What have you heard about Avraham Somechi, who was killed this week in the terrible attack here in Holon? Most people didn’t know him. In online searches, you’ll find very little information—barely even a photograph. Personally, I only recognized him when his picture was published (and even that was a challenge). People around me also started talking about him.

As always, it seems that G‑d plucks the most beautiful flowers.

Avraham lived in our neighborhood and prayed regularly at the Ahava Ve’achva synagogue. He rarely raised his voice, and those who sat next to him regularly didn’t even know his name. He would arrive early, leave quietly, and that was that. Did anyone imagine that Avraham was a respected lecturer at Tel Aviv University? Did anyone dream that he was a phenomenal Torah genius?

Very few knew his greatness. When the late Rabbi Ezra Yitzhak (who passed away about a month ago) struggled with a Talmud lesson, he would ask Avraham to explain. Sometimes the Torah teacher didn’t arrive, and Avraham volunteered to stand in. He chose to teach the section of the Zohar known as “Patach Eliyahu,” which includes the foundations of Kabbalah. He explained it as a scholar could. The congregation understood, and Avraham returned to his anonymity.

I know several people who can explain Patach Eliyahu. I know others who can assist the rabbi with difficulty in a Talmud lesson. And, of course, I’m acquainted with professors and researchers at the university. But someone who could do it all—quietly and simply—that you do not meet every day.

You won’t find much written about him anywhere. That’s who he was. A great man who walked among us, until, in one moment, he sanctified G‑d’s name.

But perhaps the last message from Rabbi Avraham was his final act:

On that Sunday morning, his last day, Rabbi Avraham finished his prayers and folded his prayer shawl. He was hurrying to leave the synagogue promptly to take his wife, may she live and be well, somewhere. Just before he exited the synagogue—unaware that it was the last quarter-hour of his life—he turned to one of his fellow worshippers and made a request: “Every day after prayers, there is a beggar who comes by. I see you’re sticking around. Please take this coin and give it on my behalf.”

That was Rabbi Avraham’s final act. When he completed the mitzvah of charity, he concluded his mission in this world. Now he resides in a better place, undoubtedly praying for all of us. Quietly. There, in the heavens, they see him differently than we did here.

May his great merit protect our neighborhood and the grieving family, within the entire people of Israel who mourn during these days of prolonged exile. And may we soon merit the true and complete Redemption. Amen!

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