Rav BenZion Chayim Shloime Twerski, zt”l, was the
oldest of five very esteemed brothers: the late well-known prolific Torah
author and psychiatrist Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twerski; Rabbi Motel Twerski of
Flatbush and, yibadlu lechayim, the Milwaukee Hornosteipel Rebbe
Rav Michel Twerski, shlit”a;
and law professor Rabbi Aharon Twerski, shlit”a.
I first met Rav Shloime in
Milwaukee, Wisconsin, when I spent the summer there on a SEED program. He was
there for a Shabbos in honor of the yahrzeit of his father, a rebbe who had served for many, many
decades as rav of a shul in Milwaukee.? My kesher
with Rav Shloime deepened a few years later, when I was in kollel in
Baltimore and his son-in-law, Rabbi Yitzchok (Itchie) Lowenbraun, and his wife
Miriam (zichronam livracha) regularly ran kiruv Shabbatons. Rabbi
Lowenbraun asked if my wife and I would like to join them on a Shabbaton.
We did, and after that we began seeing Rav Shloime regularly, as he came in
several times a year for these Shabbatons.
I enjoyed speaking to Rav Shloime
on many different topics. He was a man of integrity – extremely honest about
himself and with others. He was a talmid chacham, a yarei Shamayim,
an independent thinker, a posek with a very refreshing and independent
approach to halacha, as
well as a deeply insightful person. He accepted people as they were but somehow
understood how to encourage each person to make his own way toward Hashem. He
saw in each individual a diamond that required polishing, and he would do his
part, realizing that that individual had to perform all of the hard work. You
understood when you met with him that he saw himself only as a catalyst. You
had to do the changing, and he could not and would not do it for you. He was
available to listen, advise, and recommend but not to cajole. If cajoling was
necessary, it would not work. It must come from within. Either you decide to take
the plunge or you don’t. He would accept you and love you either way.
Most of the shiurim I heard
him give were based on the writings of the Ramchal, Rav Moshe Chayim Luzzatto,
whom Rav Shloime called, simply, “Luzzatto.” This opened my eyes to an author
of whom I had read a little; in the next several years, I completed several of
his works.
There was discussion of Rav Shloime
moving to Baltimore and opening up his own shtiebl. Once it was even
thought that perhaps he would become the rav of one of the already
existing shuls in
Baltimore. Alas, the Ribono Shel Olam had other plans. Rav Shloime took
seriously ill. He was only in his fifties at the time.
The last time I saw him, he was
very sick, dying of cancer. Although it was clear that this was likely to be
his last visit to Baltimore, that didn’t stop him from giving shiurim
and making appointments.
* * *
My own life was at a crossroads at
the time. I had spent several years in kollel and wanted to move onward
– doing something that would service the Ribono Shel Olam and His
people. I had been very successful working with adults at many different
levels. In today’s world, I probably would have explored a position in a
community kollel or as a kiruv rabbi, but in the early 1980s,
none of these possibilities yet existed. I had been exploring various options and
felt that a position in rabbanus was probably my best choice. I’d had a
few interviews but nothing that I wanted had turned up. What was available were
positions that did not and would not satisfy me – taking a position in a dying
Jewish community or where compromise was the expected approach. I was not
interested in a shul with a low mechitza or a position that was
intended to be only a rabbinic functionary.
I had started to wonder if I was
barking up the wrong tree. Knowing Reb Shloime was in town, I went to ask for his
advice. Although nothing was said, we both knew that this was going to be the
last time we would speak face-to-face. “You should definitely go into some type
of rabbanus,” he told me, “but don’t make your parnassa in rabbanus.
Make your parnassa in kashrus.”
I was surprised at the suggestion.
It had never occurred to me to make my parnassa in kashrus. Nor
had I much experience in the field. I had worked part time once as the mashgiach
in a yeshiva kitchen and had done Friday shifts as a mashgiach at a
local slaughterhouse. Knowing, however, that Reb Shloime had his own hechsher
and that he gave a hechsher to a meat packing plant where he often also
acted (when he had been well) as the bodek chutz, in addition to being
the rav of a Denver shul, I thought, He’s talking to himself,
not to me.
“If you make your parnassa
from rabbanus,” he added, “you’ll weaken your success.”
He was weak, and it was very clear
that his direct statement was atypical. This was his last will and testament to
me.
* * *
Shortly afterwards, Reb Shloime
passed away, and 10 months later, I took a position in Buffalo, as the rav
of the Young Israel. Once there, I established the Buffalo Vaad HaKashrus, and after our return to Baltimore several
years later, I ended up working for several national hechsherim,
in addition to my responsibilities as a shul
rav. I have been very fortunate to have been blessed with two wonderful
positions in two very different communities, each one consisting of members who
valued their rav.
One day it hit me: Why was I not
inclined to ask the shul for a raise? The answer was clear: I made most of my
parnassa from kashrus work and did not need more money from the shul to support my family.
And then Reb Shloime’s prophetic
words came back to me. He had never said, “Make your parnassa from
giving a hechsher,” as he did;
he had just said, “Make it from kashrus.” That’s exactly what I was
doing.
Several years later, we moved to Eretz Yisrael. Although I do
not make any parnassa from kashrus at the moment, I have functioned
for several decades now as a rav of a “kehilla without walls” – a
kehilla without a building and
without any parnassa from the field. “If you make your parnassa
from rabbanus, you’ll weaken your success.”
