The face of an angel.
Rabbi Abadi זצ״ל.

I only spoke to him a few times, yet his name kept circling back.
Being “in the field,” I would hear his name again and again.
To me, he was an askan—a helper, someone to turn to when everything else failed.

That was until I saw the picture.

The picture of him holding a Sefer Torah.
But he wasn’t merely holding it.
He was at one with it.

It was as though his body was here, but his soul was somewhere higher—deeply bound to the Torah.
His face, his hands, the way he held it so close to his heart—with such unmistakable love.

In that moment, I realized he was so much more than an askan.

And I found myself wondering—how can a person be so connected to the upper worlds, while at the same time being so grounded, so approachable, so humble?
It’s a phenomenon I’ve rarely seen.

Looking back at the picture, I think I understand.

The Torah is emes—truth.

And if I had to define Rabbi Abadi in one word, it would be this: truth.

Truth means loving every child of Hashem.
Truth means not being afraid to step beyond the “rules” in order to do what is right.
Truth means being involved—with the police, with struggling children, with the community—while never losing connection to Torah and to Hashem.
Truth means humility.
Truth means being deeply above, while fully present below.
Truth means going places others are afraid to go.
Truth means celebrating every child, every small victory.

I would sometimes wonder, when seeing clips of him with “the boys”—what was it about him that they flocked to?
What was it about him that drew so many hearts?

I think the answer is simple.

Today’s beautiful children crave truth.

Rabbi Abadi was real.
Rabbi Abadi was authentic.
Rabbi Abadi was the truest form of truth.

And maybe that’s why so many people felt seen by him—
because when someone is that real, they give you permission to be real too.

I’m sitting here crying over a man I didn’t even know that well.
And yet it’s hitting me so deeply.

The moment I saw that now-infamous picture, I took a screenshot and saved it.
I kept going back to it.
Something about that image pulled at me.

There’s just something about it.
It feels like an X-ray into his soul.
It reveals a kind of purity, a kind of connection that words struggle to capture.

A man who was everywhere—yet anchored so deeply Above.

I look at that picture, and I cry.

We will miss you.
Lakewood will miss you.
The world will miss you.

Please—take your truth with you to the Ribbono Shel Olam.
Show Him how much we are yearning for that truth—how much we need it.
Please continue your holy work from above.

We love you so much.
We will miss you so much.

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