Articles
The Ultimate Passing of a Prince
October 31, 2024
Tribute to Rav Shlomo Halioua Zt”l
Rabbi Yecheskel Ostreicher
The petirah of a gadol and manhig, regardless of his age, is a tragedy worthy of untold mourning. Misas tzadikim, Chazal teach us, it is equal to the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash.
Yet when the gadol lived a long and fruitful life of hashp’aah, the pain is somewhat mitigated. His impact has been made; he has accomplished so much. Moreover, when he leaves behind a successor of matching stature, a younger leader who infuses youth and hope into the position, the grief can be replaced with optimism, and the dark clouds of the loss give way to the bright glow of the future.
But what happens when the future is ripped away before it even got a chance to fully blossom?
The devastation is unimaginable, the pain indescribable.
The sense of loss that engulfed talmidei Yeshivas Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin with the untimely and tragic petirah of Rav Shlomo Halioua is too great to be quantified.
Reserved and refined by nature, Rav Shlomo only replaced his illustrious father-in-law, Rav Aharon Moshe Schechter, as rosh yeshivah a little over a year ago. Rav Shlomo was the natural memale makom; he was indisputably the most suited for the role. Rav Aharon’s sons and older sons-in-law had all moved to side, realizing that he was most fitting. In fact, Rav Aharon had already requested in recent years that Rav Shlomo take over some of the responsibilities of rosh yeshivah as the latter’s kochos waned.
That role cannot be quantified as a rosh yeshivah of any other yeshivah because Chaim Berlin is so much more than a yeshivah. It is an identity. The rosh yeshivah is not only the one who gives shiurim and advises bachurim; he heads a community of close to a thousand families that send their children to cheder and daven in the yeshivah on Shabbosos and Yamim Tovim. Most bachurim return to the yeshivah after learning in Eretz Yisrael and join the kollel after marriage. Even elderly b’aalei batim are inseparable from the yeshivah—and the rosh yeshivah.
Rav Shlomo’s ascent brought a wave of hope, a renewed spirit. Every decision he made reinforced the confidence Chaim Berliners had in their new rosh yeshivah. They observed his wisdom, his pikchus, and his incisive outlook. They felt his warmth, his love, and his incredible ne’imus.
A bright future awaited.
But sadly, it was short-lived. His petirah on Sunday leaves behind a yeshivah and a community bereft, grappling with a new, painful reality.
A gaon beyond his age
His parents, Rav Avrohom and Masuda Halioua, originated from the illustrious Halioua and Toledano families of Morocco and were blessed with an only son, whom they named Shlomo Chai Yitzchak Dovid. As a boy, it clear that he was endowed with a brilliant mind and an unquenchable thirst for Torah. He was a shy boy, but that didn’t stop him from striving for the top.
In Yeshivah of Brooklyn, he learned under Rav Feivel Cohen, who quickly recognized the treasure he had as a pupil. He noted that already as a bachur, Rav Shlomo’s breathtaking yedios and depth surpassed those of talmidei chachamim many years his senior.
Later, he learned under Rav Binyomen Paler, who spent many hours talking to him in learning, appreciating his glattkeit and amkus. “Er farshteit gut lernen,” Rav Paler, whose every word was measured, said of his talmid at the time. Many years later, Rav Shlomo would say that he remembered every single thing he heard from Rav Paler.
Rav Yaakov Drillman, himself an astounding iluy and a chavrusah of Rav Shlomo who was extremely close with him, called him a gadol hador in havanah when he was 40 years old.
Anyone who ever observed his mastery over a sugya could describe it as having a breathtaking panoramic view of every aspect of it. He didn’t need to build it from the bottom up with diyukim, problems and proposed solutions. He just saw its depth, as if it was the natural path to take. His explanations cut to the core of the sugya; its brilliance, which had been hidden in plain sight, was revealed by the insights he put forth.
He was extremely deep, but his amkus didn’t come at the expense of knowledge of all of Shas. As a bachur, he would take monthly tests on dozens of bletter, which he learned during night seder alone.
There was no area in Torah that someone spoke to him about that he didn’t feel at home with—whether in Shas, mussar, or Chumash. When traveling abroad for fundraising purposes, he would regularly be asked to deliver a shiur in the local kollel. He didn’t need to prepare; he’d simply ask what sugya the kollel was learning and he was ready to give shiur.
His hasmadah was incredible. In yeshivah, he would sit near the bimah, his eyes lifted up, and for what seemed like hours on end, be completely engrossed in learning.
A neighbor expressed his amazement that although he was very often up at all hours of the night, whenever he looked toward Rav Shlomo’s home, he was able to make him out sitting and learning.
All of the talmidei chachamim of Yeshivas Chaim Berlin, many who were much older than Rav Shlomo, accepted him and his word. They realized that he was of a transcendent caliber, and they stood before him humbly.
Different styles, same truths
He was different from the previous rosh yeshivah, Rav Aharon.
Whereas Rav Aharon was dynamic, outspoken, and charismatic, Rav Shlomo was the epitome of serenity; he was soft-spoken, veiled, and unassuming. But he was princely, carrying the same majestic leadership that Chaim Berlin is synonymous with. And the talmidim, all of them—the bachurim, the yungerleit, and the older Chaim Berliners—were pulled toward him, not by an energetic persona or oratory prowess, but by the purity and chein and hecherkeit that exuded from within him.
A position in one of the offshoots of Chaim Berlin was open, and Rav Shlomo was discussing the criterion for filling it. The rosh yeshivah was unequivocal: the person need not be a powerful and captivating speaker; what was required was that his life reflected hecherkeit. If he was a role model of the ideals the rosh yeshivah strove to instill in the yeshivah, he was to be considered; otherwise, he could not be a representative of Yeshivas Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin.
Hecherkeit was the underlying message of the ma’amarim the rosh yeshivah gave before and during each Yom Tov. The goal was to understand the depth of each chag, to realize its beauty and its impact. One would inevitably leave an event that he presided over feeling elevated and fortunate to be a Yid. One word that many use when describing his every ma’amar is “tiferes, splendor.” He embodied tiferes, radiating kedushah so pure and pristine that people were instinctively pulled in.
Purity and humility
There is something unique about Sephardi Yidden of old, so full of temimus, so rich in emunah, and so, so pure. Rav Shlomo roots were deep in that way of life, and it was unmistakably part of his essence. He guarded every aspect of kedushah meticulously. He didn’t drive so as not to see anything inappropriate on the road.
His speech was impeccable; it was impossible to hear him say a word of lashon hara. A friend who knew him for over 40 years says that he could count on one hand the times that Rav Shlomo told him off, and on those rare occasions Rav Shlomo called the next day to apologize.
It was obvious that he lived with cheshbon hanefesh. A friend who had a part in facilitating a shidduch for one of Rav Shlomo’s children heard a knock on his door a few months later, on Erev Yom Kippur. Rav Shlomo was there with an ornate silver becher. Rav Shlomo’s young daughter had passed away that summer, and in the aftermath, he had forgotten to pay him.
“Today,” he explained, “as I looked back at the year that passed, I realized that a gift was due. Use it in good health and have a gmar chasimah Tovah.”
Some 30 years ago, his father-in-law appointed him as rosh kollel. A short while later, he mentioned to a friend that ideally, he would have wanted to learn with the bachurim, who have fewer distractions and are still raw.
“So ask your shver to switch you there,” his friend advised.
“I can’t; they already have someone there. How can I undercut his position?”
He was so careful to avoid hurting other’s feeling that he refrained from speaking to his sons in learning while they were learning under other rebbe’im, lest he challenge their rebbi’s authority.
A friend recalled that he traveled to Lakewood for the wedding of one of the ba’alei korei in yeshivah, but due to a mistaken address, he ended up spending close to nine hours between travel time and at the wedding itself. The friend asked him if he wasn’t frustrated by the waste of precious time.
“For me, going to a chasunah is like putting on tefillin. Whatever it takes is part of the mitzvah. And besides, he leins every week in yeshivah; I have such hakaras hatov to him!”
Essentially, he was the epitome of Yiddishkeit in its purest form. His middos were pristine; he was so humble and did not take up any space. Despite his towering greatness, he was extremely approachable and unassuming.
Every conversation with him was only about the other person. He listened intently, and only after thinking through the issue would he offer a solution. He had no problem if the questioner interrupted his words midsentence. He was there to listen and if possible, to help.
Speaking to him put the most agitated individual at ease. His very presence was soothing; nothing fazed him. It seemed as if he had an inner fount of menuchas hanefesh that could not be touched regardless of what he was going through.
He radiated serenity, ne’imus, and hecherkeit. A middle-aged woman couldn’t sleep one Friday night because of she was going through a stressful period. When morning came, she made her way to Rav Shlomo’s house and knocked on the door before Shacharis. He heard her out, his warm smile and twinkling eyes making her feel understood. She left 15 minutes later feeling lighter, ready to face whatever challenges might come her way.
His final message
A short while after Rav Aharon Schechter was niftar and Rav Shlomo was named rosh yeshivah, the middas hadin struck again. Rav Mordechai Schechter, Rav Aharon’s son and mashgiach of the yeshivah, was niftar after suffering from an extended illness. The yeshivah mourned its double loss, father and son taken in such close succession.
And then, unbeknown to almost anyone, a tragic diagnosis threatened the existence of the yeshivah. The beloved new rosh yeshivah developed a life-threatening disease that would sap him of his energy and make every function a challenge.
One of the first decisions Rav Shlomo made at the time was to keep it under wraps; he didn’t want the yeshivah to worry, to wobble with uncertainty over the future. He was ready to forgo the zechusim the talmidim would undoubtedly acquire for him if they would know his situation, the tefillos they would pour out for the shepherd they cherished and needed so badly.
He gave it all up so as not to shter the yeshivah.
It didn’t take long before he had to relinquish some of his regular responsibilities due to his illness. He gave shiurim less frequently and was not as available for the talmidim as he wished he could be.
A close family member who knew the truth asked him if he didn’t mind that people might be whispering behind his back that the rosh yeshivah, having reached the pinnacle, was just taking it easy.
“I’d rather that than causing people to avoid coming to talk to me about their issues out of fear of overburdening me” was the response.
“How do you have the kochos to lead the yeshivah?” his son-in-law asked him, seeing his struggle for basic life functions.
“Being with the tzibbur gives you kochos. It transcends you beyond your physical ability.”
This past Chol Hamo’ed, the rosh yeshivah struggled to come to yeshivah with the last of his kochos. But he prevailed. Some might have noticed the pain that wracked his body, belied by his ever-present warm smile. He proceeded to speak for over an hour and then was taken out of the yeshivah, but not before turning back, a faint smile on his face as he waved, wishing “A gut mo’ed” to his yeshivah, to his beloved flock.
Later, when he was taken to the hospital in critical condition, the yeshivah sent out a message to all talmidim. The text, dictated by Rav Shlomo himself, requested that they daven for the rosh yeshivah, who had developed an infection and was hospitalized. Still no mention of a life-threatening illness, still the same composed serenity.
Rav Avigdor Kitevitz spoke at the levayah, and recalling the message, said that this was perhaps Rav Shlomo’s final directive to his talmidim: Don’t panic. The yeshivah should continue uninterrupted. It’s Yom Tov, and Simchas Torah is coming. Rejoice with the chag; rejoice with the Torah; rejoice with Hashem.
His petirah leaves a gaping, irreplaceable hole.
But now he stands before the kisei hakavod pleading for his yeshivah, the yeshivah he practically gave his life for, so that it should continue undisturbed by worries over his well-being.
May the yeshivah and all the talmidim find a way forward uninterrupted.
May they—and all of us—follow in his path of purity, ahavas haTorah, and serenity.
And may they continue the beautiful legacy of Yeshivas Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin, a legacy of hecherkeit, of majestic glory, of simchah in the Torah and the Eibershter Himself.
With appreciation to Rav Binyomin Cohen, the Shames family, and the many talmidim who shared their memories of Rav Halioua.