Rabbi Menachem Froman, rabbi of the settlement of Tekoa for 32 years, died on
Monday after a long battle with cancer. Despite living in Tekoa for the past two
years I never got to know Rav Froman. I never attended his classes, and never
had a personal discussion with him.
I admit my reticence to get close to
the man was ideological, perhaps even petty. I admired him personally, if from
afar. The man was a ray of sunshine. Even as he became gaunt with his suffering
from colon cancer, he was never shy with a smile, always greeting everyone with
a sever panim yafot, a beautiful countenance. But almost any pronouncement of
his on political matters made me shake my head in disbelief. And because of this
I did not want to draw near to him. A pity and a shame, as they say.
Such
is the complicated legacy of a great teacher, a beloved communal leader, a
political maverick within his own community, as well as an Israeli soldier and
father to 10 children. Rav Froman was a founding member of Gush Emunim, and
helped to establish the settlement of Tekoa 32 years ago, where he served as the
community’s rabbi until his death. Hand in hand with his support of the
settlement enterprise, he supported dialogue with religious-nationalists on the
Palestinian side, including Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, former religious leader of the
terrorist group Hamas. He believed that this was a religious conflict, and thus
that if peace was ever to be achieved there had to be dialogue between religious
leaders, not just politicians.
He also taught well attended classes at
the Otniel Yeshiva and weekly Zohar classes open to the community in Tekoa, as
well as many other classes. He was known to have touched the souls of a few
famous Israeli musicians, a number of whom came to participate in prayer and
song events in Tekoa over the past few years as his health declined. He would
have participants join in his pleading for the Creator to grant him life, moving
seamlessly from crying out in prayer into song which was also prayer. He so much
wanted to live, to carry on his work for Torah and for peace. It was an
extremely powerful experience, and a lesson in prayer.
I will never
forget the first time I met him, three years ago. I came to Tekoa from where I
was living, a five-minute drive away in Nokdim, to kasher pots and pans for
Passover. He was presiding over the event, and I remember wondering why he was
so very, very happy to be pouring soap into a tub of boiling water. He radiated
joy and kindness. He was laughing and smiling the whole time. As the years
passed and I would occasionally have the honor to pray with him at the local
synagogue, I could always rely on him for a big smile, as if to declare his
wonder and joy in beholding a human being, something created in the image of
G-d.
And now that the rabbi has passed, I am left not knowing how to
explain my feeling of loss. After all, I didn’t know the man, and never
benefited from his wisdom or drank at the well of his Torah. I merely basked, a
little bit, in the warmth of his presence. In the end, I feel a loss of
potential, of possibilities unrealized by myself due to my own arrogance and by
him due to G-d’s decree that his time had come.
The writer is a rabbi and
tour guide
rabbieitan@gmail.com
www.rabbieitan.com