I remember once, sitting in a board meeting, and saying something along the lines of “Who would have ever imagined Amudim would be where it is today?”
And Mendy smiled and quietly said, “I did. I just knew we’d take time to get there.”
Today is Mendy Z”L yahrzeit, and I’ve been struggling to write this email for weeks. I keep starting it, deleting it, and starting again because how do you sum up the life of such a giant Godol in one neat little package? Mendy was relentless, generous, and sometimes impossible. And always, always right about the things that mattered most.
He once stood up at a Torah Umesorah Presidents Conference and said words that most people in that room were not ready to hear. He said, “It’s time we recognize this is a problem in our community. Our children are being sexually abused.” He spoke about the calls that were pouring in. Not just about children, but also about adults 20, 30, and 40 years old. He got a call from a 50-year-old man, married with children and grandchildren, who never had a peaceful day in his life because of what happened to him as a child.
And Mendy said: “There is no press of a button that solves this, but we have to do something.”
It’s a rare type of courage he had to stand up in that room and say those words. Most people wouldn’t take the risk.
But Mendy did it. He used his voice in such a powerful and pivotal way. Because one more child suffering in silence was too many.
Early on, before Amudim was fully established, Mendy and I had a phone call that escalated into a full-blown argument. I was overwhelmed. I was a one-man operation trying to balance everything. I told him, “Mendy, I can’t do more. I’m only human.”
He said, “No, you’re not. And you could. And you will.”
I hung up thinking that was the last time I’d hear from him. But he actually called back an hour later. Not to apologize, but to set up a meeting with me. He heard the fire and eagerness in my voice, and that was exactly what he was looking for.
One Motzeh Shabbos, I received an email from a girl who had attempted to end her life. Baruch Hashem, she survived. But the rehabilitation center available to her was $100,000. It wasn’t more than thirty seconds later when Mendy sent an email to his friends that said, “I’m putting up the first $25,000. Everybody else put up 50, and I’ll put up the additional $25,000.”
Mendy made a thirty-second decision without a committee because there was no time to wait.
Mendy Klein Z”L’s son-in-law, Amir Jaffa, said something I think about often. He said that most people hear about someone suffering and think, oi nebuch, somebody else is going to fix it. That ‘somebody else’ was my father-in-law.
His sons asked that we remember Mendy for his heart, not his checkbook. Because more than the money, Mendy gave his presence and sat with those going through the worst time of their lives. When he looked them in the eyes, you could see him absorbing their pain as his own. He couldn’t separate himself from it. He never tried to.
There are people living productive lives right now, raising families, building careers, and thriving because Mendy Klein stopped for them when no one else would.
Mendy would sit in meetings listening to others talk about how much they support Amudim’s work. And when they finished speaking, he’d look at them and say, “So then why aren’t you willing to make a donation?”
I’m asking us all the same question today.
We built mendyslegacy.org in his memory. You can give tzedakah l’ilui nishmaso, read more about who he was, and request a free Narcan kit if you’d like. Because getting life-saving tools into people’s hands without any hurdles is exactly what Mendy would do.
Give the way he lived.
Zvi Gluck
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