The newly crowned Rebbe refused to change his mode of dress. He did daven with the chassidim, but occasionally, he would slip away, back to Satmar or Zichron Moshe or Moussaieff. When he met his old friends, the vagrants and drifters of Geula, he embraced them with the warmth of earlier times. One morning, the new Rebbe met his friend with the scooter, who appeared insulted.

“You stopped taking rides with me,” the fellow complained.

The Rebbe nodded and removed his hat, placing it in the scooter’s rear compartment. He donned the spare helmet and climbed onto the back of the scooter, a Rebbe being chauffeured through the streets of Yerushalayim. (His gabbaim later met with the scooter driver and pleaded with him to stop giving the Rebbe rides. He relented and agreed.)

The Rebbe no longer accepts scooter rides, but to this day, he can be seen entering taxis unaccompanied by any gabbaim, headed to unknown destinations where he can be alone.

His Own Rules

Back then, no one could have foreseen the momentum or magnetism of the new Rebbe.

But something was happening in Rachmistrivka. A fire had been lit. Without any publicity or campaigning, the chassidus started to draw masses. Not just traditional Rachmistrivka chassidim — all sorts of Jews beat a path to the beis medrash.

The veteran chassidim had a complex adjustment to make. They were used to a small, intimate chassidus. Beyond that, they were used to a fairly predictable timetable. This new Rebbe drew crowds, and he had his own nonconforming schedule. Just as he always had, he engaged in extensive spiritual preparations before every tefillah or mitzvah. The time of each tefillah varied, so even that was unpredictable. The Rebbe occasionally explained that the world itself is renewed every day, and that every moment has a different character and calls for its own avodah.

The Rebbe made it clear that chassidim weren’t expected to keep his schedule. No one would take attendance at tish or track who davens where, or when. The Rebbe would often daven with private minyanim so as not to inconvenience the tzibbur.

At the beginning of the Rebbe’s tenure, the gabbaim found it difficult to cobble together a minyan for him at those late hours of the night, when even Jerusalem’s hub of tefillah — the Zichron Moshe shul — is deserted. Ever resourceful, they would call public phones at various yeshivos around town, recruiting a talmid or two from each place who had not yet davened Maariv. The gabbaim paid for taxis to transport the young men to Zichron Moshe, thus assembling a Maariv minyan at three in the morning. These days, the Rebbe has a rotation of waiting chassidim each night, young men who are happy and eager to be the ones to provide the Rebbe with his minyan.

Every night, around four in the morning, the Rachmistrivka Rebbe leaves his room in the yeshivah building on Rechov Givat Moshe in Yerushalayim and makes his way to his home on Rechov Chaggai. At six in the morning, the Rebbe immerses in a mikveh and returns to shul, donning his tefillin and reciting Krias Shema again. He then begins the lengthy process of preparing for davening; the davening itself takes place closer to midday.

An internal telephone hotline keeps the Rachmistrivka chassidim in the loop about the times of the Rebbe’s tefillos and tishen. “The Rebbe will begin the tish no earlier than eight o’clock,” the first message says. Closer to eight, the announcement is updated to “The Rebbe will arrive no earlier than nine o’clock.”

Those who choose to be part of it have gotten used to the fact that the Rebbe has his own rules. He will not begin a tish until he has completed his quota of learning. He will not begin receiving petitioners on Thursday night until he has studied the entire commentary of the Ohr HaChaim on the weekly parshah.

More than once, people arrived for kabbalas kahal hours and took their place in the waiting room, only to be met by an apologetic gabbai saying, “The Rebbe won’t be out for a while. He just started Shemoneh Esreh.”

This has happened even when the visitors were VIPs or philanthropists, the sort that the gabbaim wanted desperately to invite in. Yet the Rebbe wasn’t available, thoughts of dveikus having led him elsewhere. The visitors were given a warm drink and invitation to come back another day.

On Chanukah, the chassidim call a hotline, updated every evening with information about the earliest time that the Rebbe might be lighting his Chanukah candles. Some nights, the Rebbe won’t light the candles until shortly before dawn. Hundreds of chassidim wait eagerly to watch him performing the mitzvah, and to listen intently to his impassioned recitation of the brachos and accompanying tefillos, to see the sparkle in his eyes and the radiance of his face as he lights the candles.

The Rebbe’s fire seems to warm those who come into contact with him. The mashgichim of the Rachmistrivka chassidus were astounded to discover that shortly after the Rebbe assumed leadership, those avreichim and bochurim who’d appeared to be cold and indifferent were davening with passion and heart. It’s not uncommon to see teenagers from nearby yeshivos come in on Shabbos and grasp siddurim, their eyes shut tight as they experience a depth of feeling in tefillah they’d never expected.

The chassidus has become so popular that badchan Reb Yankel Miller once joked that there are three things a person can say about himself that no one can disprove: that he works in real estate, that he learns in Yeshivas Mir, and that he is an adherent of Rachmistrivka. Working in real estate doesn’t require a set schedule, and Yeshivas Mir operates a wide network of batei medrash. As for Rachmistrivka, there are many people who have attached themselves to the chassidus, seeking to imbibe inspiration from the movement and its Rebbe, even if they actually belong to other chassidic courts.

A Child’s Honesty

One of those distinguished Jews who bask in the Rachmistrivka Rebbe’s influence today is Rav Shalom Eisenberger, the rav of Jerusalem’s Kiryat Sanz neighborhood and one of the foremost students of the Klausenburger Rebbe ztz”l. Rav Eisenberger serves as a mara d’asra in Kiryat Sanz and is an adherent of the Sanzer chassidus. Nevertheless, since he lives in close proximity to the central Rachmistrivka beis medrash, he often spends time in the company of the Rachmistrivka Rebbe.

In conversation with Mishpacha, the rav of Kiryat Sanz described what attracts him, along with thousands of others, to the court of the Rachmistrivka Rebbe.

“The Rebbe has a certain charm that is born of honesty,” Rav Eisenberger asserted. “He always presents the truth, with heaping doses of modesty and integrity. He is not tainted by politics or ulterior motives.

“Why is it that the sight of a small child delights everyone who sees him, but his charm fades away as he grows older? The tzaddikim have explained that a small child does not yet possess the sophistication and cunning necessary to lie. He represents simple, pure truth. Only when he grows up does he learn how to lie. The Rachmistrivka Rebbe has that pure truthfulness of the young child who does not know how to lie. And he is also blessed with the smile of a child. He is absolutely free of sin. He has no personal interests and is subject to no external influences.”

Rav Eisenberg still remembers spotting him in Zichron Moshe 35 years ago. “I used to come for Minchah and find him standing there for hours, davening with tremendous passion, just as he does today. He always sat on the same bench in the Satmar shul on Rechov Yoel. There were times when the bench wasn’t his alone, when he was joined by other Jews with broken hearts. But he was never the sort to be fazed by other human beings. He had Hashem.

“In many ways, he reminds me of my own rebbe, the Klausenburger Rebbe ztz”l, especially during the hakafos of Simchas Torah or the na’anuim of Succos. At those times, there is a striking similarity between them. He can spend a full hour or more on the recitation of Hallel, and by the time he reaches Hoshanos, his tallis is soaked with perspiration from the exertion.

“Every Friday night, I have the privilege of spending time in his company,” Rav Eisenberger says admiringly. “He is filled with dveikus. The way he sings ‘Kah Echsof,’ his bentshing… it is all done with extraordinary fervor. He pours out his soul in a way that has no equal.”

Prayer on the Rooftop

That outpouring of heart and soul was perhaps most evident at the wedding of the Rebbe’s oldest daughter, when he danced before her at the mitzvah tantz for two hours. It was one of the great moments in this newly revitalized court, one that comes with a story of its own.

It was the 4th of Adar Sheini in 2011. The elder of the twin daughters born to the Rachmistrivka Rebbe was getting married to her cousin, Reb Shmuel Avraham Abba Twersky.

It was both the first and second-to-last wedding to be celebrated in the Rebbe’s family, a historic event by any measure. The chuppah took two hours, as the Rebbe spent a long time reading all the requests for brachos that had been brought to him for the occasion. The celebration continued all through the night, and the emotions spilled over to every participant. Chief among them was Reb Yossel Gutfarb, the Rebbe’s longtime friend, who climbed onto the head table and danced ecstatically. The Rebbe gazed at him with an expression of affection, perhaps even admiration.

And the older chassidim, those who remembered, saw that moment as a reflection of another time.

Nineteen years earlier, a taxi navigated the twists and turns of the road leading to Jericho, near the Dead Sea. Two young passengers asked the driver to stop, then made their way on foot across an empty field in the dead of the night. The duo walked with measured steps, protected from the cold only by thin reklach. One of them wore a narrow gartel. Their faces were turned upward as they scanned the heavens, hoping to catch a glimpse of the moon through the thick cover of clouds.

The twosome had arrived together about an hour earlier. Rav Duvid Twerski and his good friend Rav Yosef Gutfarb had been davening Maariv at Zichron Moshe, forming the very last minyan of the winter night.

The davening drew to an end. Rav Duvid and Reb Yossel stepped out onto Rechov Pri Chadash in order to recite Kiddush Levanah; it was the last possible night to recite the prayer for that month, but to their great dismay, there was not a trace of the moon. The sky was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, and the moon was completely obscured from view.

They looked around, waited a while, and ultimately realized that it was a lost cause. Observing their desperation, a passerby commented to them — possibly in jest — that there was a chance that the moon would be visible in the vicinity of Jericho, an area where the skies were typically much clearer. Upon hearing that, the two men made their way to Rechov Malchei Yisrael, deserted at that late hour, and waited to find a passing taxi. Miraculously, one appeared and pulled over.

Entering the vehicle, they instructed the driver to head toward Jericho. The driver looked at them in surprise, struggling to assess the unusual pair of passengers who had climbed into his car. When he saw that they were completely serious, he began driving toward the Jordan Valley. From time to time, the two passengers peered out their windows, searching for a sign that the clouds had dispersed and the moon had become visible. But while the roads were empty, the skies were still filled with clouds.

After a drive that lasted about an hour, the two passengers asked the driver to pull over to the side of the road. He turned on his hazard lights and waited, eagerly observing the actions of the two men, who seemed to be fueled by a holy fire. The meter continued to run, and the fare for their journey kept rising, but the clouds in the sky seemed to have their own plans for the night: they refused to unveil the moon hidden behind them.

Reb Aryeh Gottlieb, one of the most prominent members of the Rachmistrivka chassidus, continues the story.

“After they had spent a long time gazing up in vain, an army jeep pulled up, and the soldiers demanded, ‘What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?’ They explained that they were looking for the moon so they could say Kiddush Levanah, and it was the last night it could be recited.

“The future Rebbe pleaded with the soldier, ‘Perhaps you could call your base and find out where we can go to see the moon.’ Impressed with the Rebbe’s determination, the soldier began inquiring over the radio if there were any other soldiers who were able to see the moon from their positions. After he repeated the question several times, a response crackled over the speaker. In the vicinity of Chevron, the moon was fully visible!

“They thanked the soldiers and got back in the taxi. They asked the driver to head toward Chevron, and kept their gaze fixated on the sky. At a certain point along the way, they finally spotted the moon. Overjoyed, the passengers bounded out of the car and began reciting Kiddush Levanah with great emotion.

“The driver, meanwhile, was worried that they were in a dangerous area and wanted to leave. The two men paid him handsomely and got back to saying Kiddush Levanah as he sped off. After they finished, another army jeep stopped beside them, and a soldier demanded to know what they were doing there. They explained the situation, and told him that their taxi driver had been afraid to remain in the area. ‘Get in the jeep,’ the soldier ordered. They climbed in, and he took them to the closest checkpoint, which was located near the entrance to Kever Rochel.

“When they arrived at Kever Rochel, the Rebbe told Reb Yossel, ‘We’ve come this far, we might as well go daven at Rachel Imeinu’s kever.’ They went to Kever Rochel, but discovered upon arrival that the compound had been closed. With great effort, they managed to climb onto the roof of the building, and they began davening with tremendous delight as the dawn stole over the horizon.”

Reb Duvid, he of the joyous countenance, was despondent inside. It was twenty years after his wedding, and he and his wife had yet to be blessed with children. They had shed countless tears, visited tzaddikim and holy sites, and sought medical advice, but the doors to Heaven appeared sealed.

“But that night,” Reb Aryeh continues, “Reb Yossel Gutfarb realized that it was an auspicious moment. There, on the roof, he began to cry out fervently, ‘Mamme Rochel, I am standing here with Reb Duvid ben Sara Greena, and he needs a yeshuah. He needs children!’ He continued to cry out repeatedly, begging for the Rebbe to be blessed with children.

“The next year, in Cheshvan, the streets of Jerusalem were filled with shouts of joy: Twin girls had been born to Rav Duvid, the eldest son of Rav Mottel of Rachmistrivka, and his wife. The Rebbe himself once told over the story of that night,” Reb Aryeh concludes, “and remarked, ‘It was in Reb Yossel Gutfarb’s zechus that we experienced the simchah of the twins’ birth.’ Those girls are the Rebbe’s only children.”

So at the wedding, when the Rebbe looked up and saw his friend Reb Yossel on the table, it likely called to mind the image of Reb Yossel on the roof of Kever Rochel, all those years ago.

Holy Innovator

That historic chasunah included other innovations. The Rebbe announced that he wouldn’t be sending out invitations. “Hurting another person, a slight in bein adam l’chaveiro, is like murder,” he explained. “Once we start with formal invitations, it’s inevitable that someone, somewhere, will get hurt.” Instead, a large printed sign was hung in the Rachmistrivka beis medrash inviting everyone to participate.

Gabbaim explain that the Rebbe’s decision was necessitated by the demographics of the chassidus. There aren’t that many “official” chassidim, meaning families whose parents and grandparents were Rachmistrivka chassidim. There is no proper mailing list or directory of chassidim, because the Rebbe’s followers range from intense spiritual seekers and respected avreichim to the peddlers hawking alarm clocks and red strings outside Zichron Moshe. How could a person with friends from so many different worlds possibly compile an invitation list?

The other uniquely Rachmistrivka innovation was how the Rebbe chose to mark the celebration: he asked that new beketshes be purchased for “his” bochurim, the talmidim of Yeshivas Meor Einayim. The yeshivah is a family, he explained, and when a child gets married, every member of the family comes dressed in his finest clothing.

On Shabbos, the Rachmistrivka shul is packed with members of the chassidus itself, along with visitors eager to observe the Rebbe in action. The Rebbe himself does not lead the davening; following the example of many of the tzaddikim of Russia, he secludes himself in a “daven shtibel,” a separate room from which he emerges at times to join the congregation.

“The Rebbe is a chiddush. His actions and his personality are not similar to those of his forefathers or other rebbeim. He is original and follows his own path,” relates a veteran Rachmistrivka chassid who remembers times past. “It can certainly be said, though, that he inherited the spiritual legacy of his grandfather, Rav Yochanan of Rachmistrivka, with whom the Rebbe learned extensively as a child. From his father, he has the hasmadah — the thirst and connection to learning.”

The previous Rebbe would spend most his time seated by the open Gemara, learning with his chavrusas. When the current Rebbe took over, he received an unusual haskamah. Rav Meir Soloveitchik, who lived near the yeshivah and who shared a quiet relationship with Rav Duvid, remarked, “Ehr battelt nisht kein minut in lernen, nisht kein minut. He doesn’t waste a moment of his learning time, not a moment.”

Along with Rav Moshe Aryeh Freund, who was a prime mentor, the Rebbe was also heavily influenced by Rav Shimon of Lelov. He arrived at the levayah of the Lelover Rebbe without his shtreimel, even though it was Motzaei Yom Kippur, since he had accepted the mourning rites of a chassid. The Rebbe currently maintains a close connection with the Belzer Rebbe.

During the week, the Rebbe’s face is radiant; on Shabbos, it glows. Chassidim point to the phenomenon as evidence that the Rebbe has turned himself into a human receptacle for the light of Shabbos, a chariot for the Shechinah. As the chassidim file past him to wish him a good Shabbos, the Rebbe smiles brightly at each of them, a loving father greeting his children one by one.

During the tishen, the Rebbe’s movements are carefully measured and calculated. The chassidim watch intently as the Rebbe eats, always sipping his soup the same number of times. After placing a small quantity of soup in his mouth, the Rebbe will put his spoon down for a few seconds. The food served to him is heavily salted; this is a practice observed by many tzaddikim who do not wish to taste the flavor of their food and thereby be drawn into a connection with the material world.

The Rachmistrivka Rebbe receives hundreds of requests every day for advice or assistance. He does not have set hours for receiving the public. The chassidim consult with him primarily over the telephone, but due to his packed daily schedule and the large number of callers, it is not easy to reach the Rebbe. Nevertheless, when they do manage to get through, callers receive clear and insightful guidance. His answers to their questions are rebbishe responses — sharp, penetrating, and sometimes surprising.

“I promise you, an operation will not be necessary,” the Rebbe will occasionally reassure a person who does not seem convinced by his response.

Since being appointed to his position, the Rebbe has generally refused to accept kvittlach. Only once a year, before the Yamim Noraim, are the chassidim invited to bring notes bearing their names for his blessing. The chassidim then come to a glimmer of understanding as to why the Rebbe limits the practice to that one occasion; the reading of a kvittel is a lofty spiritual avodah, and only a person able to discern the root of the neshamah represented by each name is actually qualified to read kvittlach. When the Rebbe receives those handwritten notes, his facial expression changes with every kvittel that he examines, and he whispers lengthy tefillos throughout the process.

It is said that the tzaddikim of the Baal Shem Tov’s generation were careful never to keep a single cent in their homes overnight. The Rachmistrivka Rebbe sees money as nothing more than a means of fulfilling Hashem’s will, and he distributes whatever comes in each day to whichever needy person happens to be in his proximity.

On Purim, hundreds of thousands of shekels pass through the Rebbe’s hands. He may even borrow large sums of money from his gabbaim and distribute them to anyone who requests charity. This can happen on an ordinary day as well: Whenever the Rebbe runs out of money, he will borrow additional funds to distribute to tzedakah, in the manner of tzaddikim of old.

A Singular Path

The mystery of this chassidus is where it belongs ideologically: does it align with Satmar and the Eidah Hachareidis? Does it nod at the Yerushalmi influences that helped shape its leader? Is it completely in line with its Chernobyl ancestry?

Here, too, the Rebbe and his chassidim reflect those early generations after the Baal Shem Tov: they seem not to know or care that in 2018, chassidic groups are expected to be a “type.”

The sifrei chassidus that form the basis of the Rebbe’s talks are fairly what one would guess: primarily Meor Einayim, authored by his ancestor Rav Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl, as well as Toldos Yaakov Yosef, Degel Machaneh Ephraim, Avodas Yisrael, and Oheiv Yisrael.

The yeshivah recently started formal shiurim in chassidus for the bochurim, focusing on two seforim, Meor Einayim and Tanya.

“But the Rebbe’s path in avodas Hashem,” his chassidim attest, “comes from within himself.”

Rav Duvid’s grandfather, Rav Yochanan, was among the gedolim who supported participation in Israeli elections. In his father’s beis medrash, an announcement was made before every election about the obligation of every chassid to contribute to the success of the chareidi list. Today, no such announcement is made.

The Rebbe instructed the administrators of the flagship Rachmistrivka yeshivah to stop accepting money from the Israeli government, an approach that apparently bespeaks the influence of his rebbi, Rav Moshe Aryeh Freund of the Eidah Hachareidis. Yet he permits his chassidim throughout the country to send their children to schools that receive funding from the Ministry of Education. Those close to him suggest that perhaps the Rebbe’s decision was made in order to prevent the government from ever interfering in his schools’ curricula.

The Rebbe shows respect to all human beings, regardless of their views or the positions they hold. Members of the Knesset and other politicians are among his regular visitors. Deputy Minister Rabbi Meir Porush is a regular visitor to Rachmistrivka, where he is received with great respect.

The chassidim recall that on one of the Rebbe’s trips abroad, Rabbi Porush arranged for him to receive special treatment at the airport, which made his journey much easier. The Rebbe appreciated the arrangements, but before he went into the private lounge, the Rebbe asked the gabbai to call the politician.

“Please tell him that I am very appreciative of the kindness he has done for me,” the Rebbe said. “But I do not want any misunderstandings. He may think that when it comes time for elections, I will sign a proclamation instructing my chassidim to vote for the chareidi list. I am therefore informing him in advance that I will not do that.”

The Rebbe considers himself a chassid of his uncle, the Rachmistrivka Rebbe of Boro Park, Rav Chai Yitzchok Twersky.

“When his uncle came to visit Eretz Yisrael, all the gabbaim were given a vacation,” Reb Aryeh Gottlieb recalls. “The Rebbe sat at the tishen, serving his uncle with devotion. He came to the tish early in honor of his uncle, and he bentshed quietly, which was unusual for him. He was extremely unobtrusive, downplaying his own avodah out of respect for his uncle.”

The official letterhead of the Rachmistrivka yeshivah states plainly that the institution is “B’nesiyus haAdmorim shlita — under the leadership of the two Rebbes.” The chassidim and bochurim know well that this isn’t just theory, but also practice. The Rebbe will dance at simchahs in front of his uncle as a chassid before his rebbe, clearly reveling in the role.

And there are still many more threads in the garment being woven in Rachmistrivka. At the bris for the Rebbe’s grandson a few weeks ago, he honored the Gerrer Rebbe with sandeka’us and the Toldos Aharon Rebbe served as mohel. At the seudah, the Rachmistrivka Rebbe sat between these two tzaddikim — one a rebbe to the State of Israel’s health minister, the other a rebbe to the steadfast stalwarts of the Old Yishuv — and dispensed brachos along with them.

The Rebbe has close ties to to Skver; his rebbetzin is the daughter of Rav Moshe Neuschloss, the rav of the Skverer chassidus, and the couple lived in New Square for several years after their marriage. At the same time, the Rebbe’s only brother, Rav Nachman Yosef Twersky, is a Lubavitcher chassid living in Crown Heights. The Rebbe, who often slips away to learn in seclusion, has been spotted learning at a back table in Kfar Chabad as well. At the weddings of the Rebbe’s daughters — landmark events in this court — Rav Nachman Yosef sat at his side throughout the long night, the two brothers occasionally whispering to each other.

This is the originality of the Rachmistrivka Rebbe, who mirrors the fire and passion and truth of bygone generations, a man of humility and joy and self-sacrifice. The parentshes in Rachmistrivka may be shaking under the weight of masses, but the Rebbe is very much the same man as he was 30 years ago, back when he was that anonymous figure wrapped in his tallis in a corner of Satmar, making tea in Bobov, waiting for Maariv in Zichron Moshe.

The Rachmistrivka Rebbe is his own man: respectful of every human being, deferential to every tzaddik, but belonging only to the Creator.

When Rav Mordechai, the maggid of Chernobyl, passed away, he left behind eight righteous sons. Each of those sons traveled to a different town in the area and established a chassidus — Chernobyl, Tolna, Skver, Trisk, Makarov, Cherkas, and Koroschev all had new rebbes. The youngest brother was Rav Yochanan of Rachmastrivka. It is told that the eight tzaddikim sat down to divide up their father’s spiritual inheritance, each one claiming one of his attributes. Rav Yochanan asked if he might inherit the middah of being “gornisht,” the humbleness of their father, but he was told that his elder brother, Reb Moshe’le of Koroschev, had already laid claim to it. “In that case,” said Rav Yochanan, “if even the gornisht is gone, I will take ‘gornisht mit gornisht,’ absolute and totally humility.”

From its inception, the chassidus was marked by the modesty and simplicity of its leader.

After the passing of Rav Yochanan, his four sons would lead together, giving Rachmastrivka a new identity: a chassidus where brothers work in concert. In time, the eldest son, Rav Dovid, settled in Zlatipoli and the next brother, Rav Mordechai, moved to Eretz Yisrael. The youngest brothers, Rav Menachem Nachum and Rav Zev, remained in Rachmastrivka, leading the chassidim together. When a father would bring his son to Rachmastrivka to put on tefillin for the first time, Rav Menachem Nachum would put the child’s tefillin shel yad on his arm, and Rav Zev would place the tefillin shel rosh on his head.

In 5686, Rav Menachem Nachum eventually made his way to Eretz Yisrael. Rachmastrivka would become a Yerushalayim-based chassidus — a city filled with scholars and saints providing the perfect backdrop for a Rebbe who wanted only to carry on the legacy of being “gornisht mit gornisht,” blending in with the great men of the Holy City.

Rav Menachem Nachum was succeeded by his two sons, Rav Dovid and Rav Avraham Dov. After Rav Avraham Dov’s passing, Rav Dovid remained the sole leader of the Rachmastrivka chassidus until his passing on the 13th of Tammuz, 5710.

Rav Dovid’s son was the second Rav Yochanan of Rachmastrivka, the father of Rav Yisrael Mordechai and of today’s Rachmastrivka Rebbe shlita of Boro Park, and grandfather of the current Rebbe in Yerushalayim.

The current Rebbe was born in 1953, and grew up under the tutelage of his grandfather, Rav Yochanan. He learned in Yeshivas Meor Einayim, founded by his grandfather, spending hours learning b’chavrusa with his father, the previous Rebbe. He assumed the mantle of leadership when his father passed away in 2004.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 704)