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Borough Park, NY - Since his arrival in Israel, Rav Nachum Ephraim Teitelbaum, shlita, Av Beis Din of Volov in Boro Park and the father of Rav Leibish Teitelbaum, Hy”d, has spent most of his time in the home of his murdered son. When I ask Rav Nachum Ephraim about his son, the bereaved father tries to reply but at first he is unable.

His voice breaks and he begins to weep. Two brothers sitting at the table try to help him, but their words are interspersed with tears and barely a sound comes out. It continues this way for several long moments. Then the father wipes his tears, pours himself a cup of water from the bottle on the table, makes a brachah, and after drinking a bit, tries to speak. Again, his emotions rise to the surface, and his voice betrays him. “A father eulogizing his son?” he mumbles quietly, yet the words are like a shout. “A father burying his son?” he whispers, but the words resound.

“His friends, some of whom spoke to me, described him as a person who devoted his entire life to other people. His face was always illuminated with a ready smile and he was constantly available to lend a hand. He always knew just the right thing to say to another person.” Silence permeates the room. The phone rings but no one answers. No one wants to shatter the stillness. Rav Nachum Ephraim buries his face in his hands. The difficulty he has speaking about his son is apparent.

And then he continues: “Leibish had a phenomenal memory. Nevertheless, as a young man he would toil in his learning. He worked on every sugya until he felt that he had mastered it out of diligence and not because of his memory. We did not realize the scope of his knowledge, but on Purim he would drink wine, and when he came to the point of ‘ad delo yada’ all of a sudden, it was ‘nichnas yayin yatzah sod,’ and we discovered that he was a scholar of unusual stature.” Tears pool in the father’s eyes and spill over down his face. He removes his glasses, and in a choked voice he says, “Everyone knows that his holy body was found on the second floor of Chabad House, in the beis medrash. He had been sitting there learning with Reb Benzion Kruman, Hy”d, who had also traveled on behalf of our kashrus organization to oversee kashrus in factories.

There, beside the open Gemaras, they were slaughtered al Kiddush Hashem and their blood splattered on the sifrei kodesh and then ran down to the floor. There was nothing in his world besides the four walls of halachah, and even in his death, in their deaths, he was with his beloved seforim.”

Once again the room is silent save for the weeping of the father and brothers. I also notice another source of sobbing, outside of the room. Later, when I leave the house, I discover that these sobs came from the new widow who stood outside the room listening to the hesped of a father for his son — her husband. “It is clear to me that everything is from Shamayim,” the bereaved father continues.

“I have no doubt for a single second that this is how it was meant to be.

“When I reflect back on this trip, I see that every single detail was guided from above. Leibish was not involved in the kashrus business on a daily basis. He spent his days steeped in Torah learning. He was destined to be a gaon. The visit to the factory in India was supposed to take place right after Succos but it didn’t work out until two weeks ago. Leibish (tears are once again pouring down his face) found out that I was a bit tense about the fact that things were taking so long, and he offered to travel in my place to the factories, to ensure that everything was being done in accordance with our strict criteria. He did it out of kibbud av, to make it easier for me. He fulfilled two mitzvos on this trip: kibbud av and enabling others to have kosher l’mehadrin food. “Leibish was extremely efficient and very focused. From my many years of experience in kashrus, I figured that the work would be finished on Thursday.

But he managed to finish everything by Wednesday. Only a genius like him could do such a thing. And when he finished his work he immediately sat down to learn. When the terrorists invaded Chabad House, he should have already been in his hotel.

But his precious learning kept him in the beis medrash with Reb Benzion for just a little longer. “You asked me earlier what goes through the mind of a father who hears that his son is trapped in a building taken over by terrorists. When I heard what had happened, I felt that iron shackles had tied him to the place. When the initial news arrived, I called him to find out where he was and if he was okay. There was no answer. I thought perhaps he was busy. But as the hours went by and he didn’t call, I realized that he could very well be there. When I heard that there were hostages in the Chabad House, I thought he surely wasn’t there, because he’d planned to be somewhere else at that time. Then I was told that he had been found in the beis medrash and I thought to myself, how could it be otherwise? Leibish and the Gemara were inseparable.” And then he bursts into heavy sobbing. I make a move to get up and go, but he motions for me to sit down.

“I am asking you to write that there is no place, chalilah, for any doubts about HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s actions!” In a clear voice, he continues, “Our Father in Heaven is a Merciful Father. He is merciful to all His creations. If He ordained things this way, then that is exactly the way they have to be. Hashem guides a person’s steps. We don’t have the slightest understanding about the calculations of Heaven. We cannot fathom His ways. But I am wholeheartedly positive that this is midas haRachamim. It is not midas haDin. It is not possible that this is midas haDin.”

When a person reads these words and wants to strengthen himself with some practical kabbalah, what would the Rav advise him to do? The Rav thinks a moment, and responds, “Because my dear son gave his life for kashrus, perhaps it would be worthy to monitor more strictly what goes in and out of our mouths. Kashrus must be uncompromising, and when it comes to what is uttered by our mouths, we cannot compromise either. Every sentence that a person utters must be kosher l’mehadrin.”

What did you tell your grandchildren when you met them? I see him shudder. “I have spoken enough. Enough,” he asserts.

I understand that it is hard for him and turn to leave the room. I notice the widow sitting at the entrance to the room, listening to his words. The thought that he said these words in order to be mechazek her lingers in my mind long after I leave the house.

Exclusive reprint permission from Mishpacha Magazine Issue 237 written By Eliezer Shulman