Highlighting: “Yedidi: Rabbi Shmuel Berkovicz’s Warmth and Care Inspired People to Strive for Greatness” by Rabbi Yechiel Spero. Artscroll/Mesorah. English. Hardcover. 444 pages. ISBN #: 9781422631331.

(Courtesy of Artscroll) What is a ידיד?

At first glance, one notices one hand linked to another, a יד with a יד.

But there is more. The gematria of the term ידיד is 28, the equivalent of כח.

A true yedid, a true friend, infuses another with koach, strength, lifting him when he is down and sharing his pain.

Rabbi Shmuel Tzvi Berkovicz was just that.

A yedid.

Everyone’s yedid.

Young. Old. Rich. Poor. Whole. Broken. It made no difference to him.

And when you have a yedid, you have everything.

And when that yedid is taken, you feel as though you cannot go on.

That’s the essence of Rabbi Shmuel Tzvi Berkovicz.

And that is why his passing hurt people so badly.

Unlike many other giants, Reb Shmilu, as he was known, was relatable, in what he did and also how he did it. He was down-to-earth and yet so derhoiben, so lofty.

There is so much to learn from his day-to-day life. One Passaic resident expressed it well: “The main thing that sticks out to me as a difference, what made Rabbi Berkovicz so great—was his heart, which affected every single thing he did. We all do mundane, regular things, but when it’s coming from a different place, it changes everything. Like eating, a necessary, mundane act, but when a berachah is made, and the eater has kavanah that it’s for a higher purpose, it changes everything, even though the end result is the same. Thus, a book about a gadol who was an extreme masmid (exceptionally diligent student), or someone who was an extreme baal chesed (one constantly involved in acts of kindness), is a bit easier to write than a book about someone like Reb Shmuel, who brought every act, conversation, text, etc. to a different level. And for the most part, except for the stories about him that are ‘extreme,’ most of us didn’t fully realize and/or appreciate it.”

So yes, he was a phenomenal person. But he was also relatable. We can do what he did. But we must work at it.

What was it that made Reb Shmilu special?

There are lots of answers. But they are rooted in one common theme.

When Shmilu first came to Telshe, though not much past his bar mitzvah, he became friends with many older bachurim; they all took a liking to him. One of those bachurim was young Anshel Helman, who later became the menahel of the yeshivah. Recently, Rav Anshel described Reb Shmilu in one word. One word that does him justice.

Genuine.

Reb Shmilu was real. Very, very real. He said what he meant and he was always there for you.

To illustrate, Rav Anshel shared a vort. In Eichah (4:1), we lament, “Tishtapeichnah avnei kodesh be’rosh kol chutzos—Sacred stones are scattered at the head of every street.” Tragically, the stones of Yerushalayim were thrown down and broken. Rav Leib Malin elucidates. If you have a fake vessel, though it is studded with shiny stones and plated with gold, when it’s thrown to the ground, you can see it is really worthless; nobody has any interest in it anymore. However, if a genuine bejeweled vessel is thrown to the ground, it still retains its value. This is true about the tzaddikim of Yerushalayim. Even when they are no longer alive, their value is still apparent.

And this is true about Reb Shmilu. Now that the stone that is Reb Shmilu has been “thrown to the ground,” we can see how precious he still is, how much value he still possesses. His golden heart is more cherished than ever; the smile that glowed continues to shine. Ever since he was a young boy, people felt this way … up until his last day.

During his final, brief illness, when Reb Shmilu was initially discharged from the hospital, a Jewish, not-yet-religious nurse came to visit him. As dictated by protocol, she was supposed to visit him only once, yet she came a second time—because she was so impressed and inspired by him. She even planned a third visit, but by then Reb Shmilu had passed away. She kept calling, trying her best to see him, until Mrs. Rochel Berkovicz, Reb Shmilu’s wife, called back and relayed the sad news.

The nurse cried uncontrollably for two hours, and decided to keep one Shabbos in his memory. Her fiancé couldn’t understand why she was so broken. She had met numerous patients, and yes, some had passed on, yet never had she displayed such emotion. Why was this one different? Her answer speaks volumes. “If you would have met him, you would understand…”

So very, very true.

It is virtually impossible to capture the beauty that was Rabbi Shmuel Berkovicz. His loss is

immeasurable; he is indeed irreplaceable. But through this new book, you will have a chance to meet Reb Shmuel. You will be deeply affected by his warmth, his sincerity, and his genuine love for each and every Yid.

People may ask you why you are crying as you read of his greatness and then read of his passing, of the void he left. And you may tell them, “If you would have met him, you would understand…”

Now you will get to know him, too.