A CONGREGATION IN MOURNING IIY BRIXE .)A,\lES ."'penal ro fhf.' .}f:\rlSH Tn n;,..;

W a~hJngID~ D.C. - On T~""y nJ,", Fybru~y 28. ltobb. Philip Rabinowitz was brutally murdered: in his home on a quiet G€orgetown street his head smashed and his body stabbed. His blmd stained the old tan carpet by the desk in his study. Smplisingly, his murdere r took nothing except the 63-:-'ear-{)ld man's life, closed the front door and left. The rabbi. a widower. left a :<on in New Jersey, a daughter in Chicago, thrt.'e grandchildren and a blUlher in brael.

But the rabbi also left a large extended family to mourn his death. Everyone who knew the Rabbi counts himself among the mourners. Especially touched are his former students from the Hebrew Academy of Greater Washington. where he taught for 26 years, and the members of Washington's Kesher Israel Congre­gation, where he was rabbi for 34 years.

As a member of Kesher Israel and as someone who knew and loved the rabbi as a father, it is hard for me to write of this objectively, The murder shook our very senses. In the aftermath of his death, we have cried, eulogized, and reached ou t to our fellow congregants. We haven't re­covered yet from the shock, but we have come to realize more and more how Rabbi Rabinowitz made us a family.

In recent years Kesher Israel always had a minyan in the morning and in the evenings. The Rabbi made sure of that, even ifhe had to call people to come at the last minute. But it wasn't always that way.

During the mid 1960s, even finding a minyan on Saturdays was clifficult. Like many downtown congregations, many of the members of Kesher Israel had moved to the suburbs. During those difficult times the minyan was made of mourners who came to say Kadclish. Since the mid-1970s, however, Kesher Israel, and Orthodox Judaism , have undergone a tre­mendous revival. Young, people in their twenties and thirties began moving into the area. They have married and are now bringing their children to the synagogue.

62 SAL TtMORE JEWISH TIMES

The Rabbi had an easier time finding a minyan.

It was clear that something was wro~ on that Wednesday morning. The Rabbi wasn't there: he would have made the tenth man. The nine who were there continued in the hopes that the rabbi would walk through the doors at any mi­nute and apologize because he had over­slept.

The rabbi still wasn't there at 8 a.m. when the men began to wrap their tefillin and put their talleisim back in their bags. Someone called the rabbi's home. No answer. Four members, Mort Feigen­baum, Sol Katz. Josh Hokach, and H<r ward Smith drove over to the rabbi 's house, five blocks away, to see what had happened.

Howard Smith, an astro-physicist, ex­pected the worse. Although he clidn't nor­mally go on synagogue errands. he ex­pected to find the rabbi dead. "Someti mes there is ajob like this that must be done. And that morning it was my job," he said.

Josh, an attorney at the Department of Energy, later described the scene at the house. "We got to the house and went up the steps. First Howard. then Mort. I was behind Mort. The door was closed. but

Rabbi Philip Rabinowitz had been a gentle man, He had brought the members of Kesher Israel Congregation together as a community. He would have been the tenth man In the shul's minyan that morning, But now he was dead, brutally murdered, and each congregant mourned in his own way.

Covered by a taliis. the rabbi s emoty chair faces the con­gregatIOn of Kesner Israel. The sight moved many so pain­fully that they asked that it be removed .

MARCH 16. 198413

J unlocked. Howard and Mort w;llkl'<i into his study. When 1 heard lVlort i,'Toan I knew what to expect."

• My wife. Nancy, was in the shul 's

kitchen prepruing for a luncheon in honor of the Chief Chaplain of the IS!"deli Army when two of the four retul11ed.

"Did YOU lind the Rabbi?" she asked. Yes, they nodded. "Is everything all right'''' Again they

couldn't speak; they could only ,;hake their heads.

"1 don't remember who told me. I just remember someone t.elling me that the rabbi had been shot." my wife told me later. .

• In itiall'(>po.is ,;aid that t.he raboi had

been shot. The flreman from the rescue ,;quad thought that it looked like the rab­bi had been shot in the neck from about 10-15 feet away. That's how the media first reported it. too. A few hours later the police said t hat the raobi had been stabbed several times and hit in the head.

When most members of Kesher heard about the murder. they assumed it was a robbery. But nothing was taken and the house had not been forcibly entered.lead­ing police to speculate that the ra bbi knew his assailant.

Those of us who knew the rabbi knew how unlikely it was that he would have opent'<i hi, dour for a stranger. \\11<'ne\'er I visited his house the rabbi would come to the door. ask who it was. and then peek through the curtains before drawing the boll He was afraid of being mugged on the streets or in his home.

The awful possibility was that the rabbi's killer was a Jew who had come to him for help. "What struck me most: said Josh Rokach, "was that the rabbi was a gentle man. He always offered of himself. [t occurred to me that the murderer may have called the rabbi with a problem and the rabbi probably offered to he lp. Instead he got killed."

The brutality of the murder upset pe0-ple as much as the fact that the rabbi was no longer alive. "He wasn't supposed to die this way," said Tevie Mehlman, a for­mer student of the rabbi's and now a member of his shul. "He was supposed to die a normal death. He never said any­thing to hurt anyone. That's why it is so harer to believe that he died in such a horrible manner."

Visions of the rabbi's last moments haunted Neil Roland, an active member of Keeher Israel. "I tried to imagine what his last moments were like, not knowing how he was killed. That was the hardest to picture. I couldn't imagine this 63-year­old gentle man dealing with violence. The thing that the rabbi feared most was a violent death and this was all the rabbi's worst fears come true."

• Some of our members heard the news

on the radio. After they heard, the instinct

was to telephone other members "r the Kesher familv.

Sara Averi ck. who works a t the American-Israel Public AJfairs Commit­tee, remembers receiving a ca ll from nnother member: -He ;;aid, 'it appears that the Rabbi was murdered.' I heard what he was saving, but it seemed 00 unreal. That is something that ha ppens to other people. [ knew that upon hearing that kind of news you're supposed to say 'Baruch Dayan Emet' ( Blessed be the True ,Judge'), but I just couldn't put tho.<;e words together. [t just didn't seem .l ll."t."

Sara heard from several other p"',ple that day who called with the new,. She. III turn. called more.

Nei! Roland. who is a reporter aL-Irmy Times. was one ofthefrrst to hear that the rabbi was dead. My wife Nnncy called him at his office at 8:30 a.m. because as chairman of the synagogue's hospitality committee he wouId have to decide to can­cel a Shabbaton that was schedu led for that Friday night.

"Like everybody, I went through the same sort of stages: shock, sadness, continued disbelief, remorse and guilt."

"There are three ways I could have reacted," Neil said. "I could have reacted as a journalist. as a member of the syna­gogue, or as a persolL [ lost my sense of my role as ajournalist and an employee in my office and reacted as a person. I im­mediately began pacing, asking myself 'how do I cope?' "

Harry Meyers was out of town visit­ing his children in Canton, Ohio, when he heard about the murder. The rabbi used to refer to Harry as "the captain" because of the command that he had had in the synagogue for more than 30 years. "It made me sick when they called." said H~ "How could anyone do that to the man.

Word about the death also "pread quickly to New York. where many tarmer students and members of Kesher Israel live. "Everybody seemed to network with others so they could share the loss: said Sararivka Libetman. a former student of the rabbi's currently working as a social worker in Brooklyn. "We had to share our feelings with others from the area be­cause our New York friends couldn't share what we were feeling. Even those who had not been his students knew him well eno~ to wonder why anyone would want to kill Rabbi Rabinowitz."

Few people could won after hearing the news. I paced, called friends, and

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'Hriler Bruce James and the Kesher Israel shu!: Everyone was shaKen.

"tared out the window. [ wa~n't crying vet. 1 wasn't Sille whv. In facl, 1 was dis-1mbed by the fact that I wasn't crving and others 1 knew were crying so hard that 1 couldn't talk to them.

Denia l was common. '" Like every­body, I went through the same sort ()(' stages: ;;hock, sadness. continued dis­belief. remorse and guilt:' ;;aid Arnold RosenthaL ''The first thing I :;;tid when .~meone told me the news wa~ .. Are you sure it was our Rabbi Rabinowitz')' ".

Wedneffiay night about j;j() pt~)ple gathered for the afternoon and evenmg ",rvices. Some members c<uue because they expected some sort "f memorial ",r­vices. :vIost came to find out delails and mnnecl with others.

Rabbi Stanley Z. Siegel. the \1ce presi­dent of the synagogue. ; wad up to fill Ue in on the details. One concem was t he auto­psy. J ewish law stricti v forhids the remov­al of organs or the lllutliation of a corpse unless it Can save a life. Siegel reported that efforts had been made w prevent an autop;y. but that the nalme ot the rabbI 's death made ttll autopsy mandatorY under D.C. law. However. thoru~h the etTorts of Washington ~layor :vIanon Barry, the \-\edical Examiner's office had compro­mised - only a limited autopsy would be done. As a result, the funeral could be held Thursday, pennitting enough time

to get the body to brae I for bunal betore Shabbat.

The next item of busi ness would be "'tting up teams to sit with the bod.v through the night. luUilling the mitzvah oC·shmimh.' 'or watching guard I I volun­teered for the "hlft from 11 p.rn. until 2 u.m. With me would be three uthel,.

As people were leaving, Lou Hellman, the ;;ynagogue president, walked in. He had just flown in from his son's home in Seattle lUld found notes under his door to go immediately to the shuL Now he knew.

'"I came in and tal ked to a few people and found that everyone had already taken care of all of the arrangements for the funeral. There wasn't much for me to do but to get acquainted with what had been done alreadv."

:vIinutes after he un'ived, the televi­sion reporters WlUlted to inten~ew him und Rabbi Siegel. "1 had to sound very composed for the TV cameras," said Rabbi Siegd . "It was very difficult."

• I arrived at the funeral home for lc,e

sh mirah in the 3ame car with Alan Mendelsohn. David Epstein and Paul Ruffer. We had to enter through a back door and we were gi ven orders not to exit and enter the bui lding except at assigned times. The neighborhood was bad and too much activity might attract robbers.

Inside. it was freezing: the ;;pace hea­ter on the !Ioor couldn't remove the chiB from t he room. I began shivering. In fact. since I had heard about 1 he murder I found myself shivering in relativelv warm temperatures. I decided it was ex­haustion and depression.

I felt a second chill. There was the alwninum coffin with the rabbi inside. I was informed that international airline regulations required the body to be shipped in an aluminum coffin. In Israel he would be buried only in his shroud.

I picked up the Book of Psalms and began reading from the beginning, as is customary. But we were all distracted by our thoughts about the rabbi.

David Epstein was writing a eulogy that he haa been asked to give at the funeral and he wanted our comments.

.,Rabbi Rabinowitz, David said, was a part of the shul for more than half of the 75 vears that the congregation had existed. The shul, which had been built about 25 years before he arrived, seemed to have been built specifically to embody his principal characteristics. David wrote:

Look about the structure: the dimen­sions are ora human srole, intimate. The decoration is simple. not ornate. The architecture belongs to no specific time and ploce. The very warmth of this good man radiates from its walls. Nonetheless, search the .rynagogue and you will not lind his name anywhere. nor will you even find a robbi's study. A man of timeless qualities needs no billboard."

I was greatly moved. We discussed ways to tie up that theme. The rabbi, we confessed, had given us his greatest gift, his personality. He was an example, through his compassion and sincerity, of how a Jew should live.

Memories of his accomplishments occupied our discussion. He had stood finn against the forces of change who wanted to move the ~ away from Georgetown. He had bridged the gaps be­tween the old and the young and the reli­gious and non-observant segments of our community. No rabbi we knew had ever devoted as much time to visiting sick Jews in the hospital. He was a mensch.

There was only one analotp' that suited the rabbi perfectly and tied mto the theme that David had begun. When Moses died on Sinai, there was also no memorial put up for him. Moses's life transcended monuments. Moses ensured the future of the Jewish people by teaching them the Torah and showing them the promised land. Rabbi Rabin<r witz saw himself as a humble rabbi in Lmlel whose duty was to teach Torah to others and ensure the future of our people. Teachers of Torah need no monuments because their accomplishments can be seen for centuries.

• Nearl~ a thousand people arrived for

the rabbi s funeral. The old synagogue had never seen so many people. All 300 seats in the upstairs main sanctuary were

full and people stood should er to should in the aisles. Some feared that the women's balcony might break under the pre;sure. We had prepared for many people. We set up a speaker system so that people in the downstairs social hall and outside the building could hear. There were reports that another 300 people had crowded into the social hall and 400 were outside.

The rabbi 's chair had been covered with a talIis. The sight disturbed many. When it was still there a week later. Tevie Mehlman complained. '1 wish they would take that tallis off the rabbi's chair. It really bothers me."

The speakers had to limit their time because of the urgency in getting the bodv to the airport on time. Each eulogy seemed to strike a chord in someone. Peo­ple were crying everywhere. The dam had finally broken and I was one ofthe worst.

Rabbi William Altshul quoted the proverb that summed up why everyone felt so awful: "When a scholar dies, everyone is his relative."

Rabbi Hillel Klaven, the rabbi of Ohev Shalom Congregation and a close friend ofthe rabbi, had little sucx:ess hold­ing back his tears as he spoke. "We cannot permit this tragedy to remove from our memory the fact that we have been the beneficiaries of the unusual qualities with which Rabbi Rabinowitz was en­dowed. •

My tears ran freely as Rabbi Klaven asked our rabbi for forgiveness. How guil-

~felt at that moment. Had I said some­

. to offend him? Did I ever apologize for e fight he and I had a few months ago?

Other speakers also struck chords. Rabbi Gedalia Anemer, of the Young israel synagogue, spoke from outside be­cause he is a cohen (and unable to be in the presence of a dead person). Marshall Breger, an assistant to President Reagan and a new member of the congregaton, brought personal condolences from the PreSident. Israeli Ambassador Meir Rosenne, who had come to our shul dur­ing the Camp David negotiations, thank­ed the rabbi for the legacy of learning.

Rabbi William Altshul, the head­master of the Hebrew Academy, where Rabbi Rabinowitz had taught, quoted the proverb that summed up why everyone felt so awful: "When a scholar dies, every­one is his relative."

I looked at my wife Nancy. I looked around at my "brothers and sisters" - the other members to whom I was close to. I

Sealed by the police. the door of the murdered rabbi"s house is mute testimony to the tragedy that look place inside

felt closer to them today and I wanted to hold them physically. Outside, after the coffin was placed in the hearse, we walked, following the hearse down the block. I broke down. Shivering and BOb­hing I reached for my triend Jose Rosen­feld, Sara Averick's husband. He held me and took me back into the shul. placing his coat around me. We were a congre­gaton of mourners.

It would seem that nothing good could come of the rabbi's murder. But the rabbi always found something good to say. He probably would cite the case of a young man I met on the subway a few days after

the murder. He recognized me from the few times he had been in Kesher. He told me that the rabbi's death had had a pro­found effect on him. He had been dating a non-Jewish girl. Now he was insisting that he wouldn't be able to marry her unless she became Jewish. I was sur­prised to hear this, but he explained, "it would be a dishonor to the memory of Rabbi Rabinowitz if! did anything else.".

Bruce James iB a frequent contributor to the BALTIMORE JEWISH TLIfE.'s and /uu; been an m:tz,¥? member of Kesher [sroel Con­gregation for four years.