Baltimore, MD - March 25, 2025 -It’s so strange to see the words. It does not seem real, at least not to me. But for his wife, his children, his parents, his Talmidim, his Chasidim, and the hundreds whom he was Mekarev, it is all too real. Painfully so. My nephew, Rabbi Eliyahu Fink, was one of the rarest people I ever knew. For those of you who appreciate, or hate, my megalomania, hear me loud: he was way smarter than me. And he knew far more Torah than I ever will. There aren’t that many people of whom I have ever made such a proclamation.

When Eliyahu was a 3-year-old, he attended a small nursery in Baltimore. His teacher had given each student a paper with an outline of an apple on it and told them all to color the apple. Eliyahu dutifully complied, filling in the entire outline a beautiful shade of red, tempered with some brown to give it a more “appley look,” except for a small ovular shape in one corner, which he left uncolored. His teacher came around and said, “Eliyahu, what a beautiful job. Why don’t you finish coloring it in?” Eliyahu responded, “I did finish.” The teacher asked, “What about the part you didn’t color?” to which he promptly replied, “That’s the part I ate already.” And so it began. Eliyahu was a prodigy in every sense of the word. Whether it was academics, sports, singing, abstract reasoning, or practically anything else, he was the best. After excelling in many areas, he attended high school at Yeshivas Ner Yisroel. He eventually earned his Semicha from the Yeshiva there. It was not an accomplishment, but rather a license to be Mashpia on thousands of Jews over the next 20 years. After his untimely passing last week, hundreds of articles have been published across the United States detailing his influence, his successes in enriching people’s lives with Torah and passion.

We often disagreed on issues of religiosity or politics, but Eliyahu always had a dozen Gemaras, and numerous Poskim and their Sheilos U’Teshuvos trumpeting the view he was espousing from hundreds of years prior. The same was true of any secular discussion. When we disagreed, he brought out volumes of Newton, Voltaire, or the writings of Winston Churchill. It was never Eliyahu’s opinion but rather the culmination of mastering bodies of information on every topic imaginable—from the causes of gravity to whether the continental drift was pre-people, to the fundamentals of the Machlokes between the Rambam and Rabbeinu Yonah, or whether Lamar Jackson could be a Super Bowl-caliber quarterback throwing many balls sidearm from the pocket. He did not have opinions on everything; rather, he shared his mastery of the topic with others. And he invited others to share theirs with him.

I was only in Los Angeles for one Shabbos in my life. At the time, Eliyahu was the Rabbi of the famous Venice Beach Shul—better known as the Shul on the Beach. And not just any beach. As Los Angeles has become known for its whacko culture over the years, Venice Beach was where the whackiest of the whackos congregated. Little did I know. On Shabbos morning, I walked into the Shul, shook the sand out of my shoes, and took a quick look around. Numerous odd-appearing people filled the pews on both sides of the Mechitza, including many who did not look like they belonged in a Shul. Everyone was welcome. A rack on each side of the door provided “cover-ups” or robes for those whose attire was inappropriate for a Shul. Then there were the 30–40 “normal” looking Mispalilim as well. Eliyahu gave an inspiring, thought-provoking Drasha, and we walked back to his home for Seudas Shabbos. After singing Zmiros and sharing Torah thoughts, Eliyahu offered that he goes to a different Shul on Shabbos afternoon for Mincha, Shalosh Seudos, etc.—it was quite a further distance, more than a mile away. He told me it would be much closer to the Venice Beach Shul if I did not want to join in the trek. I asked why he went to a different Shul on Shabbos afternoon. He said, “I am the Rabbi at that Shul also.” To which I then asked in retort, “Why are you the Rav at two Shuls a mile apart?” To this, he simply explained, “The Shul I go to in the afternoon is for the people I was Mekarev over the last six years who now feel it’s inappropriate to Daven on the Beach.”

After my visit to Los Angeles, I learned that Eliyahu gave one of the original “Fast Dafs” online, where he would cover Daf Yomi in 25 minutes per day. Of course, cruising through Shas as part of his daily ritual was no big thing for him, but it was for me. When I found myself learning an obscure Gemara in Kodshim, I would often do the 25-minute Daf with Eliyahu. It was fast, and I didn’t know the Daf as well as I would have liked after 25 minutes, but now I had familiarity. I knew what some of the first-time phrases referred to, and I could now learn the Daf at my own speed as deeply as I could. Because of Eliyahu.

Twelve years later, I was introduced to a young man learning at one of the top yeshivas in all of Eretz Yisroel. When he heard my name was “Fink,” he asked if I was related to Rabbi Eliyahu Fink. I answered that I was—he is my nephew. He then went on to tell me that Eliyahu had been Mekarev his family years earlier. His father walked in off the Beach, and three months later was keeping Shabbos and kosher. Two years after that, he switched his kids into Jewish day schools. “I am only here because of him. My whole family owes everything to Rabbi Fink.” And therein is one of the chief lessons we must learn from Eliyahu. His mastery of all things secular, in addition to his Torah knowledge, allowed him to relate to people that many of us cannot reach. Indeed, as the Gemara describes, there are seven Chochmos in the world—music, math, Torah, etc. Eliyahu knew about them all, and mastered them. Not in addition to his Torah, but as part of his appreciation and understanding of Hashem’s majesty. It’s not that we can’t reach them; it’s that we are afraid to tread where he tread because we are so ill-equipped. No person was beyond his outreach because he loved every Jew. And he shared some bond with every person, which was deeply personal.

There is a famous story with R’ Chaim Shmulevitz wherein he asked, “Who is responsible for the killing of the most Jews in history?” His answer: Yishmael, Esav, and Yushka. “And what did those three people have in common? They were all members of our family, and we pushed them all away.” R’ Chaim was not exactly a “lefty.” Eliyahu did not push anyone away. He brought them all closer to Hashem. From all backgrounds, from all walks of life, young and old. Even those whom he disagreed with could not help but marvel and be drawn to this friendly and brilliant man who loved all of Hashem’s Briya and loved living in it.

This was never more apparent than seeing him with his immediate and extended family. I remember meeting Tova at their L’Chayim. The radiance from each of them was palpable. And it never went away. After 23 years, they were once again sharing Yom Tov with us in Baltimore. To see them was to appreciate the respect and love they had for each other—each 100% devoted to helping the other. Many people could learn more from watching their interactions than they could from any professional counselor. They each shared that same outlook on each of their three sons. Each different, but each loved and appreciated as individuals. Eliyahu and Tova did not expect their children to practice Torah Judaism by teaching them what to do. Instead, they showed them what living as a Torah Jew meant: treating others with respect, appreciating every Jew, and always recognizing the great Creator who gives us everything. Eliyahu, we all already miss you. But we will carry what we learned from you forever.