Orthodox, Jewish Center of Teaneck

Land countless others were shocked by the untimely passing of Tim Russert, the veteran broadcast journalist and respected host of NBC’s "Meet the Press." Tim and I shared a few things in common, most notably that we were both alumni of Cleveland’s John Carroll University, where he received his undergraduate education and I earned a master’s degree in clinical counseling. We also had the opportunity to be together at the Yeshiva University commencement exercises a year ago, when he delivered the commencement address and received an honorary doctorate, at the time his 48th such honor, all of which I’m told he proudly hung and displayed in his home; I was privileged to march in the academic procession and sit on the dais in celebration of the 25th anniversary of my Yeshiva College graduation. Behind stage at the Radio City Music Hall Tim and I compared notes on our Jesuit educations and talked about John Carroll’s proud football traditions. Don Shula was also an early JCU graduate. But what impressed me most was his modesty and approachability, coupled with what we all came to see and respect in his professional achievements. He was known to prepare vigorously for each interview. He was a fair but demanding interviewer. All of these attributes were the fruits of a hard-earned education that included a law degree from Cleveland’s John Marshall Law School but most importantly lessons mastered from his early education in Buffalo’s Catholic schools and the care and encouragement that he received from demanding nuns and priests who recognized his abilities and pushed him to realize his potential. Tim Russert was the only member of his family to go to college. He grew up in South Buffalo and his father kept two full-time jobs to support his family, driving a sanitation truck by day and a delivery truck for the Buffalo News at night.

I share these reflections by way of introduction to a key theme in this week’s Torah portion, namely the spirit of despair that was demonstrated by 10 of the 12 spies or scouts that Moshe was commanded by God to send to the Promised Land upon return from their reconnaissance mission. Their negative thinking, which easily spread to the rest of the nascent Israelite people, was manifest in one sentence and highlighted by one word. In their report to Moshe they exclaimed: "Effes ki az ha-Am ha-yoshaiv ba’Aretz," "It is impossible or howbeit that we can conquer this land when the people who dwell there are so strong." (Numbers 13:28) That one word "effes" sent a ripple effect through the people and paralyzed their will. Elsewhere in the sidra as a result of this dispirited account we are told that the people cried, "Vayitnu et kolam vayivku ha’Am ba-layla ha-hu" (Numbers 14:1). Concerning this reaction the Talmud teaches us (Tractate Ta’anit 29a) that God’s response was, "You have now cried in vain, but will cry in the generations to come over the destruction of both holy temples in Jerusalem" — for that night when the people first wept was actually the Ninth of Av. One word, "effes," captures the lack of resolve and weakness of that generation, which would ultimately have to perish in the desert over a 40-year period and give rise to a new group of leaders and followers who could see and believe in their potential.

Here again, I return to Tim Russert. He was not given an Ivy League education nor were there the means to provide for higher education or even the private training he received at Canisius High School, an option that he at first would not have even considered were it not for a certain nun, Sister Lucille Kennedy, who rode him hard and ultimately helped him become the newspaper editor at his Catholic middle school and then paved the way for his acceptance to Canisius High School. But Russert was a willing partner to her designs. He ultimately wanted to succeed and was willing to go where others before him had been denied opportunities. He never said "effes" or any of its English-language equivalents. At John Carroll he was known to take on challenges that others said were impossible or senseless. One included arranging a concert with a then unknown singer, a certain Bruce Springsteen, that was obviously a campus hit. These were matched by other journalistic feats, including NBC’s exclusive Rome interview with the pope in 1985.

We can and should learn from all who embody precious lessons for meaningful and purposeful living. Tim Russert above all was a great teacher about the power of possibilities. He actually had a sign in his office that read: "Thou shalt not whine." How appropriate in light of the desert tragedy of our defeatist Jewish ancestors.

In his YU address he demonstrated both a wonderful self-deprecating wit and down-to-earth wisdom. Quoting that noted philosopher Yogi Berra, Russert said of himself, "I get it eventually." He recalled that after Berra had flunked his exam, his teacher came down the aisle, shook him and said, "Don’t you know anything?" Berra looked up and said, "I don’t even suspect anything." Tim Russert got it all. And he certainly realized how lethal a negative attitude is. He defied the "effesites" of the world and was constantly raising the bar for himself and the others he interacted with.

In the special memorial segment that aired on Sunday morning, Tom Brokaw asked that there be no tears but rather a celebration of Tim’s life. But even Brokaw could not abide by his own words. Tears yes, but no whining.

As he brought his YU commencement address to a close, Tim recalled that the best commencement speech he ever heard was all of 16 words: "No exercise is better for the human heart than reaching down to lift up another person." Indeed he lifted our hearts and those of others never saying "effes." He was a friend and adviser to senators and governors alike but never forgot his humble beginnings and loved rich man and poor man alike. All of these experiences were brilliantly captured in his best-selling book, "Big Russ and Me," which focused largely on his relationship with his father, Timothy Sr., his role model and inspiration in so many ways. Tim learned his lessons well. He was the "Little Russ that could." God rest his precious soul.