He grows serious. “And to be quite honest, we’ve seen these Yidden, sometimes their children, develop into serious people. Not all, but some.”

Rabbi Weinberger makes an important point. “You have to realize that because Breslov is built on the connection between a person and HaKadosh Baruch Hu, the most natural alliance there is, therefore it can be attractive to anyone … even people who are already emotional unstable. There are a lot of people coming to Rebbe Nachman who are already broken, down-and-out.”

I respectfully point out that opposition to the Breslover Chassidus is nothing new. In Rebbe Nachman’s short lifetime, he faced significant resistance. In prewar Europe, Breslover chassidim were often scorned, and in Chernobyl, Rebbe Nachman’s famous sefer, Likutei Moharan, was kept under lock and key.

Rabbi Weinberger is quick to state that no one ever had issues with the tzaddik himself: they just felt that people weren’t ready for the sefer. These opponents were themselves great tzaddikim who acted solely l’sheim Shamayim: there was a Divine Hashgachah guiding their concerns over the dissemination of these teachings at that time.

“As far as the vague sense of wariness that some people today feel toward Breslov, I think it’s very simple. People are uncomfortable with too much talk of G-d.” He pauses expectantly, knowing that his words will surprise me.

“Right,” he answers my silent question. “They like to talk about Yiddishkeit, mitzvos, chesed, and all of that, as long as they don’t have to confront the reality that it’s really just them and the Ribbono shel Olam alone in the room. People are uncomfortable with Breslov because they are uncomfortable with HaKadosh Baruch Hu! People get agitated when you talk about hisbodedus or the need to express oneself directly to Hashem, as to a friend.
“I once spoke about forming a real, vibrant connection with Hashem in this way, and someone told me, ‘It’s not our mesorah; this has no source, it’s dangerous.’ ‘Really?’ I asked him. ‘What about the Chofetz Chaim, who was known to speak out his problems with Hashem — was he also not following the mesorah?’

I ask about the outreach techniques of Breslov, which to some, can seem pushy — the aggressive urgency with which chassidim distribute literature, the prominent public displays of simchah.

Rabbi Kramer is unambiguous. “Yes, Rebbe Nachman wanted his ideas and his Torah to spread — he told his prime disciple, Reb Nosson, ‘Go to people and ask them “Voss?”: how they are, what they seek. Talking about the tzaddik to the people is me’orer his merit.” Then he qualifies his statement: “But still, he wouldn’t have wanted his people in the pizza shops — and certainly not in impure places. Reb Nosson’s son worked in the market, and he was opposed to it — and his son was a tzaddik. Reb Nosson called him a ‘mark-mentsch’ and instructed him not to go to the shuk, the marketplace, because ‘it’s a place of chitzonim.’

Rabbi Kramer shares another insight into Rebbe Nachman’s method of drawing close. “In [Likutei Moharan] Torah 14, Rebbe Nachman explains that Chazal teach us that the six hundred thousand letters in the Torah are connected to the six hundred thousands souls of Yidden. When someone learns a particular letter in the Torah he arouses the koach of that soul and brings it close.”

“So much of the skepticism about Breslov is good, old-fashioned wariness about the derech of the Baal Shem Tov, which has been around for centuries, though detractors might cover it up with ‘worries’ about kvod Shamayim,” adds Rabbi Weinberger. “Can you explain to me why there is no outcry about the fact that today’s outreach often involves sending young men into cafés and onto campuses where they expected to socialize with men and women for the purposes of kiruv? The lines have become blurred, and I have seen many of the sacrifices of modern-day outreach. Somehow this has become accepted, these questionable practices and activities under the banner of kiruv. We have young kiruv professionals dressed in a modern, trendy fashion so that they might connect more easily with their clientele — yet the bad guys are the ones in the beards and peyos!”

And he reflects, “You know, I have never met a critic who has a serious grasp of Chassidus, who has tasted its inner beauty. Sometimes, though, I meet them years later with sifrei Chassidus — often Reb Chaim’s translations — under their arm, and they are singing a different song.”

A Chassidus Without a Rebbe

One of the most unique characteristics defining Breslov today is the fact that the Chassidus has only had one Rebbe — the same legendary figure who initiated it hundreds of years ago. Yet for a Chassidus to thrive and develop, leadership is vital. Who is the current leader of Breslov, I wonder. Is there an official mentor?

“Baruch Hashem, we are blessed with many gifted expositors of the Rebbe’s teachings, and they are all chashuve Yidden,” says Reb Chaim. “One thing that is clear, though, is that any ‘rebbe’ who works under the banner of Breslov isn’t being true to Rebbe Nachman’s vision. His intention was that there not be another rebbe, as he told his leading disciple Reb Nosson, ‘You will make talmidim, and they, in turn, will make other talmidim.’ That was always the goal; we are all talmidim of Rebbe Nachman. The biggest proof is that Reb Nosson refused to assume the mantle of leadership after Rebbe Nachman’s passing, and he knew Rebbe Nachman’s will better than anyone else.”

Rabbi Kramer’s comment that there will never be a ‘rebbe’ within Breslov leads me to a new question. What makes someone a rebbe altogether? It it pure genealogy?

Rabbi Weinberger reflects. “I sometimes see Yidden — wonderful, chashuve Yidden — who carry the names of some of the most illustrious chassidic dynasties in their own Chassidus. I think it’s very nice that they are perpetuating the names, but I often wonder how they consider themselves rebbes of that dynasty. It’s not enough to be a grandson; one must have a real connection to that tzaddik’s path in avodah in order to be considered a perpetuation.”

He shares an example. “There is a special tzaddik in Williamsburg, the Kalever Rebbe, who travels around the world reaching out to unaffiliated Jews, to students and children who barely know they’re Jewish. He accepts no money and does it out of pure ahavas Yisrael. A close friend asked him what motivates him. He replied that one day, he considered that he was sitting in Williamsburg surrounded by ehrliche, chassidishe Yidden, and wondered: what made him worthy of carrying the name of the Kalever Rebbes? His ancestor, Reb Eizek’l, would travel through the countryside drawing Yidden close to Torah, so the Rebbe in Williamsburg felt compelled to follow his example. That’s what it means to be a Kalever Rebbe!”

Quick-Fix Teshuvah

Though not every layman is familiar with the deeper spiritual underpinnings of Breslov, most know that the Chassidus emphasizes the concept of “tikun” — spiritual rectification, even in cases where one’s sins far outweigh one’s merits. As a result, there is a common perception that Breslov’s emphasis on “tikun” makes the thought of sinning less reprehensible for its followers.

“Right. Let’s chill out with the Ribono shel Olam,” comments Rabbi Weinberger wryly.

Rabbi Kramer is aware of the issue, but he is quick to say that it’s a misconception. “You know, everyone is busy quoting Rebbe Nachman’s words that whoever comes to his kever for Rosh HaShanah and says tikun klali has a guarantee that the Rebbe will pull him out of Gehinnom — but nobody quotes the promise in its entirety. What Rebbe Nachman actually said was that whoever comes, and says the Tehillim, and commits to changing his ways will merit this promise! There are no quick fixes to teshuvah. We don’t promise absolution.”

“There is definitely a danger out there of people getting comfortable with aveiros,” comments Rabbi Weinberger, “because of the emphasis in Chassidus on picking up the pieces and moving on. Yet it’s important to draw a distinction between before the aveirah — when there is no room for chizuk — and after it’s done, when all you have is the chizuk.

“And,” he adds, “that’s why I would never recommend a diet of just sifrei Chassidus without sifrei mussar. A person needs resources of yiras Shamayim to temper the chizuk as well.”

And speaking of Uman … while we’re being candid, I mention those gedolim who disapprove of spending Rosh HaShanah at Rebbe Nachman’s burial place, citing obligations to one’s family and the great financial pressure it creates on people who, very often, have no spare cash.

“I don’t know which gedolim said that,” says Rabbi Kramer, “but Rebbe Nachman was also a gadol, and he encouraged us to come to him for Rosh HaShanah. If it was important to him, then it’s important to us — and each year, we see lives transformed as a result.

“It’s difficult for the families? I want to tell you something. I spoke at a Shabbaton, and the women gave me a really hard time about why their husbands have to spend Rosh HaShanah away from the family. I told them look, I know it’s hard, but Rosh HaShanah is the Yom HaDin, the day you’re being judged for the rest of the year. If you’re going into the courtroom, who do you want next to you? Your defense attorney or your wife? Rebbe Nachman promises to help whoever comes, and he is better than any lawyer.

“In fact, it’s the ‘kibitz’ [conglomeration] at Uman that really underscores just how broad Rebbe Nachman’s camp is. You have real, authentic Breslover tzaddikim, next to Modern Orthodox professionals, Sephardim and chassidim and Satmarers and Lubavitchers all together. You have Yidden whose eyes shine with true ecstasy and Yidden whose eyes shine with … that Ecstasy … all Rebbe Nachman’s people!”

Rabbi Weinberger agrees. “I happen to work on Rosh HaShanah, but if not … I would be there too.”

Still, he hasn’t lost sight of the practical aspects. “But it depends for who. A family does have rights, and they should have their father and husband home for Yom Tov. That’s why, when people ask me about going for Rosh HaShanah, I answer each individual separately. If it’s someone who is looking for an experience, wants an easy Rosh HaShanah where he can ‘chill,’ then I will discourage it. You know, it used to take mesirus nefesh to spend Rosh HaShanah in Uman, but now it’s fairly convenient and easy. If, however, the question is posed to me by someone who is constantly seeking spiritual growth, someone who lives ‘Umandig’ a whole year long, then I will encourage him to do this too.”

Struggling Souls

One of the most fascinating aspects of modern-day Breslov is the draw that this derech has among the young. How does one understand the appeal of Breslov to today’s youth?

Rabbi Weinberger quotes the Satmar Rebbe, who said that Rebbe Nachman’s seforim are uniquely suited to this generation, the struggling souls of our times. “The Satmar Rebbe understood this generation and its nisyonos better than most people, and he said that Rebbe Nachman’s Torah would help us now, so it’s not fair to ask if this is authentic Breslov: he was speaking to us, with our weaknesses!”

Reb Chaim refers to Rebbe Nachman’s story of the Wise Man and the Prince. In the tale, a prince goes insane and believes that he is a turkey. He removes his clothes, sits down under the table, and pecks at his food on the floor. The king and queen are horrified at the way he is acting, so they call in various healers to try and convince the prince to act human again, but to no avail. Then a wise man comes to the palace and offers to cure the prince. He takes off his clothes and sits under the table next to the prince, claiming that he is a rooster too. The prince is confused, but gradually comes to accept him as a friend. The wise man then begins to don his clothing, and explains to the prince that a rooster can wear clothes too. He rises and eats at the table, all the while maintaining that roosters can eat at a table too. The prince accepts this idea and, step by step, begins to act like a normal human being, until he is completely cured.

“Rebbe Nachman is the wise man, and all of us — including the less conventional elements within the Chassidus — are the turkey. He is down under the table with us, giving us tools to climb up again.”

As our conversation draws to a close, I ask my hosts to share their closing thoughts.

Rabbi Kramer reflects. “There is a vertel that Chazal tell us that there are three seforim, sifran shel tzaddikim, sifran shel beinonim, and sifran shel reshayim. Chassidim say that ‘sifran shel tzaddikim’ refers to Noam Elimelech — which is a sefer for saintly people; while ‘sifran shel beinonim’ refers to the sefer Tanya, which is titled Sefer shel Beinonim by its author. So what’s ‘sifran shel reshayim’? It’s Likutei Moharan, which shows people who think they’re tzaddikim that they really are not, and shows people that think they’re reshayim … that they’re really tzaddikim!”

“Breslov is special, because Breslov is an all-encompassing mehalech in life,” says Rabbi Weinberger. “It’s a system. Rebbe Nachman instructed Reb Nosson to take his divrei Torah and make them into tefillos, so he did. The idea is that Torah works with tefillah works with the eitzos and the Likutei Halachos, all one program of being an ehrliche Yid. It’s more than just a Chassidus.”

And as the two men prepare to rise — Rabbi Weinberger, who has succeeded in forging a new way, interpreting the teachings of chassidic masters and applying them to today’s world, and Rabbi Kramer, who has given his life over to making the Torah of his rebbe accessible to the masses — I thank them for their time.

And Rabbi Kramer smiles a knowing smile. “Today, New York. Tomorrow, the world,” he says.

Some Things My Rebbe Taught Me

An Insider’s View of Breslov’s Essence

Rebbe Nachman said that he was showing us “a new way that is an old way”: hisbodedus — to find a place where we can be alone and talk to Hashem in our own words, as we would talk to “a true, good Friend.” He said that if a person were allowed to return from the Other World, for a few minutes, he would use those minutes to talk to Hashem. It’s an “old way” because, the Rebbe said, all tzaddikim became tzaddikim only by doing this: Yaakov Avinu (who “went into the field to talk”), Chanah HaNeviah, David HaMelech, up to the present day.

The Rebbe said that the standard prayers of the siddur are like major highways, and that the forces of the Evil One are like highwaymen, waiting to ambush those prayers as they try to ascend in their expected times and places. But a person’s own private prayers are like “a little pathway to the side,” where prayers can slip by unnoticed. So in that sense, they’re “a new way.”

Rebbe Nachman said that we should talk to Hashem in our mother tongue, “because that draws the heart.” And that even if we just stand there, trying in vain to say something — this too is a form of talking; this too is most precious to Hashem. He said that nothing is ever lost — no tear, no sigh. Every tiny effort a person makes to free himself from the slime that imprisons him is precious and beloved.

The Rebbe taught us that “The main Yiddishkeit is straightforward simplicity — there’s no need for sophistication at all.”

He taught us never to despair, especially not to despair of ourselves. Every person’s life is full of ups and downs, like the waves of the sea. There are times we can run forward and times when we’re stuck, times when we feel drawn near to Hashem and times when we feel shunned and distanced. All of it is from Hashem, with His timing that’s perfect for each of us. The “downs” are for the sake of the “ups” that follow them; the seeming distancing is to awaken an even greater desire, yearning, and longing within us, which will merit us to be drawn near. We need to become expert at running forward when possible, and we need to become expert at staying put when necessary, without falling into despair. “There is a way that everything can be reversed into good.”

Our Rebbe taught us to be always, always, very, very happy — even if, at times, the only way to achieve this is through laughter, silliness, and joking. And if our own deficiencies make us sad, he taught that we must look for the good points in ourselves (“I fasted on Yom Kippur” … “and on Tisha B’Av, too”) and in others. We’re to focus on these good points (“Even if they’re mostly impure, they must have something good in them. A little is also good.”) until everything else simply falls away.

He taught that all the things we see, hear, think on any given day are from Hashem, sent to draw us near, springboards for our continued conversation with him. We should talk to Him about everything, even a missing suit button (What’s the matter? It’s beneath your dignity?”). A Breslover used to say, “A moel (mouth) is like a moelchil (grinder or mill). It needs to be grinding out words to Hashem, all day long.”

This isn’t contemplation of nature or of our inner world. This is talking — simply talking to Hashem. After an hour or less of doing this, the whole world looks different. “It a great rachmanus (pity) on two groups of people: those who don’t know this and those who know it but don’t practice it.”

Breslov has no political or ideological stance, no particular garb that distinguishes its chassidim. It’s about coming closer to Hashem, through following the Rebbe’s teachings. You don’t have to be “a Breslover” to do that.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 308)