Remembering Reb Yitzchok Zirkind, 57

On the 18th of Adar, Harav Yitzchok Zirkind passed away at 57.

Many knew him far better and far longer than I. However, over the past three years, through my wife’s friendship with the family, I came to know this special man and frequent his Shabbos table.

Rabbi Zirkind struck me as a man consumed with the pursuit of Emes. Thus he dedicated himself to the Torah “mit an emes.” A boki in halacha, it seemed as if his every action could be sourced. His chumros, shared with his family, were rare in America, the land of instant satisfaction.

Yet not despite his dedication to emes, but rather because of it – he was eminently there. Whenever I spoke to him, he seemed to take a keen interest in my life. There were no false pretences about him. No question seemed beneath him, and answers – delivered with a knowing smile and keen wit – were never condescending. During the shabbos seudah, he was medakdik to learn hilchos shabbos with his family and guests. The conversations could range in depth and intensity, but the delivery was always simple and clear.

An ehrlicher yid who personified hatznei leches . . . for a man of his stature in learning, his humility was unique. An administrator in Beis Rivkah, he supported his family b’nikyus. His investment was not in property or possessions – but rather in the sefarim that lined the walls of his home and the family he raised in it.

By the bris of my first son, we offered him Kisei shel Eliyahu. Without any aires, he voiced his wonder as to why we were mechabid him – among the many chashuve guests.

Some time before his passing, he noticed that the shaffes, built with his own hands and lining his walls – from floor to ceiling – were beginning to lean. Even when necessity forced him to remove the seforim, he hoped to salvage the wood, and use it to rebuild the shelves once more. After all, how could the wood that had held sforim for twenty-five years not hold a special kedusha and be so callously discarded?

The wood from the shaffes he built, the wood that had so dutifully fulfilled its holy task, was used to build his aron.

To think what we lost – a peacemaker who shunned politics and a man dedicated to his family and his Torah.

Those who knew him have taken to learning hilchos shabbos during the seudah. I can find no more fitting a tribute than to follow in his ways.