Rav Chesed

KTAV Publishing House, Inc.

Contents

Acknowledgments..............................ixIntroduction.................................xiI. The Student............................1II. The Rabbi..............................14III. Husband & Father.......................34IV. The Scholar............................39V. On His Own.............................46VI. The Activist...........................55VII. Women's Issues.........................103VIII. The Zionist............................116IX. Centrist Orthodoxy.....................130X. The Teacher............................145Conclusion...................................156

Chapter One

* * *

On a crisp Monday morning in early September 1937, Rabbi Joseph H. Lookstein led his five year old son, Haskel, into a classroom in the fledgling Ramaz elementary school on East 85th Street, next door to its sponsor, Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun. The inauguration of the school launched a major new attempt to combine Orthodoxy and modernity in a Manhattan neighborhood that few considered fertile ground for Jewish religious observance. The experiment would ultimately succeed far beyond its sponsors' expectations. Under the leadership of Rabbi Lookstein, and later of his son, Ramaz would come to be recognized as one of the most influential Jewish day schools in the United States, Kehilath Jeshurun would emerge as one of America's most important synagogues, and the Upper East Side would blossom into a thriving center of Jewish life. Nurturing a local community while at the same time influencing the entire American Jewish community, the Looksteins would make their mark with an innovative blend of traditional observance, respect for modernity, social activism, tolerance, and personal compassion.

* * *

Joseph H. Lookstein first came to Kehilath Jeshurun in 1923, as assistant rabbi under the renowned sage Rabbi Moses Margolies, better known by the acronym RaMaZ. Three years later he married Margolies's granddaughter, Gertrude Schlang, and when their daughter Nathalie reached the age of five, in 1932, he began exploring the possibility of establishing a day school on the Upper East Side. The 1930s were hardly an auspicious time to establish a new Jewish school, especially in an area with a small Jewish presence such as the Yorkville section of Upper Manhattan, where Kehilath Jeshurun was situated. The Great Depression drastically reduced the pool of potential donors, and the neighborhood was best known for pro-Nazi rallies by the German-American Bund. By 1937, when Rabbi Lookstein's son Haskel turned five and was ready to enter first grade, the rabbi was determined to launch a Jewish elementary school, regardless of these obstacles.

The neighborhood and the national economy were not the only hindrances to his plan. It was also a period of intense turmoil for American Judaism. Many Jewish immigrants chose to leave behind their old-world religious observances and assimilate into American society. Only a small minority clung to the traditional lifestyle they had known in Europe. Rabbi Lookstein was among those who sought a middle ground between these two extremes, as he worked to build a community that would remain loyal to tradition while at the same time embracing the best of modern American life.

At a meeting of the KJ board of trustees in 1937, he presented his vision of an institution that would integrate Judaic learning with secular studies, embodying the spirit of the modern, Americanized Orthodoxy to which they subscribed. Such a school was "an imperative necessity for an entire generation of growing young people," he argued. Most of the approximately fifteen Orthodox day schools in New York City were widely perceived as "ghetto schools." They were situated "in underprivileged neighborhoods and were considered as suited for poor underprivileged children." The children of more successful, native-born American Orthodox Jews did not regard such schools as "congenial or acceptable." Judaic studies were taught in Yiddish, by teachers who did not understand "the modern American Jewish children," while secular studies were relegated to the end of the ten-hour school day, when "tired teachers were expected to teach tired children."

The school Rabbi Lookstein proposed to build would be unique in two important respects. First, it would bring to the Upper East Side a type of day school unknown to that area and barely represented elsewhere in New York City: a modern Orthodox alternative to, on the one hand, a traditional cheder that would leave their children ill equipped to succeed in the outside world, and, on the other hand, a public school that would leave the youngsters bereft of Jewish knowledge. Ramaz would offer the best of both worlds. Second, it would consciously seek to recruit students from less religiously observant families. Doing this was a virtual necessity given the small size of the neighborhood's Orthodox community, but it also created an unusual opportunity to influence Jewish families to become more observant.

R. Joseph's proposal met with some skepticism among KJ board members. Some regarded day schools as "too parochial," preferring that Jewish children be sent to public schools and receive a limited supplementary Judaic education. Others doubted that the synagogue could shoulder the financial burden of a new school, which would inevitably run a deficit at least in its early years.

Rabbi Lookstein would not yield. He informed the board that if Kehilath Jeshurun were unwilling to take on the project, he would resign and find another synagogue that would implement his vision. The stalemate was resolved when Max J. Etra, a prominent attorney and lay leader in the congregation, pledged to cover the first year's deficit, which the rabbi estimated would be $5,000.

Lookstein named the school after Rabbi Margolies, a renowned scholar from Vilna whose intellectual feats included studying the complete Talmud each year. Significantly, the RaMaZ was also known for his substantial involvement in community affairs. A famous photograph shows Rabbi Margolies participating in the founding meeting of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, the overseas relief agency run primarily by non-Orthodox Jews. His willingness to work side by side with Jews of other backgrounds and differing levels of religious observance was emblematic of a spirit of tolerance for which his grandson and great-grandson would become well known.

In 1932, shortly after his son was born, Rabbi Joseph Lookstein visited the RaMaZ to receive a blessing. As the story goes, Rabbi Margolies had just read about the passing of Rabbi Hatzkel [Yehezkel] Kalischer, a distinguished scholar with whom RaMaZ had been close. He suggested to Rabbi Lookstein that the baby be named Hatzkel, "so he will grow up to be like Reb Hatzkel." Lookstein was pleased with the idea, regarding it as a harbinger of success for his son, but he worried that his wife and mother would be less than thrilled "about naming him after some Polish rabbi" instead of a relative. They conspired to present the name as connected to RaMaZ's father and uncle, both of whom were named Yechezkel. Gertrude Lookstein accepted the proposal but planned to also give him Charles as his English name, to which Rabbi Lookstein objected on the grounds that the boy, named for a renowned rabbi, would undoubtedly be called "Chuck." Their compromise solution was to use the slightly Americanized "Haskel," although the future Rabbi Lookstein was immediately nicknamed "Hack" or "Hacky" by family and friends alike.

As a child, Haskel exhibited musical ability which he attributed to two influences. One was his maternal grandfather, Isidore Schlang, a devout "shul yid" who was always the first to come to morning minyan and the last to leave, reciting his prayers slowly and punctiliously. When Haskel led the service, his grandfather would remind him of the importance of pronouncing every word-"Hacky, say woids!" he would implore him. Schlang's passion for Shabbat zmirot made a strong impression on young Haskel, who subsequently adopted his grandfather's tune for birkat ha-mazon [grace after meals], as would his children and grandchildren.

An equally profound influence on Haskel was Joseph E. Adler, who began working at Kehilath Jeshurun in 1933 as sexton, Torah reader, and second chazan. Adler, who would later gain renown in the kosher food industry for Mrs. Adler's Gefilte Fish [based on his wife's recipe], was deeply involved in community affairs and worked closely with Rabbi Joseph Lookstein in building the synagogue and the school. He was Haskel's model for Torah reading and as shaliach tzibur [leader of the communal prayer service], and Adler's nusach became Haskers. "I just loved to listen to him," he recalled. "My davening is his davening."

After Haskel turned thirteen, Adler would call on him to read maftir, without advance notice, if the scheduled person did not show up. "I was able to read the haftorah without preparation simply because I loved it," he noted. "When you enjoy something so much, you get good at it." The text commonly used in those days was a nineteenth-century edition by Isaac Leeser, which had the esoteric textual variations and corrections at the bottom of the page rather than in the text itself as in contemporary versions. Thus Haskel needed to check those variations at the bottom of the page during the misheberach. When he concluded the reading, Adler, sitting at the back of the bima, instead of complimenting his protg, would inevitably point out to Haskel some obscure error he had made. Haskel considered this the ultimate compliment, realizing that his consummate mentor expected from him nothing less than absolute perfection.

Rabbi Lookstein has described Torah reading and leading the davening as "my biggest yetzer hara." A small part of him would have preferred to follow in the footsteps of Joseph Adler rather than of his father, Joseph Lookstein, although ultimately he would come to derive satisfaction from the realization that his davening in fact supplemented his rabbinical leadership. Making the prayers meaningful helped inspire congregants to feel more connected to the synagogue and the community, an ingredient crucial to the success of a rabbi's mission. Over the years, he had the opportunity to indulge himself on the few Shabbatot when the chazan was absent, and, most notably, during the High Holidays. From his father and maternal grandfather, Rabbi Haskel Lookstein learned the importance of "emphasizing every word, and putting feeling into every word." His style left a strong impression on his congregants. A Ramaz alumnus who attended only one Yom Kippur service at KJ, twenty-five years later still vividly remembered the rabbi leading shacharit and ne'ila, "with a powerful but musical voice, filled with emotion and concentration, leaving behind his day-to-day rabbinic persona and becoming a true eyed Hashem [servant of God].'"

"Some day, I am sure, my voice will begin to crack and waver, and I will have to very reluctantly accept the fact that I can do only ne'ila but not shacharit" he conceded. "Somebody, perhaps my wife, will find a gentle way to alert me that the time has come. I won't be happy about it, but it's inevitable." In the meantime, however, the KJ-Ramaz community made clear its appreciation for his singing. R. Haskel's solo rendition of the song "Chazak, Chazak," performed according to the tune and style of noted Jewish singer Avraham Fried, has been a highlight of the Ramaz Upper School's annual banquet since 1999. The congregation's celebration of R. Haskel's seventieth birthday, in 2002, with a gala dinner at the Marriott Hotel, included a video clip of him singing that song. It took little coaxing to convince the rabbi to do a live version on stage at the birthday event, where he was joined by a surprise guest-Avraham Fried himself.

Haskel grew up in a family that was close-knit, with a full-time, stay-at-home mother and a father to whom he felt close despite the elder Rabbi Lookstein's hectic professional life as spiritual leader of KJ and principal of Ramaz. Gertrude Lookstein managed an equally busy life as mother, wife, and rebbitzen. She founded and led the KJ Sisterhood; instructed the shul's young women in caring for shiva houses, visiting the sick, and performing other social mitzvahs; and hosted a constant stream of Shabbat and Yom Tov guests. "We had open house in our home, visitors for dinner Friday night and Shabbos lunch and every holiday," she recalled. "Both my husband and I enjoyed it. And the people enjoyed it. We never sat down alone."

Haskel looked up to his older sister, Nathalie, whom he regarded as "a wonderful role model but a tough act to follow-she rarely got less than an 'A' in anything." He remembered attending her graduation ceremony [from Hunter High School; Ramaz did not exist when she began school], at which Nathalie and another Jewish girl received seventeen of the eighteen scholastic awards, and wondering if he would earn even one award in his high school class. Nathalie would go on to earn a Ph.D. in sociology and lead a distinguished academic career at Barnard College and Stern College.

Haskel's years at Ramaz were not always a smooth ride. When he reached eighth grade, he "hit a wall," as he later put it, engaging in frequent mischief that caused his teachers and parents considerable aggravation. R. Haskel would later attribute this difficult period to the pressure of fellow students targeting "the principal's son," together with his anxiety over his height. He was four foot five at the time of his bar mitzvah in March 1945 and needed to stand on a platform in order to read from the Torah. "But, thank God, I grew eleven inches in the next two years," he recalled.

Some of the eighth-grade troublemaking was comical. If a student was caught talking while their Hebrew teacher that year, Morris Nieman, was writing on the board, "Nieman would suddenly pivot like a baseball pitcher throwing to second base to pick off a runner-only he would throw his eraser at the student. And he had good aim." R. Haskel recalled the day when Nieman wheeled and hurled the eraser at him, assuming that he was, as usual, the culprit. But with his fast reflexes, Haskel flipped up his desk in time to cause the eraser to ricochet and strike the guilty student, Peppy Friedberg [later chairman of Loews Entertainment Corporation]. Other episodes were less amusing. One teacher, Samuel Goodside, would make a notation in his roll book next to a student's name each time that student engaged in unusually bad behavior. Aside from Haskel, the worst student in that eighth-grade class racked up six notations; Haskel had twenty-five. After the twenty-fifth, some horseplay in which a fellow student accidentally injured Haskel, R. Joseph gave his son "a tongue-lashing that I can remember clearly, even though it's sixty-two years later.... It was a very sobering event in my life."

For Haskel, the incident was a turning point. By the time he began ninth grade, he had become a serious and devoted student. Rabbi Nachum Bronznick, whose first full-time teaching position, at Ramaz, fortunately coincided with the year Haskel was in ninth grade and therefore took his class, later recalled his anxiety at the prospect of having the principal's son as one of his pupils. "To my great relief, however, I discovered soon enough that I had nothing to be uneasy about," he noted. "This student, happily, did not show any sign that he was expecting any special treatment. He acted and behaved as a true and sincere young mensch in every respect." Rabbi Bronznick noted that while it was common for students to approach him after an exam was returned and argue for additional points, Haskel came to him after a particular test, saying, "I am not coming to argue why I didn't get credit for this particular answer, but I want to understand what is wrong with it, and what is the correct answer." The incident convinced the teacher that this pupil "was destined to become a person with many great achievements to his credit, as he indeed became."

Haskel excelled throughout his remaining high school years, finishing as the second highest student in his class. In retrospect, that rough patch in eighth grade offered him a valuable lesson:

As a result of that experience, when I look at students whom the educational system is ready to give up on, I have an entirely different perspective. I know that students can change. Sometimes the kid who is most out of line can get back in line and straighten himself out. What happened to me gave me a lot of empathy for kids in junior high school, who can go through a difficult time before turning out very well. When I run into such students, I often tell them, and their parents, about my own experience, to help them realize that there's hope.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Rav Chesedby Rafael Medoff Copyright © 2008 by Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun. Excerpted by permission.
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