“It’s An Amazing Thing”

The Life and Legacy of Rabbi Daniel Rosenthal

Rabbi Daniel Rosenthal ZT”L passed away on the fifteenth of Shevat 5784 (January 26th, 2024.) Much of the following is based upon the eulogy I delivered at his funeral in Bet Shemesh, Israel.

My revered mentor and rav muvhak, Rabbi HaRav Daniel Rosenthal – HaRav Daniel ben Eliyahu David Z”L – was a maverick and trailblazing pioneer in the field of American Jewish education. Born in 1940 to a traditional but non-Orthodox family in Mamaroneck, NY, he made the bold decision at the age of eight to begin observing Shabbat. When he pleaded with his parents to enroll him in a proper Jewish day school, his father voiced objections (which turned out to be very prescient) that this might lead to the young boy becoming a rabbi. Fortunately, his mother’s opinion prevailed, and he attended the Westchester Day School, which provided him with the foundation he needed in Jewish learning. He would eventually continue his studies at Telshe, Yeshiva University under the tutelage of the Rav Z”L, and Yeshivat Itri, where he received semikha.

Many of his classmates and havrutot from those days are now numbered among the most prominent and influential Roshei Yeshiva in the world. HaRav Daniel Rosenthal, however, chose a different path. He dedicated his life to establishing institutions of Torah for Jewish children in neighborhoods where assimilation was rampant and options for Jewish education were virtually non-existent.

I graduated from the Torah Academy of Suffolk County, the only Orthodox Jewish High School in the proverbial “boondocks” of Long Island, one of several schools that Rabbi Rosenthal founded, fundraised tirelessly for, and administered in the United States. TASC is how I met my wife who graduated from there a few years after I did. Neither of us would be living a religious life today, let alone a life enriched with Torah learning and devoted to communal work, had it not been for the vision and tremendous self-sacrifice of Rabbi Rosenthal and his wife and partner, tibadel lechaim, Mrs. Fruma Rosenthal.

The prospect of eulogizing not only a revered and beloved teacher, but someone to whom I owe my life, is profoundly humbling. I am in no position to speak objectively about the greatness of someone who was, in my estimation, an authentic Gadol BeYisrael. I won’t even be able to scratch the surface, let alone reveal the depths, of his lack of pretense, his humility, his love of Torah and his unswerving commitment to the Jewish people. The best I can offer is a glimpse of his unique character as I was privileged to observe it through the prism of over three decades of personal experience.

When Rabbi Rosenthal, hareni kapparat mishkavo, was about to comment on something he found especially remarkable, he would often open with his signature catch phrase, “it’s an amazing thing!” It is, indeed, an amazing thing. I first entered the halls of the Torah Academy of Suffolk County thirty three years ago. I say “I” entered, but, in all honesty, the version of me that walked through those doors in 1991 was a person I wouldn’t even recognize today.

When I look back at myself then, it’s as if I am watching a movie about somebody else. I was empty of Torah and bereft of purpose. I had zero background in Jewish studies beyond the ability to decode Hebrew, which I had picked up from Hebrew School classes at a local synagogue. Rabbi Rosenthal Z”L took me under his wing and quite literally taught me what life was all about. He inspired me to fall in love with Judaism the way he was in love with it, and he infected me with his contagious passion for learning, transforming me into someone totally and fundamentally new, bearing only the faintest resemblance to my former self.

It’s an amazing thing. With his humor, enthusiasm, energy, and vast knowledge – all embodied in that legendary, unforgettable twinkle in his eye – Rabbi Rosenthal managed to reach me, and many others like me. He embraced me with warmth, without the slightest tinge of judgment, and with exaggerated encouragement for even the smallest and most inconsequential steps in my development as a learner. As the world of Torah wisdom was opening up to me, we would often have engaging conversations in his office between classes, and I would occasionally venture an idea or explanation of my own as I “learned the ropes” of Talmudic and halakhic analysis.

I’ll never forget how even when I was still a beginner, in 9th or 10th grade – surely not offering any revolutionary or polished insights at that point – Rabbi Rosenthal told me to write down my Torah thoughts. He assured me that they represented meaningful and valuable progress and that one day I would look back at them and be able to appreciate how far I’d come. I still have some of those notes, and I am currently rewriting, refining, and editing that content, together with a few decades worth of additional material that I have accumulated along the way, so that I can publish highlights of it in the Rabbi’s memory.

It’s an amazing thing. The very fact that I’ve had a career in the rabbinate and in Jewish education for some twenty-five years, that I am married to my beloved wife, that we live together in Israel, that my life revolves around learning and teaching Torah, that my sons and daughters are growing up in a religious home, that I’ve had the opportunity to serve hundreds or even thousands of congregants and students over the last couple of decades – all of it is because of Rabbi Rosenthal. It is, in its entirety, a testimony and a credit to him and to his incredible partner, tibadel lehaim, Mrs. Rosenthal.

And I am just one of countless students with similar stories, students whose families – their children and children’s children – are on the path of Torah today only because of the heroic efforts of one extraordinary couple. Rabbi and Mrs. Rosenthal refused to give up on Jewish children that others had long ago forgotten, whether in Seattle or in Suffolk County. They toiled not just to prevent intermarriage, but to ensure that, despite growing up in areas where Jewish learning had no foothold, these children would have the chance to encounter and be enchanted by the beauty and depth of Torah and mitzvot. The Rosenthals sacrificed every conventional benefit of comfortable religious Jewish life in a typical Orthodox community just to see to it that kids in the middle of nowhere, who otherwise would have had no hope, no knowledge, no connection, and no future, would be able to receive all of those blessings, and more.

In other words, I see myself not merely as a student in the academic sense of the word, but as a child, a product of the Rosenthals. As our rabbis say – banekha elu talmidekha, “your children” means “your students.”

In the Moreh Hanevukhim the Rambam explains the basis for this equation. If we think of ourselves primarily as physical creatures then we will naturally see parentage, too, as a function of biology. In reality, though, our essence is not our bodies but our minds. The teachers who build up and nurture our souls are the ones who give us our actual existence, our lives as human beings who transcend the bonds of the physical. Educators are really parents, sources of life for those who learn from and are sustained by their wisdom.

This is why the Halakha says that we owe even more honor to our teachers than to our biological parents, for while our parents bring us into this world, it is our Torah teachers who lead us into the eternity of the Next.

Rabbi Rosenthal was known for getting up very early in the morning to study Torah. This was something I witnessed as a teenager when I spent far more than my fair share of Shabbatot and holidays as a guest in his home – a home which, like the tent of Avraham and Sarah, was open to anyone and everyone, whether their needs were physical or spiritual, all the time. Starting the day a few hours before sunrise to make more time for Torah was one of the habits of the Rabbi that I grew to emulate.

When we were still newlyweds, my wife and I had the good fortune of living in the same town as the Rosenthals in Northport, NY, for about two years. They had moved to this otherwise totally non-Jewish neighborhood as they worked to establish a Jewish Middle School in Suffolk County. It seemed almost like a parting gesture, a finishing touch they were putting on their life’s work in the States just before making Aliyah to Israel. During that period, the Rabbi and I maintained a weekly Shabbat chevruta from around four thirty in the morning until just before shaharit. Throughout summer vacation and over chagim, we would capitalize on our physical proximity and the free time afforded to us and would learn together as often as possible.

It’s an amazing thing. Looking back, it was only as a result of those study sessions that I wound up getting semicha myself. At the time, almost on principle, I did not want to become an “ordained” rabbi. I was pursuing a PhD in Psychology and saw no contradiction in combining a worldly profession with a life of Torah. Rabbi Rosenthal, however, insisted that I sit for semicha exams. He brought it up to me constantly and, unbeknownst to me, was also encouraging the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshiva Bnei Torah, Rabbi Yisroel Chait – his longtime friend and havruta of yesteryear – to see to it that the test was arranged. Out of respect for Rabbi Rosenthal and all he had done for me, I eventually gave in, and officially became a rabbi…I could never have imagined then that, at some point in the future, I would change gears entirely and pursue a professional rabbinic career. That semicha proved to be a valuable credential after all.

Since then, whenever I reached any milestone in life, in learning, or in my career – even as recently as six months ago – Rabbi Rosenthal was the first person with whom I would share it. I wanted him to see that his investments in me and sacrifices for me had born some fruit. It is painful to think that I will never have the opportunity to do that again, that I have lost the privilege of honoring and bringing some measure of nachat to the teacher who gave me life. I sincerely hope that Rabbi Rosenthal realized how much admiration and gratitude I had for him and how devoted I was to him – he was far too humble to let on if he did.

Rabbi Rosenthal never put on airs and never took himself too seriously. He was so self effacing that he made it easy for those around him to forget that they were, in fact, in the presence of a great man. Rabbi Rosenthal had the exuberance, curiosity, and playfulness of a child when it came to the world of knowledge and ideas. His energy seemed boundless and the excitement he experienced in learning was palpable. For him, the ultimate enjoyment, the highest form of entertainment imaginable was involvement in Torah and appreciation of its beauty. He would laugh and delight in good questions just as much as in good answers. Learning for him was a constant adventure, replete with unexpected twists, turns, and surprises, and he simply could not get enough of it.

It’s an amazing thing. I was blessed to spend many hours studying Torah with my Rav, ZT”L. We covered a great deal of content, discussed every manner of topic, and must have opened and pored over dozens upon dozens of sefarim. Since his passing, I’ve come to realize just how much material I actually learned with him – in almost every subject I explore, I am reminded of some comment he made, observation he shared, story he told, or insight he imparted.

But more than any specific idea or piece of information, Rabbi Rosenthal taught me a derekh, a direction – he set me on a lifelong quest. He himself never stopped asking, searching, discussing, debating – he was never finished, he never completed or even paused his constant process of exploration and discovery. Truthfully, I don’t remember even once reaching any definite conclusions with the Rabbi about anything. We were like fellow travelers who never actually arrived at our destination. Yet that was the magic of it – we took the scenic route, got lost more than a few times along the way, and enjoyed every minute of the journey.

Our Sages tell us that “the mundane conversation of Torah scholars deserves study.” Over more than three decades, I don’t recall a single “mundane conversation” I had with Rabbi Rosenthal. Every discussion was a discussion of substance. If the Rabbi raised a question or brought up a topic, even if it might appear on the surface to be quaint or trivial, there was always an angle – it was always part and parcel of his endless search for insight and enlightenment, of his quest to partake of and to share Hashem’s wisdom. It was always, in one way or another, Torah, and deserved attention, consideration, and reflection.

In Pirqei Avot, we learn “Who is a wise man? He who learns from everyone.” In his commentary to that Mishna, Rabbenu Yona explains that there is a difference between merely having wisdom and being a wise man, or “hakham”, who loves knowledge. Many learned people possess wisdom but our Sages would not consider them “wise men,” because they relate to knowledge as another commodity to be acquired, a means to personal advancement or a source of honor. What they learn does not change them or their priorities in life – it is just another conquest on the royal road to “achievement” or “success.”

A wise person, by contrast, is personally transformed by his involvement in knowledge and becomes utterly enamored with it. Even if he is still in the early stages of learning, even if he does not know much yet, he may already be called a “hakham” – one who loves knowledge for its own sake. The hakham is not the person who acquires knowledge but the one who is, so to speak, acquired by it; he is not the conquerer but the conquered, who is overwhelmed, captivated, and carried away by its infinite beauty.

The wise man is consumed by his love of knowledge and seeks wisdom relentlessly. He strives to learn from every experience he has and from every person he meets – “who is the wise man? He who learns from everyone.” How much he knows or does not know is irrelevant – total devotion to the pursuit of truth is what defines him, in whole and in part. Rabbi Rosenthal was the epitome of a hakham as described by Rabbenu Yona. He had a hunger for Torah that was insatiable and a thirst for Torah that could not be quenched.

It’s an amazing thing. For indeed there is a single principle, a common thread, hatzad hashaveh shebahen, that ties together all of the unique elements of Rabbi Rosenthal’s character – his willingness to sacrifice for Torah, his eagerness to share Torah with the world, his early rising for Torah and his constant discussion of Torah. That unifying principle is “love of Hashem” which, as the Sages teach us, is synonymous with “love of Torah.” The Shema that we read twice daily captures the lifestyle of Rabbi Rosenthal perfectly:

“And you shall love Hashem your G-d…And these words that I command you today shall be upon your heart. You shall teach them to your children, and you shall speak of them – when you sit in your house, when you walk on the way, when you lie down to sleep, and when you rise.”

What makes a person tick? What pulls him out of bed early in the morning, spreads itself out and works its way into his every thought and conversation throughout the day, endows him with the courage to make difficult and painful sacrifices both physical and financial, inspires him to give freely and selflessly to others, and even weaves itself into the song that gently lulls him to sleep at night? It can only be his passion, the object of his love. For an ordinary man this might be the woman he adores, for an artist it might be his calling or his craft. For Rabbi Rosenthal, it was Torah. As Rashi writes on the verse cited above, “‘And you shall speak of them’ – the essence of your speech should be in them”, in the words of Torah.

It’s an amazing thing. The Sages describe the World to Come as the Yeshiva Shel Maalah, the Heavenly Academy, a place of Torah study. Some religions claim that the reward offered in Heaven is fundamentally different from anything we experience on Earth. They ask their adherents to sacrifice momentary enjoyments here in exchange for eternal bliss over there. With their metaphor, the Rabbis teach us precisely the opposite. The pleasure and exhilaration we have when learning Torah in this world is exactly what our souls will continue to partake of in the next. What we are passionate about here, what excites us here, will be amplified, deepened, and extended to infinity there.

Rabbi Rosenthal has ascended to the Yeshiva shel Maalah, and while we suffer the pain of his loss and his absence, for him it must be a dream come true. I’m sure Mori VeRabbi is in the main Bet Midrash of the Yeshiva shel Maala right now, seated in the front row, enthusiastically debating fine points in the Rav’s Torah with the Ribbono shel Olam.

May Harav Daniel ben Eliyahu David’s memory be a source of inspiration and blessing for all of us. I pray that we will be found worthy of the legacy he left us. It is, most definitely, an amazing thing.