Shimon Allen ז’ל on his first yahrzeit

My father ע׳׳ה used to daven at Yeshivah on Friday nights and the evening of Yom Tovim. Very early on, when my Zeida Yidel still lived in Alexandra Road, he maintained a seat at Yeshivah and sat next to Mr Polonsky. My father used to sit in my Zaida’s seat and took over the seat when my Zaida passed away. I sat next to my father all those years.

Adjacent to us, on our left, was a gentleman named Shimon Allen. Prior to this connection, I had not known him. Shimon, a tall figure adorned with a lustrous beard and a broad hat. Despite being a Lubavitcher Chasid, he chose not to wear a Kapote, prompting my occasional teasing. “Nu, when are you going to wear a Kapote? A Chosid of Reb Zalman doesn’t wear a Kapote? Every Joe and Shmoe here wears one“

While aware of the playful nature of my remarks, Shimon would respond with a serious expression, “Yitzchok, there are plenty of things that I need to do before even considering a Kapote. I’m far from it.“

He consistently addressed me as Yitzchok, never employing my secular name, Isaac. Both Shimon and the late Rabbi Groner shared this distinctive practice of eschewing my secular name. In return, I affectionately referred to Shimon as “Reverend Allen.”

In truth, donning a Kapote would have given Shimon the appearance of a typical, card-carrying Chasid, a common sight at that time. Though he was a Lubavitcher Chasid, he never viewed himself that way on the account of his feeling that he was “too far away” from that level. In those days, it was common in Melbourne for seriously sincere Chassidim, like Rabbi Groner and Reb Nochum Gurewicz to only wear a Kapote on Shabbos. A Kapote was also an external symbol. Being a Pnimi, a sincere Chasid without some of the external trappings was more important to Shimon than the “kneitch” of the Borsalino. Additionally, I sensed that Shimon was reluctant to be narrowly defined or confined within a particular label. He had a genuine appreciation for Rabbis and friends beyond the confines of Chabad. To me, Shimon embodied a universalist spirit, transcending boundaries while still rooted in the philosophy of Chabad. Perhaps this streak of individualism was subtly inherited from his revered teacher, Reb Zalman Serebryanski. After all, in those times, Reb Zalman wore his signature mid-grey Kapote during the week, demonstrating his autonomy and refusal to conform solely to black attire—truly his own man.

Over the passing years, the seating arrangement evolved to include Shimon with two seats for his sons, my father’s seat, and ultimately mine at the end of the row. Behind us formed a community of worshippers, with Mr. Klein and his son Yossi, Mr. Raitman and his son, Mr. Bierenkrant, Mr Paneth, Emmanuel Althaus, the Feiglin brothers, and more, creating a mosaic of prayerful camaraderie.

During a certain period, I extended my presence to Shabbos day at the Yeshivah. In this expanded setting, my son Tzvi Yehuda joined us, securing a place between Shimon and me. Later, my other son, Yossi, became part of the assembly, although he was often lured away by Mr. Bierenkrant, who generously plied him with an open Shtender filled with sweets. The sense of community and shared experiences continued to flourish, making our gatherings at the Yeshivah with Shimon a cherished and dynamic part of our journey.

Shimon exuded a warmth that endeared him to my children, effortlessly bridging the gap between generations. As a father, I held a firm and structured approach, seldom allowing my sons to leave their seats except for a brief interval before Musaf. My parenting style was unequivocally black and white, an authoritarian stance that Shimon astutely sensed, though he never vocalised it. Instead, he skillfully eased the atmosphere by discovering a shared language to connect with my sons, making them laugh and acting as an antidote to my stern demeanor.

Both my sons found joy in Shimon’s company, appreciating his unique ability to relate to younger children—a skill I admittedly lacked. Shimon, in his “ordinary” ways, carried a Tallis bag that housed unusually large tissues, which he humorously attributed to his purportedly significant nose. He would playfully share with my kids that such oversized tissues were necessary for his distinctive nasal needs.

Shimon demonstrated a genuine interest in each of my sons’ pursuits and their academic progress. Our shared status as Kohanim further solidified our connection, creating a unique dimension of camaraderie. In Shimon, my children found not only a friend but also a compassionate and understanding figure who enriched our shared experiences at the Yeshivah with his warmth and lighthearted approach.

While I often found myself immersed in my own world, absorbed in a Sefer and generally unsocial, Shimon stood out as a refreshing oasis of normal social interaction. His repertoire included a joke or engaging comment laced with sarcastic humor for everyone present. Yet, Shimon was more than just a sociable presence; he seamlessly blended these characteristics with a profound sense of Yiras Shomayim, a true reverence for the Almighty.

His admiration extended to pure Torah personalities, and tears would well in his eyes when recounting the impactful influence of individuals such as Reb Zalman, the heartfelt davening of Reb Nochem, his awe for Rav Perlow and Reb Betzalel, among others. Shimon had a deep appreciation for the fire and brimstone qualities of brilliant Talmidei Chachomim. He couldn’t fathom why Yeshivah had not found a means to channel the Lomdus of R’ Dovid Segal, seeing Dovid as deserving of much greater Kavod HaTorah and relishing in his penetrating insights.

During our interactions between Aliyos, Dovid and I would engage in discussions, a fact that piqued Shimon’s curiosity. He would consistently inquire, “What did you and Dovid discuss?” This curiosity reflected his genuine interest in the intellectual exchange of Torah ideas. Later, Shimon shared a deep affection for R’ Shea Hecht, their friendship serving as a testament to their shared love of Torah and camaraderie. In essence, Shimon emerged not just as a social beacon but as a person with a profound spiritual depth and a sincere appreciation for Talmidei Chachamim.

Shimon’s unwavering commitment to Emes, the truth, was a defining aspect of his character. In the face of falsehood, he eschewed tolerance and silence, viewing them as non-options. Eventually, Shimon chose to part ways with Yeshivah, opting to purchase seats at Ohel Devorah. His decision stemmed from frustration with what he perceived as a reluctance among Rabbonim to act promptly and decisively in the name of Hashem.

Recognising Shimon’s concerns, he appealed to me for assistance in bringing various issues to the attention of Rabbonim. Despite presenting substantial evidence over several years, our efforts behind the scenes proved unsuccessful in raising awareness. Alongside a third party, I found myself in the challenging position of convincing Shimon that we had encountered a formidable obstacle. Shimon’s fierce protection of the truth and his insistence on acting with unwavering integrity and Temimus remained steadfast throughout this process.

Shimon’s aversion to falsehood extended beyond personal principles and infiltrated various projects in which he was involved. In Melbourne, a city with a substantial Jewish community, the presence of charity collectors was inevitable. Amidst the genuinely needy individuals seeking support, a troubling concentration of deceitful charlatans exploited the generosity of well-meaning donors. Unwilling to stand idly by, Shimon, a significant contributor to charitable causes, was determined to ensure that his Tzedaka reached deserving recipients.

Drawing inspiration from a successful model in England, Shimon collaborated with others to garner support from Melbourne’s Rabonim for the establishment of a local agency. This agency aimed to issue a certificate of authenticity to genuine collectors, thus providing a means for donors to identify legitimate causes. The initiative required substantial communal support, as collectors without the certification were to be directed to a committee responsible for background checks and the issuance of formal certificates.

Debate ensued within the community. Some argued against imposing an authenticity process on those already struggling, asserting that donors should retain the autonomy to give as they saw fit. They contended that the risk of being deceived by unscrupulous individuals was a price worth paying to spare others the potential indignity of background checks. In response, I adopted a middle-ground approach, providing assistance to anyone at my doorstep but limiting the amount for those without certificates. Shimon, however, envisioned a broader scope, motivated by the pursuit of truth and a desire to ensure that the most vulnerable received adequate funds without falling victim to charlatans.

Unfortunately, the scheme eventually collapsed due to the reluctance of some Rabonim to enforce the rules in the unyielding manner Shimon envisioned. This outcome deeply troubled Shimon, who believed that Melbourne lacked fearless and pure Rabbinic leadership. He yearned for Rabonim who would lead without being swayed by politics or self-preservation. Shimon, in times of uncertainty, sought counsel from the late Bostoner Rebbe, speaking of him with a sense of awe, highlighting his unwavering commitment to seeking guidance from spiritual leaders of uncompromising integrity.

Shimon was driven by an unwavering commitment to kindness (Chesed). My thoughts often return to a significant moment when our first child was preparing for marriage. In the midst of the extensive preparations, I found myself expressing concerns about the considerable expenses associated with hosting a beautiful wedding. Unsure whether my expressions of frustration were excessive, I openly pondered how individuals with a salary like mine, as a University academic, could manage to fund such an event.

A few weeks before the wedding, to my shock and deep embarrassment, I discovered an envelope containing a cheque for tens of thousands of dollars. The funds were offered as a loan that could be repaid over time. Overwhelmed and moved by this extraordinary act of Chesed, I initially kept the gesture to myself. Eventually, I confided in my wife and my father about the unexpected financial support. Naturally, I chose to return the cheque, but the experience left me with two valuable lessons.

Firstly, I learned the importance of avoiding excessive complaints about material concerns. Secondly, and more significantly, Shimon’s act taught me a profound lesson in sincere kindness. It was a demonstration of someone who not only talked the talk but genuinely walked the walk, exemplifying the true essence of selfless giving.

As if by some unspoken connection, I eventually chose to discontinue attending Yeshivah on Shabbos and sought a different setting. Ohel Devorah, the nearest Shule to our house, conveniently became my new place of davening. True to my preference, I selected a seat at the back of the Shule, nestled in a quiet corner, with the added benefit of two unoccupied seats adjacent to mine. It appeared to be an ideal arrangement, allowing me to (attempt to) mind my own business without being entangled in the inevitable politics often found in larger Shules.

Ironically, sitting in the row directly in front of me, at the end of the aisle, was none other than Shimon! Once again, we found ourselves in proximity, only this time, we were treated to the captivating wisdom of Rabbi Shea Hecht. Although davening at Ohel Devorah tends to be somewhat drawn out, and Shimon was not particularly fond of derashos in general, this Shule became the last one he attended.

When illness struck Shimon, his familiar seat remained vacant. Rabbi Hecht and I would exchange updates on his condition. As his health deteriorated, I joined a Friday night minyan held in his home.

Shimon and his wife Adina collaborated in the establishment of the remarkably successful Beit Rafael when Shimon retired. What might not be widely known, however, is Shimon’s unwavering commitment to the welfare of individuals beyond the realms of Beit Rafael. At one point, my wife faced a serious illness from which, thank God, she fully recovered. Throughout the extended process of recovery, Shimon consistently sent her thoughtful messages, inquiring about health and progress. Even after her recovery, Shimon remained connected in a meaningful way, displaying a genuine concern for her well-being. Despite being a private individual who shied away from seeking attention for his actions, Shimon’s sincerity consistently shone through. This sincere care also influenced my daughter-in-law, who actively participated in Beit Rafael fundraising efforts whenever possible.

Whenever we inquired about the possibility of visiting, Shimon always made time for us. Throughout the ups and downs of his health journey, my wife and I had the privilege of visiting him. Remarkably, our conversations seldom revolved around his illness; rather, Shimon consistently focused on others, displaying a selfless concern for their well-being.

Even during periods of significant illness, Shimon dedicated himself to a pet project aligned with the needs of those facing health challenges. His endeavor involved creating a document that adhered to both Halacha and secular Australian law, addressing the “Advance Healthcare Directive for Adults.” My brother-in-law assisted in the secular law component. While the inherent morbidity of the topic made me instinctively recoil, Shimon insisted that one can never predict when such directives might be needed. In his characteristic manner, he managed to discreetly provide me with a copy of the document.

Seeking the best Halachic approbation for his creation, Shimon asked me to connect him with Mori VeRabbi HaRav Schachter. Aware of Rav Schachter’s direct and concise approach to Halachic inquiries, I cautioned Shimon about the potential responses he might receive. Although I did not delve into the specifics of his questions for Rav Schachter, I knew they hadn’t connected for a few weeks. Shimon, ever reluctant to “disturb” Rav Schachter, was particularly sensitive about not inconveniencing him! I assured him that it was acceptable, and I facilitated their direct communication. While I never probed into the details, I am aware that they interacted, underscoring Shimon’s determination when he embarked on a mission.

Shimon was an Ish HaChesed.

If I had to associate a phrase with him, it might be

יושר דברי אמת

יהי זכרו ברוך