Dear Meir,
Please excuse the fact that I do not address you as Rabbi, as you so deserved to be called, due to your Semicha from Mirrer Yeshiva, and the fact that you were a Talmid Chochom.
I call you Meir because that is how I knew you and how you were affectionately called by the staff of the Jewish Press, where you initially worked as editor, in addition to being a columnist. Besides being called just Meir, you had assumed another title amongst your co-workers.
“The future Prime Minister of Israel,” Rabbi Yaakov Klass (The Advertising Director) of the Jewish Press) announced each time you came to the building in recent years during your shorts stints in the U.S. And each person hearing this title would smile knowingly and believingly.
Yes, each person at the Jewish Press from the delivery boy to paste up person, to typist, from the secretary and salesperson, right up to the publisher believed that you would one day become Prime Minister.
I believed this too till I received the dreadful phone call on a Monday evening that you were on the way to Bellevue, that you had been shot by an assassin’s bullet.
Why didn’t you have security? Many of us depended on you. You had no right to go without security throughout your lecture tour. When you spoke in Lakewood the week before your assassination, the scheduled place was relocated twice. The first place was pressured into cancelling because of threats of loss of business and the manager of the second place, the Woodlake Country Club refused to have you speak there because you were not accompanied by security. The Lakewood police department did not want to officially send out some protection. They claimed they were too busy.
So the appointed place was finally at Leisure Lounge. You were exhausted, after over a week of lecturing, traveling from state to state to deliver your speeches and collect money for your cause. When you reached Lakewood, you had to shlep to three locations till you finally found the group that was eagerly waiting to hear from you. Over 150 people gathered in the course of the evening. Many trickled in late because of their having gone to the wrong location. But these people were ready to listen to you, no matter how much shlepping they had to do. And when they listened to you, they were well rewarded.
You were always a very gifted teacher and dynamic speaker. In addition to your charisma, your sincerity shone through your anger at injustice and your hatred of those who wanted to harm your people. Your love of G-d, Torah, the Jewish People and the Land of Israel were always uppermost in your mind.
Your speech and your response to the questions from the floor left your audience satisfied, enlightened and with renewed respect for you. The owner of the Leisure Lounge not only refused payment for having hosted the lecture but contributed a check to Kach, your cause. Much money was collected that evening and your faced reflected a peaceful satisfaction at having delivered your message. You explained to those present that you are a very devout Jew and follow the Halacha implicitly. In response to a question from a Yeshiva bachur who wanted to know your opinion of Daas Torah, you patiently answered him the Jewish way by responding with a question.
“If you were a Belzer Chasid and all the Rabbis believed one way and the Belzer Rabbi stated the law was another way, who would you follow?”
“The Belzer Rabbi.”
“And you would be right in listening to him because that is the Halacha. Rabbis never always agree. What a Jew has to do is choose a rabbi and follow his dictates.. My rabbi,” you stated, “is Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel. And many times I don’t agree with him and I show him in the Gemora why I disagree with him, but his psak is the psak I go according to, whether I like it or not. Yes, I am a Halachic person. I follow the psak!”
“And if Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu would pasken like Rav Schach, would you follow him?” the bachur asked you.
You smiled back. “He doesn’t.”
Implying if he did you would consider that as the Halacha and would.
You related about how you hoped to return to the Knesset soon. Meir, you were ousted from there because you were a true threat to the other parties. You were gaining popularity daily. If you would have run today you would have easily won eleven seats. This is according to the latest polls in Israel.
In your lecture in Lakewood you proudly revealed that you had studied the Israeli law system inside and out. And I’m sure you had used your legal expertise as I know you had a law degree. You were planning to once again bring in your party to the Knesset, and no way this time, you said, you would be ousted.
“I’ve had time to study every loophole of Israeli law like a Sugya in Gemora,” you proudly exclaimed to your mesmerized audience. Sadly you did not live to see this day.
Your funeral in New York was attended by over 25,000 people. The police security you needed during your lifetime, ironically showed up to the funeral blocking many of the people from entering the shul. People who you called “the establishment” and who mistreated you when you were alive, were given front seats, while many of your supporters were trampled outside. When some of the important “Jewish establishment leaders” were announced for having been present at your levaya, many of your supporters booed them.
But I know that you were pleased that they attended your levaya. If they did not give you the respect due you in life, at least they paid you some respect at your death.
Rebbetzin Jungreis was almost trampled on and Rabbi Yaakov Klass and other members of the staff gave up trying to push through the stampede. I refused to be ousted from your levaya while your denouncers had front seats. The police refused to let in anyone no matter what press credentials one had.
I started to cry so much that suddenly the huge mass of people split like the Red Sea and I found a path leading to the gate of the shul. “She must be a relative,” everyone was whispering. “Let this young woman through, Mishpacha, Mishpacha, ” I heard people utter. And then when I found myself facing a policeman who asked me if I were a relative, I found myself nodding through my tears. Suddenly, I was sitting in one of the front rows behind Rebbetzin Irene Klass and her daughter Naomi Schwartz.
I was sure Meir, you wouldn’t mind, that I was considered your relative. I’m going to remind you of a short story, my father once told you and the response you gave.
Several years ago, when Menachem Begin was Prime Minister and you were rotting in jail in Israel, Begin came to the United States in celebration of Jabotinsky’s centennial to bestow medals on several prominent Herutniks for their bravery. Since my father was one of the recipients, our family was seated in the audience at the Waldorf Astoria in New York where it took place. As each name was announced, the recipient would go up to receive his medal. Naturally there would be thundering applause.
When my father’s turn came, my brother Shmuel rose and began to scream at Begin. “You hypocrite,” he should. “How dare you let Kahane rot in jail while rewarding people who were fighting for what Kahane does now.”
Security guards quickly grabbed my brother and threw him out. I could see Begin’s expression had changed and he looked a bit nervous. There was a hush over the room. The rest of the ceremony was not the same. A certain gloom had marred the festivities of the day. And when the coffe and danish were served to the small crowd later in the adjoining room, the talk was only of you, Kahane. One by one, each person, who had received a medal came to congratulate my father on what a fine thing my brother had done. Dr. Hillel Seidman also a recipient of the Jabotinsky award was there praising my brother.
Meir, when you were at our Shabbos table several months after this event and soon after you were released from jail, my father told you this story. You turned to my brother and told him, “You have no idea what you did for me. I know Begin well. You made him feel guilty. And I know you had an effect on him. I am sure you contributed to his having finally pardoned me.”
Meir, when you graced our Shabbos table when I was young. I remember you telling us stories about jail. Even in the worst circumstances , you would find the bright side. You told us that we would be surprised at how many Jews there were in U.S. jails. How you would gather them and teach them Gemorrah. Not a small number became Baalei Teshuva because of you. One time you were thrilled that they let you keep your typewriter in your cell. “it’s a mechaya,” you said. “I could type all I want in peace.”
When you founded the JDL (Jewish Defense League) in addition to Orthodox Jews, many Jews whose only affiliation with Judaism was wearing Magen Dovids around their necks, were attracted to your movement like flies. A large number of the latter would have intermarried, many were street bums and just “agmas nefesh” to their families. You took them in and gave them Jewish pride. You asked my father to appear at your meetings and preface them with classes on Jewish history. “I want them to know where they come from and who they are,” you stated.
Only you know how many Jews you brought back to Judaism; only you know how many intermarriages you prevented. And now that you are in the next world, I am sure you will be justly rewarded.
My parents were at your levaya here and my oldest brother Yochanan accompanied your casket to the airport where you body was flown by El Al to Israel. I was told among the ones who followed the procession to the airport was a prominent rabbi from the Bronx who had attracted international attention for his activism both here and abroad. He hurt you just two weeks before your murder by cancelling his debate with you in his shul, which you had been
looking forward to. Your supporters were furious with him, but I knew you were touched that he was melaveh you to the airport.
No matter how much anger you had for all the people who hurt you, you were a very sensitive and warm person. And those who knew you really well knew how shy you were. Your angry facial expressions captured by the media and reprinted in dozens of newspapers was not the real you; it was the expression of your hurt and outrage at the Arab hatred and murders.
At your levaya, Rabbi Moshe Tendler who eulogized you, told those present that your aunt had been shot by an Arab terrorist many years ago.
He recounted your wonderful Yichus that you were a descendant (ainekel) of Sanz and Klausenberg and how deeply religious you always were, even when you first got married and were struggling for a living. How you would ask Shailos (rabbinic questions) regarding the giving of Maaser (tithe) from your limited income.
Rabbi Tendler mocked what he called the “self hating assimilationists” who would not heed your call.
He stated about you. “Sadly, Sadly, time has proven his wisdom..”
Your cousin Rabbi Zevulun Lieberman shocked all present by announcing to the crowd that the same night you were killed your father-in-law died in Jerusalem. Your wife Libby had to sit Shiva for both of you at the same.
Together the two of you raised four children who are all learning Torah. You were expecting grandchildren numbers 18 and 19 and will not live to see their births.
You will not grace the offices of the Jewish Press anymore. The place which helped launch your career and was a mouthpiece for all your ideas and visions.
You were a genius and a beautiful human being. Your death shocked every Jew, old and young, religious and secular.
Your levaya in Israel was attended by over twenty five thousand people.
My brothers Shmuel and Chaggai represented our family in Jerusalem.
And the Knesset who worked so fervently to concoct rules to expel you, devoted a minute of silence lezecher your neshomo.
I know that from up there in Shamayim, you will continue to have an effect on the Jewish people you loved so much. Many say you will accomplish even more with your death than with your life.
Many filled with guilt and determined to perpetuate your beliefs will continue on with your lofty goals.
Yehi Zichrecho baruch.
Pearl Herzog