RABBI Uriel Malkas naturally embracing smile will never again spread across his face, but its imprint will never leave mine.
Who is the new teacher from Israel? This is his first meeting with the parents. There is a staccato quality to his English as he searches for the right word from out of his obviously more comfortable Hebrew vocabulary. One thing is clear: He is in love with the prospect of teaching Torah to children, including our son Chaim.
Fast forward four years:
Rabbi Malkas delight and amazement at the huge growth spurt of Chaim will never again light up Rabbi Malkas visage, but the affection written all over it will never leave Chaims.
Rabbi Malka also gathered around himself pupils outside the classroom. Nows hes invited to speak at a brit, now to give a class, now to study regularly in havruta fashion, now to lead a minyan. The role of the tzaddik, the exceptionally pious individual, is one of his themes how G-d wants each Jew to reach that level. Read the related IJN editorial on Rabbi Malka
Rabbi Malkas respect for the words of the Torah will no longer emanate in lectures, but their impact on his listeners will remain forever.
How can one way of death be worse than the next? Rabbi Malka was killed in the Carmel Forest fire, the worst in Israeli history. Given our recent, collective history during the Holocaust, a body burned and consumed, just like a sacrifice on the Temple altar, leaves one especially shocked and shaken.
Rabbi Malkas horrible death cannot be separated from our image of him, but his qualities in life will outshine and transcend that image.
OK. Rabbi Malka must get to the airport. Hes finished his Yom Kippur minyan and the first days of Sukkot. Now hes got to get a jetBlue flight out of Denver at 12:55 a.m. Hes rushed and pressed. Two of his former students, however, love to be with him after all, this was the only teacher they ever had who regularly invited the whole class to his apartment for sleepovers. But this time the rabbis visit to Denver is cut way short. Sorry.
Then, suddenly, Adam and Alec Zussman get a call. Rabbi Malka will be over in a few minutes. He may be tight on time, but he takes his former students out to Starbucks. Then . . . off to the airport.
Rabbi Malkas sweetness will never be replaced, but its fragrance will stay fresh always.
We all know about Jewish geography and six degrees of separation, but still, if you know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who died in the Carmel fire, its very different from one degree of separation or none. When its your friend, your neighbor, your teacher who was killed, the loss is jarring. Read related IJN news coverage
Rabbi Malkas spiritual power unpretentious, even unseen, yet so radiant to a community 8,000 miles from his home will never bless Denver again, but the echo of that power is eternal.
Peleg Forman, a friend and student of Rabbi Malka, wondered at the memorial service last Sunday at BMH-BJ how they ever became attached. Forman grew up secular; Malka, religious. Forman was Ashkenazi, Malka was Sephardi. These gaps are not often bridged.
Rabbi Malkas touch and laugh and wonderment and good cheer will never return, but their place in our heart will never depart.
The day after Rabbi Malkas death, Peleg Forman set up a website in Rabbi Malkas memory. He told no one about it. Forty-eight hours later, the site had garnered 10,000 hits.
NADAV and Avihu, two sons of Aaron the High Priest, were burned to death on the day of the dedication of the Tabernacle (Leviticus 10:1-3).
Their deaths left their father silent. Va-yidom Aharon and Aaron was silent. A silence of acceptance? Of stupefaction? Of resentment? Of perplexity? Sheer pain?
Take your pick, for sometimes an event is so unexpected and shocking that the wisest course is not to elaborate. And Aaron was silent.
Just this: In the case of Aarons two sons, the Hebrew Bible gives a reason for their deaths by fire. In the case of Rabbi Uriel Malka, there was no apparent reason. None.
Thus may we say: If G-d says of the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, I will be sanctified through those nearest Me, all the more so was Rabbi Malka, pure and unblemished, nearest to G-d.
A sacred vessel.
Which.
Providentially.
Came into our midst, 8,000 miles from his home.
Thus may we say: If we, so distant from Rabbi Malkas hearth and not members of his family, are beyond consolation at this moment, all the more so his family.
We are with you in your pain.
May G-d comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.
Copyright © 2010 by the Intermountain Jewish News
