Memorial to Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick: A Once in a Generation Personality

 

This will be a very different Jewish new year season. Because of social distancing, gone will be long-standing traditions of hosting or being hosted at festive meals. Gone will be the chance to attend sacred services and perform public rituals. And then there is the biggest loss of all for me personally, for my family, and for the thousands of people whose lives he has touched: Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick is no longer with us.

Not gone from our lives during this pandemic, of course, are the ubiquitous masks we must wear. Now masks of all styles and designs abound, as if they can transform us to a higher, happier, more identifiable station. And yet, it is the very concept of masks that explains the extraordinary qualities of Rabbi Shaya and why his loss is so devastating.

 

Historically, masks were worn in Greek theater. Actors wore different masks, or persona, as they were called, to signify different expressions. From this, psychologists coined the term personality to signify the different roles that we play in and on the stages of our life. 

 

Here’s where I can make a proposition that anyone who knew Rabbi Shaya can affirm: the man who was born Sheldon Kilimnick was blessed with a once in a generation warn, magnetic personality, a natural ability to converse or even banter with ease with anyone, Jew or Gentile, from the most brilliant scientist to the smallest child equally. Combined with a terrific sense of humor, he was fun to be around. People have commented that he had a perpetual twinkle in his eye that reflected an inner youthfulness, or mischievousness even. Above all, he had a genius for making everyone feel valued and special. He was, in short, an extraordinary and unforgettable individual.

 

Rabbi Shaya was raised in a Jewish, but not Orthodox, household in Brooklyn. Born in 1947, he was the youngest of three children of Harry and Evelyn (nee Gersten) Kilimnick. Shaya, incidentally, was named after the brother of his maternal grandmother Saidy, a generous and kind woman who was learned in Chumash and Midrash. 

 

Harry Kilimnick was born in Russia, and his own father diedquite young from injuries in the Russo-Japanese war. So, his mother Eva, a pious woman who kept Shabbos and a kosher home, made the arrangements by herself to bring herself and her two boys to America.Harry started to work at avery young age, and he became a successful businessman in the fruit and vegetable trade;he supported his mother and took care of all her needs for the rest of her life. Although he was not a religious man and did not know much about Judaism, he respected those who did; and he was very proud of his son the rabbi. Incidentally, Shaya had a very close relationship with his father and was with him in the hospital when he passed on October 17, 1980. 

 

As the picture shows, young Sheldon was raised by three doting and dynamic women. His mother Evelyn was very attractive and dressed like a model. She had a remarkable voice and would later in life have a career as an entertainer (stage name Evelyn “K”). She was a remarkable daughter who visited her mother Saidy Gersten every day. But particularly showered her attention and her guidance on her baby Sheldon, and she encouraged her daughters Dini and Joyce to do likewise. Evelyn always kept Kosher even though most of her friends did not. She made sure to send her son to Yeshiva and not to public school. On the side, Grandma Saidy taught young Shaya insights into Torah and Jewish law. 

 

Raised by such adoring family members and a life-long Momma’s boy, Sheldon nonetheless felt secure in himself, optimistic, and confident in his identity. Nurtured by their love, he could easily relate to people of all walks of life and find the greatness within them. It was an extraordinary gift. It was “royalty without a crown.”  

 

As a preteen, Sheldon felt the tug of religion and, at the same time, possibly the pull of love, as he rode the bus to the Crown Heights Yeshiva Day School. Sitting near him on the bus with her younger sister was a girl a year younger than Sheldon by the name of Nechie Wernick. Years later in 1967 they would meet up again in Israel, remember they knew each other, and start what would become a monumental union.  But Sheldon first wanted to concentrate on his Jewish studies, transferring to Ner Israel in Maryland where he graduated High School and then was ordained inthe Rabbinical College. He became a devotee of his legendary teacher, Rav Yaakov Weinberg, imbued with the philosophy to dedicate life to making the world a better, more holy place.  

When Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick took the position as rabbi of Congregation Agudath Achim in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1970, he was married to Nechie and he was also the youngest pulpit rabbi of an Orthodox congregation in America. His duties were abundant: but Rabbi Kilimnick and Nechie knew the only way to ensure the survival of Judaism in the synagogue was through their youth, and, thus, the Tzur Yisroel (Rock of Israel)Y chapter was born. When their children wereold enough to go to a Jewish day school in 1977, the Kilimnicks had to leave Little Rock for Rochester, NewYork. It was at the time a very hard decision because their lives were completely connected to Agudath Achim. 

 

In Rochester, the education and inspiration of Jewish teens were still central to Rabbi and Nechie's worldview and, and as such, they were lifelong champions of NCSY. There were Monday night Jr. NCSY “meetings” in the basement of the shul for kids as young as 8, inspiring Shabbatons in the shul that brought teens and pre-teens from all over Upstate New York, and annual Shavuot night learning in the shul that always focused on the teens – amongst many other programs. In addition, Rabbi Shaya spent several weeks each summer serving as the Orthodox rabbi at a non-Orthodox BBYO Camp, an amazing demonstration of how he accepted each person where they were and showed them a path they might choose to walk, without ever judging them in any way. He created what has been called “the Rochester Phenomenon,” namely, the disproportionate number of Beth Sholom and BBYO alumni who became rabbis, educators, and community leaders. A person who never took another step toward Torah observance was as welcome and as loved as the countless children and teens who rethought their entire lives because of his influence or who became Jewish community leaders to follow in his footsteps.

 

Rabbi Shaya’s mentoring efforts were unique in another respect. Quite often, over time, the protégé becomes disillusioned with the man or woman who was “the wind beneath my wings,” who launched their entry into a new path in life. I have written in the past how, in my lifetime, I have witnessed the downfall of people who were my heroes and mentors. The rabbi from my hometown of Madison, Wisconsin, who encouraged me to go to Yeshiva College, for example, became a fallen idol by the time I graduated, no longer the exemplar I had thought him to be. But from all accounts, the young men or women who were mentored by Rabbi Shaya experienced no such psychological disengagement or parting of ways. If anything, the passage of time only made these products of the Rochester Phenomenon revere and appreciate Rabbi Shaya even more. Years after the fact, they still remember his little kindnesses, like buying them tzitzit or kosher pizza slices.

 

Anyone who attended Beth Sholom found how much Rabbi Shaya treated the elderly, particularly Holocaust survivors, with reverence. I remember his good-natured affection for one survivor, Mr. Friedman a”h, whom Rabbi Kilimnick lovingly called his “Cal Ripken, Jr.” for always attending prayer services. At Beth Sholom, where the congregants spanned the gamut of ages, Rabbi Shaya facilitated relationships between the kids and the older generation. He also engendered a love and connection with the land of Israel. At the end of every Shabbat morning service, Rabbi Shaya would do what few other orthodox rabbis do, namely, have the congregants rise, face the Israeli flag, and sing “Hatikvah” together, something I think all synagogues should do. 

 

Rabbi Shaya also valued and encouraged friendships with non-Jewish neighbors and understood that only through acceptance of others can we achieve the shared goal of a loving and peaceful world. Rabbi Shaya was a universalist, and he often spoke of the importance of being part of the larger Rochester, American and world communities.  He united at a time when divisions were growing — between religious and secular, nationalistic and universal, conservative and liberal. He understood all points of view and he tried to reconcile them in a principled way. He went out of his way to encourage congregants to express gratitude to all of the wonderful Christian neighbors and to even explicitly wish them a “Merry Christmas” on their most important holiday. He took part in and encouraged attendance at the “Night to Honor Israel” event in the auditorium of the Bethel Church. He was a friend and teacher to virtually every rabbi and Jewish leader in the city. Although he differed with them in practice, Rabbi Shaya also saw Reform and Conservative rabbis as his colleagues since they were all working as leaders of the Jewish people. Both of these positions were considered controversial within Orthodox Judaism, but Rabbi Shaya saw them as important moral and ethical imperatives and never backed down from what he saw as the right thing to do. 

 

What was so special about Rabbi Shaya was not only what he accomplished in his years in the rabbinate; it was also the way he went about doing it. We can admire his achievements, but that’s not why he was so beloved. Truth be told, over the years, Rabbi Shaya held prominent positions in the RCA, the OU, UJC, and Israel Bonds. But he was not a person who sought honor or glory for himself. He did not seek recognition and notoriety by publishing popular books or creating viral videos. He didn’t seek higher position or create organizations or world networks. He was perfectly content serving the needs of his congregations for 50 years, being a shepherd of his flock who, when God called, answered, like Moses in the Bible, “I’m here (Hineni).” He was happy to tend God’s vineyard, the fruits of which were the children he nurtured and helped to blossom. He followed his father’s example and took care of his mother when she was older, placing her in the excellent care of the Jewish Home in Rochester whose Kashrut Rabbi Shaya supervised and where his mother reigned as a celebrity for the rest of her life. 

 

Rabbi Shaya was not the sort of person who was interested in golf, tennis or racquetball as some rabbis are. His joy was leading prayer services which he did so beautifully with his high tenor voice and strong musical sense; he believed strongly in transmitting Jewish values through music. He worked hard to craft his sermons which he served as delicious, meaty casseroles, spiced with Jewish values and the love of Israel. He could also deliver extraordinary extemporaneous speeches if necessary. One such instance involved a family in my neighborhood of Riverdale, NY. A beloved relative had died, and the family was gathered at the cemetery in Long Island to conduct a burial service. Where was the rabbi, everyone wondered? Almost on cue, the rabbi called with the sad news that he had driven to the wrong cemetery, in New Jersey, no less! “Is there any other rabbi nearby?” he asked the family. As it turned out, Rabbi Shaya had finished a ceremony at the cemetery and was about to leave when he was called over to speak by phone to the errant rabbi from Riverdale. He agreed to fill in and asked to speak for just a few minutes to the bereaved family. He then went on to deliver, as I heard directly from a family member, the most tender eulogy for the deceased as if he had known him all his life. This gift of sincere and persuasive rhetoric is what prompted Rabbi Shaya’s oldest son (and my son-in-law) to say at the funeral that this father was deserving of a eulogy that only he could give!

 

What connects me personally to Shaya is the fact that my daughter Suzanne and his son Yosef are wife and husband. The two future physicians met at Downstate Medical School, started dating, got engaged, and were married March 21, 1995. That’s how Rabbi Shaya and I became in-laws. It’s only fair to admit that I am by

nature a private yet very competitive person. I may have felt a tad superior knowing I am a Kohen, from the priestly clan, whereas Rabbi Shaya and all the Kilimnicks are Levites. But I did feel a tinge of jealousy when it was decided that my daughter would refer to her father-in-law as “abba” (father) whereas I preferred being called by my first name by my son-in-law and called Grandpa by all their children. Rabbi Shaya, on the other hand, was Zeyde to the kids, a more affectionate sounding title. Could I ever be close to a public figure with such poise and privilege? My doubts turned out short-lived. I, too, fell under the spell of Rabbi Shaya’s personality, his warm and disarming hospitality, and the way he adored my daughter. As someone who has lived his adult life in New York City and attended only large, impersonal synagogues, I came to look forward to services in Beth Sholomwhere the people seemed much friendlier. Besides, Rabbi Shaya never failed to introduce us from the pulpit as his “machatonim,” from the Hebrew word for married ones. That was another thing that I admired about Rabbi Shaya. His Congregational President might make some announcements, but it was Rabbi Shaya alone who would relay the weekly mazel tovs, all in his inimical folksy and heartfelt way. 

 

While he took care of the needs of others, it was also true that he didn’t always take care of his own needs. Exercise is important, but it puzzled me that he didn’t take advantage of the physical fitness equipment available to him at no cost at the magnificent JCC in his community. He thought he got enough exercise walking to synagogue. My daughter would nag him good-naturedly about his untreated sleep apnea. Other doctors would remind him time and again to watch his diet; but Rabbi Shaya was just too much of a lover of rich kosher food, the schmaltzier the better. 

 

Over the years Rabbi Shaya and I held some deep conversations. It was clear that he accepted whatever life had to offer following the rabbinic dictate, “We are regarded to bless G-d’s name when bad things happen, just as we so willingly bless His name when we enjoy the good.” The great Jewish theologian, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, has written that true trust in G-d is not easy and can entail existential despair. Rav Soloveitchik described a man of faith as lonely, uncomfortable, by which he meant that the person feels unique and unable to communicate his feelings to others.

All Rabbi Shaya wanted was to spend his retirement years with his wife, increasing their time in Israel where he loved to study. He used to describe trips to the Holy Land as “tours of the internal kind, into the depths of your soul.” That is why it seemed so unfair that this was not to be: why should a man who inspired so many
and made them feel that God had an intention for us all have to spend his remaining months praying for the recovery of his wife? In the words of his youngest son Rabbi Avi,  Rabbi Shaya was, sadly, a broken man after a brain aneurysm nearly two years ago left Nechie in a vegetative state. Yet the fact remained that when he was around people, Rabbi Shaya rarely showed his private angst.

I was heartened to learn that one of the last things that Yosef told his father before Rabbi Shaya passed away was some good news about an impending birth. Rabbi Shaya died shortly thereafter in his son’s presence, and Yosef couldn’t help noticing that his father passed with a smile on his face! His funeral on Zoom that evening was followed by almost 600 people all around the globe. Hundreds also followed on Zoom the next day at the internment. Shiva, too, was conducted both in person and on Zoom mainly, and the family noticed that people did not just pay their respects and leave; many stayed online to listen to the tales that seemed almost impossible to be the legacy of just one human being. Yosef said it best when, addressing the grandchildren in his eulogy, he said, “When people find out that Rabbi Kilimnick is your Zeyde, they will want to tell you stories. I advise you to listen because they will be beautiful stories…and they will all be true!”

 

Rabbi Shaya Kilimnick’s personal influence and his once-in-a-lifetime personality will be remembered and cherished for decades. But his physical presence has now ended, and the world is the poorer for that loss.