// 845.371.2222 It was early erev Shabbos in Johannesburg, sometime in the 1960s. The streets were quiet, the air carried that special Erev Shabbos stillness, and the homes were beginning to fill with the aroma of freshly baked challah. At the door of a tall white house stood a woman—her eyes red from crying, her hands trembling. Everyone knew that house. It was the home of Reb Shlomo Poupko, zichrono livrachah—a home of Torah, chessed, and open arms. From wealthy businessmen to struggling new immigrants, no one was ever turned away from his door. Reb Shlomo, a gaon in Torah and a Yid of heart, had come from America to serve Klal Yisroel in South Africa. He was born in Velizh, Russia, from a family of great Rabbonim— miyuchas even to the Chofetz Chaim, zechuso yagen aleinu. As Chief Rabbi of Johannesburg and mara d’asra of the Sydenham Highlands North Shul, he was a true shepherd to his flock—wise, gentle, and deeply caring. His Rebbetzin and children were known for their warmth, their laughter, and their Shabbos table that was always filled to the brim with orchim, divrei Torah and zemiros. But this morning, the woman at his door was not there for cholent or Kiddush—she came with heartbreak. When Reb Shlomo opened the door, he immediately recognized her—the Rebbetzin’s neighbor. Her lips quivered as she spoke. “Rabbi,” she whispered, “I didn’t know who else to turn to. It’s my nephew—Dovid Kauder. He’s only four years old. The doctors say…” her voice broke, “they say he’s going to die on Monday.” Reb Shlomo stared at her, stunned. “Die? How could they say such a thing?” She wiped her eyes and tried to continue. “Six months ago he was hit by a car. He’s been in a coma ever since. And this morning the doctor said it’s irreversible—and that the funeral will be Monday.” Reb Shlomo’s expression changed from shock to anguish. “Funeral?” he said sharply. “What kind of words are these? Even if a doctor has no hope, who gives him the right to speak like the Rebonei shel Olom Himself? To schedule a funeral before the neshamah has even left? Such words—chas 147
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