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It was 1943 in the Dzurin labor camp, and Yaakov Yissachar Ber Rosenbaum was becoming bar mitzvah — the fact that he was still alive was reason enough to celebrate. Yet Yaakov Yissachar Ber, son of Rebbe Chaim Mordechai of Nadvorna, had been preparing for months. He was drawn to purity of both body and soul, and would toivel every day in the river during the frozen winter months, chopping away the layers of ice and enduring the freezing waters. It was a pattern that he was to follow for life. In 1946, on a Ma’apilim ship to Eretz Yisrael, he made sure to immerse every day by tying himself to a rope and climbing down the side of the ship into the raging sea.

But that seemingly extreme level of purification wasn’t about himself . Even when Berele Rosenbaum was still a child, he saw himself exclusively in the capacity of how he could be of service to others.

In 1941, when Yaacov Yissachar Ber was just 11, the Romanian army assembled Siret’s Jews in the city square and marched them by foot and cattle car to the Dzurin ghetto, where they lacked basic necessities and many died of typhus. Yissachar Ber and his brother Itzikel (who survived the war but was killed after reaching Eretz Yisrael on an illegal immigrant ship when British soldiers fired on the vessel) were deported along with their father, Rebbe Chaim Mordechai. And although he was just a boy, Yissachar Ber did everything in his limited power to ease the plight of his fellow sufferers. He and Itzikel would sneak into the forest to chop wood to distribute to the Jews for heat in their shelters at the risk of being shot.

During a forced march through open, ice-covered fields in the middle of the night, the weak and frail were collapsing at the side of the road. “They were calling out for water,” the Rebbe related at the hachnassas sefer Torah a year before his passing. “It was dark and it was impossible to see anything. The people were near death. I asked myself what I could do to save these people.

“We were walking through frozen swamps,” the Rebbe told his followers. “What could I do? I took the corner of my tallis katan and dipped it into the swamp until it had absorbed some water. Then I leaned over and wrung out the water into the mouths of those dying men and women, to slake their desperate thirst and restore life to their ravaged bodies.”

The Rebbe’s dedication to his fellow Jews didn’t end with the war. When he returned to Siret in 1945, the 15-year-old continued in his mission to rescue Jews. In the middle of the night, he would sneak down to the Siret River that separated Russia from Romania, look for arriving smugglers, and whisk away the Jewish refugees stealing over the border from Russia. Young Berele often succeeded in obtaining forged Romanian ID cards as well.

It was this heightened sense of both altruism and kedushah that served the Rebbe throughout his life. His personal purification rituals elevated him to the level where he immediately picked up on the underlying spiritual state of everyone he met. He used to say that if people knew what he saw on their faces when they filed past him to wish him a good Shabbos, they might think twice. And every night, after the last person had filed out, the Rebbe would take the tzedakah money he received from pidyonos and divide it into two piles: one for kosher money and one for non-kosher money.

Purification became his trademark, and the avodah of ritual immersion remained a fixture in his life until the end. Even as he was battling end-stage cancer, he would drag himself to the mikveh with his last reserves of strength.

The Nadvorna chassidus is blessed with enclaves all over Eretz Yisrael, and is connected to many other chassidic courts, including Kretchnif, Chust, Pittsburgh, Temeshvar, and Cleveland, to name but a few.

Yet it was the Nadvorna Rebbe of Bnei Brak ztz”l who became the address for all those on whom others gave up, for the most difficult shalom bayis cases, for broken souls whom others had lost patience with, and also for shrewd businessmen who found in the Rebbe a practicality and wisdom belying his own personal asceticism. His heart was huge, and even the most miserable and forsaken knew they would receive honor from the Rebbe.

He rarely slept; he never asked for food, even if he was famished. When he became ill, the doctors told the Rebbe to rest more, which he wouldn’t hear of. “I never had anything to do with my body,” he told the doctors. “Now I have to become a mechutan with my guf?”

The Rebbe, who took over his father’s position with the Devar Chaim’s passing in 1978 (after helping refugees in Europe for several years after the war, Rebbe Chaim Mordechai eventually joined his son in Eretz Yisrael, first settling in Yafo and then Bnei Brak), once told one of his chassidim, “Holding up Klal Yisrael is easier than holding up the individuals that make up the Jewish people.” What he meant to say was that carrying the weight of the nation is a matter between man and Hashem. But being able to support an individual means understanding that person’s unique spirit and dealing with his personal internal world.

Word spread of the Rebbe’s wise counsel, which combined wisdom and sanctity, and masses of people flocked to him from all sectors. The Rebbe dealt with complex medical questions, shalom bayis problems, children with learning difficulties, youth at risk, and the most complex financial problems. He also amassed a broad base of medical and legal knowledge and the ability to listen to any person on any subject at any time. From four o’clock in the afternoon until three in the morning, he would listen, advise, and dispense brachos.

The Rebbe was the consummate listener. “Every time a person comes to see me, I already know exactly what he’s going to say and how I’m going to respond,” the Rebbe once remarked. “So why do I listen to all of his problems and not simply give him my advice right away? Because Hashem has graced me with the ability to listen and with the patience to hear the problems of another Jew. So I can’t interrupt him, throwing out a response before letting him finish, because then the pain would still be lodged in his heart.”

The Rebbe never claimed he was a medical expert, but his medical knowledge often left doctors astounded. He never studied secular law, but his legal knowledge and advice were vital to those embroiled in legal conflict. He was never involved in matters relating to security, but his knowledge of the field astonished members of the military who came to him with their own personal problems. He was, in a sense, a sort of doctor, lawyer, and defense expert, all rolled into one. His heart was the heart of the Jewish people, and his soul was intertwined with the souls of everyone who passed through his doors.

No Changes

With the Rebbe’s passing, not only were his chassidim crushed, but so many others felt as well that they’d lost their beacon in the raging storm of life. True, the Rebbe entrusted the chassidus to his son but, the chassidim wondered, would Rebbe Eliezer Zev be able to fill those shoes?

“Actually, the Rebbe was pretty much hidden away until his father’s petirah” says his devoted chassid Rav Moshe Treitel. “The Rebbe never stood out in any way, and until he took over, we never saw him. He rarely came to community events, and if you look through the archive of pictures, he doesn’t appear in any of them. Even after he became Rebbe, he didn’t change anything about himself. The gabbaim begged him to switch to the colored bekeshe traditional of the other Nadvorna admorim, including his own father, but the Rebbe firmly refused. When they put too much pressure on him, he replied sharply, ‘I don’t tell you what to wear, and you shouldn’t tell me what to wear.’”

In the short time he has been Rebbe, he has already made an impression on the tzibbur for that rare combination of extreme humility on one hand and obvious spiritual achievements on the other; and like his father, he’s begun to attract Jews from all over who are attracted to those very attributes, seeking his advice and wisdom.

Two years ago, the Rebbe married off his daughter, says Rav Treitel, and as it was the first simchah he made after becoming Rebbe, the chassidim were certain that he would buy a new bekeshe or shtreimel in honor of the chasunah. But the Rebbe thought differently. One of his close associates, who had already despaired of convincing the Rebbe to dress in a more “rebbishe” style, offered to buy a regular black bekeshe for the chasunah, so that he should at least wear something new, but the Rebbe saw no reason for it. “There’s nothing wrong with the one I’m wearing. It’s in perfectly good condition,” the Rebbe responded to the offer. The associate replied that there was actually something wrong with it — it was a little narrow; but the Rebbe said, “That’s no problem. I’ll just ask the Rebbetzin to move the buttons.”

Defining the Challenge

The chassidus is headquartered in a vast, towering complex located at the southern end of Bnei Brak. It’s quite late when we meet the Rebbe to discuss issues of chinuch, teshuvah, and personal growth, topics we all want to hear about as we approach the new year and struggle with yet another round of resolutions. The antique grandfather clock chimes, informing us that midnight is upon us, but the Rebbe doesn’t seem to be tiring. In fact, he imparts a powerful piece of wisdom that he’s been sharing with others in these complex times when everyone is looking for a segulah to make life better.

“People are always asking: What should I take upon myself? It’s a difficult question to answer across the board, because everyone’s situation is different,” the Rebbe says, as we sit together with Rav Chaim Dovid Kowalsky, founder and director of Meoros Hadaf Hayomi which disseminates Daf Hayomi shiurim on a broad scale, who’s joined us for the conversation. “Furthermore, how can you pick and choose one thing, making it seem more important that the rest of the system? Can I tell someone to be makpid on tznius, implying that the issur of lashon hara isn’t as serious? Really, it’s about pinpointing a particular weakness, about defining the person’s challenges, and focus there.”

Everyone wants to tune into those auspicious moments when the gates of tefillah swing wide open, especially at this time of year, and the Rebbe gives a piece of advice that can apply to anyone.

“There are various moments that are well known for being advantageous — Erev Shabbos, Erev Yom Tov, the Aseres Y’mei Teshuva,” says the Rebbe. “But there is another time as well, although many are unaware of its potency. It’s when a person is faced with a nisayon or an obstacle — it makes no difference what the nisayon is. For example, when a man is walking in the street and is faced with a situation that calls for shemiras einayim and he’s careful, or when someone wants to speak lashon hara to you and you avoid it, or when someone insults you and you don’t respond — that’s a tremendous eis ratzon for tefillah. This is the time when you can ask for things that seem impossible.

“When a parent sees his child being insulted, chas v’shalom, and says to him, ‘Don’t answer them, hold yourself, give in, forgive them,’ it’s a tremendous eis ratzon. At that moment you can ask Hashem for anything. You can see miracles come out from these moments, things that could never happen naturally.”

The Rebbe gives another tip, which he says is a segulah for long life: To bring in Shabbos an hour before the zeman, as it is written in the Pri Meggadim. “But,” says the Rebbe, “if someone already brings in Shabbos early, they can take on something else in honor of the day — to be careful about speaking divrei chol, discussing mundane subjects on Shabbos, and instead making sure to quiz the children at the table or tell stories of tzaddikim.”

The Rebbe continues: “Let me share with you a maiseh from Rebbe Yissachar Dov of Belz zy”a. A bochur came to him before entering the army during WWI asking for a brachah. The Rebbe asked him if he was careful to put on tefillin every day, and the bochur answered that he was. The Rebbe said to him, ‘If you take upon yourself to be makpid to put on tefillin every single day without exception, even if it is a matter of mesirus nefesh, you will not be harmed.’ The bochur heeded the Rebbe and took the matter upon himself.

“One day, the bochur went to the forest and climbed up a tree where no one could see him and put on tefillin. Just as he was doing so, an officer walked by and spotted the soldier hiding in the branches of the tree, murmuring to himself with boxes and wire wrapped around his head and arm. The officer said, ‘We’ve caught a spy transmitting information to the enemy!’ The bochur climbed down from the tree and found himself surrounded by a ring of accusers. Yet among them was a Jewish general, who started to laugh. When they asked him why he was laughing, he replied, ‘You think this man is a spy? He’s just a Jewish soldier wearing tefillin. It’s something every Jewish man does every morning.’ With the general’s testimony, the bochur was let go and sent back to his base, but when he got there, no one else was around — while he’d been up in the tree putting on tefillin, the rest of his platoon had been sent to the front, where every last man was killed. If he hadn’t been makpid on tefillin, he would have been among them.

“What’s the pshat here?” the Rebbe asks. We shrug. “Look, everyone puts on tefillin, and even this bochur put on tefillin every day before he asked the Belzer Rebbe for a brachah. But there is a concept in Gemara of ‘bameh hava zahir tfei’ — a mitzvah in which a person is especially careful, where there is a special connection to the soul, where the soul ‘shines.’ So yes, this bochur could have exempted himself from putting on tefillin if he thought it was dangerous to do so. But since he had made a kabbalah to put on his tefillin even with mesirus nefesh, he was zocheh to be saved. Still, can we say that every single person in history who was makpid to put on tefillin will be saved from death? There were Jews during the war who were surely moser nefesh to put on tefillin and they were killed. They raked the skin of Rabi Akiva with iron combs when he put on tefillin. It’s not for us to know the accountings of Shamayim, but extra zehirus on the level of ‘zahir tfei’ is certainly worthwhile.”

Show the Love

In the four years since Rebbe Eliezer Zev Rosenbaum inherited the mantle of Nadvorna chassidus, there has been a veritable revolution taking place in the Rebbe’s court. The Rebbe is considered an expert on chinuch issues, and since his appointment, both the Talmud Torah and the yeshivah have doubled their enrollment, partly due to the Rebbe’s educational approaches and incentives.

One of the Rebbe’s policies particularly geared to this generation in the area of chinuch is a no hitting policy — not just for teachers, of course, but for parents as well. “One of the most important elements of chinuch unique to this generation is to avoid hitting a child as punishment,” the Rebbe explains. “It’s so much healthier to take something away from the child, like not taking him to a certain place or not buying something for him that he likes. This type of punishment is much cleaner and gentler than verbally lashing out, and much better than hitting. A situation should never reach a point where the only solution left is to hit the child.”

Some parents claim that with certain children, hitting is the only way to discipline, but the Rebbe is quite adamant on this point. “You need to be very, very careful,” he warns. “Yes, we say ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ but we also say ‘Train a child according to his way.’ And the ‘way’ of children today is to not to get hit. And even if there is no choice, who says a child needs to get hit in the face? In most cases, a child who gets a light slap on his hand is able to absorb the lesson that he wasn’t behaving properly. Most of the gedolei Yisrael in earlier generations didn’t punish this way, by a slap in the face, and they raised wonderful children. They also knew the pasuk about sparing the rod, and still didn’t do it.”

The Rebbe says that in today’s generation, it’s all about balance — a good resolution for the new year. “A father needs to wear two hats,” the Rebbe explains. “There’s the hat of parental authority and of defining borders, but sometimes he has to put on another hat, the hat of a friend. This is when it’s time to listen, to give encouragement and compliments, and to really take an interest in what he’s doing, even his ‘silly’ games.”

According to the Rebbe, a parent that doesn’t spend time with his child this way will end up spending all his time issuing commands. “You wake him up in the morning with a command, ‘Yanki, it’s late, you need to get up!’ After you force him out of bed, you force him to wash negel vasser, force him onto the school bus, and then in the evening order him to ‘make a brachah,’ ‘tuck in your shirt,’ ‘eat quickly,’ ‘don’t forget to bentsh,’ ‘say Krias Shema’ — you’re giving orders 24 hours a day. Talk to him instead! Talk to him like a friend! If for some of the time at least, the parent fills the role of the child’s friend and cheerleader, he won’t go looking for those validating friends elsewhere.”

We’ve all set goals for the coming year, and children are no exception. But how to avoid the pain of disappointment when goals aren’t met? Prizes, says the Rebbe, can be an integral part of the picture, because they move kids to stretch themselves in ways they thought were impossible. Prizes, he says, teach the child he can actually achieve a goal that seems elusive.

“When you tell a child to learn a perek of Mishnayos by heart, he might think ‘no way, I’ll never be able to do it.’ He isn’t sure of his abilities. But if you promise him a prize, he’ll work harder and see that he’s really capable. When he gets older, you can give him more meaningful prizes, like his own set of Mishnayos — until the success will be its own reward.

“But all of this must be carried out not as a bribe, but in a way the child feels his parent’s love for him, because when he feels that pure and real love, he’ll be able to distinguish it from less authentic expressions.”

Disappearing Act

The chassidim note that the Rebbe is a lamdan of the highest order. His divrei Torah are filled with citations and marei makomos, and every topic is treated as though he had just reviewed it that day, no matter what the subject. Hard-to-find sources for obscure medrashim are at his fingertips, and the Rambam lives on his tongue, along with Tanya, Shulchan Aruch, Shulchan Aruch HaRav, works of the Chasam Sofer, the Ramban, and the Ohr Hachaim Hakodesh.

When does the Rebbe learn so much? According to Rav Meir Klepner, a confidant of both the Rebbe and his father, many people came to the first tish to see the new Rebbe after his appointment, including a group of bochurim from nearby Yeshivas Beis Meir. When they saw the Rebbe seated at the head of the table, they couldn’t contain their surprise. “That’s the new Rebbe?” they exclaimed. “We know him very well. He used to spend entire nights learning in the library at our yeshivah.’ There are chassidim who heard the previous Rebbe exclaim, “My son Reb Eliezer sits and learns night and day, and no one even knows about it.”

Rav Klepner says that after the petirah of the previous Rebbe, the chassidim arranged a place in Kfar Chabad for the Rebbe to stay after the intense and emotionally wrenching shivah. “We brought him to the apartment and asked the baal habayis to give the Rebbe a key to the mikveh. He chuckled, telling us, ‘He already has a key! This isn’t the first time he’s stayed here in the Kfar. Your rebbe has been learning in Beis Menachem for years. He comes here often. He has a corner where he sits with his seforim for hours on end.’”

Even today there are stories and secrets regarding the Rebbe’s mysterious activities. Every day, the Rebbe disappears for a few hours, from the early afternoon until shkiah. “For a long time we had no idea where he was going, until we started to gather eyewitness reports,” says Rav Klepner. “It turns out that the Rebbe travels to a little shul near Bnei Brak. He lets himself in with his own key, and learns there a few hours straight without interruption.”

Despite his public role as Rebbe, layers of mystery still surround him, and the chassidim tell of the many unsolved “black holes” in his schedule. It’s doubtful that anyone knows where the Rebbe goes as he’s swallowed up by a random taxi, and it’s equally doubtful that people know much about his activities before becoming Rebbe. The Rebbe was once spotted traveling in a taxi in the middle of the night, and from there they were able to start putting together a scenario. It turned out that the Rebbe wanted to toivel in a certain spring, so he set out by taxi to Motza, a town just outside Jerusalem. He can also be found on his own at Kever Rashbi in Meron, at the Kosel, at the kever of Yehudah ben Yaakov, and in other holy places in Eretz Yisrael and abroad.

Still Waters

According to one of the chassidim, the Rebbe, like everyone else in Israel in the parshah of marrying off their children, has his share of debts. “But,” says the chassid, “he never keeps funds for himself — he moves out what comes in. Needy families within the kehillah receive generous sums on a regular basis. The Rebbe once asked me to pass along an envelope to one of the avreichim, and I couldn’t help but notice that the envelope was packed with money. ‘Rebbe,’ I asked, ‘you have needs of your own, and chayecha kodmin.’ The Rebbe waved me off, saying, ‘In any case it’s not enough to cover my debts, so why shouldn’t someone else benefit from it?’”

And it isn’t just about money. If the Nadvorna Rebbe is informed about someone who is lacking something, he doesn’t rest until something’s done about the situation — whether it’s a well-respected individual or a desolate loner. As was with his holy father before him, streams of people gather and wait for an audience with the Rebbe, knowing someone else will take a share in their suffering, giving them a solid eitzah, a kind word, and a powerful blessing. For the Rebbe, everyone becomes a personal project and the name doesn’t come off the Rebbe’s table until the person has a yeshuah. People say they’ve received a phone call from the Rebbe weeks after they’d visited him, asking if their situation has been resolved.

Some people mistakenly interpret the Rebbe’s calm nature as cool indifference, but those who know him well know that nothing could be further from the truth.

Rav Klepner relates that at the moment the Rebbe’s father passed away, the chassidim began to cry bitterly. Only the Rebbe, whose love for his father knew no bounds, raised his eyes and murmured, “Ein od Milvado. Heilege Borei Kol Haolamim, I am ashamed before you.”

As the Rebbe himself has said, “A righteous person doesn’t look at what he already merited to do, but rather asks himself, ‘What else should I be doing?’”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 629)