Rabbi Ezra Labaton has been a constant in my life for over thirty years. He was my family and synagogue Rabbi at Congregation Magen David of West Deal. He was my teacher at Hillel Yeshiva High School. He was my counselor for many life choices including decisions that impacted career, education, and family. He was my mentor in community service and in how to lead a congregation. He was my neighbor. He was the Sandak for my son, Joshua. He was my hero as he dealt with stresses and challenges of all sort with dignity and determination. He was a confidant in matters in which there was no one else I could turn to. He treated me as a colleague, even though I was many years his junior and far more dependent upon him than he was on me. With all of that, he was my friend, who could leave the professional on the side and show a personal side, when called for. As this fixture in my life has passed on, I marvel and stand in awe at what he was able to accomplish in his lifetime while at the same time I shudder to think what life will be like without him.
To eulogize him is a daunting task, people could speak forever about his virtues and his impact. I’ve noticed that when people talk about him, they don’t end – there’s a distinct carry-off, the product of a certain knowing that this is a special person that cannot be fully praised.
In a particular situation in the Talmud, our Rabbis were forced to make a choice for Rosh Yeshiva, the Rabbinical head of the Talmudic Academy in Babylonia. The choice was between” Sinai” and “Oqer Harim” (one who uproots of mountains), two different types of scholars. The “Sinai” was a Rabbi who possessed a breadth of knowledge. He mastered all of the laws and sources of the Jewish tradition and could recall them with ease. The “Oqer Harim” had the ability to analyze, to plumb the depths of a particular issue to the heart of its matter. In the Yeshiva setting this ability is valued, as hours upon hours are spent analyzing arcane and complicated concepts. The assumption is that a person can only possess one of these traits, one must come at the cost of the other. Rabbi Labaton belied this assumption. On the one hand, the Rabbi was an expert in all areas of Torah knowledge – Tanach and Philosophy, his favorites, but also Talmud, Midrash, Halacha, Liturgy, Ethics, and Kabbala. His knowledge was not limited to Torah. He loved to study science, was a master of psychology, was always up on current events, and knew sports, as well. On the other hand, Rabbi Labaton had a keenly analytic mind, one that he used on a daily basis in his dealings in the synagogue and community but also to obtain his coveted PhD, which took him years of careful, painstaking work. Having worked together with Rabbi Labaton in a number of different settings, I can personally attest that he was one of the sharpest minds I have ever encountered.
Yet neither Sinai nor Oqer Harim is an apt term for Rabbi Labaton. In the model of his Rabbi and teacher Rabbi Joseph Soloveichik, Rabbi Labaton is best described as a “Ma’ayan HaMitgaber,” an overflowing wellspring. Rabbi Labaton’s indefatigable cheeriness and bubbly personality was a direct outcome of his non-stop creativity. Rabbi Labaton gave tens of classes each week and each one was an original creation. He never let himself suffice with what he derisively referred to as a “Chumash with Rashi” class, the type of class that all lesser Rabbis seem to succumb to as a necessary limitation of their talent or time. No matter what the topic or who the audience was, Rabbi Labaton would always be prepared with pages of his hand-written notes generating a presentation that no one else had thought of quite that way before.
Whereas Rabbi Labaton’s intellectual greatness was no secret, his intense religiosity was less well-known. Not because he was less religious than others – the reverse is true, he was saintly, a true Hasid, the type referred to in Pirkei Avot – “Lo Am HaAretz Hasid”. Rather, it was because his piousness manifested itself without grand public displays and not in ways that others generally associate with religiosity. His prayers were fervent and his belief in Hashem rock solid. He exemplified Lifnim MiShurat HaDin in all he did.
The Rabbinate is filled with dedicated individuals that put the needs of those they serve before their own. Despite that, it is difficult to find a person that worked harder than Rabbi Ezra Labaton. He never slowed down, never took time off, never turned down a case, and never failed to return a call. His office light was on early in the morning and late at night. If he was not there preparing classes or helping those in need, he was out at a simcha, a funeral, a shiva call, a bikur holim visit, or teaching in school. The rabbinate was not an occupation for him, it was life and he was fully invested. Vacations were nonexistent. Everything he did, he did with full energy and perspiration.
Although not imposing in size or stature, Rabbi Labaton displayed incredible physical strength. He had an inner strength that allowed him to absorb years of slights and insults, unintended and otherwise, from those that could not fully appreciate him. Never once did he lash out or “put someone in their place.” Over the last fifteen years, he underwent countless rounds of chemotherapy. His ability to bounce back was nothing short of astounding. It seemed that no matter what he went through, he was in the shul the next morning, giving class, bright and cheery as ever. As the Torah recounts about Moshe Rabbenu, “his eyes never dimmed, his vigor was unabated.”
His integrity was absolutely impeccable. He had no self-interest. People came to him and needed complete confidentiality and knew that they would receive it. His word was golden. He never promised that which he could not deliver.
Rabbi Labaton was a man of principles and strong convictions. Not only did he live by them however, he dedicated himself to and succeeded in transmitting these beliefs to others. The concept of Tzelem Elokim, that all humans are created in God’s image and are thereby endowed with infinite value, was his most core belief. By repeating and utilizing it tens of thousands of times, he inculcated it in legions who now live by it and repeat it in his name. He championed the Prophetic ideals of Tzedek U’Mishpat, dealing with all people fairly and fighting for the underprivileged. He made Tikkun Olam a household word for all of his students and congregants.
Each and any of the above would be a life well lived, but not truly are at the heart of the Rabbi’s greatness. The Rabbi could best be described as “Kol Demama Dakah” the still silent voice that God showed to Eliyahu HaNavi (see Kings I Chapter 19) to demonstrate that God was not embodied by power but by subtlety. Because of all of the above, it was patently clear to all that Rabbi Labaton had no equal. Nobody was in his league. Yet, he never made anyone feel that way. His humble and unassuming nature was his greatest quality and made him so successful in all that he did. I must have learned hundreds of life lessons from him, but not one through preaching. The Rabbi’s way was with love – a soft-spoken-voice, questioning and listening. Each moment with a smile, warmth, attentiveness and genuine concern for those he was around. It was this trait that made him beloved, it was this trait that made him successful. It is this trait we will miss most and will have the most difficult time to replace.
Rabbi Labaton knew the secret of love, that it necessarily must be boundless. This is how, despite showing genuine love for all that he came across, he was still able to love and care for those most special to him. His children were his greatest pride and joy. He once told me that his greatest joy in life was having the opportunity to teach his children in school. “You must do it,” he advised me, “there’s nothing better.” Because of his unending love for them, each child has turned into a gem, with each vastly different form the other. His partner in everything was his wife, Emily. As great as the Rabbi was, he always attributed his success to Emily. She was with him shul, school and the community, his advocate, support, and protector. They formed an amazing synergy of greatness and he was always aware of this fact.
As we look ahead to life without this giant of the Community, we know that he cannot be replaced. We can, however, take comfort in the fact that his accomplishments in life were real and lasting. The impact he made on God’s world will live long after he will be able to see it. He inspired and impacted thousands, if not tens of thousands, a true Tikkun Olam.
By Rabbi Joey Beyda
