Posted on 01/07/24
How do we survive when our heart has stopped beating?
That’s the horribly painful question that we, Klal Yisroel, must now ask ourselves.
The treasured mashgiach is gone.
And with the petira of our beloved Rav Matisyahu, the collective heart of Klal Yisroel has gone still.
Still and silent.
The eloquence and empathy. The poise and fervor. The sensitivity and encouragement. The scintillating wisdom.
All of it is gone.
Rav Matisyahu was THE address.
For the downtrodden and broken-hearted.
The yesomim and almanos.
The teens at risk — who slept in his home.
One spoonful of the mashgiach’s magical serum of chizuk and heart made it all go away.
When standing in his presence, when hearing his comforting words, one never wanted to leave his loving embrace, his soft and understanding eyes, his courageous and fearless strength.
He had it all.
In a generation of darkness, where the insidious culture seeps into our homes and our minds and the neshomos of our oh, so precious children, the mashgiach stood bravely at the forefront of the war and dared the Soton to put away his sword.
His impervious shield of protection warded off all those who threatened to tamper with the priceless souls of our nation.
And now, quite sadly, that is no longer.
Millennia ago, there was another Matisyahu, a High Priest, a Kohen Godol, who brazenly took on the daunting and dangerous enemy of Yovon, and with it, insurmountable odds. His courageous stand illuminated our future, paving the path of kedusha for generations to come so that when the next group of Yevonim attacked with their modern form of Hellenism, we would be equipped to fight back.
Rav Matisyahu became our Kohen Godol, our general.
We, his people.
Taking on the world and its critics, he silenced the cynics, emboldening bnei Torah, giving them the pride to be who they are.
Hashem blessed the mashgiach with a challenging childhood. Orphaned at a young age, he overcame the hardship, enabling him to become the pillar of generations who’ve lost those who are dear.
Through illness and horror.
Through unspeakable circumstances, the mashgiach, the general, the leiv ho’om was there.
Hashem blessed him with a melodious voice that shook the heavens and soothed the shattered. His tone, his tenor, and his tochen — both in the realm of tefilla and mussar — all of it combined into to a magnificent orchestration; he became the voice of our generation.
But a question begs.
How can an individual with such compassion and tenderness be the same person who fights with zealousness against the dangers and immorality of the internet?
The answer is that it stems from the same source.
When one treasures the neshoma, he abhors anything that threatens to sully the soul. Rav Matisyahu’s singular focus on the kedusha of Klal Yisroel stemmed from his laser-focused love of every Yid.
Anything that endangered our neshomos stoked the mashgiach’s fire.
His children threatened, he had to protect their neshomos.
Which brings us to the essence of what a mashgiach really means.
“Mashgiach min hachalonos.”
Not only seeing, but watching carefully, guarding, protecting. That’s what a mashgiach does.
That was Rav Matisyahu.
The posuk in last week’s parsha says “Ra’oh ra’isi.”
The Midrash Tanchuma notices that the posuk employs an extra expression of “re’iyah,” seeing.
Hakodosh Boruch Hu said to Moshe, “I see the Yidden’s pain, and I will redeem them now. At the same time, I see that in the future they will be a stubborn people who will anger Me and craft an Eigel.”
But one does not negate the other.
Hashem appeared to Moshe inside of a burning bush and showed him that not everything is what it appears to be.
A bush can be on fire and still not be consumed.
A Yid can have faults and still be destined for greatness.
Hashem wanted Moshe to not only see, but to be mashgiach.
This is the gaping void we are left with as a result of the mashgiach’s passing.
No one to look at our nation like he did.
No one to see our beauty quite like him.
No one to be mashgiach.
Matisyahu means a gift from Hashem.
What a gift he was.
Rav Matisyahu’s seforim, aptly named Matnas Chaim, the gift of life, infused us with hadrocha and chizuk, warmth and love.
And now, the sweet mashgiach, our dor’s precious gift, is gone.
Oy! My yitein lonu temuraso…