The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

Yoel Moshe ben Yosef Nosson was born on the 30^th day of Tishrei 5686 (October 18, 1925). He passed away on the 13^th of Adar in 1999.He was born in Bikur Cholim Hospital on Rechov Nathan Straus in Yerushalayim. His parents moved from Yerushalayim to what was then called Bayit VeGan (“House and Garden”), an Orthodox Jewish suburb of Arab Jaffa.

My father’s family was part of the original thirteen families who settled there in the late 1920s.

It was a Frum settlement, and two of the first buildings built were a Shul and a Yeshiva Ktana.

In 1937, the name was changed to Bat Yam.

When the State of Israel was established, Bat Yam had a population of 4,000.

Today, it is a city with over 150,000 residents.

My father went to the local yeshiva called Tachkemoni, and in 1947, he joined the Haganah.

He fought and was wounded in the Battle of Latrun and recalled how the enemy planes came so close to the Jewish fighters that he was able to clearly see the faces of the mustached pilots as they smiled while dropping their bombs.

After the War of Liberation and the establishment of the State, in 1950, he embarked on a “visit” to New York City.

Although he would return many times to Bat Yam and Yerushalayim, his “visit” to America lasted almost 50 years until the 15^th of Adar 1999, when he would finally return home permanently, when he was buried in Har HaMenechos.

Twenty-five years ago today, on the 13^th of Adar (Taanis Esther, as it was not a leap year), he passed away in a hospital in southern Florida while visiting my mother’s sister.

His funeral was on Purim day, and his burial would be on Shushan Purim in Yerushalayim.

Although he lived more than two-thirds of his physical life in America, he lived spiritually in Eretz Yisroel.

Our lives were planned around trips to Israel from when I was four.

As my mother was a teacher in the New York City public school system, we spent many summers at my grandmother’s home in Bat Yam.

All of my parent’s friends were Israeli, and Hebrew – when possible- was the language he embraced.

He always spoke of returning to Yerushalayim and was thrilled to be able to spend the Succos there in his later years.

One memory to share.

In the summer of 1977, we were privileged to be in Bat Yam on the Yahrtzeit of his father on the 19^th of Tammuz.

We went to the “Beit Knesset HaGadol” in Bat Yam, and gabbai was able to locate the Paroches my parents donated to the Shul when my father’s father passed away in 1956.

The gabbai hung the Parachos in the Shul in honor of my grandfather’s Yahrtzeit; my father was very proud.

As I stood next to him that morning, we felt there were three generations together in the Shul.

My father asked me to learn Mishnayos with the Minyan that morning so he could say the Kaddish D’Rabbonon.

I felt proud that I was able to make my father proud.

He made me proud to be his son.

Yehi Zichro Baruch, May his memory be for a Brocha.