21 Oct ONE MORE CONVERSATION WITH RABBI HAUER Z”L

Coming off a joyous
Simchas Torah, the
excitement of the Yom
Tov heightened with
gratitude for the return
of the twenty living
hostages, I turned on my phone after
Havdalah, eager to see more pictures of
reunions and read stories of courage and
resilience. And then, like so many others, I
was stunned: my dear friend and mentor,
Rabbi Moshe Hauer z”l, had suddenly
passed away. It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t
process it.
In the days since he was so abruptly taken
from us, one thought has played over and
over in my mind. If I had known that he
would no longer be here on Motzei Yom
Tov, I would have called him on Erev Yom
Tov. I would have finished our conversations,
told him what he meant to me, thanked him
for all I had learned from him, and sought
his guidance on how to continue the work he
began.
I first met Rabbi Hauer many years ago, at a
gathering organized by a mutual friend who
brought together people he felt should know
one another. There was no particular agenda,
it wasn’t hosted by any organization, and it

was such a success that for years, our group
met annually to share, be vulnerable,
brainstorm, collaborate, and inspire one
another.
At the first gathering, we were strangers:
guarded, cautious, and formal with one
another. Rabbi Hauer sensed a need to
break the ice and I vividly remember when
he said, “Let’s get comfortable, let’s be real.
Enough with formalities. I am Moshe, not
Rabbi Hauer,” and he proceeded to take his
tie off, something I wasn’t under the
impression he did often. At each gathering,
his presence and participation contributed
enormously. With great humility and
impeccable middos, he didn’t speak the
most, and certainly not the loudest, but
when he spoke he was a fountain of wisdom,
thoughtfulness, insight. He was sensitive,
complimentary, authentic, genuine, and
driven.
What impressed me most over the years was
that Rabbi Hauer was a true Ben Torah in
every sense. As he built his shul and guided
his community, he never left the Beis
Midrash, never closed the Gemara. He
remained growth-oriented, always striving,
always climbing higher, and always inviting
us to climb alongside him. Every

conversation he had, every initiative
he supported, was framed by a deep
care for Klal Yisrael, for the
community at large, and for each
individual within it.
He was rare: proud and unapologetic
about his hashkafa, his rebbeim, his
principles, and his values, yet
effortlessly and seamlessly connected
with people of all backgrounds. He
found common ground and common
cause with everyone, and saw the
Godliness in each person, developing
genuine bonds while always
remaining true to himself.
It is telling that in the days since his
passing, tributes have come from a
staggering variety of sources, including
politicians and “plain” people, organizations
like the OU and Agudah, the ADL, yeshivas
and rabbis across denominations, and even
the Catholic Bishops of New York. Rabbi
Hauer’s reach was profound because his
relationships were real, never performative,
transactional, or forced.
Professionally, he shaped my rabbinate in
countless ways, in ideas and practices I
emulate, in how I see myself and my
responsibility, in how I dream for Klal
Yisrael. He stood with me when I needed
support, spoke honestly when I needed
feedback, and always did so with love.
Personally, his loss is devastating. I find
myself replaying voice notes he sent, each
beginning with the affectionate, “Yedidi
Rav Efrem.” In one, he said, “This
message will have four points: Firstly, I
haven’t spoken to you in ages, which I
don’t like. Secondly, thank you for all you
do,” before moving on to practical matters.
Here is the thing. I know I am far from the
only one. Rabbi Hauer had this warm,
affectionate, complimentary, close
connection with countless shul members,
talmidim, colleagues, friends, and
community leaders. His love for us was
real, it was genuine, and it nourished our
souls and warmed our hearts.
When he became the Executive Vice
President of the OU, a leader and
spokesperson for Klal Yisrael, his title and
sense of mission changed but his character
and personal conduct remained the same.
When the Torah describes how Moshe and
Aharon went to confront Pharaoh it says
(Shemos 6:27):
ֵ֗ה�֗ם ַֽה�ְֽמ ַ ְַדְּבִּרִי֙ם֙ ֶאֶל־ַּפְּרְֹ֣ע�֣ה ֶֽמֶֽלְֶך־ִמְִצְַ֔ר�ִ֔יִם ְלְהֹוִ֥צ�֥יא
ֶא ּ ֶת־ְּבֵֽנ�ֽי־ִיְִׂשָׂרֵָ֖א�֖ל ִ ִמִּמְּצְָ֑ר�ִ֑יִם ֥הּ֥וא ֹמֶֹׁ֖ש֖ה ְו ְ ֲַאֲַהֹֽר�ֽן׃
It was they who spoke to Pharaoh king of
Egypt to free the Israelites from the
Egyptians; these are the same Moshe and
Aaron.

What does it mean these are the same Moshe
and Aharon, as opposed to different ones?
Rashi explains, it means despite their rise to
greatness, their high profile, prominence,
even power as spokespeople of Klal Yisrael,
they were unchanged as people, they
remained humble and mission driven.
The same can be said about Rabbi Hauer.
משה הוא, he was the same person, as Rashi
,בשליחותם מתחלה ועד סוף, ובצדקתם ,says
with a sense of mission from beginning to
end and with righteousness.
Rabbi Hauer set the bar for his colleagues
and friends. We strived to be like him and
now he is gone. Reflecting on our unfinished
conversations, I am reminded of the Gemara
(Shabbos 153a) which advises we should do
teshuva one day before we die. How can
anyone know that day? The answer is
profound: live each day as if it could be your
last, and strive to be your best. We can’t
speak to everyone as if it’s our last chance,
but we can ensure that the people who
matter most know how much they mean to
us.
One of Rabbi Hauer’s favorite insights,
which he shared with me several times, is
from the moment when Hashem visits
Avraham after his bris, and three travelers
appear at his doorstep. Avraham interrupts
his conversation with Hashem to greet and
host them. Rabbi Hauer would ask: how
could he do such a thing? Wasn’t it
disrespectful to Hashem? He explained that
in that moment, Avraham had a choice: to
continue speaking with Hashem or to act
like Hashem by showing kindness. The
greater tribute, Rabbi Hauer suggested, was
the latter.
Rabbi Hauer has been taken from us. We
can no longer speak to him directly, but we
can strive to be more like him: genuine,
compassionate, thoughtful, and concerned
about Klal Yisrael. In doing so, we offer a
tribute he would have considered even
higher than words.