The man, the legend.

I never had the opportunity to have my grandfather as a rebbe or teacher. Throughout my entire life, anywhere I went I was stopped. “You’re related to the Rabbi Label Dulitz? I had him in Camp Raleigh; I had him in MTA.”

Some would ask about the infamous myths:

“Was he really in a bike gang?” “No.”

“Did he have tattoos?” “No.”

“I heard he got his glass eye from a knife fight.” “That, too, no.”

Everyone, however, always had some story or encounter with my grandfather that is vividly imprinted in their minds forever.

At a friend’s aufruf I was stopped by someone who told me he received a bad report in my grandfather’s shiur, and that his father took away his brand new car. He would only return the car once Rabbi Dulitz called back with a good report and approval for the car’s return. Thirty years later and the former student has yet to receive that car.

But everyone always would end each conversation with, “He had such an impact on my life.” Most people would say they never understood how lucky they were to have had a rebbe like him until they were older.

I, however, had the fortunate opportunity to have him as a zayde.

Now this meant spending Shabbatot in his Bronx home throughout my childhood and having to be careful not to trip over the hundreds of bottles of Pepsi Max lining the steps up the stairs.

The first time I really learned with Zayde for an extended amount of time was when I was 11. My grandparents had just moved down to Miami beach and my parents made a deal with me: I could go alone for a few weeks to visit if I sat with Zayde for one hour every day to practice my bar mitzvah leining.

Oh what an hour that was: fighting, yelling, grunting—all by him—and then all the crying—from me.

“Betzalel, you’re pronouncing it wrong,” or “The trup isn’t right,” or “The emphasis goes on the end of the word, not the beginning.”

Or the unforgettable “A child of 3 knows this!”

That happened every pasuk. We could barely get through an aliyah in one session.

My 11-year-old self couldn’t appreciate the attention to detail, the love for Torah, the nachas he was feeling at that moment. I just wanted to go outside.

But most importantly he believed that if we were going to do this we were going to do it right—the entire parsha, every pasuk, every word, every nakuda.

That is the philosophy he brought not only to Torah, but to life. Everything he did was with passion. But just like all those people I have met over the years, I slowly learned to appreciate it as I got older.

His love for Torah and family knew no bounds. Having daily chavrutahs and “Dial a Daf,” to the point where his family had to buy more house phones as he would burn through the batteries on a daily basis.

His love for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren was enormous. On our weekly Erev Shabbat call, he would ask me the same three things:

1. “What’s new with Tali?”

2. “What’s new with the kids?”

3. And “What not normal thing did they do this week?”

He always taught us to strive for greatness and never settle for mediocracy. He was our greatest supporter, always encouraging us to learn more, study more, and diet more … because he knew what greatness we could achieve.

A few weeks ago I visited Zayde for the last time in the hospital. I didn’t know it would be the last time. He had pneumonia and was told he would be back in a rehab facility in a few days, before moving back to Tower 41.

After spending two hours with him I told him I had to leave, but promised I would be back to visit again.

I never got to keep that promise.

However, I promise you as well as our entire family that I will continue on your legacy and make you proud.

Tzali/Brian Dulitz is a grandson of Rabbi Label Dulitz and lives in Teaneck with his wife and three kids.