Yisrael Meir Lau

I believe that I will not have fulfilled my duty if I do not here serve as spokesman for many who need to beg forgiveness and pardon from HaRav Shlomo Carlebach. We did not relate to him with enough respect, we did not value him sufficiently, we did not stand strong enough to guard the honor which he never sought but was truly entitled to.

I ask forgiveness and pardon in the name of those who are present here and in the name of the many who should have been present here but did not come. They will come, however, and they will come to value this great soul who moved among us: a soul from the world of nobility and purity, the world of awe, of melody, and of intimacy with the divine.

Perhaps the name Carlebach is not familiar to the young among you, but those of us who are older know R. Shlomo’s roots: he came from one of the most aristocratic families in the world of Torah, the world of Judaism before the Akeda, before the destruction.

[R. Shlomo] belonged to all worlds, even though sometimes it appeared he belonged to none — sometimes he was so isolated and so lonely. More than once, when we’d meet on an airplane, it seemed that he had no ally but his guitar. But he belonged to all worlds. He was a true ben-Torah in the world of the Lakewood Yeshiva, alongside R. Aharon Kotler, who today stands ready to greet him. [R. Shlomo] was a household member in the home of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who today stands ready to greet him. And [R. Shlomo] was a Bratslaver, and, no doubt, Rabbi Nachman rejoices today with this great soul arriving in the secret, lofty places.

[R. Shlomo] was a member of a very illustrious family, a family of deep believers. His uncle, R. Yosef Zvi Carlebach z’tz’l, wrote one of the last postcards of his life — perhaps the very last — to my father. Both of them, friends in heart and soul, rose heavenward in the storm in Europe fifty years ago. [R. Yosef Zvi Carlebach] wrote to [my father]: “As for me, I am amidst my congregation.” He had been advised to embark for the safety of America, and he answered my father — we have the postcard — “I am amidst my congregation; I shall not leave my congregation.” Such devotion for the community of Israel.

I see Shloimele in Russia, before any of us had the chance to get there — [Russia,] where souls were being lost at the murderous pace of a thousand a day. And this young man showed up with his guitar. They’d [not] seen anyone looking like this in a long time — a beard and payot, tzitzit. And from these encounters was born that song that the whole Jewish world knows: “Od Avinu Chai” (Our Father still lives). [Shlomo] came to them as if to tell them: The people of Israel lives! Why? In what zechut? Because Our Father lives. They didn’t understand his words, but they understood his soul. They absorbed him without understanding his texts — no dictionary is needed for the language of feelings. They understood and absorbed [R. Shlomo's] language more than they did our rabbinic speeches. R. Shlomo had a language called the language of the heart.

You just sang Mizmor L’Dovid, a Psalm of David. More than twenty years ago, I had the honor of hosting [R. Shlomo] until four in the morning in my house on Vermiza Street in Tel Aviv. And he said to me, “R. Yisrael, you are a child of the Holocaust. I want to sing you a melody.” And there, on the spot, he composed a melody which has never been published anywhere, to the words of one Torah verse. And that verse was — and it is with it we accompany him today — “Even when I am walking in the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.” This “You are with me” is what sustained [R. Shlomo] all over the world: on the campuses of Berkeley; all the campuses of the east and the west; the campuses of England, France, Austria, Germany, South Africa, and Australia; in places so far-flung that the name of Israel was barely remembered there. R. Shlomo stood up and returned so many people to the embrace of Judaism and helped so many turn back from distorted lives. I remember the first time [R. Shlomo] appeared at Zion-America House, which at the time still had no ceiling and was wide open on top. He began with the song “Essa Einai” (“I lift my eyes to the mountains”), and we answered him with “Shomer Yisrael” (“Guardian of Israel, guard the remnant of Israel”), and, as if in a message appropriate for this last week [which included the kidnapping and murder of Nachshon Wachsman and the terrorist bombing in Dizengoff Center which took 22 Jewish lives], he sang for us “Yisrael, Betach BaHaShem, Efram uMaginam Hu” (“Nation of Israel, trust in the Lord; He is [Israel's] Help and Shield”). And then he promised us the promise of “Od Yishama Kol Sasson veKol Simcha” (“There will yet be heard the voices of joy and gladness”), then “Vehanchilaynu Hashem Elokeynu beahava uveratzon Shabbat Kodshecha” (“In love and grace He has given us His Holy Sabbath”). He made us all take a leap into the holiness of the Sabbath, and today we accompany him into the day that is all Shabbat and peace, to the life of eternity.

R. Shlomo was a great soul, a quintessential soul. Only once in a generation does such a soul turn up — who knows from whence it was drawn? From the roots of higher worlds.

I want to tell you something. There are four species: the Etrog, the Lulav, the Hadas (myrtle), and the Arava (willow). Their initials spell out “A’aleh” (I shall go up). [R. Shlomo], this is the day of your going up. The Hadas is called a branch of interwoven foliage. What is special about the Hadas? Three leaves in a row emerge from the stalk at the same spot. The three leaves are three hearts. These are the three loves about which we have been commanded. First of all “Veahavta et Hashem Elokecha” (“You shall love the Lord your God”) — this is one leaf of the Hadas. Secondly, “Veahavta leReacha kamocha” (“Love your neighbor as yourself”) — this is the second leaf. And the third is “uverachta et Hashem Elokecha al ha’aretz hatova asher natan lach” (“Bless the Lord your God in the good Land which He has given you”) — the love of the land of Israel. Now it is not the case with all of us that the three leaves line up. For one person, love of Torah might be stronger than his love of the Jewish people. Another person’s love of the Jewish people might be stronger than his love of God. And there are those whose love of the land might be stronger than both other loves. The Rambam calls a Hadas of this type — one whose leaves are not equal — a “Hadas shoteh” (a foolish Hadas). [R. Shlomo], you were a wise Hadas, whose sweet fragrance was widely diffused. You were a Hadas who possessed all three leaves, and all of them suckled from the same inner point that is in all of Israel, who is hewn from the Rock. [You had] powerful love for the Holy One, Blessed be He, boundless love of Torah, and an unparalleled love for Israel. R. Shlomo’s love of Israel, and love for every grain of dust of the land of Israel…how to put it?…he was connected to every letter of Torah, to every soul in the nation, and to every clump of dust in the land. Today, as with a good name you go to the higher world, surrounded by the love of your friends, your students, and people who esteem you, the clumps of dust of the Holy Land that you so love will sing sweetly for you….

And your prayers at the Western Wall, your Friday nights at the Western Wall…it is into your own Sabbath eves of “Rav lach Shevet” (“Enough dwelling in the vale of tears, come arise from the ruins”), into your own “Mikdash Melech” (“Temple of the King”) that you are entering today in the higher worlds. I can see in my mind’s eye the Tzaddikim and higher Holy Ones who are right now greeting your soul. You brought the spirit of Jewish life into so many Jewish souls who were on the threshold of danger, of getting lost, of disappearing.

May your pure, refined soul be bound up in the bouquet of life.

Alas, alas for those who are gone, no longer here.

You had a soul the likes of which is only seen once in many generations, and it had the power to sustain numerous souls in Israel.

May you be granted in the higher world enjoyment from your daughters, whom you always praised so highly; may you attain faithful “houses” to carry on your name in Israel with honor and splendor. Your songs are living monuments, unlike a stationary tombstone. [Your music is] a living, ongoing monument. The entire Jewish world — in this generation and for generations to come — are building up for you a memorial of sons and daughters — “I shall give him an eternal name which cannot be cut off.” Every song, every letter, every note, is a living monument to the great soul whom we were privileged to know, the soul of HaRav Shlomo Carlebach, may the beloved Tzaddik be remembered for blessing, for eternity.

Translated by Rachel Ebner, transcribed for MAC by Reuven Goldfarb, and edited for publication by Rabbi-Chaver David Wolfe-Blank

Categories: In Memoriam
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