In Memoriam: Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm z”l

by David Berger

In the early modern period, we find reference in the works of Jews in the Islamic orbit to the ideal of a hakham shalem—expert in both Torah and the various forms of wisdom. If we wish to be yet more ambitious, we can imagine an individual who supplements these already daunting characteristics with a constellation of exceptional personal qualities.

Rabbi Norman Lamm came remarkably close to meeting this extraordinary standard. He was a major thinker who articulated and embodied an ideal of interaction between Torah in its purest sense and world civilization and culture. He contributed to the academic study of Jewish thought. He composed works that inspired Jews to renewed and enhanced observance of mitzvot. He delivered shiurim to classroom audiences and to packed auditoriums, and he published a book of hiddushei Torah. He was an orator of almost transcendent talent; no one in the Jewish world—certainly in the Orthodox world–after Rav Soloveitchik came close. He radiated atzilut (which I would translate inadequately as an aristocratic demeanor) while maintaining genuine concern for virtually everyone he knew; he is said to have responded personally to every letter he received, and he sent congratulatory notes to friends and acquaintances upon reading a review or even a letter to the editor of which he approved. He stood at the helm of a religious movement, leading its central, indispensable institution, founding the Orthodox Forum, the Orthodox Caucus, and the Torah u-Madda Project, serving as the first editor of Tradition, and initiating GPATS, the primary expression of Modern Orthodoxy’s commitment to genuinely advanced Talmud study for women.

Several years after Gerson D. Cohen left Columbia to become Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary—and well before his tragic, debilitating illness– he told me, “I am out of commission as a scholar.” Cohen was a brilliant, driven figure of stunning intellectual breadth and vibrant energy. I often thought of this comment when contemplating the remarkable productivity of Norman Lamm as he led a much larger, far more complex institution, and I shook my head in wonderment.

My one opportunity to characterize an aspect of Rabbi Lamm’s multifaceted accomplishments came when I was invited to write the Foreword to the Deuteronomy volume of his Derashot Ledorot, a series made possible by my wife Pearl, who was then Dean of Yeshiva University’s libraries. She spearheaded an initiative—in consultation with Rabbi Lamm– to place the treasure trove of his typewritten sermons in a digitally accessible data base, which continues to register triple-digit hits on a weekly basis, available here.

In that Foreword, I wrote about my reaction to his sermons, noting among other things his linguistic brilliance. My favorite example was his striking reformulation in a sermon about the drug culture of the late 1960’s of a classic line by Marx. “Opium,” said Rabbi Lamm, “is the religion of the masses.”

I conclude with the following passage from that Foreword recording two memorable incidents unrelated to the published sermons:

One [of these incidents] left me with an enduring impression of Rabbi Lamm’s extraordinary sermonic instinct, and the other revealed a sharp, quick, and agile mind that supplemented the deep and serious intellect expressed in his scholarly and philosophical works.

In March of 1987, Yeshiva University held “A Centennial Event Honoring the Establishment of the Yeshiva University Archives.” Because the archives contain major collections relating to the Holocaust, particularly the records of Orthodox organizations like Vaad Hatzalah and Rescue Children, the program was entitled, “Zachor: Written and Oral History,” and Prof. Geoffrey Hartman of Yale, who directed a video archive of Holocaust-related testimonies, was invited to address the gathering. Rabbi Lamm’s role was to provide a brief introduction to the event. He was by no means the principal speaker, and he could have fulfilled his obligation with a routine comment or two requiring barely a moment of thought or preparation. His introduction was indeed brief, but it was more memorable than anything said by the distinguished visitor.

I wondered, said Rabbi Lamm, why the director of an oral archive would be invited to speak at the launching of an archive of written materials. But then, he continued, I realized that when the Torah speaks of the requirement to remember Amalek, the quintessential precursor of the Nazi murderers, it introduces the divine commandment as follows: “Write this as a remembrance in a book, and place it in the ears of Joshua” (Exodus 17:14). Remembering Amalek requires both a written and an oral archive.

The second episode emerged in the wake of a position that Rabbi Lamm took on a controversial issue that need not detain us here. A prominent rabbi in the Traditionalist Orthodox community responded in a public address with the assertion that Rabbi Lamm was a sone’ Hashem, a hater of God. The editor of the Yiddish newspaper The Algemeiner Journal asked the purported God-hater for his reaction. Rabbi Lamm replied with a single, brief quotation from the Talmud: “Those who are shamed and do not shame in return, who hear their disgrace and do not respond…—of them Scripture declares, “All who love Him shall be like the sun rising in strength” (Judges 5:31).

We have suffered the loss of a unique leader whose legacy will remain with us in virtually every nook and cranny of our Jewish lives.

On the Passing of Yeshayahu Vinograd, the Bibliographer and the Man

Moshe Dovid Chechik

Yeshayahu Vinograd (1933–2020), the renowned scholar and bibliographer, passed away on Thursday, 7 May 2020. He authored Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri (Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book), Otzar Sifrei ha-Gra (Thesaurus of the Books of the Vilna Gaon), and (published) Siddur Ezor Eliyahu. The following reminiscences were written by Moshe Dovid Chechik at the request of the editors of The Seforim Blog, and translated from the Hebrew by Daniel Tabak.

While most frontmatter is forgettable, one of the most amazing prefaces that I will never forget is the one composed by Reb Shaya of blessed memory for his magnum opus, Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri (Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book). If there were an anthology of prefaces, an entire section would be dedicated to this one, as it is truly sui generis. Its heading reads “Preface and Acknowledgments,” but only the latter is accurate. Spanning nearly four folio-sized pages is a list of every institution and individual who assisted in the writing of the book. Considering that this was a labor of many years, it was only natural that a goodly number of people would make contributions, and so Reb Shaya, a bibliographer through and through, remembered each and every one of them, dedicating a line or two or three to mark their efforts.

This preface encapsulates some of Reb Shaya’s most beloved attributes. First and foremost, he was a diligent collector of all things. In this introductory frontmatter—as in his writings themselves—he amassed all of the relevant particulars, because the omission of even one would mar the final product. Naturally, this was inextricably bound up with Reb Shaya’s characteristically phenomenal memory, as well as his drive to be as precise as possible—not to over- or understate matters, but to delineate precisely what we know and what we do not. Finally, it reflects his good-heartedness, how he found joy in sharing in the success of others and in sharing of himself with others.

In the preface, Reb Shaya did not forget about himself and so provided us with a rough self-eulogy:

The National and University Library [of Israel] served as my home and as my primary source of information and bibliographical data. […] The catalogue room [today, the computer lab] served as my main office for years, and many visitors to the library considered me staff, addressing their questions and even complaints to me… [points of ellipsis in the original].

These are the wonderful qualities that made Reb Shaya who he was. He could not have been further from the stereotype of the stodgy bibliographer who lives in a world of dry facts.

Reb Shaya’s sarcastic wit was ever-present. Thirteen years ago, a few months after I moved into his neighborhood, I ran into him on his way to the Mahane Yehuda market. At the time, we didn’t know each other. I stopped him with some hesitation and asked him when the new edition of the siddur Ezor Eliyahu would be printed. In response he asked, “Are you Chechik?” I nodded, bewildered, as if I had been caught red-handed. In an undertone I remarked that I really hope he didn’t ask every passerby if they are Chechik. He gave a hearty laugh and quickly reassured me that he bore me no grudge for the critical review I had penned two years earlier on the siddur. Quite the contrary, he added, he thought the criticism was well placed. Faced with his grin and bright eyes, I couldn’t help but believe him. We were friends ever since, and recently he reminded me of our first encounter, making sure I remembered my amusing retort.

R. Shaya’s daily route to and from the market passed under my window, allowing him to grab me for a chat when he liked. And since the stop for the 7 bus to the National Library was located under the window to his office on Bezalel Street opposite Hagidem, it gave me a chance to engage him in conversation. He would beam when reporting on the progress of every edition of the siddur, which he never ceased updating and improving, and he insisted on gifting me a copy of every edition, paying no mind to my protests.

He spoke to everyone as an equal. The age gap of fifty years that separated us never surfaced in our conversations. Neither did the immense store of knowledge he carried around. I was always astounded by his insatiable curiosity for new fields or unfamiliar topics. This was no passing interest, as he always remembered to press me about whether I had looked into something or had found a balm for some burning question of his.

R. Shaya’s trademark was his constant smile. As a neighbor, I can say that I never saw him get angry at anyone.

In recent years, when R. Shaya was already in his eighties, his main efforts were expended on a work that he unfortunately never completed. This was the Otzar ha-Ziyyufim, a compendium intended to document every instance of a Hebrew press mentioning an incorrect imprint—for whatever reason—on a title page. This painstaking work demanded a detective’s perceptive hunch, a historian’s vast knowledge, a bibliophile’s intimate familiarity with countless volumes, and, of course, a taxonomist’s complex classification scheme, which he himself had to devise and define. The illness and passing of his wife brought his work to a full stop, but recently he informed me on several occasions that his work was nearing its conclusion, even if, as we had come to expect, he would find new cases for inclusion on a daily basis. His perfectionism confined his final work to a drawer.

It is difficult to capture R. Shaya’s enormous contribution to the world of Hebrew bibliography, for which we owe him a tremendous debt. Who knows how many hours and days he saved us with the meticulously written and organized Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri. More than twenty-five years since its publication, and in spite of the impressive technological advances of recent decades, this colossal work of Reb Shaya the bibliographer has yet to be superseded. But for his colleagues, friends, and loved ones, there is none who can replace R. Shaya the man, with his wonderful personality, good humor, and wit.

All אוהבי ספר join in mourning the passing of R. Shlomo Biegeleisen, זכרונו לברכה. One of the most knowledgeable Jewish bookdealers in recent Jewish history, he did not merely sell books. He proffered sound advice, introduced customers to each other, and – in general – provided a congenial setting for תלמידי חכמים, scholars, collectors, bibliophiles, and “ordinary” Jews to meet and exchange ideas. Many a חידוש and scholarly article resulted from a conversation that took place (or: was overheard) at Biegeleisen’s Jewish bookstore. Aside from his private customers and their collections, he helped build many of the leading public libraries, including those of prominent Yeshivos and prominent academic institutions. יהא זכרו ברוך!

Special כוס תנחומין to his wife Mrs. Gina Biegeleisen; to his brother and partner R.Moshe Biegeleisen; and to his son Mr. Yossie Biegeleisen. A third generation of Biegeleisens has now joined the family business, and there could not be better testimony to this family’s ability to transmit from one generation to the next their אהבת התורה ,אהבת ישראל, and אהבת הספר.

Shnayer Leiman