1

Satmar From As Seen By An Insider: A Review of the New English Biography of Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe

Satmar From As Seen By An Insider: A Review of the New English Biography of Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe
by Ezra Brand

I recently bought the new biography of the Satmar Rebbe, called “The Rebbe. The Extraordinary Life & Worldview of Rabbeinu Yoel Teitelbaum. The Satmar Rebbe זי”ע”, by Rabbi Dovid Meisels (Canada 2011, distributed by Israel Book Shop). Rabbi Meisels is related to Rabbi Teitelbaum, and a staunch Satmar chossid, so you can be sure that the views espoused in the book are Satmar’s true opinions. I also recently bought Solomon Poll’s classic study if chassidim in Williamsburg in the 1950’s, during which Rabbi Meisel’s book is also mostly set. It was interesting comparing the two very different views–that of a Satmar chossid looking back at those times, and that of a contemporary secular scholar like Poll. (See also an interesting review, and comments on it, here.)
The book discusses many opinions of the Rebbe. Besides for his famous anti-Zionist opinion, the book discusses such sundry topics as the required height of the mechitza in shul, metzitza b’peh, television, derech halimud, mikvaos,tznius (married women wearing sheitels, married women shaving their hair, women required to wear thick stockings—at least 90 denier), and the times for beginning and end of shabbos. It is somewhat surprising that the book doesn’t mention the Rebbe’s famous opinion that a boy and a girl shouldn’t meet more than two or three times before getting engaged. On pg. 364 the book does mention the Rebbe’s opposition to “the chosson spend[ing] time with the kallah before and after the engagement,” but no mention is made of how many times the Rebbe held the boy and girl should meet. There is a famous story told, that Reb Moshe Bick, a prominent chassidishe posek in the Bronx, decided that boys and girls should meet at least ten times before getting married. He felt that America was different than Europe, and too many divorces were happening because of improper matches. The Rebbe was strongly opposed to this. Reb Moshe Bick explained that the difference of opinion stemmed from the fact that he was a mesader gittin, while the Rebbe was a mesader kiddushin!
Almost no sources other than Satmar publications are listed as sources. These Satmar sources are listed at the end of the book in the “Bibliography;” there are about thirty or so. The only non-Satmar sources I found were “A Concise History of Agudath Israel” (pg. 97), “Uvdos Vehanhagos Leveis Brisk” (pg. 137) (basically Satmar!), “Hamodia” (pg. 220), and “Rav Shach Speaks” (pg. 528). However, it is a breath of fresh air to see at least some sources listed; most heimishe publication until now have opted to leave them out.
The book is notable in that it is very politically incorrect. It doesn’t beat around the bush when it confronts Reb Yoel’s opinion on Zionism. Reb Yoel was famously extremely anti-Zionist—as are both camps of Satmar today—and Rabbi Meisels emotively explains the basis of his opinion. Of course, there are a lot of polemics, such as the story on page 313, where Rabbi Meisels writes:
Indeed, one measure of the impact of Vayoel Moshe is that whatever books the Zionists have since published purporting to refute it (notably Hatekufah Hagedolah and Nefesh Adah) have not been taken seriously in the general Torah world. To this day, no serious mainstream work has been written to refute Vayoel Moshe. Even those rabbis who continue to advocate voting in the Zionist elections use the terms “eis laasos” and “aveirah lishmah,” indicating that at least in theory they agree with the central concepts of Vayoel Moshe.

Notice that the all-inclusive term “Zionists” is used, without even using the word “rabbis,” even though the authors of the “Zionist books” cited were undoubtedly great Talmidei Chachomim. This pattern of not giving those who hold of Zionism any titles of respect holds true throughout the book. For example, on page 294, Rabbi Yehuda Leib Maimon, the founder of Mossad Harav Kook, is referred to as “Yehuda Leib Maimon.” It is therefore somewhat surprising that on page 317, the Minister of Religious Affairs is referred to as “Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Toledano.” Maybe only Sefardim are allowed to be Zionists!
On pg. 178, the book says about the Satmar newspaper, Der Yid: “The policy of Der Yid was that whenever the State of Israel (Medinas Yisroel) was mentioned, the word “Yisroel” was placed in quotation marks to show that Torah Jewry, the true Israel, did not recognize the Zionists’ right to use their name.” (Notice “Torah Jewry,” not just Satmar.) This is followed by Rabbi Meisels himself, such as on pg. 249 (“…State of “Israel.” “). Usually, just the term “Zionist state” is used (e.g., on pg. 247). It is surprising that on pg. 523 the book mention “[t]he Israeli authorities.” I am sure this oversight will be corrected in future editions.
Throughout the book, the author hints to the Satmar opinion that kiruv rechokim is problematic. On page 13 he writes: “One of the secrets of the Rebbe’s success is that he never tried to perfect all of American Jewry and bring it into his fold. Instead, he worked hard to keep himself and his own community, which was mostly made up of post-War immigrants, unscathed.” Satmar is famous for disagreeing with Lubavitch on this point, however this disagreement is never stated explicitly. Rather, the author says that this is why Rabbonim before the War were not successful in planting Yiddishkeit in America (page 150): “A certain writer wrote that he heard from the Rebbe in 1955, ‘Why was I more successful in planting Torah in America than all the other gedolim who tried? Because they took in too much, they wanted to make the whole America good. In order to reach people, they had to make compromises. But I realized that Yiddishkeit can only grow if you plant perfect seeds. It doesn’t grow from compromises.” This completely ignores the fact that the Satmar Rebbe was working with people who had relatively recently been forcibly plucked from their homes in Hungary, straight into Williamsburg. On the other hand, earlier Rabbonim were dealing with people who had willingly left their very religious hometowns in Eastern Europe to go to America, a much more secular country. In addition, some of the American Jews had been in America for decades, and had gotten used to the freedom of acting how they pleased, without operating within the very strict confines of the Chassidic community. On pg. 515, the book discusses the Rebbe’s opposition to Lubavitcher chassidim putting tefillin on secular Israeli soldiers, based on halachic problems. Impressively, the book quotes the Lubavitchers answer back, albeit with a rejoinder.
For some reason, the Rebbe did not like the chassidim in Borough Park. This is despite the fact that there were also Satmar chassidim in Borough Park. On pg. 400 and pg. 429 derogatory remarks said about Borough Park by the Rebbe are recounted.
Very harsh words are quoted from the Rebbe about the Lithuanian derech halimud. On pg. 457, he is quoted to have said, in response to why bochurim in Litvish yeshivas “undeniably” learn with more enthusiasm and hasmadah than the Satmar bochurim: “…Here too, there is no truth in the ‘belly logic’ (boich svaros) used in these yeshivas. It’s all their own made up ideas, and it’s fun for them to think about ideas that they themselves made up.” And again: “Their style is not more than three generations old. They created it in order to save the younger generation from the Haskalah. It’s a totally new derech. We see that not one halachic authority came out from them. There is one of them who paskens shailos, and he wreaks terrible destruction. It’s a totally new derech, and it’s not Toras Emes.” The Rebbe isn’t exactly the open-minded or “eilu ve’eilu divrei elokim chaim” type. I’m curious to know which specific posek he was referring to that he feels “wreaks terrible destruction.” It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out, because he is the only Lithuanian who paskens! I’m assuming he meant Reb Moshe Feinstein, with whom the Rebbe had many halachic/ ideological disputes.
An interesting story is told on pg. 474. One of the founding parents of “Bais Ruchel”– the Satmar girls’ school—came to the Rebbe with a complaint. “He [had] discovered that the teacher had instructed the girls to write the Hebrew words “Ani ohev es habeged (I love the garment) as writing practice.” Now, you might think the parent had a complaint that the sentence is grammatically incorrect. A girl writing this sentence should write “ani oheves es habeged.” Or, he complained that his daughter shouldn’t be taught to love her clothing, but rather Hashem. But no. His complaint is: “The Rebbe founded a girls’ school to raise a new generation of girls like our mothers and grandmothers in Europe. Now I see that my daughter brought home a notebook in which she wrote ‘Ani ohev es habeged.’ The Rebbetzin argues that the girls can’t be so ignorant; they are allowed to understand what they are saying when they daven. I had a grandmother who passed away at 103, and she knew the entire Tehillim and Maamados by heart. But she didn’t understand what she was saying. That’s how our children should grow up as well.” The Rebbe said to his rebbetzin: “ ‘He’s right!’ “ In other words, this man’s grandmother had lived to such a ripe old age because she didn’t know the words she was saying! Rather, they should be some magical formula not to be understood.
The book discusses at relative length the process of founding “Kiryas Yoel.” On pg. 528, we read that “[a] Yekke from Washington Heights, who agreed with the Rebbe’s views on many issues, wanted to move to the new town. The Rebbe invited him, ‘Bring another nine Ashkenazim with you, and you can start your own minyan in Kiryas Yoel.” I wonder who this “Yekke” was., and how long he would have lasted among the thousands of chassidim in Kiryas Yoel!
On pg. 45, R’ Meisels bring the famous myth that the town “Satmar” in Hungary is named after St. Mary. He writes: “The Rebbe never pronounced the name Satmar, since it is the name of avodah zarah. Instead he would say ‘Sakmar.’ This pronunciation was also customary in Tzanz.” Throughout the book, when the Rebbe himself mentions the name “Satmar,” “Sakmar” is used instead. In truth, “Satmar” is a combination of the Latin word “Sattu,” meaning village, and the Romanian word “Mare,” meaning large. (See the beginning of the Wikipedia article on Satmar here.)
Something that I felt was lacking was any sign of Yiddish whatsoever. The Satmar Rebbe was known as a smart person, and the book brings a nice amount of stories that contain the Rebbe’s witticisms. I enjoy seeing the actual expression used, and since the Rebbe only spoke Yiddish, as the book says on pg. 26, the Rebbe obviously said whatever he said in Yiddish. Most such biographies quote the exact expression, and then translate. Possibly, Rabbi Meisels didn’t use any English lehavdil bein kodesh lechol. I’ll explain. On pg. 13, R’ Meisels writes that he really shouldn’t be writing the book in English, since the Rebbe was against the use of English “as a medium of speaking and reading within the Jewish community.” But since there were many outside of Satmar who were interested in the life of the Rebbe, the decision was reached to write a book in English. On pg. 488, R’ Meisels writes with pride that in the Satmar summer camps, for two months the campers “did not even hear a single English word.” I guess once the decision was reached not to use Yiddish, Yiddish could never be used!
Some surprising stories are told about talmidei chachamim, which seem to be against halacha:
1) On pg. 144, R’ Meisels talks about how after the Rebbe came to America from Israel in 1946, R’ Michoel Ber Weissmandel (Rosh Yeshiva of Nitra Yeshiva in Mount Kisco) wanted to make sure he wouldn’t return to Israel. He therefore took the Rebbe’s passport and ripped it up. What is the heter to destroy someone else’s passport just because you think he shouldn’t continue travelling?
2) The book speaks about how the Rebbe was “very particular not to use tainted or impure money” (pg. 187). It goes on to write that “[m]any times, they also witnessed him taking undesirable money and flushing it down the toilet.” Similarly, on pg. 190-191, it is told that after accepting a ten-dollar bill from “a man who was not properly observant,” the Rebbe “took that ten-dollar bill, rolled it up and began to use it to scratch his ears. Soon he tore off a piece, and continued to scratch his ears with the remainder. He tore off another piece, until the entire bill was gone.” First of all, didn’t all those people who gave the money give it to support charitable causes? Didn’t they want the zchus of their money being put to good use? If the Rebbe was planning on destroying the money, he should not have accepted the money in the first place. In addition, according to American law, it is illegal to destroy money. What happened to dina d’malchusa dina? However, it is possible that the Rebbe wasn’t aware that this was illegal.
3) On pg. 193-194, the book tells how the a man gave money to the Rebbe to pay his debts: “…As soon as the old man heard this, he brought the Rebbe 20,000 crowns. ‘Now you can go and pay your debts.’ “ Soon after, the Rebbe gave the money to a poor girl for her dowry. When the person who gave money to the Rebbe found out, he protested: “ ‘But I gave you the money only on condition that you would use it to pay your debts, not for tzedaka!’ the old chassid protested. The Rebbe replied: ‘The yetzer hara has already been arguing with me for quite some time, trying to convince me to stop giving tzedaka. And now you are arguing with me as well. Don’t worry, I will soon give you back your money.’ “ Here ends the story. The problem is, the halacha clearly states that if a person gives tzedaka with intentions that the money should be used for a specific purpose, the money cannot be used for any other purpose. See Rama; Yoreh De’ah 256:4; Shach ibid. s”k 10; Shulchan Aruch, Choshen Mishpat 125:1; ibid. se’if 5; ibid. se’if 6; ibid. se’if 7; Shach ibid. s”k 25. However, it is possible that the Rebbe thought that the donor wouldn’t mind. But if so, the book should speak that out.
On pg. 268, the book describes the tricks Neturei Karta used to make sure they would win control of the Eidah Hachareidis: “Shortly before the election, the Neturei Karta divided their candidates into two parties, Neturei Karta, under Reb Amram, and Mesores Vene’emanus, under Rabbi Eliyahu Nachum Porush. In the second party they placed candidates who were not so well-known. The goal was that some voters who did not support Neturei Karta would vote for this party and thus take away votes from Agudah.” This kind of book obviously doesn’t bring any stories about its allies which they feel were done wrongly. It is therefore surprising that the book describes these devious schemes were used to rig the election.
All in all, the book tells many interesting stories about the Satmar Rebbe. It also provides a good overview of the growth of Satmar in America from after the War until the 1970’s. However, some of the stories and views are a little extreme for the litvishe palette, and the book is very polemical in nature. However, this biography will be treasured for giving over a truly unique viewpoint of a gadol, a biography so different than other “heimeshe”, biographies.



Rav Shmuel Ashkenazi, a contemporary Maecenas of the world of seforim.

A few years ago I began fundraising to print seforim of Rabbi Shmuel Ashkenazi. I am happy to announce that finally two volumes were just printed volume one is being sold in stores now and volume two will be released to be sold in stores before Shavos. In earlier posts I have put up some chapters of these new works. In one post I described Rabbi Shmuel Askenazi as follows: One of the hidden giants of the seforim world both in ultra orthodox and academic circles is a man known as Rabbi Shmuel Askenazi. Professor Zeev Gries also a great expert of the Jewish book and bibliography writes about him:
אני ובני דורי נוכל להעיד על בור סיד שאין מחשב שידמה לו, כר’ שמואל אשכנזי גמלאי מפעל הביבליוגרפיה העברית” )הספר כסוכן תרבות מראשית הדפוס עד לעת החדשה, לימוד ודעת במחשבה יהודית (תשסו) עמ’ 257).
This man has authored many books and articles in dozens of journals – both academic and charedi. Besides for authoring so much he has assisted many people in both circles helping in many areas of the Jewish literature. At times he is acknowledge and thanked and other times not. A few years back, a partial bibliography of his writings was printed in a work called Alfa Beta Kadmita de-Shmuel Zera. This book was a start of an attempt to print all of his writings in a multi-volume set. R. Askenazi has been writing and collection information on thousands of topics for close to seventy years. Unfortunately, he did not print much of what he gathered. The main reason for this omission is R. Ashkenzi’s “weakness” for incredible levels of perfection. For personal reasons the project that began a few years back was stopped by R. Askenazi. Two years ago the project was restarted again by others. He and these people have been working daily to prepare the writing for print. To date this project has gotten very far in preparing for print his writings. Two volumes of over five hundred pages were just printed; five more volumes are almost near completion. After that there are many more waiting to be worked on. The only thing holding back the printing of these volumes are funds to print the volumes. Not everything that he gathered is worth printing and heavy editing is done as with many of the available data bases what he gathered today is not worth much as a quick search on these data bases will find the same thing. However much of what he has gathered is very valuable even today with all kinds of search engines. The topics that these works deal with are virtually everything on some level, sources on expressions, minhaghim, dininm, evolvement of famous stories, bibliography, corrections of authors, encyclopedia style information on thousands of topics culled from thousands of seforim many very rare or unknown. There are also thousands of letters to authors and professor’s containing notes on their works additional sources of their work etc; In addition there are R. Askenazei notes on tefilah, piyut, Chumash, Shas, Zohar, and from other seforim that he marked down on the side. These newly released volumes contain about two hundred chapters on a wide range of topics including many of which trace famous statements people say over in the name of Chazal. In these chapters he traces them through an incredible wide range of sources showing how it was used and by whom it was used. The tour of sources going through out all ages of history (literally) that one is exposed to in these chapters is breathtaking. This book is also well written and organized making it a pleasure to read. It is a work that almost anyone interested in the Jewish book will find many things to enjoy. This book is available for purchase by Girsa and other seforim stores in Jerusalem, in Beigleiesein and other stores in the US. It is also available through me. For more information about this work or helping continue this project in any way please e – me at eliezerbrodt-at-gmail.com. A table of contents of this current work is available upon request to the above mentioned e-mail.




Eliyahu Bachur in Isny

ELIYAHU BACHUR (1469 – 1549) IN ISNY
 by: Dan Yardeni

Dan Yardeni, an engineer by profession (Technion – Israel Institute of Technology, 1963), is entrepreneur specializing in cutting edge materials and materials production processes.

As sideline,  he researches problems in the history of Hebrew books printing and printers. He also contributes articles to the Culture and Literature sections of Haaretz and other Israeli newspapers. This is his first post at the Seforim blog.

A little street in Tel Aviv commemorates the personality of a colorful Jewish culture hero at the time of the Italian Renaissance, known as Eliah Levita by Christians and Eliyahu Bachur by Jews. While he considered himself primarily a linguist, he was also a teacher, translator, writer and editor, debater, poet, singer and humanist with a deep sense of social awareness, which he expressed in sharply worded satires. While all his life he was an observant Jew, he was also a close friend and teacher of the greatest Christian scholars of his day and became a foremost “cultural agent” between Judaism and Christianity.
Eliahu Bachur’s unusual name is due to the fact that he remained a bachelor for a long time, and later adopted the epithet in the sense of Bachur – Chosen (see his preface to Sefer HaBachur, Isny 1542 where he explains the name of the book and comments:  “…. היות שם כינויי משונה ובשם בחור מכונה …. ” ). He was born in southern Germany in 1469 and died and was buried in Venice at the age of 81, a rather advanced age at the time.
Most of his life he lived and worked in Italy. For a brief period of two and a half years, between 1540 and 1542, Eliyahu Bachur moved to the small town of Isny in the picturesque Allgäu region of southern Germany. Isny was at that time a a free self-governing city organized as a republic within the Holy Roman Empire, then under the rule of Charles V. Eliyahu Bachur was invited by the Christian reformer and Hebraist Paulus Fagius to work with him as editor and proofreader in the printing-house, which Fagius had founded in Isny. Despite the burden of his seventy-one years, Eliyahu accepted the invitation, left his home in Venice and crossed the Alps to live in that little town. Why did he do it? The large and world famous printing-house of Daniel Bomberg in Venice, where he had worked as an editor and proofreader for many years, ceased operating at that time and Fagius was offering him a good job and, most important, undertook to print  the books Eliyahu had written.
Eliyahu Bachur describes his journey to Isny at the end of his book ‘Tishbi,’ the first of his books to be published in the new printing-house. (The name of the book alludes to his name, Eliyahu). The book, printed in typical Ashkenazi Hebrew typography, constitutes a kind of dictionary describing 712 roots of Hebrew words. And so he writes in the preface to the book: “… I beg anyone, scholar or student who reads this book and finds a mistake or error, to note that it is the fruit of haste since I was in a hurry to reach this place and when I left my house the book was not yet finished, and as I was en route, crossing lands of raining hills and mountains I stood trembling, weighing matters up in my mind and writing them in my heart, and then, when I reached the inn, I opened my case, took out my notebook and wrote down the things which the Lord had put into my heart.”
We know of sixteen titles (sometimes in 2 editions, with and without Latin translation), which Eliyahu Bachur published in Isny. He may have printed more, of which no copies survived. Most of the time he was the only Jew in  that Christian town which was so devoutly Protestant that it did not allow Catholic Christians to reside within its walls. The contents of his books, and the texts which he wrote and appended to them, are of great interest still today. Most touching is the reflected conflict between his desire to publish the books he had written and the longing for his family and for Venice, the town where he had lived most of his life.
While being a deeply religious and observant Jew, Eliyahu Bachur displayed cultural openness to the Christian world. He did this in spite of the fierce opposition of rabbis, who regarded him with suspicion, as someone who was prepared to venture beyond the self-imposed barriers surrounding the Jewish scholarly community (See his preface to Masoret Ha-Massoret book printed in Venice 1938 and later). He also had the courage and intellectual honesty to admit that he had been helped in translating difficult Greek words to Hebrew by the learned Christian cardinal Egidio Viterbo, to whom he had taught Hebrew during his sojourn in Rome years earlier. He dared to state, in face of virulent opposition from leading orthodox rabbis, that the punctuation of the Hebrew language was a later invention and not as ancient as had been thought until then. In his rhyming introduction to his book ‘Tishbi,’ he challenged those who disagreed with him to react still in his lifetime:
“….. / כי אומנם לא שקר מילי / אם לא איפא מי יכזיבני / מה שגיתי יבין אותי / יכתוב לו ספר איש ריבי / אך יעשה זאת טרם אמות / כי מה אשיב אחרי שכבי / או ימות גם הוא כמוני / או ימתין לי עד שובי / …….”
“…Indeed my words are not a lie / So who will dispute me? / If I erred, please  show me where / And my rival may write his own opinion  / But let him do it before I die / Because once I died how could I reply? / Or possibly he too may meanwhile pass away / Or he might have to wait for my resurrection from the dead….”
Later, in a playful rhymed foreword, combining genuine modesty with an awareness of his own value, he added a well-known fable attributed to Pliny the Elder, which Eliyahu claims to remember from his youth:
“אפתחה במשל פי / אשר שמעתי בימי חרפי / כי היה באחד המקומות / אשר נקבו בשמות / אמן אחד צייר / וצייר צלם איש על נייר / והיה האיש ההוא / תם וישר / יפה תואר ומשוח בששר / וידביקהו על לוח עץ / ועל פתח ביתו היה אותו נועץ / להראות העמים והשרים את יופיו / כי כליל הוא מהדרו  וצבי עדיו / ויהי כאשר כל העם רואים / והנה בתוך הבאים / זקן אחד רצען / על משענתו נשען / וראה והביט גם הוא / אחרי כן פתח את פיהו / ויאמר הנני עומד משתאה / איך הצייר שגה ברואה / הלא תראו כי שרוך הנעל / הפוך למטה למעל / וכשמוע הצייר את זאת / יצא גם הוא לראות / וירא ויניע ראש / והודה ולא בוש / ויאמר צדקת אתה הזקן / אך הלילה המעוות אתקן / וכן תקנהו טרם הלך לישון / ולמחרתו הוציאו כמשפט הראשון / ויבוא הרצען שנית / ויוסף להביט בתבנית / ויאמר לצייר יפה תיקנת ועשית / אבל בדבר אחד שגית / כי רואה אני דבר נבזה / כי הברכיים אינם דומים זה לזה / האחד גדול והאחד קטן / ויאמר לו הצייר לך אל השטן / כי משרוך הנעל ולמעלה/ אין לך בחכמה חלק ונחלה / ויהי הרצען לבושה ולכלימה / ויפן וילך בחימה / וכן יראתי גם אני / שכמקרה הרצען יקרני / בעניין זה החיבור / רעה עלי ידובר / ויאמר אלי מי שהוא / מה לך פה אליהו / כלך למדברך אצל דקדוק ומסורות / אין לך עסק בנסתרות / אל תחמוד כבוד יותר מלימודך / ואל תנבל כסא כבודך / ולכן יראתי לקרב אל המלאכה / פן לא אראה בה סימן ברכה / אך רוחי הציקתני / ואש עצור בעצמותי ושרפתני / וכלכל לא יכולתי / ומאת השם עזר שאלתי / יצרף לי למעשה המחשבה / ויורני בדרך הטובה / כי מכיר אני את מקומי / שיותר מידי נטלתי גדולה  לעצמי / שמלאני לבי לפרש כל השורשים / אשר בשום מקום אינם מפורשים / ואף מאותם המפורשים כבר / אחדש בכל אחד איזה דבר / ורובם מן הגמרא ומדברי רבותינו / כגון בראשית רבא ותנחומא וילמדנו / ואף שבעוונותיי / כבר עברו רוב שנותיי / ולא ראיתי בטובה / בהוויות אביי ורבא / ולחכמים מעט שימשתי / ומשאם ומתנם לא בשתי ביקשתי / מכל מקום לבי לא מנעני / ובאגדות ובמדרשים יגעתי / להוציא מהם דברים חשוקים / ובפרושי ומדרשי הפסוקים / עד שרוב גירסתם היא לי ידועה / וזה יהיה לי לישועה / את הספר הזה לחבר / ולברר וללבן את אשר אדבר / …………/.
The fable tells the story of the famous Greek painter Apelles (a contemporary of Alexander the Great), and a cobbler,. Apelles drew a beautiful young man and pasted the painting on wooden board that he placed at his doorway to impress all passersby. Among them was an old cobbler, leaning on his cane. The cobbler gazed at the painting and commented: “I am surprised how the artist made such a mistake. You see, the shoelace goes upside down”. When the artist heard that, he went out to see, nodded his head and consented: “You are right, old man. But tonight I shall correct the mistake”. And so he did before going to sleep and the next day he hung the painting in place as before. And the old cobbler came again. He looked at the painting and told the artist: “Well done but there is still another mistake: the knees are not alike, one is bigger than the other”. The artist said then commented angrily: Go to hell. From the shoelace upwards you know nothing”. The cobbler was ridiculed by all around and turned away in a rage. And, says Eliahu Bachur, he is afraid that the same will happen to him with this book, the Tishbi”. Somebody will say: “What are you doing here? Go back to Hebrew grammar and Massoret. Don’t deal in what you don’t know and don’t ask to be honored in doing so“. Therefore, he was afraid to undertake that work, in which he might fail. However, he could not restrain himself and asked God for help in showing him the right way. Eliyahu adds that he knows his place and that he may be presumptuous in daring to explain all the Hebrew roots, which are not explained elsewhere, adding that even to those that had been explained, he was still bringing something new from the Gmara and other sources.
Particularly impressive is the friendship and mutual respect that developed between the old Jew and the Christian preacher Paulus Fagius in the course of their work together in Isny, about which Eliyahu writes in the foreword to the book:
“……..ובבואי הנה תהיתי בקנקנו ומצאתיו מלא ישן ולא הוגד לי החצי מחכמתו וידיעתו, ורבים שואבים מי תורתו, ודורש טוב לעמו, נאה דורש ונאה מפרש  ………..ובראותו הספר הזה אשר חיברתי והכיר רוב טובו ותועלתו, נזדרז מאד והעתיק אותו ללשון לאטין אשר קראו קדמונינו לשון רומי וחיבר שתי הלשונות יחד ונשים עיוננו עליו בכל מאמצי כוחנו, הוא מצד אחד ואני מצד אחר. ונקרא איש אל אלוהיו שיצליח את מלאכתנו ………”
“…And when I came hither I wondered about his character, and I found him full of wisdom, and I had not been informed about the breadth of his knowledge, and many come to learn from him, and he performs good deeds, in sickness and in health… And when he saw the book which I had written he recognized its worth, and hastened to translate it into Latin, which was the language of ancient Rome, and together we made connections between the two languages, he on the one hand and I on the other, and each one of us sought guidance and help from his God.” (my emphasis, D.Y.)
Being a devoted Christian Pastor, Fagius didn’t abandon his missionary vision and one of the books he printed in Isny, ‘The Book of Belief’ (Sefer Amana), is unmistakably a missionary tract. The book was published in two versions, Hebrew and Latin. In the introduction to the Hebrew edition Paulus Fagius wrote in Hebrew: “The Book of Belief is a goodly and pleasant book which was written by a wise Israelite a few years ago in order to teach and prove quite clearly that the belief of Messianic in the Lord the father, his son, and the holy spirit, and other things is entire, correct and without doubt…”. We can only imagine how uncomfortable Eliahu Bachur felt in proofreading this book.
Now, as was customary in those days when printers took pride in their work, Paulus Fagius placed a colophon at the end of the books he printed with his printer’s emblem, an elaborate and beautiful woodcut of a tree surrounded by verses, which he regarded as his motto in life. Among them was one verse, which appeared with slight variations in most of the books that were printed at Isny:תקוותי במשיח הנשלח שהוא עתיד לדון חיים ומתים “My hope is in the Messiah who was sent (נשלח) and who will judge the living and dead.”
As stated, ‘The Book of Belief’ appeared in Hebrew, apparently intended for the Jews, and in Latin for the Christians. The Latin version ends with the verse cited above, while at the end of the Hebrew version the printer’s emblem appears with a slight difference, which is not immediately discernible:
תקוותי במשיח הנשלך אשר הוא יבוא לדון את חיים ומתים
 
My hope is in the Messiah who was dismissed (הנשלך) and who will come to judge the living and dead.

There can be no doubt that this is no printer’s error but a subtle message sent by Eliyahu Bachur in his capacity as the book’s proofreader to his Jewish brethren down the ages, saying: “I have not betrayed. You know what I think about this”. I noticed this subtle difference when I examined the books, which are kept in the amazingly well preserved study of Paulus Fagius next to the Church of Saint Nicholas in Isny, where he preached nearly 500 years ago. When I brought it to the attention of the extremely kind priest who escorted me and who now occupies Fagius’s chair, he was very surprised and, I fear, somewhat offended. 

Eliyahu Bachur was attuned to the need to disseminate knowledge not only to the educated Jewish elite but also to the general Jewish community, men and women. Therefore, another book, which Eliyahu Bachur printed in Isny in the year 1541, was ‘Bovo d’Antona’, a popular adventure novel about knights, which he translated into the Judeo-German dialect, Ivri Teitsch (western Yiddish From the introduction he wrote to the book, we learn about the status of women in Jewish society at that time and about their reading habits. In rhymed introduction, he tells all righteous womenאיך אליה לוי דער שרייבר, דינר אלר ורומן וויבר” that there are women who complain that he does not print for them in Ivri Teitsch the books that he has written, and they are right. And since he has written eight or nine books in Hebrew and since he is now rather old, he wishes to publish all these books and poetry in Ivri-Teitsch. The first of which will be the “Bovo Buch,” which he translated from Italian thirty-four years earlier. Since this translation contains words in Italian, he will print a glossary at the end of the book explaining their meaning [and so he did, D.Y.]. Naturally he cannot transmit,the melody by which the book should be read. “איך זינג עש מיט איינם ועלשן גיזנק, קאן ער דרויף מכן איין ביסרן, זא הב ער דאנק” . He himself sings it in the Italian melody but everyone can adapt a better melody to the text, as he wishes. At the end of the book, Eliyahu Bachur adds that he hopes to print more books in Ivri Teitsch, but apparently he did not, or perhaps no copy has reached us. Of the ‘Bovo d’Antona’ book, only a single copy (Unicum) survives, which is preserved in the Zurich Public Library. However, the book was so popular at the time that its name has given rise to the expression that we use still today, “Bobe Meise” in the sense of silly, nonsense tale.
The book ‘Meturgaman’, (“Translator”), which Eliyahu Bachur composed and printed in Isny in 1542, was intended to be a dictionary which “Will explain all words, difficult and easy alike, which appear in the Aramaic translations of the bible and Talmud Yerushalmi”. To the book Eliyahu Bachur added a colophon, which sheds light on a touching side of his personality. In the colophon Eliyahu printed a delicate and sweet love song to his wife whom he had left behind in Venice:
“והנה מאחר שקפצה עלי הזיקנה / ואני  איש זקן וכבד מאד / ומידי יום יום תכהה עיני ונס ליחי / אשוב מצבא העבודה ולא אעבוד עוד / ואלך לי אל ארצי אשר יצאתי משם / היא מדינת וונציה/ ואמות בעירי עם אשתי הזקנה / ולא אניד עוד רגל ממנה / והיא תשת עלי עינה / ורק המוות יפריד ביני ובינה/ ואשב שם כל ימי חיותי/ ואשלים חיבור הספרים אשר החילותי/  אז אומר לאל אשר יצר אותי/  קח נא את חיי כי טוב מותי”.
The song is translated here without modifications or explanations, though the charming wording in Hebrew is lost:
“And since I became old and heavy, and each day my eye sight weakens and my strength is leaving me, I shall retire from work and go back to the homeland that I left, the land of Venice, and die there with my old wife, and I shall never move again from her, and she will keep an eye on me and only death shall part us, and I shall live there the rest of my life and complete the books which I have already started to write. Then I shall ask the Lord who created me: take my life, it is better that I die”.
And in another song below this one, the old scholar summarize his life and work in most touching words:
                           
“הלל אל אל המלך נאמן              אבינו האב הרחמן
שהחייני עד הגעתי                       עתה אל זה היום וזמן
היה איתי עד נטעתי                     זה הנטע נטע נעמן
בו נגלות כל המילות                    העבריות עם תרגומן
גם הוא מורה בגיליון                   איה תחנותן ומקומן
הוא כמליץ שהוא ממליץ              ובטוב מילין הוא מטעימן
ויי שוכן שמים                              וממנו דבר לא נטמן
ידע כי לא עשיתי זאת                 להיות נקרא רב או אמן
כי הנותן לכסיל כבוד                   כצרור אבן תוך ארגמן
לאל בלבד נאה כבוד                   ולזולתו הא ליכא מאן
הן לכבודו ולאהבתו                     בלבד רשמתי רישומן
אנא אלי לי ולאשתי                     החסד גם האמת מן
שהיא לא תהיה אלמנה               ואני לא אהיה אלמן
יחד נמות ובגן עדנות                  תוך חיקה אישן עד לזמן
יבוא הקץ ואזי נקיץ                     ולחיי עד יחד נזדמן
ובכך תמו גם נשלמו                    דברי השירה עד תומן
ואני אליה המחבר                       לפרט זאת השנה סימן

Praise the God, faithful king
Our merciful father

That kept me alive     To this date and time

Be with me till I plant   This pleasant plant
In which all Hebrew words are revealed
With their translation
And also indicate Where they are located,
Explaining them
In plain words.
God in heaven   From him nothing hides
He knows that I did not do that      To be called rabbi or scholar,
Because rendering honor to a fool Is like wrapping stone in expensive textile
Only God deserves honor Nobody else
And to his honor and love      I wrote what I wrote.
Please God, to me and my wife bestow grace and truth
That she will not become a widow   And I shall not become a widower
Together we shall die and in Garden of Eden    In her bosom I shall sleep until
End of time and then we shall awake  And for ever be together
And here ended and completed    This song
I Eliyhau the writer 
In the year …..

Eliyahu Bachur’s wish was only partly fulfilled. He returned to Venice after the short-lived printing house in Isny closed down, and even though he edited and proofread a few more books for printers who replaced Bomberg’s enterprise, his strength continued to weaken. His long time co-worker in the printing business, Cornelio Adelkind in a letter to the humanist Andrea Masius in 1547 calls Eliyahu איש ערירי (Lonely man) which implies that his wife passed away few years before him. Eliyahu Bachur died in the month of Shevat in the year Shin Tet (1549) and was buried in the old Jewish cemetery in the isle of Lido near Venice. The headstone on his grave is still to be seen. I visited his grave, put a little stone on it and read the engraved epitaph, which includes sophisticated wording and allusions in Hebrew. This and the fact that the epitaph does not refer to the day of his death may suggest that he composed the text himself:
ש”ט לפ”ק
ר’ אליהו הלוי בחור ומדקדק
הלא אבן בקיר תזעק ותהמה לכל עובר
עלי זאת ה-קבורה
עלי רבן-אשר נלקח ועלה בשמיים
אלי-יה ב-סערה
הלא הוא זה אשר האיר בדקדוק אפלתו
ושם אותו לאורה
שנת שט שט בחדש שבט בסופו, ונפשו ב
בצרור חיים צרורה
It was impossible to translate the delicate playing in words that is concealed through the epitaph. The text below is only a shadow of its poetic brilliance.
Shin Tet le Prat Katan
Rabbi Eliyahu Halevi Bachur And Grammarian
A stone from wall will cry and moan to every passer by
On this grave
On rabbi Eliyahu who went to heaven
To God by a storm
He is the one who lightened the darkness of [Hebrew] grammar
And put it to light
Year Shin Tet at the end of the month of Shevat and his soul
In the bonds of life be bound

תנצב”ה



Ariel Evan Mayse – Kindler of Hearts and Illuminator of Letters

Kindler of Hearts and Illuminator of Letters:
An Essay in Memory of Reb Levi Yitzhak ben Sara Sasha of Berdyczów
by Ariel Evan Mayse
For my wife Adina,
whose illuminating words never fail to inspire.

Relatively few Hasidic masters have enjoyed the enormous and enduring popularity of Reb Levi Yitzhak ben Sara Sasha of Berdyczów (1740-1809), perhaps with the exception of the Ba’al Shem Tov himself. Beginning in the nineteenth century and continuing to the present day, written texts and oral stories have consistently portrayed Reb Levi Yitzhak as a charitable folk hero and beloved communal leader. In these traditions he is an unwavering advocate for the Jewish people who intercedes on their behalf with temporal authorities below, and never fails to plead their case before the Divine tribunal above. In the early twentieth-century, two interesting volumes solely devoted to recalling the inspiring stories of Reb Levi Yitzhak were printed just one year apart, together spanning over one hundred pages of hagiographical tales.[1] Though one of these works was composed in Yiddish and the other in Hebrew, both were obviously intended for a popular readership extending beyond the scholarly elite. Martin Buber also devoted a significant portion of his later collection of Hasidic tales to bringing Reb Levi Yitzhak’s charitable deeds to an even wider audience.[2] Finally, the charismatic image of Reb Levi Yitzhak as a beloved leader, one who was willing to indict the Holy One and put God Himself on trial for His insensitivity to Jewish suffering, has even spilled into the non-Jewish world: a lyrical text traditionally attributed to the Hasidic master inspired American singer and polymath Paul Robeson to write the moving piece “Hassidic Chant” and, on 9 May 1958, even performed “The Hassidic Chant of Levi Isaac” at Carnegie Hall.[3]
The popular memory of Reb Levi Yitzhak of Berdyczów seems only to have increased and expanded from one generation to the next. However, aside from his unforgettable reputation for being an incandescent public leader, it should also be noted that Reb Levi Yitzhak was a brilliant scholar and innovative religious thinker. His homilies, which are framed as a running commentary on the Torah and holidays, were combined with a number of longer, more abstract philosophical excurses to fill the eponymous volume Kedushat Levi. This text is atypical amongst the majority of other early Hasidic works, for a sizable portion of this text was penned by Reb Levi Yitzhak himself and published within the master’s lifetime.[4] The remainder was collated and reprinted alongside it within a few years after his death.[5] It has also been suggested that he had an important role in editing and disseminating the posthumously assembled volume of teachings attributed to his teacher Reb Dov Ber, the Magid of Mezritch (Magid Devarav le-Ya’akov), though this point has not been irrefutably proven.[6] Reb Levi Yitzhak wrote a tremendous number of haskamot, rabbinic approbations that served as temporary copyrights for new printings, for a wide variety of books, and was involved in running a Hebrew-language publishing house.[7] Furthermore, his scholastic efforts were not limited to Hasidic philosophy: in what is perhaps amongst the more humorous machinations of the literary Fates, Reb Levi Yitzhak’s lesser known commentary to the Mishnah was published alongside that of the Gaon of Vilna in some nineteenth century Polish printings.[8] With these accomplishments in mind, it is safe to say that any comprehensive understanding of Reb Levi Yitzhak of Berdyczów must synthesize the scholastic acumen clearly visible in his philosophical teachings with the popular image of an inspiring and emotional communal leader.[9]
Over the past several decades there has been a tremendous outpouring of critical research exploring the theological and mystical facets of Hasidic thought, as well as new studies that reexamine the socio-economic and historical aspects of the Hasidic movement. However, with the exception of the Ba’al Shem Tov,[10] Nahman of Bratslav,[11] and Israel of Ruzhin,[12] nearly all of the Hasidic masters (early or late) still await a critical biography. There are no holistic scholarly accounts of the lives of great Hasidic luminaries such as the Magid of Mezritch (d. 1772), Ya’akov Yosef of Polnoye (d. 1783), Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter (Gerer Rebbe, and author of Sefat Emet, d. 1905),[13] or, most recently, even Reb Sholom Noah Berezovsky (Slonimer Rebbe and author of Netivot Shalom, d. 2000),[14] to say nothing of the dozens of other important Hasidic rebbes and leaders who contributed to the spread Hasidism and creative energy of Hasidic thought.[15] Writing critical biographies of great men of spirit like these must necessarily include the difficult task wading through hagiographical traditions that are in some cases nearly two centuries thick, as well as examining archive materials in multiple languages aside from the Hebrew and Yiddish in which most chroniclers of Hasidism are used to working. Yet the value of these studies is paramount, and let us hope for the continued expansion of this burgeoning and exciting new field of research, in which individual Hasidic masters are the subject of academic studies that integrate historical fact, intellectual thought, and popular memory.
Given this general desideratum, it should be unsurprising we still lack a comprehensive scholarly analysis of Reb Levi Yitzhak of Berdyczów’s life and philosophy reflecting these historiographical values. This is not to say, however, that he has been marginalized or ignored by the academic community.[16] Samuel Dresner and Michael Luckens have both devoted excellent monographs to examining the figure of Reb Levi Yitzhak, and it is to their works that I defer the reader interested in the specifics of his biography.[17] Yet neither of these works fully satisfies the lacuna noted above. Dresner’s book, although quite detailed and painstakingly researched, was not written solely (or even primarily) with an academic audience in mind, and the majority of his most interesting points are necessarily exiled to the endnotes. Lucken’s dissertation, which remains unpublished, was written nearly four decades ago and must be updated to reflect methodological and technical advances in the study of Hasidism. An illustrative article by Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern has helped to contextualize our understanding of Reb Levi Yitzhak within the social and cultural background of Eastern Europe, but in a bibliographical footnote reviewing the literature about this Hasidic master, he does not hesitate to remark that Reb Levi Yitzhak’s biography has not been adequately chronicled.[18] Regarding the analysis of his actual teachings, Moshe Idel has convincingly refuted Scholem’s thesis attributing eschatological and even antinomian sentiments to Reb Levi Yitzhak, demonstrating that Reb Levi Yitzhak’s theological philosophy was decidedly traditional (at least, within the context of early Hasidism).[19] To my knowledge, Arthur Green’s entry in the new YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe is the most recent detailing of Reb Levi Yitzhak’s biography, and while this lucid and succinct article will provide an excellent starting point for a full-length academic study, the final word on Reb Levi Yitzhak’s life has not been written.[20]
It is true that no critical examination of the life or philosophy of Hasidic rebbe can avoid dealing with the pitfalls of historical memory. At this point we should ask ourselves the following question: is the image of an altruistic Hasidic leader who inspired the common people and broke down barriers between the rabbinic elite and the downtrodden laity is indeed an accurate picture of the “historical” Reb Levi Yitzhak? Though it is nearly impossible to definitively resolve this quandary in one direction or the other, and while we must certainly be wary of basing our opinions solely on late hagiographical collections of tales or posthumous publications,[21] it seems quite unlikely that this portrait is a late attribution fabricated ex nihilo. Just the opposite is the case: the image of Reb Levi Yitzhak as a popular figure and dynamic leader appears to have been forged quite early on in the history of Hasidism. Indeed, he even received positive mention in early anti-Hasidic polemics and was praised as a learned scholar, but was at the same time bitterly criticized for fraternizing overmuch with the common people.[22]
It is my contention that the image of Reb Levi Yitzhak as an inspirational pneumatic leader on one hand, and the evidence that he was accomplished Hasidic exegete and author on the other, should not be framed as inherently contradictory or mutually exclusive. In fact, I suggest that the theoretical groundwork for the popular image attributed to Reb Levi Yitzhak is clearly anticipated by his homiletic teachings. In other words, a model of ideal spiritual leadership nearly identical to the portrait of Reb Levi Yitzhak found in the later hagiographical traditions is already visible in his own theological writings. Examining a few key passages of Kedushat Levi will help us to illustrate this point, and allow us synchronize the images of the Hasidic master as a popular charismatic as well as an gifted intellectual and talented writer.
Reb Levi Yitzhak of Berdyczów devoted a significant portion of his magnum opus to formulating his conception of the exemplary leader. To employ the terminology of the Hasidic masters, much of his work outlines the function of an ideal tzadik (alt. rebbe) – a righteous spiritual guide who is the heart of any given Hasidic society and the focal point around which the entire community rotates.[23] There is scarcely a homily contained in our volume that does not address this theme in some way. Let us begin with a passage in which Reb Levi Yitzhak compares two fundamentally disparate styles of religious service in relation to the archetypical Hasidic leader:
There are two types of tzadikim who serve the Creator: one of them worships God with great fervor, but does so entirely for himself. [This type of tzadik] serves God in isolation, without [seeking] to draw in the wicked and allow them to serve Him as well. Yet there is another kind of tzadik who worships the Creator, [while also] inspiring the wicked to return [from their folly], so that they too may serve Him. Such was the case with the patriarch Abraham, who converted idolaters.[24] It is taught in the writings attributed to Rabbi Isaac Luria that Noah was punished because he did not rebuke the wayward ones of his generation.[25] Therefore, it was necessary for him to be reborn as Moses, who constantly reproved Israel [and returned them to worshipping God].[26]
The binary distinction drawn between the two kinds of tzadikim in this passage is crucial for understanding Reb Levi Yitzhak’s conception of an ideal religious leader. The first of the models is that of a righteous individual who has achieved much in the realm of personal spiritual devotion, but whose accomplishments are solely limited progressing along his own religious path. This model is immediately contrasted with a second type of tzadik, viz. a leader whose fundamental approach to Divine service includes reaching out to people who are on much lower spiritual plane, leading them away from sin and enkindling their sense of piety. An individual of the first, more self-centered model is still considered a saintly person and deserving of the title “tzadik,” but he is clearly of a lower order. Even in this basic comparison it is not difficult to see the author’s thinly veiled displeasure with a religious individual who neglects communal responsibility and focuses solely upon his own journey.
Reb Levi Yitzhak’s critique becomes even more explicit in the final lines of our passage, as the same typological distinctions between tzadikim are hermeneutically mapped onto biblical characters. He compares an individual who follows the self-absorbed model of religious devotion to the decidedly negative image of Noah presented in some rabbinic understandings of the flood story. These accounts suggest that the post-diluvial Noah incurred Divine wrath because he was unable (or perhaps simply unwilling) to adequately reprove the wicked of his generation, or inspire them to repent.[27] The analogy drawn by Reb Levi Yitzhak between this picture of Noah and the first type of tzadik is quite clear, and the author’s underlying position is unmistakable: spiritual fulfillment at the expense of aiding one’s compatriots is both aloof and errant. He then contrasts this mode of piety with the figure of Moses, a leader remembered (even within biblical text itself) for having consistently reproached the infelicitous Israel and returned their allegiance to God. Moses is here presented as the antipathy of Noah and the embodiment of the second, higher model of tzadik, namely a leader who does not shy away from connecting with and ministering to even the wrongdoers of his community.
Elsewhere Reb Levi Yitzhak employs even stronger terms in articulating the preeminence of a tzadik whose religious service includes the people around him. He explains that drawing in prodigal individuals is not only a praiseworthy effort, but an absolute prerequisite for the tzadik’s own experience of Divine favor:
The core of the High Priest’s spiritual level is that he atones for all of Israel, and therefore he must be on a higher rung than them. The Shekhinah rests upon one who is a worldly leader, engaging with every person and returning him to the service of God – each according to his particular level. [This tzadik] merits the Divine Presence because of the merit of his interaction with the masses in helping them to return. The Shekhinah does not dwell with a tzadik who is only for himself and does not bring people near to the worship of God, since he lacks their merit.[28]
This forceful teaching reinforces the preferred model of religious service outlined in the previous passage, but adds that the Divine Presence resides only with those leaders who uplift the fallen and encourage the wicked to repent. According to Reb Levi Yitzhak, bringing the fallen back into the fold should not be considered mere altruistic outreach by the tzadik on their behalf – it strengthens and even adds to the tzadik’s spiritual acumen as well. Indeed, the tzadik’s own experience of the Divine Presence hinges upon his willingness and ability to help others.
The strength of the argument in the text above is by no means sui generis – Kedushat Levi is full of similarly emphatic formulations. To cite but one other example:
This is the meaning of the Tanna’s statement, “do not withdraw from the community”[29] – do not back down from instructing them in the path of divine service, and [showing them] the way of His awe and fear, and cleaving to Him. The explanation of his words: that although it is certainly fitting and proper to do this out of love for the Creator … I will show you that [helping others] is of great importance for yourself as well. The teaching of our Sages, “anyone who confers merit upon the masses, no sin shall come about through him,”[30] is well known. Perhaps you may say that you have no need for this, since you have already reached a very high level of awe. In that case, he [the Sage] has taught that you do not see things as the really are – don’t believe in yourself! That is, when you are just for yourself alone, not assisting the masses and [thus] lacking their merit with you in this world, do not believe in yourself.[31]
Reb Levi Yitzhak recognizes that it may be tempting for some individuals to withdraw away from the world and strive to attain their own spiritual goals wholly undistracted. However, he explains that such an effort will doubtless prove totally futile, for the tzadik’s capacity to reach the heights of religious service is totally dependant upon having the merit of those around him.
Reb Levi Yitzhak is not unaware of the dangers that come along with a model of leadership in which the leader must wholeheartedly engage with persons of much lower spiritual caliber. However, despite the perils inherent in descending to their level, Reb Levi Yitzhak’s admonition is clear: it is the duty of the tzadik to uplift the fallen and wayward, thereby returning them to the service of God. In one passage he writes:
The essence of the tzadik’s service is to uplift the lowest levels to the Creator, as it is written in the Tikkunei Zohar: “[the lower waters say,] we want to stand in front of the Supernal King!”[32] Yet there is great danger for the tzadik to descend in order to raise them up – [while doing this], he must cleave to the Ein Sof.[33]
It is the tzadik’s permanent state of attachment to the Infinite Divine that enables him to descend to the lower levels and uplift them without becoming permanently ensnared below. Note that he uses the superlative term “essence” (ikar) in describing the role of uplifting the fallen in a tzadik’s spiritual regimen. Similarly, Reb Levi Yitzhak writes:
It is known that all of the holy sparks yearn to worship the Creator, just as the angels and holy serafim wish to fulfill the desire of their Creator in fear and awe. However, we must understand why a tzadik may sometimes experience a corporeal desire for something like money, or any other desire of this world. How is it that a tzadik could crave something physical, since a tzadik’s only [true] longing is to worship the Creator? … It is because the tzadik is a servant of the Divine, going after the wicked to reprove them and bring them under the wings of the Shekhinah. Since [such leaders] uplift the wicked ones to serve their Master, a tzadik must wage a sacred battle against the external forces by removing the holy sparks from the husks into which the deeds of the wicked have cast them. The tzadik raises them up to holiness, and it is from this [engagement with the lowest rungs] that he experiences desirous thoughts for things of this world.[34]
Descent to the lower levels has an undeniable effect upon the tzadik, since it allows him to be accosted by the physical desires that would ordinarily have no purchase. However, rectifying the fractures of this world by uplifting fallen sparks and ingathering his wayward coreligionists is an essential component of his raison d’etre.
We have seen that Reb Levi Yitzhak enjoins the tzadik to descending to the lowest levels in order to uplift the wicked, despite the accompanying risks to himself, but we are still left wondering exactly what sort of a process the master has in mind. In his attempts to inspire piety, should the tzadik violently rebuke his fellows with fiery words meant to strike fear into the hearts of the listener and transform them into quaking penitents? Or, perhaps the author imagines another manner of reproach that might prove more effective than accosting them. In this matter the Reb Levi Yitzhak’s answer is unequivocal: the tzadik must use kind words in his effort shepherd the fallen back to a life of religious devotion. Furthermore, it will become clear that both components of this formula are crucial. It is necessary for the tzadik to be warm and compassionate, but it is equally so that words serve as his primary tools for engendering piety:
There are two types [of leaders] who rebuke Israel and exhort them to do the will of the Creator. One reproves [the wicked] with kind words, explaining to each person the greatness of their spiritual rung, and reminding him of the Source from which his soul was hewn, since the souls of the Jewish people are fashioned from the Throne of Glory on high.[35] [He tells him of] the great pleasure, as it were, that the God receives from the mitzvoth he performs, and the great joy in all of the worlds when a Jewish person does one of the Creator’s commandments. In this way he inspires the hearts of all Israel to do His will … the other [kind of leader] reproaches them with harsh words and shameful statements, until they are forced to obey the Creator. The difference between them is that the one who reproves with pleasant words uplifts the Jewish soul higher and higher. He recounts the righteousness and greatness of Israel, and how tremendous is their power above – such [a person as this] is fitting to be a leader, [but] one who rebukes with caustic words is not of this caliber.[36]
Reb Levi Yitzhak has once more outlined a dyadic hierarchy of religious leaders. The lower of these two models is an individual who rebukes the Jewish people by means of invectives and fierce castigation. True, he is able to force them into a state of contrite repentance, but he does totally without enlivening or uplifting them. In contrast, Reb Levi Yitzhak’s then describes a much higher sort of leader who can reproach Israel with supportive encouragement and accolades. Elsewhere he reinforces this by explaining that proper tzadik never uses anger in his reproof.[37] Indeed, since he is by definition already quite spiritually refined, the words of the tzadik are so potent that he must be particularly careful about never speaking unjustly.[38] The ideal spiritual guide has the capacity to utter gentle words with that enkindle the hearts of those who have gone astray, inspiring them to return under the most positive of terms.
As mentioned above, I believe that it is no accident that the tzadik must guide and inspire his community through the sublime medium of language. To be sure, ideal tzadikim also use words in their private devotions to bring themselves to the state of mystical nothingness.[39] However, in the following passage the unique nexus between language and leadership is made most explicit:
The rule is thus: a tzadik should reprove the sinners [and enjoin them] not to act against the Holy Blessed One or against the Torah … [However,] there is another kind of tzadik – when he rebukes the iniquitous, the letters of reproach exiting his mouth illuminate the eyes of the sinner, who is then able to return [to God] and repent. This person has merited the experience of the [tzadik’s] letters shining upon his face and inspiring him, enabling him repent with ease.[40]
It is the role of all tzadikim to reprove and rebuke their wayward comrades, specific method notwithstanding. However, tzadikim of the highest level have the capacity to inspire wicked individuals to change their ways through speech alone. That is, the both the content and the numinous quality of the tzadik’s words incline the heart of the listener towards repentance. In another passage he writes:
There are two types of tzadikim who admonish Israel to follow in the ways of God. One kind of tzadik uses his speech [alone] to influence [others], subduing the heart of the wicked and inspiring him to the way of God. He does not need to give lengthy justification to explain himself, nor must he be a gifted orator – he states the upright path and his [very] words make an impression, entering the heart of the listener.[41]
It is clear that Reb Levi Yitzhak has outlined a strong performative component to the tzadik’s speech acts. That is, the inspirational nature of his words derives not only from their literal message and the information conveyed therein, but perhaps even more importantly from the method of their delivery and the refined spiritual nature of the one who has spoken them. Elsewhere Reb Levi Yitzhak concedes that some tzadikim must provide inspiration through their deeds and physical action, but insists the most exalted spiritual leaders can accomplish this goal with nothing but words alone.[42] When operating within the plane of language, even sharing a mundane conversation with ordinary people is an opportunity for the tzadik to uplift them – his holy thoughts during their interactions raise fallen sparks.[43]
It should be noted that Reb Levi Yitzhak’s attribution of such power to the speech of the tzadik is based on a more fundamental theological perspective in which the animative force of language itself lies at the very core of existence. God created the world through speech, and although He Himself cannot be apprehended or understood through any letter or semantic symbol,[44] His divine words continue to animate all existence.[45] According to the worldview in which perceivable reality is actually an imprint created from the midst of the holiest of all texts, each and every Jewish person represents (or instantiates) a letter of the Torah.[46] Language is the primary method by which humankind (both tzadikim and ordinary people) are able to channel God’s effluence into this world.[47] However, as is evident in the following teaching attributed to Reb Levi Yitzhak, above all the task of the tzadik is intrinsically bound up with harnessing the tremendous potential of language:
There are two categories of tzadikim: one type of tzadik receives illumination from the letters of the Torah and prayer. The other, greater kind of tzadik is one who imbues the letters with brilliance drawn from above. Although the letters are in the supernal world, this greater type of tzadik brings new a luminosity into the world which cannot enter except through being enclothed in the letters – without this garment of the letters, the world would be unable to bear the [raw intensity of the] illumination. Verily, the letters soar upwards once the luminosity has descended, and the illumination remains below. This tzadik achieves such a high spiritual level because he speaks with all his might and with great devotion, entering into the words that he utters with all two hundred and forty-eight limbs and bringing new illumination into them.[48]
The lower type of tzadik is himself inspired by the holy incandescence that exists within the letters used in religious service. Put differently, he appears to be a rather passive recipient of the divine energy concealed within language. However, Reb Levi Yitzhak’s second model of a tzadik is far more dynamic: he is an active leader whose command of the linguistic aspects of prayer and Torah study gives him the power to reinfuse the world with a store of brilliance drawn from on high. When spoken by a tzadik with this type of mastery over them, words are transformed into vessels for focusing new channels of divine energy and effluence into this world.
Reb Levi Yitzhak’s conception of the ideal tzadik, clearly expressed in these passages and in the myriad others throughout Kedushat Levi examining this same theme, is that of a communal leader who does not demur from interacting with people of a lower spiritual grade. Not only is he permitted to engage with the wicked in an effort to draw them back to a life of pious observance, but Reb Levi Yitzhak demands that this be one of his foremost goals, and even describes it as a precondition for experiencing the Divine presence. He accomplishes this task not so much by setting a good example with his actions, though this is undoubtedly crucial as well. The tzadik’s capacity to inspire those around him is rather manifested primarily in his words, since the very letters he articulates have the power to draw down energy from the supernal worlds and illuminate those in need of religious guidance and spiritual reorientation. Though there are undeniable dangers of mutual influence associated with descending to their level, the tzadik’s spiritual abilities grant him the capacity to uplift his wayward coreligionists out of their erroneous ways without becoming mired in their corruption. With all of these points in mind, I hope that the following story, transcribed by one of Reb Levi Yitzhak’s disciples shortly after his master’s death, will serve as a poignant way of summing up our discussion:
Sometimes the tzadik needs to bring in the wicked more than fitting persons, for a iniquitous person allowed to do as he wishes will be consumed by his degeneracy, God forbid, and never repent. However, one who is already walking along the upright path might become conceited, and for this reason it is appropriate [for the tzadik] to send him away at times. Such was manner in which the holy rabbi [Reb Levi Yithak], his soul is at rest in the treasuries on high, rabbi of the holy congregation of Berdyczów, conducted himself: he drew near other people more than his own students.[49]
Zekher tzadik livrakhah,
may the memory of Reb Levi Yitzhak ben Sara Sasha of Berdyczów be a continued blessing.

Ariel Evan Mayse (emayse@fas.harvard.edu) is a third-year doctoral candidate in Jewish Studies at Harvard University, where he is studying with Prof. Bernard Septimus and Prof. Arthur Green (of Hebrew College). His research focuses primarily on the question of language in Hasidut and Kabbalah. Special thanks to the editors (and readers) of the Seforim blog for their gracious consideration of this essay.
[1] Tiferet Beit Levi (Jas: 1910), available here (http://hebrewbooks.org/3935); Nifla’os Beis Levi (Warsaw: 1911), available here (http://hebrewbooks.org/43354).
[2] Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim (New York: Schocken, 1991), 203-234.
[3] See Jonathan Karp, “Performing Black-Jewish Symbiosis: The ‘Hasidic Chant’ of Paul Robeson,” American Jewish History 91:3 (March 2003): 53-81. As noted by Karp, The “Hassidic Chant”… is a version of the Kaddish (Memorial Prayer) attributed to the Hasidic rebbe (master), Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev … a piece also known as the “Din Toyre mit Got” (“The Lawsuit with God”). According to tradition, Levi Yizhak had composed the song spontaneously on a Rosh Hashanah as he contemplated the steadfast faith of his people in the face of their ceaseless suffering. He is said to have stood in the synagogue before the open ark where the Torah scrolls reside and issued his complaint directly to God,” and the author used a translation adapted from arranger Joel Engel’s version originally published, in 1923, by the Juwal Publication Society for Jewish Music, under the title “Kaddisch des Rabbi Levi-Jitzchak Barditzewer,” and reprinted as “Rabbi Levi-Yizchok’s Kadish,” in Nathan Ausubel, ed., A Treasury of Jewish Folklore: Stories, Traditions, Legends, Humor, Wisdom and Folk Songs of the Jewish People (New York: Crown Publishers, 1948), 725–727.
[4] Kedushat Levi al Chanukah u-Furim (Sławuta: 1798).
[5] Kedushat Levi al ha-Torah, (Berdyczów: 1811). All citations in this study refer to Kedushat Levi ha-Shalem (Brooklyn: Mekhon Kedushat Levi, 1995).
[6] Rivka Schatz-Uffenheimer, Maggid Devarv le-Ya’akov (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990), xiv-xxiii.
[7] See Samuel Dresner, Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev (New York: Shapolsky Books, 1986), 202-213, n28); Glenn Dynner, Men of Silk: The Hasidic Conquest of Polish Jewish Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 203; Zeev Gries, “The Hasidic Managing Editor as an Agent of Culture,” in Ada Rapoport-Albert, ed., Hasidism Reappraised (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1997), 151-152.
[8] (Warsaw: 1860/1861).
[9] I would like to thank Arthur Green our shared conversations in which he helped me to formulate this point.
[10] See Moshe Rosman, Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Ba’al Shem Tov (University of California Press, 1996), the early review by Immanuel Etkes, “The Historical Besht: Reconstruction or Deconstruction?” Polin 12 (1999): 297–306, followed by Immanuel Etkes, Ba’al ha-Shem (Merkaz Shazar, 2000), translated as Immanuel Etkes, The Besht: Magician, Mystic, and Leader, trans. Saadya Sternberg (Waltham: Brandeis University Press, 2004). For a recent overview of the state of “Beshtian studies,” see Prof. Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern, “Hasidei de’Ar’a and Hasidei Dekokhvaya’: Two Trends in Modern Jewish Historiography,” AJS Review 32:1 (April 2008): 141-167.
[11] See the early and important scholarly biography by Arthur Green, Tormented Master: The Life of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav (Alabama: The University of Alabama Press, 1979), as well as the recent volume by David Assaf, Bratslav: An Annotated Bibliography – Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav, His Life and Teachings, the Literary Legacy of His Disciples, Bratslav Hasidism in Its Context (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2000; Hebrew), third updated edition available here (http://www.tau.ac.il/~dassaf/), and see the important collection of articles on Bratslav in Shaul Magid, ed., God’s Voice from the Void: Old and New Studies in Bratslav Hasidism (New York: State University of New York Press, 2002), as well as the recent article by Batsheva Goldman Ida, The Birthing Chair: The Chair of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav – A Phenomenological Analysis,” Ars Judaica 6 (2010): 115-132.
[12] David Assaf, The Regal Way: The Life and Times of Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin, trans. David Louvish (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002)
[13] Though see the studies by Yoram Jacobson, “Exile and Redemption in Gur Hasidism,” Da’at 2-3 (1978-1979): 175-216 (Hebrew), and Yoram Jacobson, “Truth and Faith in Gur Hasidic Thought,” Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 3 [= Studies in Jewish Mysticism, Philosophy and Ethical Literature Presented to Isaiah Tishby] (1986): 593-616 (Hebrew); Mendel Piekarz, “‘The Inner Point’ of the Admorim of Gur and Alexander as a Reflection of their Ability to Adjust to Changing Times,” Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 3 [= Studies in Jewish Mysticism, Philosophy and Ethical Literature Presented to Isaiah Tishby] (1986): 617-660 (Hebrew); and Michael Fishbane, “Transcendental Consciousness and Stillness in the Mystical Theology of R. Yehudah Arieh Leib of Gur,” in Gerald J. Blidstein, ed., Sabbath: Idea, History, Reality (Beer-Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2004), 119-129.
[14] See Shaul Magid, “The Holocaust as Inverted Miracle: Shalom Noah Barzofsky of Slonim on the Divine Nature of Radical Evil,” in Howard Kreisel, Boaz Huss, & Uri Ehrlich, eds., Spiritual Authority: Struggles over Cultural Power in Jewish Thought (Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, 2009), *33-*62; Shaul Magid, “In Search of a Critical Voice in the Jewish Diaspora: Homelessness and Home in Edward Said and Shalom Noah Barzofsky’s Netivot Shalom,” Jewish Social Studies: History, Culture, Society n.s. 12:3 (Spring/Summer 2006): 193-227; Allan Nadler, “The Synthesis of Hasidism and Mitnagdic Talmudism in the Slonimer Yeshivot,” in Immanuel Etkes ed., Yeshivot u-Batei Midrashot (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2006), 395-415 (Hebrew), and Mordechai Meir, “‘On the Miracles and Wonders’: The Slonimer Rebbe After the Release of the Western Wall,” Tzohar 14 (2003): 81-89 (Hebrew).
[15] On the contemporary difficulties of writing Hasidic history, see David Assaf, Untold Tales of the Hasidim: Crisis and Discontent in the History of Hasidism, trans. Dena Ordan (Waltham: Brandeis University Press, 2010), a translation of David Assaf, Ne’ehaz ba-Sevakh: Chapters of Crisis and Discontent in the History of Hasidism (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2006; Hebrew), and see Ada Rapoport-Albert, “Hagiography with Footnotes: Edifying Tales and the Writing of History in Hasidism,” History and Theory 27:4 (Beiheft 27: Essays in Jewish Historiography) (December 1988): 119-159.
[16] For examples of early scholarly work dealing with Reb Levi Yitzhak, see: Shimon Dubnov, Toledot ha-Hasidut (Tel Aviv: 1959), 151-159. See also: Yisra’el Halperin, “Reb Levi Yitsḥak mi-Berdits´ev ve-Gezerot ha-Malkhut be-Yamav,” in Yehudim ve-yahadut be-Mizra Eropah (Jerusalem, 1969), 340–347; Hayim Liberman, Ohel Rahel (New York: 1980), 1:66–68; Mordekhai Nadav, Pinkas Patua: Mekarim be-Toldot Yehude Polin ve-Lita’ (Tel Aviv: 2003), 79–82; Yohanan Twersky, Haye Reb Levi Yitsak mi-Berdits´ev (Jerusalem: 1960). This list has been reproduced for the readers convenience here, but originally appeared as “suggested reading” at the end of Arthur Green, “Levi Yitsḥak of Barditshev,” in Gershon David Hundert, ed., YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe (New York: 2010), available here (http://tinyurl.com/27z9j46). The only study of Reb Levi Yitzhak currently underway of which I am aware is Or Rose’s forthcoming dissertation on the concept of leadership in Kedushat Levi.
[17] Samuel Dresner, Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev (New York: Shapolsky Books, 1986), and Michael Luckens, “Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev,” (PhD dissertation, Temple University, 1973).
[18] Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern, “The Drama of Berdichev: Levi Yitshak and His Town,” Polin 17 (2004): 83-95, esp. 83n1.
[19] Moshe Idel, “White Letters: From R. Levi Isaac of Berditchev’s Views to Postmodern Hermeneutics,” Modern Judaism 26:2 (May 2006): 169-192.
[20] Arthur Green, “Levi Yitsḥak of Barditshev,” in Gershon David Hundert, ed., YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe (New York: 2010), available here (http://tinyurl.com/27z9j46).
[21] See Joseph Dan, “A Bow to Frumkinian Hasidism,” Modern Judaism 11:2 (May 1991): 175-193
[22] See Samuel Dresner, Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, 209; Mordechai Wilensky, Hasidim u-Mitnagdim (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1970), 1:116, 2:358.
[23] See Arthur Green, “The Zaddiq as Axis Mundi in Later Judaism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 45:3 (1977): 327-347.
[24] Cf. Bereishit Rabbah 39:14.
[25] Based on Sha’ar ha-Gilgulim, Hakdamah 29.
[26] Kedushat Levi, Noah, 13.
[27] Cf. Zohar, 1:67b, Devarim Rabbah 11:3.
[28] Kedushat Levi, Shemini, 273-274.
[29] Pirkei Avot 2:5.
[30] Pirkei Avot 5:18.
[31] Kedushat Levi, Pirkei Avot, 636-637.
[32] Tikkunei Zohar,19b.
[33] Kedushat Levi, Lekh Lekha, 39.
[34] Kedushat Levi, Noah, 15.
[35] See Zohar, 3:29b.
[36] Kedushat Levi, Hukat, 344-345.
[37] Kedushat Levi, Bereishit, 7; Cf. Likutim, 471-472.
[38] Kedushat Levi, Lekh Lekha, 32.
[39] Kedushat Levi, Likutim, 444.
[40] Kedushat Levi, Va-Yera, 51.
[41] Kedushat Levi, Va-Era, 153.
[42] Kedushat Levi, Korah, 341.
[43] Kedushat Levi, Hayeh Sarah, 62.
[44] Kedushat Levi, Rosh Ha-Shanah, 411.
[45] Kedushat Levi, Bereishit, 6; Shavu’ot, 326.
[46] Kedushat Levi, Likutim, 474.
[47] Kedushat Levi, Shekalim, 255-6; cf. Matot, 364.
[48] Toledot Aharon, Noah (Benei Brak: 1999), 40a. In his article mentioned above, Moshe Idel has presented a brilliant exposition of this passage from a somewhat different angle. Though for reasons of maintaining conceptual and stylistic consistency within this study I have elected to provide my own somewhat freer translation of the passage, this English rendering of the text and my interpretation is based on that of Moshe Idel.
[49] Toledot Aharon, Toledot, 12b. I wish to offer a special thanks to my father-in-law, Prof. Nehemiah Polen, for pointing out the significance of this story.



Dovid Bashevkin – Perpetual Prophecy: An Intellectual Tribute to Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin on his 110th Yahrzeit

Perpetual Prophecy:
An Intellectual Tribute to Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin on his 110th Yahrzeit
by Dovid Bashevkin
Reb Zadok ha-Kohen Rabinowitz of Lublin (hereafter: “Reb Zadok”) was born in 1823 into a noted rabbinic family. From a young age, we are told, he displayed signs of astonishing genius.[1] While many of these stories are questionable, it is evident that by the time he celebrated his bar mitzvah he was extremely thoroughly familiar with the standard rabbinic corpus and could navigate it easily.[2] By the time he turned twenty he had already written several works on Talmudic law and showed his interest in matters historical. From studying his earlier works it becomes abundantly clear that even prior to his later Hasidic transformation he was quite an original thinker. Though many of his works are in the form of traditional rabbinic writing, there is much that is truly striking, both in terms of the topics which he broached, which included historiography, chronology,[3] and astronomy, and the manner in which they were discussed. From an early age he was quite fond of amalgamating the normally distinct worlds of legal Talmudic discussion and aggadah.
During the mid-twentieth-century, Reb Zadok’s thought was first taught in America by R. Shraga Feivel Mendowitz, who gave classes on his works during his tenure as administrator and Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshivas Torah V’Daas.[4] The works of Reb Zadok also deeply influenced the works of R. Eliyahu Dessler,[5] R. Gedaliah Shor,[6] and R. Yitzchak Hutner.[7] These roshei yeshiva brought Reb Zadok’s works to American yeshivot. Often unknown to those studying the works of these aforementioned rabbis, some of who rarely, if at all, cite Reb Zadok by name, the thought and influence of Reb Zadok is manifest in their work. It is fair to say that the resurgence of the study of what has become known as “mahshava” in contemporary yeshivot truly owes a great deal of credit to the works of Reb Zadok.
The academic study of Reb Zadok is surely in debt to Prof. Yaakov Elman, who brought the thought of Reb Zadok to the English speaking academic world in a series of articles published over the past twenty-five years.[8] His analysis of many of the central themes simultaneously charted new grounds in Hasidic scholarship and remain the standard from which subsequent scholarship on Reb Zadok is measured.[9]
Recently, Reb Zadok has begun to receive much deserved attention from the academic community. Historians, theologians, and sociologists have begun to explore the works of “The Kohen,” as he is often referred to colloquially, for his timeless and penetrating approach to Jewish thought. On the occasion of Reb Zadok’s 110th yahrzeit, a brief history of Reb Zadok’s thought, as expounded in the last few generations and a never-before-published original essay (“The World as a Book: Religious Polemic, Hasidei Ashkenaz, and the Thought of Reb Zadok”), is presented for the readers of the Seforim blog.
The turning point in Reb Zadok’s life was his divorce from his first wife. At the age of twenty-one, after getting married in his mid-teens, he decided to seek a divorce. The reasons for his insistence on a divorce are not clear, though it seems that Reb Zadok was led to believe that his wife had not maintained the level of piety that was required for him, as a Rav and Kohen. His wife, however, refused to accept a bill of divorce, forcing Reb Zadok to travel as an itinerant scholar throughout Europe in order to obtain a heter meah rabbanan.[10] Of the many rabbinic personalities he met during the trip, it was R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner of Izbica who would completely transform Reb Zadok’s life.[11]
After his encounter with the Rebbe of Izbica, Reb Zadok decided to begin living as a Hasid. Though such a transition, as pointed out by Alan Brill, was certainly not as dramatic as it would have been several generations earlier, when the Hasidic-Mitnaggedic feud was in its fullest thrust, the cultural change was still quite significant. Reb Zadok spent nearly a decade at the court of R. Leiner after which he left to remarry and settle near Lublin. His second marriage, sadly, did not produce any children. For the remainder of his life, Reb Zadok remained immersed in study and contemplation from which he produced volumes of writings, none of which were published in his lifetime. He spent thirty-four years, from 1854 until 1888, in seclusion. It was only during the final thirteen years of his life, following the death of his dear friend R. Leible Eiger (who had succeeded R. Leiner after his death in 1854), that Reb Zadok functioned as a traditional Hasidic Rebbe.[12] On the ninth of Elul (Monday, 3 September 1900), in the seventy-seventh year of his life, Reb Zadok passed away.
Reb Zadok incorporated his own life struggles and frustrations into his own work. Over the course of his life there were two struggles that loomed large: his divorce and subsequent wandering through Europe, and his childlessness. Regarding the former, it is difficult to find even an allusion to the emotional toll which this difficulty took on Reb Zadok’s life. However with regard to the latter, it is quite clear that his childlessness was a major theme in his works. The title of Reb Zadok’s sermon collection, Pri Tzadik, is an allusion to his own perception of his children (referred to Rabbinic literature as pri [“fruits] of an individual) being the Torah teachings imparted to his students.[13] Additionally, Reb Zadok dedicated an entire work, entitled Poked Akarim (“The Visiting of the Barren”), first printed in 1922, for this theme to be made apparent.
The only source of directly autobiographical information from Reb Zadok is his fascinating work, Divrei Halomot (“The Message of Dreams”), first printed in 1903, of his own documentation of his dreams. The dreams, which are dated starting in 1845 and end in 1883, are mostly theological or Talmudic in nature, but many autobiographical insights can be gleaned from them as well.[14] Particularly, as been noted by several scholars, the third dream recorded, dated 1843, has provided particularly rich insight into Reb Zadok’s self-perception:
“I dreamt a dream [when I was present in Izbica] in which certain ideas were reveled to me from the roots of my soul. And among the ideas which were told to me is that the generation of Messiah will consist of those souls of the Generation of the Wilderness… whom are in turn comprised of the souls of the Flood… and they (the Generations of the Flood) corrupted their ways and sinned in what is known in rabbinic works as the sin of youth[15]… and the rectification of this is in the Generation of the Wilderness for which is was called ‘the kindness of youth.’ As it is written “I have remembered for you the kindness of my youth.” (Jeremiah 2:2).”[16]
Undoubtedly, this text, described by Reb Zadok himself as “the roots of my soul,” is the most authoritative presentation of Reb Zadok’s self-image in his extant writings. While its interpretation is ambiguous, the thrust of the dream is the powerful religious energy which is present even in sins and the potential to channel such energy into positive direction, ultimately resulting in the redemption. Why this relates to “the root” Reb Zadok’s soul is less clear. What emerges from this dream is THE central role the Hasidic idea of “descent in order to elevate” played in Reb Zadok’s life, where in his methodology, as articulated by Yaakov Elman, “the great Lurianic drama of cosmic catastrophe and slow rebuilding takes on a decided epistemologic cast.” This “cosmic drama,” which Reb Zadok brilliantly presents through his mastery of halakha, aggada, and the unfolding of Jewish History, was just as evident in the story of his life.
While the following appendix is, of course, not an exhaustive presentation of Reb Zadok’s thought, the following brief essay should serve as a call for scholars from across academic disciplines to carefully re-consider Reb Zadok’s contribution to modern intellectual thought.
Appendix:
The World as a Book:
Religious Polemic, Hasidei Ashkenaz, and the Thought of Reb Zadok
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this is our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything
-William Shakespeare (As You Like It, Act II, 1.14-17)
Mainstream Orthodox Jewish religious thought views the Bible as the exclusive representation of God’s will. Certainly, experiential reality may serve as testimony to His will or may inspire others to follow His will, however the arbiter of what His will precisely is, is restricted to the domain of the Bible. This view is clearly reflected in the oft-cited formulation of the Zohar that “God looked into the Torah and created the world.”[17] The all encompassing will of God is clearly represented in the statement by the Torah, while “the world” is merely an expression of its truth. The world is not given any independent status as a prophet of sorts for the word of God.
Yet, a second model exists. Reb Zadok cites that he has heard from his master, “That God created a book, and that is the world, and the commentary (on the book), and that is that Torah. For the Torah is akin to a commentary of God’s possessions.”[18] This analogy clearly places a greater focus on the world as a repository for Godly revelation. While the Torah clearly functions as a means of deciphering for the revelatory code of the world, it still remains to be seen within this analogy if the world can relate the will of God without the expository aid of the Torah. Moreover, does this analogy leave room for the possibility that the World may contain truths that do not even exist within the Torah? In order to understand the broader implications of this analogy, this essay will explore its origins and counterparts predating Reb Zadok and its specific influence on his general theology.
The notion that the word of God is revealed in two books, the Bible and the “Book of Nature,” dates back to beginning of the Common Era.[19] Throughout the centuries this idea was developed by many thinkers, each of whom expanded and evolved the scope and nature of the implications of this concept. While discussing its relationship to the Hasidei Ashkenaz, which will be discussed later, Haym Soloveitchik has argued that the analogy of the world as a book played an essential role in medieval thought:
“This implicit doctrine of dual revelation bears a familial resemblance to the common idea of the ‘book of creatures,’ which, in one form or another, shaped the entire medieval perception of the outside world and, as it also underlay most of its art, found expression in every frontal, portal, and stained-glass window of the cathedrals of the time. The doctrine taught that God has declared Himself in two manifestations: in the Holy Scriptures and in the Book of Nature. The world of sense is what it appears to be – a structure of physical objects – but it is at the same time a mirror and mystical typology of the attributes of the Creator Himself.”[20]
Following the humanistic revolution and the Renaissance the notion of the “Book of Nature” lost its prominence in Christian theology. The advances of science and humanistic thinking forced Christians to focus on other ideas to further their own theological agenda.[21]
Overall it seems there are two primary themes that can be culled from the vast array of presentations this analogy has taken in Christian thought relate to its objective and its substance. Firstly, in regards to its objective, the analogy served an important polemical role in the Church’s battles with the Cathar heresy which maintained that a “radical dualism of evil matter and divine spirit” existed in the world. Cathar dogma was founded upon the notion that two Gods existed, one evil who was the creator of matter, and one good, who controlled the world of spirituality.[22]
This approach is innovative for two reasons. By definition, proposing that God has revealed Himself outside the explicit prophetic revelation of Scriptures is novel to a normally prophetically based religion. Yet Christian theologians were uniquely innovative in that they actively pursued God’s implicit revelation in nature in its most basic sense, namely, flora and fauna. While other theologians were content with the first innovation, it was a markedly Christian exercise to search for Gods message in the pedals of roses and the contours of a nut.[23]
Eventually, with the advent of the scientific revolution, the Church and its sacrosanct “Book of Nature” faced tremendous controversy. The Galileo affair managed to shift the astronomical view of our universe and consequently redefine the essence of the Book of nature.
In response to a letter from his student Castelli, who informed him of the concerns of the Grand Duchess Christina regarding the relationship between religious dogma and Copernican theory, Galileo wrote her a short essay entitled “Letter to the Grand Duchess.” It was in these letters, to his student Castelli in 1613 (“Letter to Castelli”) and to the Grand Duchess in 1615, that Galileo began to release the shackles restricting the Book of Nature to the Domain of the Book of Scriptures. Later, in 1623 Galileo finally made it abundantly clear in which domain the Book of Nature resided.[24] He wrote:
“Philosophy is written in this grand book, the universe, which stands continually open to our gaze. But the book cannot be understood unless one first learns to comprehend the language and read the letters in which it is composed. It is written in the language of mathematics, and its characters are triangles, circles, and other geometric figures without which it is humanly impossible to understand a single word of it; without these, one wanders about in a dark labyrinth.”[25]
The sacred Book of Nature, which had for so long served as theological tool of the Church was now beginning to lose its authority. Galileo was careful not to deny the authority of the Book of Scriptures; it was with the interpretive framework of the Book of Nature that he took issue. Criticizing the Church’s claim as the exclusive authority in the Book of Nature’s interpretation, he felt the church had overstepped its boundaries in so narrowly defining the scope of legitimate interpretation. In his opinion the Church believed that, “Theology is the queen of all the sciences and hence must not in any way lower herself to accommodate the principles of other less dignified disciplines subordinated to her; rather, there others must submit to her as to a supreme empress and change and revise their conclusions in accordance with theological rules and decrees.”[26] Galileo did not seek to delegitimize the Church’s claim to truth in the Book of Scriptures; he just wanted that the Book of Nature be approached and understood on its own terms as a concurrent source of truth, rather than a truth subordinate to the truth of the Church.
Scholars have pointed out that it was not Galileo’s intention to engage in religious polemic, and he was, in fact, quite hesitant to respond to the Duchess, due to his concern that his innovative ideas would shake her faith. Most notably, Galileo never published the letter, a testament to his honest intentions to simply allay the Duchess’s theological concerns. However the letter did eventually circulate locally and found its way into the Congregation of the Holy Office in Rome, eventually setting the stage for Galileo’s trial of 1633 and the placement of Copernicus’ De revolutionibus on the banned Index of the Church.[27]
Ultimately Galileo’s presentation of the parallel truths of the Book of Nature and the Book of Scriptures did not help mitigate the attacks of his persecutors. As described by Biagioli, “The book of nature, therefore, was a Trojan horse: it seemed to pay homage to the theologians and their regime of truth, but it would have restricted their authority if they allowed it through their gates.” The Church did not allow itself to be fooled.
Emerging from this entire affair is a new chapter in the evolution of the interpretive framework of the Book or Nature. No longer was nature a hermeneutical resource for theological pontification, now it had a life and a message of its own, independent from theological dogma.
As the “Book of the Nature” received serious attention in the world of Christian theology, it also managed to infiltrate the medieval world Hasidei Ashkenaz. In a pioneering study, Haym Soloveitchik presented the primary text of the Hasidei Ashkenaz as Sefer Hasidim and explained that “underlying much of Sefer Hasidim, is the idea that the will of God, the rezon ha-Bore has not been cabined or confined within the overt dictates of the Torah, written or oral.”[28] The author of Sefer Hasidim seemed convinced that a vast body of unexpressed commandments exists outside of the explicit ruling of the Torah. Soloveitchik suggested that such an assumption is derived from “the vast disparity between Biblical and Rabbinic norms, and the testimony of God’s actions (both His wrath and His favor) in the Bible and in daily experience, [which] stand witness to the operation in history of standards of judgment other than those articulated in the Torah.”[29] Indeed, the introduction to Sefer Hasidim makes this goal quite clear:
“[This book] is written for those who fear God and are mindful of His name. There is a hasid whose heart desires, out of love for his Creator, to do His will, but he is unaware of all these things-which thing to avoid and how to execute profoundly the wish of the Creator. For this reason the Sefer Hasidim was written so that all who fear God and those returning to their Creator with an undivided heart may read it and know and understand what is incumbent upon them to do and what they must avoid.”[30]
Perhaps this statement may not at first glance seem relevant to the previous discussion, but it underlying assumption is extremely important to the general notion of the Book of Nature. Heretofore in Jewish theology it was generally assumed that all of God’s commandments were explicit either in the Written Law or the Oral Law which was simultaneously handed to Moses on Sinai. Generations following the canonization of the Talmud viewed it is the final authority on Jewish law not only in terms of deciding existing law but also in determining which laws even existed. Those within the Hasidei Ashkenaz were revolutionary in the sense that they suggested that the Law as revealed through the existing Torah was incomplete and an independent set of directives could be derived implicitly that had not been previously expounded in the Bible or Talmud.
To be sure, as Soloveitchik is quick to point out, the notion of a separate implicit revelation played significantly different roles in Hasidic thought and Christian theology. The differences, as presented by Soloveitchik, were as follows:
“The Hasidic doctrine dealt with Divine imperatives, the Christian one with Divine attributes; the former asserted deductions of new truths, the latter symbolic reflections of known ones. They share, however, one common assumption: outside the binding, canonized corpus, a ‘larger scripture,’ as it were, exists which can yield up religious truths upon proper inspection.”
Regardless of Soloveitchik’s distinction, the innovation of the Hasidei Ashkenaz serves as a powerful precedent in Jewish theology for extra-Biblical revelation. Reb Zadok employs the analogy of “The Book” in several different places and contexts.
As previously mentioned, in Reb Zadok’s first work after becoming joining the Hasidic ranks of Izbica, he presents the following:
“Every day there are innovations in Torah, for God recreated every day his works of the world, and the works of the world (maaseh bereishit) is through the Torah as cited in the beginning of Bereishit Rabbah,[31] and logically the recreation of the world as well is though the Torah. And it is for this reason that after the blessing [of the Shema] ‘Yotzer ha-Meorot,’ which relates to the recognition of the recreation of the world every day, [the Rabbis] established a second blessing which functions as a blessing on the Torah as explained in [TB] Berahot 11b (i.e. ‘Ahava Rabba’). One requests (to God) to know the innovations of the Torah which are through the recreation of the world. And as I have heard, that God created a book, and that is the world (olam),[32] and the commentary (on the book), and that is that Torah. For the Torah is akin to a commentary of God’s possessions.”[33]
As is typical of much of Reb Zadok’s writings in Tzidkat ha-Tzadik, he is quite brief and does not go onto lengthy expositions as found in his later writings. In this passage it is seems clear that he is following traditional Jewish thought in ascribing precedence to the book of God (i.e. the Torah) over the book of Nature. His citation of the classical passage in Midrash Rabbah, aside from lending traditional pedigree to his thought,[34] clearly articulated the traditional Jewish view that the world is an outgrowth of the Torah and not vice versa. After establishing this traditional premise, Reb Zadok proceeded to present an atypical understanding of the relationship between the Torah and the world, namely, that the World is a book while the Torah is mere commentary. Certainly it seems fair to presume that a commentary is ancillary to the book to which it is attached; therefore this relationship must be more carefully examined and defined in the context of broader Jewish thought and the full scope of Reb Zadok’s writings.
In his work Mahshavot Harutz, Reb Zadok returns to and elaborates upon the usages of the book analogy.[35] In this essay, he proposed that the essence of all existence in this world is comprised of the letters of the Torah. Similar to his previously cited comments, he once again invokes the oft-quoted passage in Bereishit Rabbah that the Torah is the blueprint of the world. However in this passage he elaborates much further upon the concept of the world as a book and its relationship to the Torah.
Reb Zadok began the essay by citing the Talmudic passage that on Rosh Hashanah “three books are opened”: The book of the righteous, the book of the wicked, and the book of the ambivalent. Each of these books, in Reb Zadok’s thematic archetype, corresponds to a different expression of spiritual existence. The book of the righteous corresponds to the objective truth contained in the Written Torah, which in effect corresponds to the world of writing. The book of the ambivalent corresponds to the Oral Law thus representing the world of speech. While the Book of the wicked, corresponding to the implicit essence of spirituality, which is the only vestige of spiritual connectivity which remains for the wicked, this, says Reb Zadok, is the world of thought. Such a presentation is counterintuitive, for it posits that the highest expression of truth is found in the Book of the Wicked. Yet, it is precisely the transcendental nature of this concealed element of Godliness which demands that it be referred to as “The Book of the Wicked;” for the only remaining grasp which the wicked have into the world of spirituality exists within this book.
Though Reb Zadok expands his tripartite correspondence, what is crucial for our discussion is his explanation as to why the Talmud ascribes the description of “writing” to all three books, even the book of thought. He writes:
“And the language of writing is relevant in all (three books). For all of them are called books…and also on the book of thought its writing is the physical world which is a remnant of the letters of thought which are faintly recognizable through their (i.e. the wicked) actions. And so I have received that this entire world is a book which God created. And it appears to me that as a child I saw such a formulation in the work Me’or Einayim[36] which cited the formulation in a gentile work of pedagogy. Seemingly, it was found there a slight parallel of this idea that all of the creations of the world are the forms of the letters which God inscribed in his book, the worlds. The Torah is the commentary on that book and adorns the world with truth for within the Torah the letters of thought are explicitly manifest, as opposed to in the World which only presents vestige and a remnant. And through the Torah we are able to understand the hints of the remnants and recognize that within the worldly actions contain the thoughts of God. Nevertheless, one must bear in mind, that all worldly actions and creations of the world are a Book unto themselves on which the letters of God’s thoughts are inscribed through great concealment. There is no creation which is not marked for a specific purpose in the mind of God.”[37]
In this remarkable passage, Reb Zadok presents more clearly his understanding of the relationship between the Book of Nature and the Book of Scriptures. Reb Zadok believed that the experiential world functioned as a means of revelation, though the cryptic revelatory language of the world is chiefly deciphered though the explanation of the Torah. Yet all of the experiences of the world are infused with spiritual and theological significance through which God’s glory can be revealed. It is clear from the passage that “The Book of Nature” in Reb Zadok’s thought it not restricted to mere flora and fauna, but encompasses more broadly the entire experiential world. Whether such experiential revelation can ever occur without the aegis of the Torah still remains to be seen.
Another point worthy of note in this passage is Reb Zadok’s willingness to cite a Gentile work which obscurely alludes to his idea. In fact, citing the controversial work Me’or Einayim, is in itself quite noteworthy bearing in mind the scathing criticism the work endured in previous generations. Certainly such citations should be seen in light of Reb Zadok’s general open mindedness to scholarly inquiry, particularly historical studies,[38] and his nuanced attitude toward gentile wisdom, all of which have been previously noted by scholars.[39] Ironically, this controversial citation may very well be justified based on the import of the very idea he is citing it for, namely, that all of creation, even gentiles, are passages in the God’s grand book: The World.
Reb Zadok’s view of the “Book of Nature” contrasts strongly to the Christian conception. Whereas Christians took a markedly literal approach to the theological messages of nature, in Reb Zadok’s works such messages are restricted to experiential sentiments and personal directives. Reb Zadok’s avoidance of homiletical deductions from nature’s structure sidesteps the potentially officious theological implications of the Book of Nature which arose for the Church during the time of Galileo.
Reb Zadok’s conception of the revelatory consequences of the “Book of Nature” appears in his novel understanding of the “bat kol” (trans: heavenly voice). Departing from the more traditional description of the bat kol,[40] which understood the phenomena quite literally, Reb Zadok proposed a new approach (which seems to be theologically rooted in his aforementioned conception of “The Book of Nature”):
“And our Rabbis have revealed to us stories which discuss the bat kol, which is defined as listening to the voices of everyday people who are discussing daily matters and do have other intentions. Rather one listener is able to be informed, through their words, what is required of him… Namely, God articulates the will of his voice through regular people. Even though they have their own intentions when they speak and the directives do not seem to emanate from God with intention and clarity, rather His will relates to us implicitly…For example when God wishes good it is manifest personally in each of his creations according to their conception of good. The Jewish people relate according to their conception of good, gentiles relate each according to their own conception…and so it is with all creations according to their own conception. And therefore it is nearly impossible to define what is the implicit will that God intends to impart since it is manifest through different being, each with their own conceptions and notions of that message.”[41]
Undoubtedly, Reb Zadok maintains that there are vital messages contained in the Book of Nature. However, the implicit revelatory message through which the Book of Nature operates often obfuscates our ability to properly decipher its contents. The Torah contains God’s explicit spoken word, while Nature, or more precisely experiential life, only relates implicitly God unarticulated will. Yet all of Nature remains, as Reb Zadok often quotes from his Hasidic predecessor R. Simha Bunim of Przysucha, “a means of acquiring God.”[42]
Indeed, Reb Zadok allowed for the actual interpretation of Natures message, yet only by those properly initiated to the methods of interpreting bat kol, as demonstrated in a widely-told story:
“As is well known in the name of Zusia of blessed memory that he was once walking along the road and it chanced upon him that a Gentile wagon driver, who was transporting hay, fell over. The man requested help, to which he responded, ‘I cannot.’ The Gentile said to him, “You can, but you just do not want to.” Regarding this Rebbe Zusia said to himself that it must be an allusion to the fallen hey (referring to the fifth letter in the Hebrew alphabet) represented in God’s name. It has fallen and it is in my power to pick it up, I just don’t want to. And so it is with all occurrences that chance upon a person, for all worldly events are really spiritual allusions.”[43]
Reb Zadok believed that the everyday experiences of life are in truth lessons which provide spiritual guidance. Often these experiences can compel one to reexamine or develop a novel approach to Torah scholarship. As Reb Zadok relates in several places, the Talmud classic presentation of a legal opinion, “A’leiba d’man d’amar,” derives from the leiv, the experiential heart, of each scholar.[44] Yet unlike to the Christian conception, which allowed viewed the Book of Scriptures and the Book of Nature as competing voices, Reb Zadok only considers the Book of the World on matters which have not yet been clearly articulated in the Torah. Though the prophetic gates of the Book of Scriptures have closed, God continues to speak.

Dovid Bashevkin studied for several years at Yeshivat Shaalavim and at Ner Israel Rabbinical College, and is completing his rabbinic ordination at RIETS (Yeshiva University), and holds an MA in Jewish philosophy the Bernard Revel Graduate School (Yeshiva University), where he focused on Polish Hasidut and the writings of Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin and studied with Prof. Yaakov Elman. The article was written on the occasion of the sixth yahrzeit, on 2 Ellul, of his grandmother, Zlata Golda bas Gershon Binyamin ha-Levi a”h. The author would like to offer a tremendous thanks to his mentor, Prof. Yaakov Elman, who continuously offers selflessly of his time, energy, and much saged advice to an ever inquiring and searching student, and under whose guidance this essay was privileged to have been written. Special thanks, as well, is extended to a very dear and longtime-friend, the ever patient and indefatigable Menachem Butler, for his assistance in many of the nuances of this essay, and to the editors (and readers) of the Seforim blog for their gracious consideration of this essay. Of course, any errors contained in this essay are the responsibility of the author, and he can be reached here (dovidbash@yahoo.com).
[1] For some astounding tales of genius and piety from Reb Zadok’s youth, of which include recitation of a blessing on his mother’s milk and the ability to count how many leaves were on a tree, see Abraham Isaac Rabinovitch, Malachei Elyon (Jerusalem: Otzar HaSippurim, 1966), 19 (Hebrew). For more general information on Reb Zadok’s life, though mostly hagiographic, see ibid. 18-32; see also Shlomo Zalman Sheragaʼi and Avraham Bick, be-Heikhal Izbica-Lublin (Jerusalem: Mosad ha-Rav Kook, 1977; Hebrew) which includes some fascinating, though almost certainly apocryphal, tales about Reb Zadok’s initial meeting with R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner. Also see the more recent work, Sefer ha-Kohen (Bnei Brak: Mekhon Shem Olam, 2004), 11-24 (Hebrew).
[2] The sermon delivered at his bar mitzvah has been subsequently published in Collected Writings of Reb Zadok of Lublin, vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Mekor ha-Seforim, 2001), Meishev Tzedek, 69-78 (Hebrew), and bears the mark of a mature and erudite scholar. Additionally see Reb Zadok, Or Zaruah, 53, which contains some remarks he wrote at the age of thirteen.
[3] See Reb Zadok, Kuntres Zikeron la-Rishonim printed in Sinai 21 (Nisan, 1947) and Kuntres Shemot ba-Aretz which discuss, respectively, the history and chronology of the prophets and the post-Talmudic sages. Reb Zadok himself dates Zikeron la-Rishonim as being written in 5597 (1837), thus placing this astounding work under the pen of a thirteen year old!
[4] This was reported to me by several students who attended these classes. See, as well, Aharon Suraski, Sheluha de-Rahmana (New York: Feldheim 1992), 126. I am especially grateful to Prof. Shnayer Z. Leiman for his assistance in locating this source.
[5] For example see Mikhtav me-Eliyahu, vol. 3 (Bnei Brak: Committee for the Publication of the Writings of E.L. Dessler, 1964), 277-278 (Hebrew).
[6] For example see Or Gedalyahu: Sihot u’Mamarim ‘al Mo’adim (Brooklyn, 1981), esp. the talks on Hanukkah.
[7] R. Hutner’s relationship with Reb Zadok’s work is particularly mysterious. Nowhere in Pahad Yitzhak does R. Hutner mention Reb Zadok explicitly by name, though those familiar with Reb Zadok’s work can sense his influence throughout. The only explicit reference to Reb Zadok can be found in an introductory letter to the publication of work Alfasi Zuta, later republished in his collected letters #80, where R. Hutner cites a passage from Reb Zadok’s Sefer Zichronot, one of his lesser studied works, explaining the permissibility to learn the works of the students of the R. Yisrael Sarug, despite the ban imposed by R. Hayyim Vital on learning Kabbalah of the Arizal from any sources other than his own. R. Hutner’s citation of this obscure passage in R. Zadok’s works definitely betrays his intimate familiarity with his works. Why Reb Zadok is never cited by name in Pahad Yitzhak is a matter which must be considered and see Steven S. Schwarzschild, “An Introduction to the Thought of R. Isaac Hutner,” Modern Judaism 5:3 (October 1985): 235-277, who discussed some of the influences of Reb Zadok’s Rebbe, R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner of Izbica on the thought of R. Hutner, and noted (in 264n27) that “R. Hutner occasionally cites R. Zadok, in a heavily chassidic, messianic context: cf. e.g. ‘This Week’s Biblical Lesson’ (Yiddish), Algemeiner Journal, Dec. 23, 1977, p. 5, col. 5,” and see also Yaakov Elman, “R. Zadok Hakohen on the History of Halakah,” Tradition 21:4 (Fall 1985): 20-22 (“Addendum”). Surprisingly, the recent exhaustive and important work by Shlomo Kasirer, “Repentance in the Thought of R. Isaac Hutner,” (PhD dissertation, Bar-Ilan University, 2009; Hebrew) does not consider the influence of Reb Zadok on R. Hutner.
[8] Shai Hadari should certainly be given due credit for his Hebrew works on Reb Zadok, the first academic presentation of R. Zadok’s works, in Shai Hadari, “Roshei Hodashim be-Mishnei R. Zadok ha-Kohen,” Sinai 56:1-2 (1965): 84-99 (Hebrew); idem, “Purim be-Mishnato shel R. Zadok ha-Kohen mi-Lublin,” Sinai 46:6 (1960): 333-369 (Hebrew); idem, “Shir Shel Yom,” Sinai 53:1-6 (1963): 75-91 (Hebrew). In addition, an excellent biographical portrait can be found in Alan Brill, Thinking God: The Mysticism of Rabbi Zadok of Lublin (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav Publishing House, 2002), 15-51, though (to date) the most comprehensive analysis of Reb Zadok’s overall works and thought remains Amira Liwer, “Oral Torah in the Writings of Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” (PhD dissertation, Hebrew University, 2006; Hebrew), and see, as well, her earlier work in Amira Liwer, “Paradoxical Themes in the Writings of Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” (MA thesis, Touro College, 1992; Hebrew). Those interested in comparative theology would certainly enjoy Chaim Hirsch, Ahavat Tzedek (Jerusalem, 2002; Hebrew), which compares the thought of Reb Zadok to that of R. Kook. In a similar vein, see Bezalel Naor, “Zedonot Na’aseh ki-Zekhuyot be-Mishnato shel ha-Rav Kook,” Sinai 97 (1983): 78-87 (Hebrew); and see also idem, “Hashpat Nefesh ha-Hayyim al Reb Zadok ha-Kohein mi-Lublin,” Sinai 104 (1989): 186-188 (Hebrew). Much can be learned from the overlap and nuanced differences of these innovative thinkers. For a comprehensive bibliography of Reb Zadok’s works, and secondary works discussing Reb Zadok’s life and scholarship, see Gershon Kitsis, ed., Me’at Latzadik (Jerusalem: Beis Publications, 2000; Hebrew), and Alan Brill, Thinking God, 378-390 (Appendix I).
[9] See Yaakov Elman, “R. Zadok Hakohen on the History of Halakah,” Tradition 21:4 (Fall 1985): 1-26; idem, “Reb Zadok Hakohen of Lublin on Prophecy in the Halakhic Process,” Jewish Law Association Studies 1 (1985): 1-16; idem, “The History of Gentile Wisdom According to R. Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” Journal of Jewish Thought & Philosophy 3:1 (1993): 153-187; idem, “Progressive Derash and Retrospective Peshat: Nonhalakhic Considerations in Talmud Torah,” in Shalom Carmy, ed., Modern Scholarship in the Study of Torah: Contributions and Limitations (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1996), 227-87; and idem, “The Rebirth of Omnisignificant Biblical Exegesis in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” Jewish Studies Internet Journal 2 (2003): 199-249.
[10] A heter meah rabbanan is a document signed by one hundred rabbis which allows one to take a second wife in the event that the current wife refuses to willingly accept a divorce. The specific Halakhic details of this document, while fascinating, are beyond the scope of this paper. For more on the issues surrounding this document see “Herem de-Rabbeinu Gershom,” Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 17, cols. 378-454, esp. 447-452 (Hebrew).
[11] See Alan Brill, Thinking God, 24, for an impressive list of some of the personalities encountered during his travels. Notably, Reb Zadok is mentioned in R. Joseph Shaul Nathenson’s Shoel u-Meshiv 6th ed., no. 54.
R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner, originally a student of R. Simcha Bunim of Prysucha, and afterwards of R. Menachem Mendal of Kotzk, famously departed Koztk in 1840 to establish his own Hasidic court. For more details on the life of R. Leiner and the reasons for his schism with R. Menachem Mendel, see Morris M. Fairstein, All is in the Hands of Heaven: The Teaching of Rabbi Mordechai Joseph Liener of Izbica (New York, 1989), and, more recently, in idem, “Kotsk-Izbica Dispute: Theological or Personal?” Kabbalah 17 (2008): 75-79. A more detailed discussion of Izbica’s radical philosophy of determinism and sin can be found in Aviezer Cohen, “Self-Consciousness in Mei haa-Shiloah As the Nexus Between God and Man” (PhD dissertation, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, 2006; Hebrew), and Aviezer Cohen, “Capability as a Criterion for Observance and Non-Observance of the Mitzvot: Religious Existentialism in the Thought of Franz Rosenzweig and Rabbi Mordechai Leiner of Izbica,” in Haviva Pedaya and Ephraim Meir, eds., Judaism, Topics, Fragments, Faces, Identities: Jubilee Volume in Honor of Rivka (Beer-Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2007), 525-575 (Hebrew). See also the important work by Shaul Magid, Hasidism on the Margin: Reconciliation, Antinomianism, and Messianism in Izbica/Radzin Hasidism (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), and Don Seeman, “Martyrdom, Emotion and the Work of Ritual in R. Mordecai Joseph Leiner’s Mei ha-Shiloah,” AJS Review 27:2 (November 2003): 253-280.
[12] R. Leible Eiger was the grandson of the pre-eminent Rav, R. Akiva Eiger and the son of R. Shlomo Eiger, a major rabbinic figure in his own right. Similar to Reb Zadok, he also left his Lithuanian upbringing for the world of Hasidut. Initially he began as a student of R. Menachem Mendel Morgenstern, the Rebbe of Kotzk, however he left in 1840 with the court of R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner to Izbica. Reb Zadok’s and R. Leible’s similar life trajectories made them natural friends and they remained as such their entire lives. For more on the life of R. Leible, see the three volume work Yehudah leKasho (Tel Aviv, 1999) and for a letter from Reb Zadok to R. Leible, responding to the former’s legal query regarding the laws of circumcision, see Collected Writings of Reb Zadok of Lublin, vol. 5 (Jerusalem: Mekor ha-Seforim, 2001), Levushei Tzedakah, 34-35 (Hebrew). R. Leible’s works, Torat Emet and Imrei Emet, have not received any attention in the academic community and a complete study on the intellectual oeuvre remains a scholarly desideratum.
[13] See Elchanan Dov’s biographical sketch appended to Reb Zadok, Otzar ha-Melekh (Bnei Brak: Yahadut, 1968), 3, who cited Midrash Tanhuma, Noah 3, which reads: “When a person leaves the world without children he is pained and tearful. God says to him: Why are you crying? Because you did not grow any fruits in this world? There is a fruit more beautiful than children…the Torah of which it is written, ‘The fruits of the Righteous is the Tree of Life.’”
[14] See the important study by Martin Ritter, “Scholarship as a Priestly Craft: Harry A. Wolfson on Tradition in a Secular Age,” in Klaus Herrmann, Margarete Schlüter, and Giuseppe Veltri, eds., Jewish Studies Between the Disciplines: Papers in honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Sixtieth Birthday (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2003), 435-455, who has noted that “only by a careful reconstruction of the scholar’s complete writings is [the reader] able to discover the speculative underlying dimension that is often inter-woven with dry and long-winded interpretations. For later generations it thus remains a complex challenge to reconstruct the ideas of those polymaths from their vast publications, correspondence, and papers” (436). The same methodological inquiry, suggested Ritter, could be extended to Henry Corbin, Étienne Gilson, Erwin R. Goodenough, Gershom Scholem, and Leo Strauss, and one would not be incorrect to also include Reb Zadok, and R. Nahman of Bratslav, R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, among others.
[15] This is a rabbinic euphemism for the sin of wasting seed, about which see Shilo Pachter, “Shmirat ha-Berit: The History of the Prohibition of Wasting Seed,” (PhD dissertation, Bar Ilan University, 2006), esp. 247-255, for a discussion of Reb Zadok. Recently, Reb Zadok’s theology has been used to formulate an appropriate response to the growing issue of sexual impropriety within the Modern Orthodox community, as discussed in Jennie Rosenfeld, “Talmudic Re-Readings: Toward a Modern Orthodox Sexual Ethic,” (PhD dissertation, City University of New York, 2008), esp. 73-123 (“Nineteenth Century Polish Hasidism’s Radical Ethics: R. Mordekhai Yosef Leiner of Izbica and R. Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin”), and though her interpretations and applications are often questionable, the discussion is nonetheless fascinating. For an additional perspective, listen to the lecture by R. Mayer Twersky and Dr. David Pelcovitz, “Maintaining Kedusha in an Overexposed Society,” YUTorah.org, delivered on 8 February 2009, available here (http://tinyurl.com/274omzd).
[16] See Alan Brill, Thinking God, 27.
[17] Zohar, vol. 2, 161a.
[18] This comment is prefaced with “sha’mati” (trans: I have heard) indicating, as all of his comments which such prefaces, that he heard this from his Rebbe, R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner of Izbica. For more on the phrase “I have heard” in the writings of Reb Zadok and its relationship to the similar “I have received” found in his works, see Amira Liwer, “Oral Torah in the Writings of Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” (PhD dissertation, Hebrew University, 2006), 426-428 (Hebrew). Yaakov Elman, “The Rebirth of Omnisignificant Biblical Exegesis in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” Jewish Studies Internet Journal 2 (2003), 224n62, cites the comments of Mei ha-Shiloah on TB Nedarim (22b) as a source for Reb Zadok’s words. However, Liwer points out, 373n26, that the aforementioned source in Mei ha-Shiloah does not present the analogy of the world as a book, but rather relates that the Torah incorporates all of the knowledge of the world. Liwer does, however, cite two sources in Mei ha-Shiloah which refer to the Jewish people as a book, which, as will be discussed later, seems to be the essential point and source of Reb Zadok’s comments.
[19] For a detailed history of this concept see E.R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. W.R. Trask (New York: Harper & Row, 1953), 304, who cites an early Babylonian reference to stars as “the writing of the sky.” See also Ilse N. Bulhof, The Language of Science: A Study of the Relationship between Literature and Science in the Perspective of a Hermeneutical Ontology. With a Case Study of Darwin’s The Origin of Species (Leiden: Brill, 1992), passim, and C.J. Glacken, Traces on the Rhodian Shore: Nature and Culture in Western Thought from Ancient Times to the End of the Eighteenth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 204.
[20] Haym Soloveitchik, “Three Themes in the Sefer Hasidim,” AJS Review 1 (1976): 315-16.
[21] For a more detailed discussion of the interaction of science and nature in Christian theology, see David C. Lindberg and Ronald L. Numbers, eds., God & Nature: Historical Essays on the Encounter between Christianity and Science (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986).
[22] See Per Binde, “Nature in Roman Catholic Tradition,” Anthropological Quarterly 74:1 (January 2001): 15-27. In regards to its substance, the analogy has a markedly literalist tone to its message. Nature was not simply a product of God’s handiwork, but His spiritual message can be deciphered from within Nature to inspire man. Émile Mâle cites a gross example of literalism from Adam of Victor who, while contemplating a nut, remarked, “What is a nut if not the image of Jesus? The green and fleshy sheath is His flesh, His humanity. The wood of the shell is the wood of the Cross on which that flesh suffered. But the kernel of the nut from which men gain nourishment is His hidden divinity.” See Émile Mâle, The Gothic Image: Religious Art in France of the Thirteenth Century (New York, 1953), 30, citing Adam of St. Victor, Sequentia. Patrol, cxcvi, col. 1433. Mâle also noted other literalist interpretations of the spiritual message within nature such as Peter of Mora musing on the roses of a pedal and Hugh of St. Victor thoughts of the dove.
[23] This is not to say that such ruminations do not appear in Jewish theology. Certainly, reflections on the significance of the structure of nature are only to be found scattered in Jewish thought (see for example TB Eiruvin 100b). However the centrality and seriousness of this discipline is entirely absent and on whole the practice altogether disappeared following the redaction of the Talmud.
[24] See Mario Biagioli, “Stress in the Book of Nature: the Supplemental Logic of Galileo’s Realism,” MLN 118:3 (April 2003): 557-585, for a detailed analysis of evolution of the Book of Nature in Galileo’s thought.
[25] Galileo, “The Assayer (1623),” in Stillman Drake, trans., Discoveries and Opinions of Galileo (New York: Doubleday, 1957), 238.
[26] Galileo, “Letter to the Grand Duchess (1615),” in Maurice Finocchiaro, The Galileo Affair: A Documentary History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 99.
[27] For more details on the affair, see Maurice Finocchiaro, The Galileo Affair: A Documentary History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989).
[28] Haym Soloveitchik, “Three Themes in Sefer Hasidim,” 313.
[29] Ibid., 314.
[30] “Introduction,” in Judah Wistinetzki, ed., Sefer Hasidim (Berlin: M’kize Nirdamim, 1891), trans. Soloveitchik, in ibid., 312. For a related article on the background of Sefer Hasidim, see Ivan G. Marcus, “The Recensions and Structure of Sefer Hasidim,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 45 (1978): 131-153; and on the early 152 sections of Sefer Hasidim (dubbed “Sefer Hasidim I”), see Haym Soloveitchik, “Piety, Pietism and German Pietism: ‘Sefer Hasidim I’ and the Influence of Hasidei Ashkenaz,” Jewish Quarterly Review 92:3-4 (January-April 2002): 455-493. See, as well, the recent symposium about Sefer Hasidim that appeared in Jewish Quarterly Review 96:1 (Winter 2006).
[31] Most likely this is referring to the first passage in the introduction to Bereishit Rabbah which, based on Proverbs 8:30, refers to Torah as an instrument of a craftsman used in order to fashion the world.
[32] Our translation of the word “olam” as “the world” is important as it clearly varies from the Christian concept of “The Book of Nature.”
[33] Tzidkat ha-Tzadik 216.
[34] Reb Zadok truly made an art out of finding traditional textual support for otherwise innovative ideas. His expertise in this area was twofold. Firstly the very act of finding sources for ideas which were genuinely innovative and oftentimes radical. Secondly his command of such a wide ranch of sources allowed him to ‘create’ fascinating connections between texts which were seemingly unrelated. Oftentimes he would find support for Kabbalistic idea in Halakhic texts. For a more detailed discussion regarding Reb Zadok’s methods of interpretation, see Amira Liwer, “Oral Torah in the Writings of Reb Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” (PhD dissertation, Hebrew University, 2006), especially 379-382 (Hebrew).
[35] Mahshavot Harutz #11.
[36] Written by Azariah de’ Rossi (1513-1578). For more on the thought of Azariah de Rossi and the work Me’or Einayim, see Lester A. Segal, Historical Consciousness and Religious Tradition in Azariah de’ Rossi’s Me’or ‘Einayim (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1988), Giuseppe Veltri, “The Humanist Sense of History and the Jewish Idea of Tradition: Azaria de’ Rossi’s Critique of Philo Alexandrinus,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 2:4 (1995): 372-393, the very important scholarly contribution in Azariah de Rossi, The Light of the Eyes, trans. Joanna Weinberg (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), as well as Giuseppe Veltri, “Conceptions of History: Azariah de’ Rossi,” in Renaissance Philosophy in Jewish Garb: Foundations and Challenges in Jewish Thought on the Eve of Modernity (Leiden & Boston: Brill, 2009), 73-96.
[37] Mahshavot Harutz ibid.
[38] See the work of Reb Zadok, “Kuntres Zikeron la-Rishonim,” published many years later in Sinai 21 (Nisan, 1947) and Kutres Shemot ba-Aretz which discuss, respectively, the history and chronology of the prophets and the post-Talmudic sages. For further discussion regarding Reb Zadok’s iconoclastic approach to historical study and scholarly analysis see Gershon Kitsis, ed., Me’at Latzadik (Jerusalem: Beis Publications, 2000), 255-268 (Hebrew).
[39] For a detailed analysis of Reb Zadok’s innovative approach towards Gentile wisdom, see Yaakov Elman, “The History of Gentile Wisdom According to R. Zadok ha-Kohen of Lublin,” Journal of Jewish Thought & Philosophy 3:1 (1993): 153-187.
[40] About “bat kol,” see Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 5, cols. 1-4 (Hebrew). See also Aspaklarya, vol. 4 (Jeruslaem: Hotzat Aspaklarya, 1998), 381-385 (Hebrew).
[41] Dover Tzedek #111.
[42] Reb Zadok cites this statement of R. Simcha Bunim, which is a Hasidic reinterpretation of Psalms 104:24, in several places. For some examples see Tzidkat ha-Tzadik #232, Mahshavot Harutz, ibid. Reb Zadok was deeply influenced by the thought of Przysucha and in many ways his thought is built upon the foundation built by Przysucha. Though Reb Zadok personally never studied under R. Simcha Bunim, his Hasidic master, R. Mordechai Yosef Leiner of Izbica, was initially a student of R. Simcha Bunim. Thought much has been written about the influence of Izbica on Reb Zadok’s thought, sadly, the effects of Przysucha have been generally neglected by the scholarly community. For more on the life of R. Simcha Bunim of Przysucha, see the very important work by Michael Rosen, The Quest for Authenticity: The Thought of Reb Simhah Bunim (Jerusalem: Urim Publication, 2008), and see the earlier article by Alan Brill, “Grandeur and Humility in the Writings of R. Simha Bunim of Przysucha,” in Yaakov Elman and Jeffrey S. Gurock, eds., Hazon Nahum: Studies in Jewish Law, Thought, and History Presented to Dr. Norman Lamm on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1997), 419-448.
[43] Pri Tzadik Nassoh #13. See also Pri Zadik Balak #2. This approach, that the experiential life of man serves as a repository for God’s messages, can also be found in other Jewish thinkers, most notably R. Nahman of Bratslav (in, for example, Likkutei Moharan 54:2). For more on the intriguing relationship between Reb Zadok and R. Nachman’s writings, see my unpublished essay “Between Bratslav and Lublin,” written as a graduate seminar paper for Prof. Jonathan Dauber at the Bernard Revel Graduate School (Yeshiva University).
[44] See Likkutei Amarim #7, Divrei Halomot #23, and Pri Tzadik, Naso #5.



A Final Word to Chaim Rapoport

A final word to Chaim Rapoport’s continuing need to comment on our book
by: Menachem Friedman & Samuel Heilman

While we hoped our last posting would be our last word on this subject, since the Seforim
Blog has posted Rapoport’s rejoinder simultaneously (a courtesy never offered to us), we
want to add a brief postscript, which we have been assured by the blog moderators will
be the last posting on our book.

We are happy Rapoport checked the Paris directory and found the listing of the Engineer
Schneerson. Why he failed to note this listing (which as Rapoport at last reports was
noted in our book) when he attacked us over our error on the envelope, he will have to
explain to his readers. But in his long riff on the listing Rapoport misses the point we
made, and which was lost in the laughter over our use of the envelope as the graphic
proof. What was MMS interested in announcing about himself?

Rapoport seems to think we thought that MMS used the directory in which he
listed himself not as “Rabbin” but “Ing. Elec and Mecan” was a “venue for joy and
thanksgiving.” Not at all. We say it was a sign of pride at his accomplishments (p.121),
a way of publicly identifying himself – not as a rabbi but as what he saw himself:
engineer. It was MMS who chose to put his listing in as this; not the Paris telephone
service. He wanted the public to know. As for revealing his dreams, we have already
covered that in our book (p. 119). It was in his letter to his father that he made that
abundantly clear. We urge readers to look at the letter and judge for themselves if after
years of study for this degree in 3 countries, when he wrote to his father and said in his
own words that engineering was his “dream” he meant it as a fantasy. In any case, we
did not say it was his “ultimate goal in life,” as Rapoport puts it. Apparently, the
Hasidim know best what that was; we are not nearly as categorical.

As for what ‫ חלום‬means, we’ll simply say that we believe Rapoport’s twist on this
word is actually a dream in the sense of fantasy. His explanation puts nothing to rest,
much as he might wish it to be the case.

Rapoport’s dance around MMS’s pursuit of the engineering degree is to assure us that he
wanted this only for parnassa, the classic haredi explanation for any secular studies by
those they deem religious. He adds to this that this was driven by the realization that he
could not be a rabbi in the Stalinist USSR or that he could thereby observe the Sabbath
better there. But MMS had no intentions of returning to the Stalinist regime from France
and affirmed this in his affidavit to the French when he sought French citizenship, (see
pp. 122-3 in our book). All of Rapoport’s tortured efforts to write off the long pursuit of
an engineering degree by MMS as nothing other than a quest for a side job are simply not
credible, as our book demonstrates time and again.

Rashag, he tells us was also involved in “commerce and the like.” Rashag was Rayatz’s
right-hand man, completely taken up with that task; something MMS was not. The
revision of the Gourary history continues.

We are accused of “not letting the man speak for himself.” The writings and speeches of
Menachem Mendel Schneerson are all over the internet, in countless books and distributed by Lubavitchers wherever they can. Our job is not to let the Rebbe speak for
himself. The Lubavitchers do that, and sometimes they also speak for him. No one could
accuse us of hiding his words. If anything, our book has made many more people
interested in reading his words. Our book is a framework against which those words may
now be looked at from a new perspective.

Rapoport once again tries to teach us about academic standards. We’ll simply say that on
that we shall by judged not by a Lubavitcher hasid with an axe to grind and venom to
spew but by our peers.

The discussion of the ‘local’ synagogue nearer to MMS’s residence is a new wrinkle in
Rapoport’s argument. Readers will recall he told us how much the man liked to walk and
assured us it was no problem for him to walk to the synagogues in the Pletzel. Now
suddenly he talks about this large nearby synagogue (which he wonders that we did not
mention nor did he, why?) but conveniently fails to mention that MMS was not seen
there, nor did he take any active role as teacher in this synagogue. Where is the evidence
he went there?

As for distances, as one will discover the distance from 7 Robert Lindet to the synagogue
on 10 Rue Dieu where Zalman Schneerson his cousin prayed (see our p. 140) is 8.5km or
5.3 miles one way and to Rue de Rosiers is according to Google Maps a walk of between
1 hour 18 minutes (3.8 miles via rue de Vaugirard, as we said) and 1 hour and 27 minutes
(4.25 miles via rue du Bac) one way. Apparently, in Rapaport’s thinking MMS had
kefitzat derech. We hope this puts this matter to rest, unless in Rapoport’s geography the
world shrinks when his Rebbe walks upon it.

With regard to the testimony of Mr. Shochetman’s recollection about his father’s visits,
we shall simply say that we did not find this recollection persuasive when we came upon
it in the JEM recordings. This is the same man who claimed in Yemei Melech that MMS
was a student who studied engineering at Sorbonne, something that has been shown to be
false in our book. Suffice it to say even if we accept its veracity, a report of one person
studying Torah with him in Paris does not make the case for MMS being one who was an
active teacher of Torah in his Paris years. Where is the rest of the evidence of the after-
school Toarh classes he set up for children besides this testimony? Where are the
children and their parents? The “100 witnesses” to borrow Rapaport’s expression; where
are they? And the argument that MMS spent those years as Rapaport asserts, “primarily
engaged” in his own learning of Torah simply does not persuade us. He did not have to
go to Paris for that; he could have stayed at the Rebbe’s court.

As for the letters from Levi Yitzchak to his son, we shall simply repeat our reading of
them and readers of our book can judge for themselves. Obviously, Rapoport reads them
with his special esoteric understanding. In his readings ‫ חלום‬is not dream, words take on
new meanings. Rapoport does this as well when we asked for a straight declarative
sentence in which MMS states unequivocally that he is neither immortal nor the Messiah.
Instead Rapoport refers to “the Rebbe’s vernacular” which does not use language as
others do, words he will “be happy to explain” to us. Reading Rapoport one is reminded of Humpty Dumpty: “When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful
tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different
things.”
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master – – that’s all.”
(Through the Looking Glass, Chapter 6)

In his typical approach of half truth or falsification, Rapaport claims we did not mention
that Levi Yitzchak added a blessing that his son have a son but that we took this from
him. Apparently he missed p. 128 of our text where we write exactly that.

On the beard, we have said all we need to say. But we’ll just add that in his long
quotation on Rayatz’s talk at the sheva brachot about beards, Rapoport leaves out the
following words: “Then he denounced those who trimmed their beards or who shaved
them off altogether. All of this he said while his new university bound son-in-law with a
beard that for all intents and purposes looked as if it were trimmed sat there, and his two
younger daughters (one of whom was the bride), who everyone in the room likely knew
shared an outlook of modernity, were in a room nearby.” We maintain that with all he
could have talked about, Rayatz chose this not because, as Rapaport ludicrously asserts, a
few “elder Chasidim in town had been trimming their beards….”

Rapoport wants us to list accolades Rayatz gave to MMS. That is a task for him and his
hagiographers. We note the relevant communications where MMS refused to accompany
Rayatz on his missions, where he collected books for him, where he actually did things
for his father-in-law. In Rapoport’s mind, our book should, as we said in our original
response, have been a book of praises. For that, he will have to go to Chabad.

Nowhere did we write that “mamesh” was an “innovation.” We do say that when MMS
used it after the honors from President Reagan, he added the phrase “with all its
interpretations.” (p. 215). Readers would do well to see what we wrote and at the
context rather than depending on Rapoport’s twist.

We are happy that Rapoport at last acknowledges the view held by some Hasidim,
including Lubavitchers we spoke to and observed, that the “graves of the righteous” are
accepted as not being defiling of a Cohen. He of course sidesteps the issue of the lack of
curtains around the graves opposite the ohel entrance with the word that it is “awkward.”
Indeed.

Once again in his quotation of our book, Rapoport makes use of ellipses to twist the truth.
In noting why we had to be careful with Lubavitcher sources, we wrote (and he fails to
quote these words) “To believers it cannot be that the man who stands between them and
God could have had a life like any other. Even that which seems prosaic is understood as
appearing so only to the uninitiated, and therefore things can never be what they seem.
For believers, beneath the surface reality there is to be found a deeper truth. Only one
who has the key can thus unlock the whole truth, and that key is possessed only by those who are truly Hasidim,” (p. 65) Yes we did use Lubavitcher sources, but not all and not
always if we could find more reliable ones elsewhere.

The assertion that the late Barry Gourary, z’l hated his uncle “with a passion” is yet
another of the libels Rapoport perpetrates against a man who cannot defend himself
against such calumnies. The very accusation he later makes against us! Shame on you.
Where is there any evidence to support such a hateful accusation, one that has been
refuted by Zalman Alpert and others, who actually knew and spoke to him.

Our book is our final word on how we explain matters; references to earlier interviews by
one or another of us in the papers are not relevant. In the course of the book and
discussions between us the narrative evolved. By this we should be judged. Not by a
reporter’s characterization nor by a blogger’s or a hasid’s.

We “intimate” nothing. That is a word Rapoport uses to characterize our work. We are
very careful in our language. When we know something, we say it and when we do not,
we leave matters as open questions. We say Moussia and Mendel “may have” attended a
theatre (we know she did even after he became Rebbe). We never say they chose that
over attending synagogues as Rapoport accused us of saying or intimating. And yes, they
may have attended the theatre – chances are they did. Horrors.

On the matter of the purloined copy of the uncorrected galleys, Rapoport, who apparently
is in charge of the portfolio on “ethics” for Lubavitch see here:
(http://tomerpersico.com/2010/07/18/the_rebbe_book_review/) now adds yet another lie
– time for teshuva, Rabbi, teshuva. The Seforim blog was never sent a copy of the
uncorrected galleys that you claim to have received from them. We cannot vouch for
when and from whom Rabbi Rapoport received his purloined copy, but it adds insult to
injury for him to continue to claim it was all above-board. That the Seforim blog will
allow itself to be a tool of his lying and post this claim of course adds to our dismay.

Finally, Rapoport once again claims that our book constitutes an effort “to malign the
name of a great man after his death.” We believe our book does quite the opposite and
shows how this great man was a complex, fascinating and extraordinary man. We have
devoted years of our lives to this task. We believe the truth is as one person close to
Chabad who wrote us after reading the book said – and we shall quote him and if he
chooses to reveal his identity, he may and if not that is his right (having seen how people
like Rapoport attack and twist the words those with whom they disagree) and maybe a
good idea. This reader wrote:

“While I am sure that there are many within the movement who are
dissatisfied with your treatment of the Rebbe as a human being effected [sic] by
his time and human emotion, I believe that the perspective brought by you both
has done a great service to those who wish to better understand the phenomenon
of Chabad generally and the Rebbe in particular. Rather than diminish the Rebe
[sic] and his accomplishments, you have magnified both by placing them in
context. The “Great Oz” has not been shown to be a mere mortal, but rather, a
mere mortal has been shown to be the “Great Oz” (L’Havdil).”

We think this reader of ours got it right, and we hope this will be the last word on the
subject here, as we have been promised by the Seforim Blog that it would be.