He Inspired Us to Do Better Without Saying a Word

“My grandfather, R’ Shmuel Spalter a”h, was such a private, unassuming, and humble person. He never told his einiklach what they should be doing, and being around him didn’t make you feel guilty that you weren’t more like him.“

By Rabbi Chaim Chazan

Everyone who knew my grandfather, R’ Shmuel Spalter, who passed away last week, sensed that he was special.

Being such a private, unassuming, and humble person, it’s hard to capture exactly what made him so unique. I think it was the combination of many qualities that, together, made him so great: his middos tovos and patience, his kindness and humility, his refusal to argue, all coupled with a deep and genuine yiras Shomayim and unwavering devotion to the Eibershter and Yiddishkeit. Add to that his keen intelligence and pleasant demeanor, and you had a towering figure of greatness.

He wasn’t ambitious in the worldly sense; he simply did what he was supposed to do. He learned, davened with kavana and with a minyan, consistently and without exception. His greatest accomplishment—and one for which he was both grateful and humbled—was his family. He greeted everyone with a sever ponim yafos, a smile that radiated eidelkeit and humility. He was so eidel he couldn’t hurt a fly.

Interestingly, he was musically talented—he could hear a niggun once and sing it or play it on the keyboard. He remembered niggunim from before the war and would recall that Reb Shlomo Chaim Kesselman used to sing Hu Elokeinu without the words.

Sometimes I wonder whether his humility may have held him back from utilizing even more of his talents.

He simply did what was right, observing all halachos and minhogim without shortcuts, and he was extremely disciplined and consistent in everything he did.

He would wake up extremely early every morning. I remember him telling me about an uncle of his, a very Chassidishe Yid—a Belzer chossid from Lantzhut named Yumtchi (Binyamin) Rand. Whenever Yumtchi woke up, no matter the hour, he would get out of bed and stay up. I suspect that Zeidy emulated him. More than once, at family simchos or gatherings that went late into the night, Zeidy would suddenly appear, already beginning his new day. In his later years, he said the entire Tehillim every day.

He was a hard worker, always looking for what needed to be done, and rolling up his sleeves to do it. If he saw dishes in the sink, he would quietly wash them without saying a word. He was a true pnimi—never frum at someone else’s cheshbon. I remember him objecting to the chumra of not using warm water to wash dishes on Pesach, as if to say, “You wash the dishes, you can do your chumros.” He detested double standards—he believed you shouldn’t talk about high levels if you’re not doing the basics.

He never told his einiklach what they should be doing, and being around him didn’t make you feel guilty that you weren’t more like him. He simply got on with his avodah. He had an inner compass and motor to know what was right and to behave accordingly, without needing validation from the world around him. He was a true family man, finding the right balance between making full use of his time—without being intense—and valuing family time by playing and shmoozing. He was balanced in everything.

I never saw him angry or nervous. He was very level-headed, and understanding of different approaches and opinions. I remember once walking with him to Utica Avenue, I made a comment about the rowdy behavior of the local African Americans, and he calmly responded, “They merely have a different culture.”

In many ways, he was old-world: not into gashmiyus or baalebatishkeit. I remember staying by them once, and as I was heading to the mikvah, I asked him if he had any shampoo I could take along. He responded, surprised, “Vos? Bist a meidel? Darfst shampoo?” Yet at the same time, he was neat and mesudar. He expressed displeasure when my shoes were scuffed and would polish my shoes along with his own every Erev Shabbos.

All his uniqueness is magnified when considering the tragic circumstances of his youth and upbringing. Losing both parents by age eleven and growing up in a communist orphanage until age fifteen. He could have been bitter and traumatized, but somehow he was kind, patient, and upbeat. Without being loud or flashy, he left a lasting impression on all who knew him. He taught through action and led with example.

יהי זכרו ברוך