Alongside hundreds of thousands of people on Sunday, I accompanied Maran Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky, the Minister of Torah, on his final path. I walked behind his coffin with the multitudes from all sections of society: ultra-Orthodox, religious, secular. They were all there to walk with Maran, who was always there for everyone, on his final path? The heart refuses to believe the body cannot digest. Maran, the Minister of Torah, is no longer with us. The rabbi of the Children of Israel has left us on our own.
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Over many years, I had the privilege to enter his holy abode, to ascend the steps leading to his house on Rashbam Street, to pose questions to the Minister of Torah, and to await his decision. He always gave a decisive and clear answer, one that cast aside any doubts. After every visit to the house on Rashbam Street, we would leave with our strength replenished and with a blessing for the way to continue our efforts for the People of Israel.
But we did not just leave with a clear answer. Every time anew I would leave in wonder at the sight of the depth of Rabbi Kanievsky's engagement with the Torah, with his love of Torah which knew no boundaries. His nephew and confidante Yanki Kanievsky would seat me next to the rabbi and then a deafening silence as we waited for Maran to lift his head. We would wait patiently for the rabbi to finish studying and notice our presence in the room.
Of course, the rabbi would never finish studying. It was always left to his nephew to say, "Grandfather, the Chief Rabbi is here." And then I would see how his incredible love of Torah would switch to love of Israel. How he would listen with infinite patience to every question as if the Gemara was not waiting for him on his table. He would sit and listen, even though I had interfered with the study he so loved.
But the needs of his people are plentiful. And he had not only the questions of the Chief Rabbi to answer. In the long queue climbing up the stairs to his house, one could see all the shades of the People of Israel, who had come from near and far. He would listen to every one of them with patience, give counsel, a blessing, and a good word. That was the simplicity of Maran, the Minister of Torah. He lived in a simple house with walls covered with books from floor to ceiling. It was a unique simplicity that characterized him.
Yesterday as I cried watching his coffin being lowered in the fresh grave, I noticed how his simplicity was also reflected in the simple grave where he was laid to rest alongside his wife of blessed memory, the Rebbetzin Kanievsky, may she rest in peace. Maran's simple grave immortalizes his legacy. It shows us the path to continue his way: love of the Torah born out of incredible simplicity.
After the funeral procession, as I left the gates of the cemetery, one of the policemen securing the funeral came up to me. "Rabbi," he said, "Rabbi Chaim has gone, the generation will be lacking." Indeed, he will be missed. Not only to the man in uniform, who knew Maran primarily from the media but to the entire People of Israel, who dwelled in his books, walked in his light, and was led by his wisdom.
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