Memories.

At the peak of the Rosh Hashanah tefillot, we draw on our collective memories….recollections of our holy forefathers, of their love and devotion.

But its not mere nostalgia.
Remember, Ribbono Shel Olam, we plead, and let the chasadim of generations past stand by us. The impression they made, the imprint they left, is eternal.

When Rav Yitzchak Dror ZT”L lived, he created an aura of holiness. The kedushah of the Torah, song of his life, the words and pages that filled his days and nights, the potency of his tefilla, the essence of humility, and the impact of the purity that radiated from his saintly face.

It was the joy he exuded as he did mitzvot, his tangible excitement as he selected daled minim, built the Sukkah or gave tzedakah. It was the cloud of selflessness and generosity, his willingness to give of himself- time, energy and resources- for another. It was the longing- the desperate yearning for the beit hamikdash that consumed him, always.
And now this tzaddik is gone, the man of faith and sanctity taken so quickly, one among the fallen multitudes, and all that’s left are the memories.
Images, echoes, written notes of Torah…each of them creating a trail connecting us to his life’s work, each of them standing as a pillar of remembrance, each one generating zechuyot.
Remember this Jew, Hashem, and shower us with Your mercy in his merit.
In his final days, the tzaddik, Reb Yitzchak, was alone, imprisoned between hospital walls with no family or friends or even medical attendants.
Just malachim.
This song, too, speaks of those last days- Who will stand before the world knowing what to say….Who can know? Who will ever know? Who even saw?
Only One.
I know that G-d in Heaven won’t forget.
He remembers all. Before Him, there is no forgetfulness. The tzaddik, Reb Yitzchak, singing by his gemara, lives on, learning Torah now as before.
Remember the akedat Yitzchak, those days when he was bound to his bed, unable to cry for help, his final breaths whispering words of Tehillim…. snatched phrases of prayer floating above, to the Heaven, where it would become precious song.
Those notes, the hope and yearning and always, the faith, the perfect faith, live on here, in his tribute by Yissaschar Dror, the tzaddik’s son.
Remember. And have mercy, dear G-d.