On Sunday, January 31 , 2021 (Shevat 18, 5781) Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski passed away, age 90 (here). Baruch Dayan HaEmet.
I am deeply saddened by his passing. For over 50 years, I had many conversations with him about a wide variety of topics. Some of those conversations still remain with me these many years later.
He was a brilliant man. I will miss him. Mostly, I think, I will miss his extraordinary wisdom--and his unique way of sharing that wisdom.
To me, he was never Rabbi Twerski, or even Dr.Twerski. I knew him the same way many in my neighborhood knew him--as, simply, "Shia". That's the way he was: simple, with no titles or pretentiousness.
I first met Shia Twerski on a Shabbat morning at my brother's house, after shul (synagogue services), in either 1968 or 1969. At that time--and for perhaps the next 40 years--all three of us lived in the same city, in the same neighborhood. Shia and my brother were close in age. They were friends. Somewhere along the line they became a chavrutah--study partners.
Between 1969-82, I saw Shia only randomly, usually at social events, or with my brother. By 1982, however, both I and Shia davened (prayed) at the same shul (synagogue). For the next ten years, I saw him at least weekly, if not more often. These are the years I remember most.
Here are some of my Shia Twerski memories.
--In our shul, Shia often gave a D'var Torah (words of insight about verses in the weekly Torah Parsha (portion). On several occasions, I was so uplifted by what he had to say that I would rush home after shul as fast as my feet would carry me. I couldn't wait to say over to my family at our Shabbat/Holiday meal what he had said. Even though my retelling of his words was only a shadow of the original, his words still inspired.
-One Shabbat before services began, Shia came over to where I was sitting in shul. He sat down. In a typical Shia fashion, he had something to say--and, as was his nature, he minced no words. He was focused, very direct: he said, "I have a problem". He explained his problem. His description of his problem was simple. He used simple words. He was factual. His meaning was clear. I found it easy to help him. Over time, it would turn out that this would not be the only time Shia asked something of me. Each time, his simplicity and clarity was striking. He was perhaps the most clear-spoken man I have ever met. I simply remember this first time best. It made the biggest impression on me.
-As a graduate of Yeshiva University (YU), I understood the concept of Torah and Maddah. These two words made up the logo, if you will, of YU. It meant that a religious life (Torah) was possible even while living and working in a secular environment (Maddah). "Maddah" meant, more literally, "science", which meant that this logo was also declaring that Torah and science were not incompatible.
Many in the religious Jewish world reject this concept. Indeed, it has seemed to me that the more religious one was, the more one would be expected to dismiss this concept. Shia was different.
He didn't reject this concept. He embraced it. He lived it. Over time, he became for me the most outstanding exception I knew to this 'formula' (if you are religious, you can't work and live in a secular world).
Shia Twerski wasn't just 'religious'. He was a chasid--meaning, you could never, ever, mistake him for a secular person. He looked religious. He dressed religious. He wore a long black morning coat (in yiddish, a bekesheh) held at the waist by a large black fabric belt; a long beard; long payos (sidelocks); and a large black yarmulke (kippa). Anyone who saw him knew they were looking at a Jew. Yet, he believed that a Torah life could be lived while existing in a secular environment. He lived such a life.
We sometimes talked about this, Shia and I. We talked about how easily many of the religious challenges presented by the secular world could be solved, if only one had the commitment to do that. We talked also about how so much of secular thought was indeed compatible with our own Jewish Heritage.
-He had a sense of humor. But his humor always had a point to it. His humor always seem to convey some insight into either Torah study, our Jewish heritage, understanding better what it means to believe--or, simply, an insight into human nature. I think I learned more about emunah--belief--from him than from anyone else.
-Often, on a Shabbat or a Holiday, Shia gave to our shul the day's sermon. One day, he began his sermon with the following words: "I don't know how the following is connected to today's Parsha (Torah Portion). But I've been thinking about this for awhile now and I want to share it with you. He then proceeded to give his sermon. To finish, he said, simply: "Now, I'm not sure how these words relate to today's Parsha. Maybe you can see the connections. Good Shabbos". He sat down.
After shul, I went to him and said, "Shia, you've given me a wonderful idea. There are occasions when I go someplace and my host asks if I would give a d'var torah. I usually decline. But what you have taught me today shows me how to give a great dvar torah--every time I'm asked. All I have to do is learn just one d'var torah, perhaps from a Rav who is widely recognized. All I need do is recite this memorized d'var torah, beginning with your words today: "I don't know how my words will connect to this week's Parsha. But I've been thinking about something Rav so-and-so once said". Then, I'd give the memorized dvar torah. I could even finish as you did today, with, "I don't know if you can see the connection between this dvar Torah and this week's portion. Maybe you'll see those connections!"
His response was classic Shia Twerski. He said, "Sure. Just don't mention my name."
-Recently, I read the following about Shia: once, someone speaking to him questioned if a Jew could really go to a church basement in order to attend a 12-step AA (Alcoholic Anonymous) meeting, as part of a recovery program. Shia's response to this was as clear in its meaning--and as simple--as he always was: 'when a Jew has a life-threatening illness, do you look for the best doctor--or for a Jewish doctor?"
His point was clear. You look for the best doctor. Nothing further needed to be said about going to an AA meeting in a church basement.
-I believe Shia once told me that, years earlier, he had been asked to prepare to become the "next" Bobover Rebbe--that is, to become the spiritual head of a chasiddic sect called, 'Bobov'. In truth, he was a good choice to do this because, for one thing, he had grown up in a family known for its chassidic roots--and its chassidic leaders. Nevertheless, he had declined. Instead, he went to Medical School--and became, I believe, something of a secular "Rebbe"--one who, through his writings, books, lectures and medical work served as a kind of uplifting, spiritually authentic counselor to thousands upon thousands of people who were spiritually lost. He helped many find meaning and purpose in life. He helped many to find a path to healing.
-When I heard that Shia had left this world, I called my adult son, to tell him about Shia's passing. He had heard. I asked him if he remembered Shia. He said, "of course, I used to walk home with you and him on Shabbat". I asked my son if he remembered anything he had heard Shia say to me on these walks home. My son responded, "no. I was too young then. I didn't pay attention."
Shia Twerski was a Talmid Chacham. He was also a brilliant physician, one who had had both the vision and the courage to found and help to build what has become today a drug and alcohol rehab "system" called, the Gateway Rehabilitation Center. Today, Gateway Rehab has 22 locations in Western Pennsylvania and Ohio. It's a full-service mental health system that serves 1,700 patients daily--and has a 152-bed inpatient and detox facility. In 2012, the Gateway Rehab Center's main facility was rededicated. It's now called, "Abe's Place" in honor of the simple and unpretentious man who had started it all, Dr Abraham J. Twerski (here). He has also established healing programs in Israel.
Shia, thank you for giving to me so much of your time over these last 50 years. I will miss you.
May your family be comforted.
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