Public Persona, Private Life

Jewish leaders, it is commented, are not subject to primaries and follow no elaborate campaign trails. Their rise to prominence — usually unwanted — is the culmination of a thousand private acts of kindness and truth. Many of these are witnessed only by the whitewashed walls of a Bnei Brak apartment or the worn wooden floor of a Williamsburg home.

Rabbanit Hillel views it as a zechus to be privy to a small fraction of these daily unspoken deeds. “You know, on the day of the Rav’s daughter’s chatunah, he went to the yeshivah to deliver his regular shiur. He came straight from there to the chuppah.” Similarly, she recounts that upon the Rav’s return from an overseas fundraising trip, his first stop from the airport is the yeshivah. He delivers the evening shiur even during his children’s sheva brachos week. Even during bein hazemanim. “We know this. We’re his family.” She pauses. “Even when he underwent difficult surgery, he called his chavrutot to his bedside to learn with him.”

The quiet deeds speak just as loud. “My husband recounts how as a 12 year old boy, learning in Gateshead, his father learned all the time. Five minutes before the grocery store closed on Erev Shabbat, he would close his Gemara.” Rav Hillel would run into the store and make his way directly to the shelf that held the soup nuts. He would buy a package in honor of Shabbos.

Private deeds ultimately build a public figure. But when a person’s wisdom and guidance are sought by a nation, is the family forced to sacrifice for the community? Rebbetzin Chana Bergman looks back with amazement at the way Rav Shach made time for his children and grandchildren. “We asked him for advice all the time, and he would question us on each and every detail before answering.”

When Rav Shach was already elderly and his home was inundated with petitioners, one of the Bergman children was anxiously preparing for his entrance exam into yeshivah. “It was a period when it was impossible to get in to see the Rav. The meshamshim wouldn’t allow anyone entry. And a young grandchild arrived, a sefer tucked under his arm, and tried to get through the crowd. He told the meshamesh that he had come to learn with his grandfather. He was turned away — there were tens, maybe even hundreds of people waiting. Rav Shach himself intervened: ‘I told him to come, and he’ll eat with me as well.’ ”

Ultimately, Rav Shach gave up his scant rest time to learn with his grandson. He did so every single day until his grandson was accepted into yeshivah.

Shabbos with the Shver

Shabbos conjures images of families gathered around a snowy tablecloth. Flickering candles lend the tableau an atmosphere of warmth and holiness, bonding and sharing.

“I never had the zechus to eat at Rav Shach’s Shabbos table, but my husband tells me that the Shabbos meals were very quick,” Rebbetzin Bergman says. Rav Shach’s meals consisted of a few halachos from hilchos Shabbos, zemiros, and simple fare. As soon as this was over, he would return to his learning.

Though they might be a study in opposites — Rav Hillel’s Shabbos table is a hub of guests and song and Torah discussion — Rav Hillel takes inspiration from the words of Rav Shach, who said that if you want your children to continue in the way of the Torah, sing zemiros with them. Many of these zemiros are Rav Hillel’s original compositions, set to the words which are handed down through the generations, according to the minhag of Baghdad, where he was born.

“My in-laws have a very large family and when my husband and I married, there were still young children crowded around the table. As well, my father-in-law’s Shabbat table draws Jews from every community, religious and nonreligious. Everyone is given a beautiful welcome. Everyone is included in the conversation. The challah, salads — huge quantities of food — all comes out of my mother-in-law’s kitchen.”

Even in the winter months the Friday night seudah can stretch well past midnight and features an eclectic group of guests. “Most of them are very respectful. My father-in-law is like a maayan, bubbling spring of emunah — he would never worry that these people will be a bad influence, as he is the giver. The yesodot of his home are so strong that they can’t be shaken.”

Privacy and peace was the magical spell cast by the small town of Hunter, a remote vacation spot in the Catskills. Against this backdrop, Rebbetzin Spira spent some of her most memorable Shabbosim with her parents-in-law. On Friday night and Shabbos day, the Rebbe was careful to join the regular town minyan, to show respect to the town rabbi. Shalosh Seudos, though, he would eat at home along with a few loyal chassidim. Rebbetzin Spira recalls: “My father-in-law and a small group of chassidim would be sitting on the porch as Shabbos gradually slipped away. The darkness deepened and my father-in-law would begin telling his stories.”

That summer, Rebbetzin Spira soaked in the stories that emerged from the darkness of churban Europa. Many of these have been told and retold — a canon of inspiring tales that highlight our nation’s spiritual heroism, and which effectively supersede the secular narrative of “sheep to the slaughter.”

Days of Joy

Beyond the weekly island of Shabbos serenity, certain days and events shape the year into contours of spiritual connectedness. For Rabbanit Hillel, it’s not Yom Tov itself that is the highlight of the year; it’s the hakafos shniyos that take place in her father-in-law’s yeshivah. Industrial-sized fans work overtime, and the magnificent stained-glass windows are thrown open to the night breeze. Still, in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, the heat — and excitement — is intense. Standing on a stage, Rav Hillel sings, dances, and throws exuberant brachos down to the thousand-strong crowd: for ahavat shalom, torat emet and more.

The event also affords Rabbanit Hillel a rare glimpse of her father-in-law’s public persona — and the love lavished upon him by his talmidim. “Every chag with my in-laws is special, but I think that this is the high point of the year. He stands on the platform, and sings and dances until dawn. It’s as if the simchah that he works on the entire year finds its climax. His face. Just to see his face.”

The multitude of faces Rebbetzin Bergman remembers, were gathered not for Yom Tov, but for family simchahs. “Even just a simple bar mitzvah was huge. It all had to be done on a scale… oh, such a scale. You wouldn’t believe. All the greats of the Torah world would come to give the Rav their mazel tov wishes. And we had to prepare accordingly.”

Even before the onset of a Yom Tov, the Bluzhever Rebbe injected special feeling into his Rosh Chodesh bentchen. Rebbetzin Spira tells of a Jerusalem taxi ride. “ ‘There are a few experiences I will never forget,’ the driver said. ‘One is the Bluzhever Rebbe’s Rosh Chodesh bentchen.’ My fellow passenger said, ‘Well you know that his daughter-in-law is sitting in the taxi with you!’ ”

One of Rebbetzin Spira’s fondest memories though, took place on Seder night. Seder night at Bluzhev bustled with activity: lots of guests, lots of children, singing, stories, divrei Torah. The men and women sat on separate tables in separate rooms, but an open door connected them. “My young daughter had learned ‘Echad Mi Yodeia’ in Yiddish. When the time came for the song, my father-in-law called her to stand next to him. The whole place was quiet and she sang in her high-pitched baby voice, and he looked on and kvelled. How he loved her.”

Days of Sorrow

Rebbetzin Spira was born at the close of WWII in the safe haven of America, but she felt “surrounded by the Holocaust.” As surviving relatives crossed the ocean, they found their way to her parents’ front door. A precocious child, Rebbetzin Spira would lie in bed with the door open, so she could listen to the flood of talk precipitated by the reunion.

One elderly aunt picked up her mother’s wedding picture — the single shot that documented their wedding had been taken at a studio en route to the chuppah — and gazed at it. Her words, spoken in Yiddish, embedded themselves into Rebbetzin Spira’s mind and heart. “You had a wedding dress. A crown. Flowers. And all this while we were burning in the furnaces of the death camps.”

“That comment filled me with guilt. What right did I have to be born safe and sound in America? It overshadowed my life.” Interestingly, Rebbetzin Spira married a survivor: Her husband, Rav Yitzchok Spira shlita was born in the first weeks of the war to Bronia and her first husband Rav Yisroel Avrohom Koschitzki (who was tragically murdered by the Nazis in Belzec, in 1942. Rav Yisroel Spira, the Bluzhever Rebbe, was her second husband). Bronia protected her baby son while in the ghetto, and she shielded the then three-year-old when they were in Bergen-Belsen.

When Rebbetzin Spira heard her father-in-law’s stories, she was struck by the inspiration they offered — speaking to her, one can’t help but wonder if this fed into Rebbetzin Spira’s vocation as a lecturer of Holocaust studies. “You listen to the stories and instead of feeling demoralized by the scope of the tragedy, you feel uplifted. They focus on the pintele Yid and the greatness in Klal Yisrael. As well, you notice something very special about my father-in-law — he tells the story as an observer.”

As a narrator, the Bluzhever Rebbe highlights not his own role in events: his hero is the luminous Jewish soul. One of his well-loved tales took place in Janowska concentration camp, where the Jews were under the direct command of the infamous kapo, Schneeweiss, known for his cruelty and disconnect from Yiddishkeit. When the Jews asked him to find a way that they could avoid transgressing any Av Melachos on Yom Kippur, he agreed, instructing them to clean the Nazis’ living quarters with dry rags. The Nazis, who followed Goebbels diabolic Jewish calendar, prepared a thick, nutritious soup and ordered the men to eat. None of them complied. When the Nazi returned, he singled out the kapo: “Make sure they eat or it will be the end of you.”

“So be it,” said Schneeweiss. He unbuttoned his shirt. The Nazi shot him dead.

“Some people earn their Olam Haba in moments,” the Bluzhever Rebbe said of the incident. Though darkness reigned — a demonic blend of fear and bestiality — the Rebbe held up a glowing orb.

Rebbetzin Spira’s obvious zest as she recounts the fateful encounter between her parents-in-law in Bergen-Belson marks the story as one of her personal favorites. Bronia Koschitzki’s impeccable German had enabled her to befriend a Volksdeutsche Czech woman. The woman had been transported to the camp for refusing to divorce her Jewish husband. Before Pesach, Bronia arranged for the woman to buy her chometz — she even wrote out a contract to that effect. Yom Tov passed in a diet of beets, potatoes, and the occasional carrot. By the last day, hungry and weak, Bronia and her children anxiously waited to buy back the precious bread.

Suddenly, a woman came running to Bronia. “The Prochniker Rav [ed. Rav Yisroel Spira was also known as the Prochniker Rav] is dying,” she said. Over the last few days of Yom Tov, the Rav had eaten nothing but two cubes of sugar. Although he was urged to eat bread, he refused as it constituted chometz that was in a Jew’s possession over Pesach.

“My mother-in-law used to say that the small, dry loaf was worth more than the Empire State Building. And yet, she immediately sent the loaf of bread to the Rebbe. A week later, the Rebbe sent for the woman who had saved his life. He presented her with some dry crusts of bread which he had painstakingly gathered during the week so as to pay her back. She refused. He insisted. Again, she demurred. ‘The time will come when the Rebbe will repay me.’

“With a laughter in his voice, the Rebbe used to say, ‘And I pay and I pay and I pay, and I will never repay the value of this debt.’ ”

King and Queen

“My father-in-law tells over the famous mantra about shalom bayit — if a wife treats her husband like a king, he’ll treat her like a queen.” Rabbanit Hillel says. Her father-in-law never gave explicit advice on building a happy home, but she learned through their example. In particular, Rabbanit Hillel cites her father-in-law’s fundraising trips to New York, where he spends 18-hour days in Manhattan, returning to his host for just a few hours of rest late at night.

“He has a restricted diet for his health and so my mother-in-law accompanies him on these trips. It’s really unbelievable. She puts everything on hold, so she can be there to prepare food before he sets out in the morning and serve him something nutritious when he returns. She also presses special juices for him.” For Rabbanit Hillel, the most touching aspect of her in-laws’ harmony is the way they talk of each other. “My father-in-law will say, ‘It’s all in the zechut of Ima.’ And my mother-in-law says, ‘everything is in the zechut of your father.’ ”

Rebbetzin Spira’s husband was given a live tutorial in caring for his wife’s needs: Every morning during those summers in the country, the Rebbe prepared a morning cup of coffee for his wife — and he told his son to do the same. As well, her mother-in-law’s sensitivity to the Rebbe’s needs, physical and emotional, was a living lesson. Having lost all of his family in Europe, he marked many yahrtzeits. Each one was a difficult time. “She would call me, ‘Send over the children, they’ll make him happy.’ And that’s what I did. He was a man of such humanity. He loved people. He would wag his finger: ‘What’s between you and Hashem is between you and Hashem. But you have to be a mentsh.’ ”

Faith and Joy

It was in the context of simchah — the setting a family wedding or bar mitzvah — that Rav Shach would recall the tumultuous events of his life: his long years brushed the end of the 19th century and the start of the 21st and he lived through two world wars and numerous conflicts in Eretz Yisrael, including the seismic quakes leading up to the War of Independence. “He wanted to thank Hashem for bringing him to that moment,” Rebbetzin Bergman explains, “and so he would recount the long and winding path that he brought him to his present.

He told of the privations he endured when a young bochur learning in Slabodka. Too shy to join the system of essen teg, the village-wide meal rotation, he stayed in the beis midrash. A righteous woman would bring him scraps of bread. He had only one shirt, which he would wash each Erev Shabbos. His jacket was carefully positioned to hide the holes.

The implicit message was a family legacy: Life is a journey. Difficulties build us. Gratitude is the silver thread woven through all life events, good and bad.

These ideas also permeate Rabbanit Hillel’s account of her father-in-law’s deep faith and joy. Rav Yaakov Hillel’s wide smile and joyous demeanor is legendary. It’s also the work of conviction and strength, says his daughter-in-law. “I once overheard a phone call. Someone called my father-in-law and told him he had lost his money. Life wasn’t worth living. He was terribly depressed. My father-in-law told the man: ‘Hashem tzilcha — Hashem is your shadow. If you work on being joyous, then Hashem will give you additional reason to rejoice in your life.’ I heard that and thought — I mamash have to make an effort to do this in my own life.”

Rav Hillel’s words came from a place of deep conviction. Rabbanit Hillel tells how beyond the communal sorrow placed on their shoulders, her in-laws have seen personal tragedy. Their young son was fatally injured in a traffic accident. To make matters worse, Rav Hillel was on a plane to America. “My mother-in-law buried her son by herself. Such a thing can break a person, but they didn’t allow themselves to be broken.”

How did they achieve this? Rabbanit Hillel is thoughtful. “For one thing, they always say, look at what Hashem gave us. And there’s a special atmosphere in their home — they live with Hashem. And everything Hashem does is for the good. It’s who they are at the core.” She pauses. “My husband has this, too. Halevai that I had it.”

Without faith, man is vulnerable to whatever may offer succor. In his celebrated work, Faith and Folly Rav Hillel unequivocally condemns the many self-appointed mekubalim who prey on the naive. Whether from fear, curiosity, or desperation, many people find their way to convincing charlatans. Rabbanit Hillel tells of how the Rav has seen marriages dissolved, families torn apart, and lives ruined by people who have no learning but have the temerity to dabble in practical Kabbalah.

“He says, if someone wants a brachah, then they should go to someone steeped in Torah, a giant like Reb Chaim Kanievsky. To change a situation, my father-in-law explains, you do so through emunah and tefillah. Tamim tihiyeh… This is a message he says over and over. Emunah and tefillah. That’s key.”

For the hundreds of people who encountered him through the war and after, the Bluzhever Rebbe’s faith was a steady flame. Rebbetzin Spira explains how, even before the Holocaust, the Rebbe repeatedly said Kaddish — he and his first wife buried several children. Was there a defining moment in his faith?

Some of these infants succumbed to cot death, but others died under tragic circumstances. One daughter lived until the age of three. At one event, a chassid lifted her onto his shoulders to dance with her. She fell back, landed on her head, and died. Another daughter lived until she was 13. She went to spend Shabbos with her grandfather, the Tzvi L’Tzaddik (in turn, a grandson, of the Bnei Yissoschor). That Friday night, the Rebbe made kiddush and handed around the wine. The girl drank and crumpled, lifeless.

“During the shivah, my father-in-law turned a face of anguish to his grandfather and asked: What does the Eibeshter want from me?

“ ‘What?’ his grandfather answered. ‘Today’s young people have kashas on the Ribbono shel Olam?!’ ”

The Bluzhever Rebbe was known to say, “After this, I never questioned the Ribbono shel Olam again.” Although there were perhaps times the Rebbe lost his faith in mankind, his faith in the Eibeshter remained a burning torch, impervious to the winds of torment and sorrow.

And he had every reason to question. His only remaining child, Sirka Mindel, grew, married, and had a son. She was murdered by the Nazis. Years later, the Rebbe was shown a picture of her. His grief was so intense that he fainted.

It is testimony to Rebbetzin Bronia’s sensitivity that, although her own mother’s name was Mindel, and she surely wanted to perpetuate her name and memory, when a baby girl was born to the family, she discouraged them from using the name. She didn’t want to cause the Rebbe even the slightest twinge of sorrow.

Rebbetzin Spira pauses. “You know, soon after I married my husband, I asked my in-laws permission to call them Abba and Ima, like my husband did. My father-in-law cried. He said, ‘I have a daughter again.’ How can I describe how those words made me feel?”

The Wise and the Young

As our leaders grow older, they are called upon to guide and to teach, to answer and to comfort. Within their own families, too, children grow and have their own children. And with grandchildren, comes a new dimension of transmitting our mesorah: for it is these children who will become the guideposts of the future.

Rebbetzin Bergman retains a picture in her mind of Rav Shach, at almost 100 years old. Slight and frail, he would get up from his chair, shuffle to the kitchen, and reach up to one of the shelves in the kitchen cupboard. He would bring down a wooden box, filled with candies and chocolates. He would flip it open, and with a smile, present each grandchild with his favorite treat.

Were the grandchildren distanced by his great standing in the Torah world? “Not at all,” Rebbetzin Bergman avers. “Of course, as they grew older, they appreciated more who he was. But he was a very warm person by nature. When they were little, they visited him almost every single day. So even when there were such huge demands on his time, because that yesod (foundation) of closeness was there, it continued.”

While all the grandchildren enjoyed the candy connection of love and sweetness — and each time a baby was born into the family, Rav Shach would present the new mother with a gift — his grandsons (and great-grandsons) enjoyed a more verbal connection. Rav Shach helped them prepare for tests, he would discuss their learning with them, and he would give them chizuk and encouragement.

Rabbanit Hillel describes her father-in-law’s relationship with his grandchildren as “very warm, very healthy.” With 18 married children, there are many, many grandchildren. Each Shabbos, Rav Hillel and his wife host three of his children and their families, so each grandchild feels connected, comfortable — and cherished. There are plenty of in-between visits, too, and Rabbanit Hillel tells of how each time one of the daughters or daughters-in-law gives birth, they enjoy the Hillel recuperation home. “My mother-in-law hosts us even when it’s inconvenient for her, even though it entails a lot of work. Making their home a place where we all feel so at home has made us into a very unified family.”

In a home filled with so many guests, do the children ever feel sidelined? Rabbanit Hillel gives an emphatic no. “The way Rav Hillel relates to people: He would never talk to the guests at the expense of the children. He brings everyone into the discussion.”

The Bluzhever Rebbe was renowned for his empathy, and his grandchildren retained a special place in his heart — he even sent them postcards when they were in camp. Rebbetzin Spira recalls an occasion when they were in the country together and her second child, a girl of around 18 months, came down with a high fever one Leil Shabbos. “I walked up and down with her all night. She lay on my shoulder and moaned: ‘S’iz nisht gut! S’iz nisht gut!’ The Rebbe followed me as I paced the room. Tears ran down his cheeks.”

Rebbetzin Spira becomes pensive. “My husband, though he was a child, remembers stepping over corpses in Bergen-Belsen. My father-in-law should, by all rights, have been immune to pain and suffering. He had seen so much death. And yet he was so sensitive to other’s pain.” She pauses. “He never allowed flowers to be cut for simchahs. He said that he couldn’t bear to see the flowers wilt and die.”

Vacation was the ideal time to deepen the unique connection between the Rebbe and his grandchildren. Rebbetzin Spira fondly recalls early morning strolls down to the boardwalk, where they would feed the feigelach leftover crumbs — the Rebbe would never throw out bread. On one occasion, the Rebbe was sitting on a bench, with a granddaughter on his lap and a grandson by his side. A photographer walked past, and he was struck by the contrast between young and old, youth and wisdom. He snapped a shot, and the next day, captioned “The Wise and the Young,” the picture appeared on the front page of the Miami Herald.

Three men of greatness: three legacies of love. Rebbetzin Spira reflects on the spiritual dividends of her closeness: “They were heroes. I don’t know if I can measure up to that. By nature I’m a worrier. But my husband’s direct connection to the Eibeshter keeps him going. My shvigger gave him that. But then, he’s also melumed b’nissim. What child came out of Lodz? Survives Bergen-Belson? My husband has complete trust in the Eibeshter — for He’s always been there for him and has never let him down!”

From that first Shalosh Seudos in the country, Rebbetzin Spira felt that she had been entrusted with a unique mesorah. The stories her father-in-law shared, she’s retold to her children and students — a legacy of faith and hope and humanity. “It’s an inheritance for my children. I hope to pass it through the generations, until Mashiach comes.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 460)