On the Second Yahrzeit of Rabbi Yechiel Yitzchok Perr, zt”l

It is a certainty that were in not for Rabbi Perr, you would not be reading these words. I can write them because when I was wandering in the early stages of my mid-life spiritual journey, he welcomed me warmly and took up the challenge of guiding me as I felt and stumbled my way into study and practice on the way of Mussar.

The debt we share is enormous.

One day, when I was hoping to spend some time with Rabbi Perr, our meeting was delayed because he wanted to visit some bereaved people who were sitting shiva. I was waiting for him when he returned, and he told me that when he hears of someone who had passed away, his practice was to consider that person’s middot (character – or soul – traits) to see if he could identify any middah in which that person excelled beyond his own level.

Once he had identified a quality in which the deceased outshone him, he undertook to practice that trait for a period of time. That way, even though the person had died, their superlative characteristic would continue to live on in the world, now in the person of Rabbi Perr.

When I adopt that practice in regard to Rabbi Perr, there are many middot that fit the bill, but to highlight one that everyone who knew him remarked on, it was that he was endlessly curious, far beyond my level of that trait.

His curiosity (Hebrew סַקרָנוּת /sakranut) led him to enjoy fixing clocks because he was enthralled by their movements.

He once asked me, “Do you know how many stars there are?” and when I confessed that I didn’t, he said, “Billions of billions.”

Once when I joined him at the wedding of a nephew on his wife’s side, we were sitting together at a table, watching the bearded men in their black hats dancing joyfully. He leaned over so I could hear him over the din and asked, “Do you recognize that song?” I listened and realized that the dance band was playing a Mexican love song, “Besame mucho,” which begins with the words “Kiss me now, kiss me with passion — kiss me as if this were to be our very last night.” We both laughed out loud as we watched the Orthodox men twirl to the tune, and through the laughter he sputtered, “They think it’s a Chassidische niggun.”

And then I thought to myself, how do you know that song? He loved music and this was proof that he listened to all kinds of it.

When my wife and I went out to Far Rockaway to visit the Perr family after Rabbi Perr had died, one of his daughters told us that she had been his computer operator. He would call her and say, “Tzipporah, ask the computer …” and he would be curious to know how many eyes an ant had, or if the stripes on all zebras are identical. She told me that Rabbi Perr had no objection to using the internet; he had her do his searching only because he was well aware how curious he was and he was certain that once he started, he would get good and lost in the tangled, endless byways of the web.

Just last month, I made a trip out to Far Rockaway to give some dear people there copies of my book on Shabbat. One went to Rebbetzin Perr and another to Rabbi Shayah Kohn, the executive director of the yeshiva.

When I met with Rabbi Kohn, I asked him how the transition to the new rosh yeshiva had been going – the elder Rabbi Perr having been succeeded by his son, Rabbi Yisroel Moshe Perr. Among the many things Rabbi Kohn told me, he was emphatic that the new rosh yeshiva was a better fundraiser than his father had been. He described the difference:

Rabbi Perr the younger is focused and efficient. Equipped with some intelligence on what a person might be inclined to donate, he made a clear request for that amount and it usually did not take more than 20 minutes to conclude a meeting, most often successfully.

And his father? Rabbi Kohn would make sure the elder Rabbi Perr had the same sort of information as he now provided to prepare his son, but when they would walk into the prospective donor’s home or office, there was every possibility that the rosh yeshiva’s eye would be caught by some painting on the wall – “the play of light and shadow on the face is so expressive!” – or a bottle of wine on the table – “what’s distinctive about that vintage? – or he would ask about something else that sparked his interest, so that they were very likely to be leaving the meeting two hours later without him ever getting around to making the ask!

I can easily understand why the executive director of the yeshiva, who is responsible for the $3-4 million annual budget, would praise the executive skills of his new fundraising partner, but from my perspective, Rabbi Perr’s boundless curiosity was an admirable virtue.

Rabbi Perr wanted to know everything he could learn about the world around him. And he was equally – if not more – curious about the workings of the inner life. He was fascinated by human nature and was always probing to discover what it would take to cause a person to grow and blossom.

His curiosity led him to question me about everything I said to him, to ferret out the truth within the statement, or the question behind the question. That’s the place where I met him most intimately and that’s where he had the greatest impact on my life, and where I miss him most. In his memory, I will ask more questions.

And so I am curious: When you think about someone who was close to you who has passed away, is there one middah in which they excelled beyond your level of that trait that you could undertake to practice? What might that middah be, and how will you practice it?