The Shofar as Memory: A Tribute to the late Rabbi Daniel Beller Zt"l

Written for the 2016 Rosh Hashana edition of the Shivtei shul newsletter

In one place the Torah speaks of Rosh Hashanah as Yom Teruah, the day of sounding the shofar, and in another as Zikhron Teruah, a memory of the sounding of the shofar. The sages referred this second description to occasions when Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, when – the Beit haMikdash excepted – the shofar was not sounded.

Sometimes all we have is a memory. We miss the direct experience of hearing the sound. But the memory must serve instead – to direct our hearts and minds to God, inspired by those who helped open our hearts and minds to God.

That idea must be our consolation as we remember an unusual and wonderful man – husband, father, teacher, mentor, role model, counsellor, moral voice, spiritual guide and friend – Rabbi Daniel Beller of blessed memory, taken from us painfully early, yet whose warmth and wisdom will continue to shape our lives.

I knew Daniel when he was a teenager. He was a member of Jewish Youth Study Groups, in whose summer programmes Elaine and I used to participate for several weeks in the idyllic setting of Carmel College by the banks of the Thames near Oxford. Already then, Daniel had leadership emblazoned on him. He was serious. He cared. He was the kind of person to whom others turned. He made people bigger, better, than they might otherwise have been. It did not surprise me at all when, years later, I discovered that he was studying for the rabbinate, and I was moved and inspired by the sight of the people whose lives he lifted, both in South Africa and Israel.

Daniel was a person of vision and courage. He realised that the role of a rabbi was to be deeply engaged in people’s lives, to meet them where they were, to become not their judge but their friend. He knew – and how few, sadly, understand this – that how a rabbi speaks may be important, but how a rabbi listens is more important still. He understood that a rabbi must be a community-builder, and his vision of community went far beyond the shul and the beit midrash. His rabbinate, especially in Ra’anana, was exceptional, and brought blessing into many, many lives.

Why it is that so often the very best are taken from us all too soon, I do not begin to understand, but I have seen it all too many times. The only consolation I have found is that their influence continues for many years. It is as if, lacking the teruah, people are instinctively moved by zikhron teruah. We have lost the voice but we still have the memory.

In one of the most powerful chapters in the whole of the prophetic literature, Isaiah compares a spiritual leader to a shofar:

Shout out loud, don’t hold back

Like a shofar, lift up your voice. (Is. 58:1)

This text forms part of the haftarah for Yom Kippur. In it Isaiah speaks eloquently about the indissoluble connection between our connection with God and with our fellow human beings:

Is that what you call a fast, a day for the Lord’s favour? No: this is the fast I choose: To loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke. To share your food with the hungry and provide the poor wanderer with shelter. When you see the naked, clothe them, and do not turn away from your own flesh and blood. Then your light will break forth like the sunrise, and your healing will quickly appear. Then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Those were Daniel’s values. For him faith in God led to faith in humanity, and service to God meant also service to the men, women and children of the community. That is what we heard in his call, his shofar.

I am moved that his beloved family and the members of his community have chosen this way – this collection of his shiurim relating to the Yamim Noraim – of perpetuating his memory. The Gemara (Yevamot 96b-97a) contains a very poignant passage:

אמר†רב†יהודה†אמר†רב∫†מאי†דכתיב†אגורה†באהלך†עולמיםø†וכי†אפשר†לו†לאדם†לגור†בשני†עוליםø†אלא†אמר†דוד†לפני

הקָדוש†ברוך†הוא∫†רבונו†של†עולם¨†יהי†רצון†שיאמרו†דבר†שמועה†מפי†בעוה¢זª†דאמר†רבי†יוחנן†משום†רבי†שמעון†בן

יוחי∫†כל†ת¢ח†שאומרים†דבר†שמועה†מפיו†בעולם†הזה¨†שפתותיו†דובבות†בקָבר

King David said, “I will dwell in your tent forever” (Ps. 61: 5). The word forever in this verse is olamim, literally, “worlds.” The Talmud then asks, Is it possible for a human being to live in more than one world? It answers by saying that David asked God to ensure that, after he died, people would continue to teach words of (oral) Torah in his name, because – as R. Shimon bar Yochai taught – whenever we teach words of Torah in the name of a scholar who is no longer alive, “his lips move gently in the grave.” It is as if he still lives, not only in heaven but on earth also. Whenever a person’s teachings live on, so does he or she, in our heart and mind, in the way we understand our world and lead our lives.

Taken from us too soon, Rabbi Beller lives on in what he taught and in the way he taught it: with humility, humanity and grace. May his memory continue to be a blessing, and may his family and friends find comfort as we remember what he taught us by what he did, what he said, and above all, by what he was.