Thinking about my own rabbi

Last Thursday I flew down to Florida to attend the funeral of my own rabbi, Melvin Kieffer. We had joined Westbury Hebrew Congregation in 1959 when it was in its old home on Ellison Avenue. My parents selected that shul because of the rabbi - a decision we never regretted.

Personally as a child growing up, I like all kids, was terrified of Rabbi Kieffer. Dignified, immaculate, stern and expecting a dignity to the service that did not allow for the noise or distractions of children. But one year when my parents were away for the first night of Pesach, we were forced, terrified though we were, to accept the rabbi's invitation to Seder. It was wonderful. Rabbi and Mrs. Kieffer were not only gracious but warm. Questions were entertained, insights were shared, the liturgy and meal were filled with joy and love. It was another side of a gifted rabbi which we had never imagined. We all knew of his kindness as pastor, his intelligence as preacher and his gifts leading a community. But we had to intimately experience the joy and light that flowed from his soul to really know the mentsch.
I also learned from him during a dark day of my life of how to be truly present for another soul - listening, counseling, advising me to move from sorrow and pain to light and life.