Rav Shalom Elmaleh
והגיתה בו יומם ולילה
and you shall recite it day and night
(Joshuah 1:8)
These are the words I associate with my father.
No matter what the time or place, he snatched moments for Torah study.
No matter how late he came home from work, when I walked down the long hallway of our Milan apartment at night, the light in the dining room would be on, and my father had an open Gemara in front of him.
On Sundays he would take us on family outings to the lakes or mountains for fresh air, release us to explore, and find himself a bench with a good vista and open a sefer (sacred text) he had brought along.
On Shabbat afternoons his Torah study was punctuated by moments when he looked up from his sefer to share with us an idea he found marvelous. The twinkle in his eye as he spoke clearly conveyed his love for Torah and his delight in study, it was indeed meirat enayim, ‘lighting his eyes’.
He actively pursued Torah study from a young age. He loved to recount how he leyned (chanted from the Torah scroll) before he was tall enough to reach the top of the bimah (reading table) and a special stool was brought for him to stand on. Over the years my father had memorized so much of Tanakh (Bible) that he could locate and complete any biblical verse.
To further his Torah education, at the age of eight he left his small village in the Atlas mountains in Morocco to live with his uncle in Meknes, ‘the big city’ and study in the Talmud Torah founded by the very first Chabad emissaries sent by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn to Morocco. His pursuit of Torah study took him later to Chabad yeshivot in Casablanca, Paris and New York. Along the way he expanded his repertoire of languages teaching himself French and Yiddish in addition to his native Judeo-Arabic and Hebrew. As I began learning English in 7th grade, he enthusiastically subscribed to an English language program by correspondence. He would play their cassettes on his long drives around various regions of Italy, and on his return home, he would test out the new phrases he learned on me.
his stories featured the kosher grasshoppers sold by street vendors in Morocco, a delicacy that tasted like pistachios
I was always intrigued by the black and white photos of my father as a wide eyed young man. He looked curious and ready to explore the world. He loved to discover new foods and flavours, and so his stories featured the kosher grasshoppers sold by street vendors in Morocco, a delicacy that tasted like pistachios, and the pleasure of walking to the bakery after a late Thursday night in yeshiva in New York for a treat of freshly baked still warm rugelach.
He would bring home exotic fruits from the market, cutting them up and offering us a slice. I recall his delight at discovering and introducing us to kiwis and avocados. He loved experimenting in the kitchen, sprinkling fish with herbs or liberally dousing a cut of meat with wine in a method he called all’occhio (by the eye).
As his eldest, I experienced an outpouring of his affection and attention. He was playful in his own way, protective, and could not wait to teach me Torah, read me Hasidic stories, or practice speaking Yiddish so I could understand the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teachings He modelled a lifestyle of Torah study combined with hard work in service to the Jewish community.
At the age of 21, still midway through his rabbinical studies, he was recruited to serve as a shochet (ritual slaughterer) for Milan and smaller Jewish communities scattered in other Italian provinces. Uncertain about leaving his studies, he consulted the Lubavitcher Rebbe with whom he maintained a close correspondence and following his advice, he accepted the offer beginning to serve his shlichut (mission) in Italy.
worked with local artisans to produce kosher batches of cheese, wine and other products
He was welcomed by the Jewish community in Milan and mentored by some of its elders, Three years later he met my mother, Simy Azuelos, and after a few months of a Milan-Paris courtship, they married in Israel where both their families had recently made aliyah from Morocco.
In his travels around Italy’s tiniest Jewish communities he became aware of the scarcity of basic kosher products and set out to rectify this problem, enabling Jewish families to adhere to kosher dietary laws. He learned the intricacies of regional cheese varieties, wines, and pastries, and worked with local artisans to produce kosher batches of cheese, wine and other products.
As a pioneer he saw the development of the Italian kashrut industry, as holy and necessary work, his particular shlichut. He did not enjoy the business aspect of this work, and for that he enlisted my mother’s support. He also discovered that simply making the kosher products available was not sufficient to change people’s habits overnight, and that a campaign of education was needed too.
At times I sensed he felt dragged down by much of the work he was doing. It was physically demanding; rising at dawn, driving to farms and factories scattered in all regions of Italy, often spending several days away from home. While my father would not shirk from intense and physically demanding labour, I think he felt he had lost his work/Torah balance. His enthusiasm was rekindled and his sense of purpose restored as he began to delegate some of the kashrut work to my brothers, freeing him up to dedicate more of his time to teaching Torah, the activity through which he felt most fulfilled.
collaborated with the Mayor of Milan to deliver Jewish cultural events, among them a large Menorah lighting, public Sukkah, and musical evenings on the grounds of the Sforza Castle in Milan
Together with my mother he began hosting events and Torah classes for Jewish young professionals in their home, eventually founding the Na’ar Yisrael Jewish Cultural Center in a dedicated space, in December 1996. They nurtured their community with warmth and dedication and collaborated with the Mayor of Milan to deliver Jewish cultural events, among them a large Menorah lighting, public Sukkah, and musical evenings on the grounds of the Sforza Castle in Milan.
Everyone always noted my father was a dapper, handsome man. Indeed, the only time he could be seen without a tie were the occasional summer days he would don a t-shirt and join us in basking in the sun at the beach. Beneath his formal attire was the steely determination that pushed him to leave his hometown in Morocco at a young age to further his education and prospects. It was not all smooth sailing, and he regretted not always having someone to offer him guidance. This is why, as the eldest boy in his family he was compelled to fill this role for his siblings. As a father, father in law, and grandfather, he pushed us all to focus on study, and sought to steer us towards life choices that he valued. He was a man of few words, but clearly demonstrated his values in the way he lived.