who started the never-ending battle against technology, who fought to create a new outlook on mussar. He was the one in our generation who led us in standing up for Hashem’s glory.
Living the Learning
A conversation with talmid muvhak R’ Zev Auerbach
As told to A. Weiss
I was zocheh to spend a lot of time in Rav Matisyahu’s house. During my time there, I witnessed his greatness in Torah, his dedication, and his hasmadah. I was also able to see his middos, the way the ideas he taught, the Torah thoughts he stressed, were such a part of his life and behaviors.
Looking for the good
Rav Matisyahu used to quote the Tomer Devorah on the middos of Hashem, regarding the middah of nosei avon, that Hashem carries our aveiros. Rav Matisyahu used to explain that we’re supposed to look for the good in others so Hashem will look for the good in us.
I saw this put into practice. A struggling bachur made an appointment with him weeks in advance. Rav Matisyahu’s schedule was so fully booked, it could take six weeks until someone could meet with him. Then, on the day of the appointment, Rav Matisyahu had an emergency and had to cancel after the boy had already arrived.
The boy was furious and started shouting and screaming at the mashgiach. I wanted to throw him out of the house. Later, Rav Matisyahu told the gabbai to reschedule the boy for that night. The gabbai was flabbergasted. “How can we give him an appointment? We’re rewarding bad behavior! When someone shouts and screams, we need to teach them a lesson.”
Rav Matisyahu said, “No, that’s the yetzer hara talking. When someone shouts and screams, it means that he needs help, and we need to give it to him right away!”
He was a nosei avon; he looked for the good in even the most challenging people.
Remembering his children
On the middah of she’eiris nachlaso, he would talk about how a father always remember his children, no matter what.
Twenty-one years ago, I saw Rav Matisyahu approach a cousin of mine with special needs and say hello.
“The mashgiach remembers me?” my cousin asked in delight.
“Of course!” Rav Matisyahu responded, calling the boy by name.
Later, I approached the mashgiach and asked him when he had met my cousin. He answered that he had visited a camp that summer and had been introduced to all the boys there.
There were 150 boys in the camp, and he met them all for less than a minute. But a father never forgets his child.
Nine years ago, my wife gave birth to a stillborn baby at full term. The mashgiach was very sick at the time and wasn’t seeing anybody, but I sent a message to him through the rebbetzin.
Eight weeks later, the mashgiach’s sister was niftar, and although he really wasn’t up to seeing anyone, they let some close talmidim in for an hour. Rav Matisyahu looked weak and tired, sitting hunched over in a chair. His voice was so low that he had to use a mic to speak.
But as soon as I was alone with him in the room, he beckoned me over and with great effort asked, “How’s your wife feeling, physically and emotionally?”
The mashgiach was deathly ill and sitting shivah, and he was asking about something that had happened eight weeks earlier.
Because a father always remembers his child.
With emunah
Another idea the mashgiach used to stress is from the Gemara Brachos. Two people were in a life-threatening situation and davened. One was saved and the other was not. Why? Because the one who was saved davened a full, complete tefillah with kavanah. Rav Matisyahu would ask, “How is it possible for someone in such a situation to daven without complete kavanah?” Then he’d explain that this is a mistake people make. They don’t put emunah into their tefillah. They daven for a deathly sick person while thinking about the levayah! Tefillah needs to be said with emunah.
One of Rav Matisyahu’s grandchildren was once in a terrible accident and was in a coma. A minyan gathered by his bed to add a name, and I was included. It was a sincere, emotional, heartfelt tefillah. I was surprised to see that Rav Matisyahu had a smile on his face as we walked out. He turned to us and said, “Tefillah with emunah, rabbosai!” His grandchild did recover, and that was a lesson that stayed with me.
Mashpia for Klal Yisrael
Rav Matisyahu used to say in the name of the Maharal that when Hashem chooses a go’el for Klal Yisrael, someone who will save and guide them, He designates someone who will say in the name of someone else, someone who
will realize that the salvation didn’t come from him. Rav Matisyahu spoke all the time to audiences of thousands, teaching and guiding, but it didn’t affect him. He once told me that it’s not even possible for him to become a ba’al ga’avah from his speeches because it’s so obvious that it’s siyata d’Shmaya. It was so obvious to him that it was from Hashem.
With Sweetness and Strength
A daughter remembers
Elisheva Braun
“My father carried a tremendous yoke. He was so involved in the klal and was nosei b’ol in many people’s nisyonos. He would sit in his study and meet with people, and we never knew what was said behind those doors. And then, in the few steps it took to get from the study to the kitchen, my father was transformed. When he left his study, there was nothing else but my mother and the children. You could never tell what he carried, what he’d heard,” shares Rav Matisyahu Salomon’s daughter.
That was Rav Matisyahu.
A giant carrying broken hearts.
And at the same time, a joyous, present, wholehearted eved Hashem.
A giant carrying broken hearts
On the one hand, the way we grew up was normal to us children. On the other, we knew our father was special. We didn’t feel resentful when he was busy with others; we felt a sense of pride in our father and what he was doing. I give the credit to my mother, who always stood behind him and was involved in what he was doing. Especially in the earlier years in Gateshead, a lot of what my father did took place at home.
Mornings were very precious to my father. He had a chavrusashaft and friendship with Rav Chaim Kaufman. They learned together at 5:30 every morning, and it was a highlight of his day. After the chavrusashaft, he would either give a chaburah or learn with another chavrusa. Then he came upstairs to wake us girls up (“It’s ten to eight; it’s very late”) before walking down the street to yeshivah for davening.
The rest of his day was packed with learning, speaking to people one on one, being there for the bachurim,
and giving shiurim and va’adim. There were many shiurim: a shiur for rebbe’im, another for bachurim as their mashgiach, a chinuch shiur for yungerleit, a Chumash and Rashi shiur for ba’alei batim. It was all part of the family schedule. My father would learn until late into the night, and then he and my mother would take a walk to unwind and connect.
As time went on, my father began to travel to give shiurim. I remember his first trip to America—it was for a talmid’s wedding, and to us kids, it was a big deal.
One of the American gedolim was in Miami at the time. Not knowing if he would ever return to the States, my father flew down to Florida to see him.
The heart of the home
The Shabbos and Yom Tov tables were the center of family life. My father ran a very pleasant and meaningful table, keeping the focus on the Shabbos or Yom Tov in an enjoyable, non-stressful way. My father felt strongly that children shouldn’t be interrogated at the table on what they’d learned. Instead, he created the Yiddishe flavor through singing, divrei Torah, discussions, and a beautiful family atmosphere. His joy in Yiddishkeit was infectious, and the seudos were a platform for sharing his profound love for the geshmak of the Torah and mitzvos that defined our lives. Despite the many guests we usually had, we all enjoyed personal attention from my father. He made sure everyone at the table felt heard, understood, and valued. There was a warmth to his presence that made each meal special and every moment meaningful.
Genuine connection
My father was an incredibly genuine person, down-to-earth and relatable. He understood people in a way that was rare. His ability to connect with people, to make them feel heard and understood, was extraordinary. He didn’t just give advice; he felt with others, stepped into their shoes, and guided them with compassion and understanding. That’s how he touched so many lives.
Having lost his own father at a young age, he valued family as a cornerstone of life. I watched him, time and again, making sure that our extended family remained close-knit, especially after our grandmother, who lived next door to us, was niftar. Every Friday night, he would bring the men together for “ateres zekeinim,” a gathering filled with learning and camaraderie that bound us all together with his signature gentleness and joy.
A father’s wisdom
What my father gave us, beyond anything else, was wisdom. He knew exactly what we needed to hear, and his words always had a way of encouraging and guiding us.
Whenever one of his daughters got engaged, my father would take the kallah for a walk, offering gentle advice so we could put our best foot forward in marriage. We each got unique hadrachah according to our techunos hanefesh and what we needed to hear.
Our father always praised our husbands, encouraging us to keep doing what we were doing. When I was in the house, he was focused on my adorable children, constantly reminding me what an amazing job I was doing in raising them. He was with us in every stage and part of our lives, always present, always loving, always unwavering in his support.
As a community, we were carried by Rav Matisyahu’s broad shoulders and expansive heart for so many years. Bereft of his guiding presence, we now take cautious steps on our own. Yet we hope that we may impart a glimmer of his wisdom and compassion to the future generations.