Between Truth and Falsehood

Rav Yaakov Lifshitz, the esteemed community activist and secretary of Rav Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor, recounts in his memoir Zichron Yaakov that young Rav Leizer Gordon’s keen powers of discernment made waves far beyond his hometown of Kovno:

“In the winter of 1874, the famous gaon Rav Avraham Yitzchak Neviazher passed away. The deceased had been a man of means alongside his Torah scholarship, and he therefore served for many years as a dayan in Kovno without taking a salary from the community treasury. His son-in-law Rav Eliezer Gordon (later to become renowned as the rav and rosh yeshivah in Telz) succeeded him as dayan in Kovno. The kahal did provide a salary for Rav Gordon, and in addition he delivered shiurim in the Neviazher Kloiz, which paid him six rubles a week for his services.

Now that I’ve mentioned the great gaon Rav Leizer Gordon, I recall an interesting anecdote that testifies to his great Torah wisdom, and these are the particulars of the episode: In 1871 a ‘prominent guest’ arrived in Kovno. He presented himself as a battalion officer in the Austrian military, and he was accompanied by his son who was also supposedly an officer. According to their story, they were emissaries of the great tzaddik Sir Moses Montefiore to St. Petersburg, in order to meet with officials of the Czarist government regarding equal rights for the Jews of Russia, as well as discussing with government ministries the recent pogroms in Odessa in 1870.

Wealthy and prestigious Jewish leaders in Western Europe requested of this fellow to be their emissary, due to his polished mannerisms and ease with which he communicated the Jewish message to non-Jewish government officials, so he acquiesced to their request. He was quite charismatic and a talented orator and was adorned with several impressive medals he received from the Habsburg government. The only Jewish document he carried was a letter in Hebrew from Rav David ben Shimon ztz”l, rabbi of the Maghrebi [North African] community in Eretz Yisrael.

The cream of the Jewish intelligentsia of Kovno came to meet him — doctors, pharmacists, lawyers, and similar high-class individuals, and he related to them his mission in further detail. A surreptitious collection ensued to provide him with his travel expenses and activities. Several hundred rubles were amassed on his behalf, and the Kovno intelligentsia apologized to him for being unable to provide additional funds.

Even though this impressive individual, with his fancy clothes and mannerisms, only met with the intelligentsia, despite the limitations Rav Leizer Gordon procured an audience with the Austrian emissary. With his assiduousness and sharp perception, he realized that this fellow was an imposter! Rav Leizer began asking him questions and engaging him in conversation, until this fraud recognized that he had been exposed.

The imposter quickly skipped town the next morning without taking leave of any of his local supporters, as he was eager to flee.

So it was that Rav Leizer Gordon was the one who unmasked this swindler, but the intelligentsia who had been taken in by his persona refused to believe it. A few weeks later an article appeared in the Hamagid newspaper from a correspondent in another city in the Pale of Settlement, relating that a supposed battalion officer had passed through their city and was revealed to be an imposter.

The intelligentsia in Kovno would regularly ridicule Torah scholars as gullible simpletons, and yet in this instance it became clear to all that the opposite was true. The so-called ‘intelligent’ ones fell into the fraudster’s trap, while those who possessed Torah wisdom are able to distinguish between truth and falsehood. Those with little faith in Heaven put their faith in the fancy clothes of an Austrian officer and were therefore duped.”

We Need You in Kelm

In the spring of 1874, just three months after assuming the role of dayan in Kovno, Rav Leizer was invited to lead the community of Kelm. His appointment was anything but smooth. The majority of the local Jews rallied behind Rav Yitzchok Horowitz, the son of the previous rav, Rav Elyakim Getzel Horowitz, while the city’s elite stood firm in their support of Rav Leizer.

Amid the turmoil, Rav Leizer briefly entertained the idea of leaving Lithuania altogether, considering a move to Leeds, England — which was at the time a growing hub for Lithuanian Jewry. But there was a stipulation: The Leeds community required him to obtain semichah from none other than Rav Yosef Zechariah Stern of Shavel, one of the preeminent Torah authorities of the time.

The encounter would become the stuff of legend, later immortalized in the Lite (Lita) memorial book:

“At first, Rav Stern challenged him outright: ‘Why would anyone want to go to England? Can one not learn Torah in Lithuania?’ But Rav Leizer, unshaken, persisted. The Shavel rav relented — on one condition: a rigorous examination.

He opened a Gemara and instructed, ‘Read!’ The moment Rav Leizer began, the storm broke loose. Rav Stern unleashed a torrent of relentless questions, each sharper than the last, until suddenly, Rav Leizer collapsed.

When he was revived, Rav Stern, ever the Lithuanian, quipped, ‘If you don’t know how to learn, must you faint?’”

The message was unmistakable. Rav Stern knew well that Rav Leizer was a gaon of stature, certainly worthy of semichah. But he also recognized that this young rav was destined for far greater things than a pulpit in England. He had to ensure that Rav Leizer would remain in Kelm, where he was most needed.

A resolution was reached. Rav Leizer would serve as rav of Kelm, and Rav Yitzchok Horowitz would assume the role of dayan. Kelm’s spiritual leadership had been solidified, but Rav Leizer would yet land on British soil decades later, bearing the stature and influence Rav Stern had foreseen.

It wasn’t long before Rav Leizer established his own yeshivah for advanced students in Kelm. In his biography of Rav Leizer, Zev Rabiner records the impetus for the yeshivah’s founding:

“When several days [after Rav Leizer Gordon’s] arrival in Kelm had passed, six bochurim appeared before him and expressed their strong desire and determination to hear Torah from him… and on the spot, he decided to deliver three shiurim weekly before the talmidim… [and] within a short time Rav Leizer’s name was publicized throughout the province, and new students came to hear Torah from his mouth. During the first year of the new yeshivah’s existence, the number of its students reached 30 select bochurim, the cream of the youth of Zhamut [the region where Kelm is located].”

Rav Leizer set very high standards for his students from the very start. In what was an innovative concept for the era, the students were publicly examined once a month on 25 to 30 dapim of Gemara — and only those who passed could remain in the yeshivah.

Among his students there were Rav Leizer’s future son-in-law, Rav Yosef Leib Bloch (1860–1929) and Rav Moshe Shimon Sivitz (1855–1936), who would go on to serve as the rav of Pikeln before moving to the United States where he was renowned as a rav in Pittsburgh for more than a half-century.

In Awe of the Alter

During his tenure in Kelm, Rav Leizer reunited with another renowned pupil of Rav Yisrael Salanter: the Alter of Kelm, Rav Simcha Zissel Ziv, founder of the vaunted Kelm Talmud Torah. Established in 1866, “The Talmud Torah” was unlike any other. Mussar came before mastery, character before cleverness. Talmidim were shaped through structured growth, introspection, and precise living. With Rav Yisrael’s haskamah, the Alter even introduced secular studies into the daily schedule. In Kelm, order wasn’t a detail; it was the design. The goal? To mold men, not just minds.

A letter from the Alter of Kelm to Rav Leizer indicates they maintained good terms despite their different educational approaches. In it, Rav Ziv attempted to persuade Rav Leizer of the benefits of mussar study following Rav Leizer’s refusal to introduce mussar into his yeshivah’s curriculum. (This early reluctance regarding formal mussar study would later resurface during Rav Leizer’s tenure at Telz.)

Rav Leizer maintained his deep respect for the Alter even after he left Kelm. When the Alter was niftar during the summer of 1898, Rav Leizer (by then having risen to the role of Rav and Rosh Yeshivah in Telz) traveled to Kelm for the levayah together with Rav Leib Chasman (1869–1935), a student of the Alter who had recently been appointed menahel ruchani of Telz.

Decades later, while serving in his final role as Mashgiach of the Chevron Yeshiva, Rav Leib would yet recount that fateful day to his students. One of those students, Rav Dov Katz (1903–1979), recalled Rav Leib describing how Rav Leizer testified before those assembled about the Alter’s mastery of three sedorim of Talmud with Rashi and Tosafos, and that he was so fluent in all four parts of the Shulchan Aruch that he could cite the source of every halachah by its paragraph number.

Another student, Rav Shimon Morduchowitz (1906–1964), was told by Rav Leib that following the hesped, Rav Leizer asked him what he thought of this portrayal of the Alter. Rav Leib replied that, in his view, the primary achievement of the Alter is that from the day he came into maturity, he never thought about anything useless or trivial. Rav Leizer concurred with this assessment, and took the opportunity, when the procession arrived at the cemetery, to deliver a second hesped, this time emphasizing Rav Leib’s point.

(Another version of the story has it that Rav Leizer eulogized him as one of the geonim of the period, but after he concluded his remarks and stepped down from the platform, Rav Leizer recalled that he had not mentioned the Alter’s righteousness and nobility of spirit. He immediately stepped back up again and burst into agitated sobs, crying, “Woe to me! For he was also a tzaddik!” And he immediately began to say another hesped. It is possible that both versions are true.)

During his time in Kelm, Rav Leizer demonstrated his profound commitment to Torah study in a story that illustrates his priorities. When two of his students were drafted into the army, and a large sum of money was needed to secure their release, Rav Leizer was unable to raise the required funds. Instead, he gave the authorities the silver crown of the shul’s Torah scroll. When communal leaders protested this action, Rav Leizer explained, “The most beautiful crown for a sefer Torah is the learning of these bochurim.”

Following the death of his wife in Kelm, Rav Leizer married Tema (1862–1899), the daughter of his brother-in-law Rav Boruch Broyde (b. 1832), who was one of the leaders of the Kelm community. After his second marriage, Rav Leizer left Kelm to serve as Rav of Slabodka, where he served as rav for six months before accepting what would become his final and most significant position: the rabbinate of Telz.

CHAPTER 2: A TORAH FORTRESS IN TELZ

Tempest of New Spirits

T

he town of Telz (Telšiai) is located in northwestern Lithuania, approximately 75 kilometers northeast of Memel (now Klaipeda). In the mid-19th century, it was described as a traditional, conservative Jewish community largely untouched by the winds of modernization.

However, the situation began to change when the well-known maskil Yehudah Leib Gordon (1830–1892) arrived in Telz in 1865. As principal of a government school for boys and girls, he exerted considerable influence on the younger generation, introducing the spirit of Haskalah into the town. In Shaul Stampfer’s monograph of the Telz Yeshiva, he cites the journalist and author Dovid Druck (1883–1943), who wrote:

“Like all Jewish towns at that time, Telz was a city of Torah and the fear of Heaven… but during the short period that the poet Yehudah Leib Gordon lived there the town began to change. It was ‘annexed,’ to use the contemporary phrase, by the tempest of new spirits that had begun to blow in the world.

Gordon had an enormous influence on the young people of the generation… he introduced something of the spirit of the Haskalah into the town… the traditional Jews… used to regard with fear and loathing the doings of Yehudah Leib Gordon and his circle and the entire Enlightenment that they advocated, but they comforted themselves with the thought that this strange movement would not last long and would soon disappear as quickly as it had appeared.

However, this hope proved ill-founded… at that time there were two notable and respected men living in Telz… they found that the only cure for the malady of the generation was Torah study, following the maxim, ‘If this scoundrel [the evil inclination] assails you, drag him to the beis hamidrash’ [Succah 52b]. By founding a yeshivah and teaching Torah to many it would be possible to regain former glories, not only in Telz but in other places where the Haskalah had begun to spread.

These two men were the principal agents behind the foundation of the great yeshivah of Telz, whose fame spread throughout Jewish towns and which produced many students, noted scholars and famous rabbis.”

The two men referenced by Stampfer were Rav Tzvi Yaakov Oppenheim (1854–1926) and Rav Meir Atlas (1848–1926). They were later joined by a third leader, Rav Zalman Abell (1857–1886). These visionaries realized the immense pull of the Enlightenment on the bright, intellectually curious young men of the era — but they also realized that the traditional beis medrash could not effectively combat that lure. Instead, they would have to build a proper yeshivah, where students could develop in both learning and character while completely ensconced in an elevated environment.

In founding a properly structured yeshivah, they were assisted by a young Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel (later to be known as the Alter of Slabodka) and Rav Eliezer Yaakov Chavas, who helped arrange funding from the great Torah philanthropist Ovadiah (Emil) Lachmann of Berlin. Unlike the previous “kloiz” system, the yeshivah provided its students with a stipend to be used for room and board in local homes. With their needs thus assured, they were free to focus on their learning.

(Lachmann was also instrumental in funding the Slabodka Yeshiva and the Kovno Kollel, and it’s been theorized that he was the anonymous benefactor of the first volume of Rav Shlomo Elyashiv’s magnum opus Leshem Shevo Ve’achlama. The Leshem spent ten years studying in Telz, gaining the moniker the “Telzer Illui,” and it was in Telz that he was first introduced to the world of Kabbalah by the then-Rav, Rav Yosef Reissen.)

In a striking comment in HaTevunah, Rav Eliyahu Meir Feivelson points out the irony: Berlin — the very city that unleashed waves of heresy and tore at the soul of our people — also gave rise to a man whose quiet generosity fueled the rebirth of Torah. From that very place of spiritual ruin emerged Ovadiah Lachmann, whose support became a source of life for the yeshivos of Europe.

Merit for Eternity

The Telz Yeshivah opened its doors in 1881 with just ten talmidim. At its helm were two maggidei shiur: Rav Tzvi Yaakov Oppenheim and Rav Meir Atlas. When it came time to divide the shiurim, Rav Meir Atlas, though a gaon in his own right, volunteered to take the lower level.

Years later, in a conversation with Rav Yitzchok Knobel, Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky shared the powerful lesson the Alter of Slabodka delivered regarding that choice: “For this act alone, the Alter said, Rav Meir Atlas was rewarded with greater rabbinic positions than Rav Oppenheim for the rest of his life.” Indeed, Rav Atlas went on to serve as Rav in Libau, Salant, Kobrin, and finally Shavel, Lithuania’s second-largest city. Rav Oppenheim, meanwhile, became Rav of Tzitevian (a position that Rav Yaakov would later occupy himself) and later Kelm.

But the reward ran deeper than titles, Rav Yaakov explained. In those days, the higher shiur didn’t just mean prestige — it meant a more secure future. A rosh yeshivah ranked below a rav, and when a prominent rabbanus opened up, it was almost always offered to a Torah scholar delivering a top shiur. By choosing the lower shiur, Rav Meir Atlas was, in effect, giving up honor, financial security, and a smoother path to leadership.

Yet his sacrifice yielded something far greater. “Do you think one merits sons-in-law like Rav Elchonon Wasserman and Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski by being a lamdan? By being a yerei Shamayim?” Rav Yaakov would ask. “No. One merits such zechuyos by putting another ahead of himself.”

In 1884, the founders of the Telzer yeshivah invited Rav Leizer Gordon to become rosh yeshivah. Rav Leizer accepted the position of rav and rosh yeshivah of Telz, where he would spend the remainder of his life. Under his leadership, Telz was transformed into a city of Torah and home to a world-class yeshivah.

Stepping Stones to Scholarship

The yeshivah grew rapidly under Rav Leizer’s leadership. A reporter from the Hebrew newspaper HaMelitz who visited the yeshivah in 1902 provided this vivid description:

“Telz itself is a small town with narrow streets and small houses, making an unfavorable first impression on visitors. (One must take note of this phenomenon: While [enlightened] citizens build their grand synagogues only in large district cities, we establish our great, comprehensive yeshivos exclusively in small and modest towns: Volozhin, Mir, Telz, and others.)

Nevertheless, if a visitor passes through its quiet streets, he suddenly hears the roar of water crashing down. Approaching the sound, he encounters a large, lofty building with many windows, brightly illuminated from within, filled with the growing sound like rushing waters. Approaching further, distinct voices and varied melodies emerge — step inside and behold a holy sight! The large hall is spacious and grand, filled entirely with young men sitting and immersed in Torah study.

This is the yeshivah building, specifically built by the Rav for his yeshivah. The number of students is around 230, about 40 of whom are locals.”

One of the most distinctive features of the Telz Yeshiva under Rav Leizer’s leadership was its structured class system, known as the machlakah (division) system. Unlike other yeshivos of the time, where students typically studied independently with minimal formal structure, Telz organized students into distinct levels or “shiurim,” with each level serving as a stepping-stone to the next.

Simcha Assaf (1889–1953), who studied at Telz from 1905 to 1908, described this unique system:

“There was a special system at the Telz Yeshiva, which was unparalleled at other yeshivos of that time. There were five classes there [some assert that there were four, though it may have fluctuated over time] as in a grade school. These were known at the yeshivah as the ‘shiurim,’ and each new student entered one of these shiurim in accordance with his rank.

The usual time spent in each shiur was three zemanim [semesters], in other words a year and a half. Outstandingly talented individuals would rise from one shiur to the next after only two zemanim. However, there were those who stayed in the same shiur for four or five zemanim.”

The system was hierarchical and merit-based. Students who were not initially accepted into the first shiur had to pay one of the older students to teach them for an hour or two each day until they were prepared to enter the formal system. These students were known as chutznikim (outsiders), comparable to the rabanan tarbitsei (external scholars) of the Babylonian yeshivos, though they still studied within the yeshivah’s walls.

In his classic article that recounts the history of Telz, Rav Mordechai Gifter (1915–2001) explains the reasoning behind this novel system (which is now the norm in every yeshivah), citing the classic statement of the gemara (Bava Basra 21a) “Kin’as sofrim tarbeh chochmah, the jealousy of scholars increases wisdom.” The young student would make every effort to advance to a higher shiur and when that was achieved, he would feel a sense of accomplishment. The sense of satisfaction of progressing from one level to a higher level in Torah learning, moved the talmid to be further motivated in his learning.

In his memoirs, Rav Meir Berlin (1880–1949), who studied in Telz for a year beginning in the winter of 1894, described the importance students ascribed to the shiur assignments:

“The shiurim at Telz, with their levels and classes, served not only to raise talented students, but were sometimes used to punish unworthy students… one of the students from the third shiur sinned and they imposed the worst possible punishment upon him: they demoted him to a lower shiur. This had such an effect upon the young man that he wanted to end his life.

His friends, the elite of the shiur, went to Rav Yosef Leib to beg for mercy, so that he would change the decree… to no avail. The compromise reached was that the young man would officially remain in the ‘third shiur,’ but would leave the yeshivah.

He later traveled to America and became a wealthy and important merchant in New York, far away from the shiur of Telz… he died young, but the memory that he had left Telz from the third and not the second shiur must have been a comfort to him.”

The first four shiurim were taught by distinguished Torah scholars such as Rav Leizer’s eldest son-in-law (and eventual successor) Rav Yosef Leib Bloch (1860–1929), and his nephew, Rav Shimon Shkop (1860–1939). The fifth and highest shiur was taught by Rav Leizer himself.

As the complexity of the learning increased, the number of students decreased, with only the most outstanding students — usually 12 to 15 — meriting admission to Rav Leizer’s shiur.

The second shiur was typically the largest, accepting students promoted from the first shiur as well as new arrivals with the requisite knowledge and skill to skip the first shiur entirely. This level contained the most spirited and alert students, many of whom had already acclimatized to the yeshivah after a year or two of study. Perhaps because of this, it was often described as the “leavening agent” in disputes and rebellions that occasionally erupted at the yeshivah.

Another innovative aspect of the Telz educational system (which had its roots in Rav Leizer’s earlier yeshivah in Kelm) was its emphasis on regular testing and accountability. Each shiur had a set number of dapim they had to master each month, and they were tested at the end of every month to ensure mastery of the assigned material.

During these tests, students were presented with cases and asked to resolve them using proof from their assigned dapim of Gemara. Only those who passed these examinations could continue their studies. This system ensured a high standard of scholarship throughout the yeshivah.

When Sacred Sparks Flew

Rav Leizer’s personal teaching style was characterized by intensity, passion, and intellectual rigor. His shiurim featured animated give-and-take, with questions, answers, and proofs hotly debated by all present. So central was this interactive approach to his pedagogy that the Ponevezher Rav, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, recounted an incident where the students in Rav Leizer’s shiur made a pact to listen in silence without interrupting with questions — only for Rav Leizer to stop the shiur and walk out, saying, “I’m not willing to say shiur in a beis hakevaros.”

In Keshet Giborim, a collection of biographical articles by the esteemed writer and journalist Rabbi Aaron Ben-Zion Shurin, who was also an alumnus of Telz, the author provides a vivid description of Rav Leizer’s shiur as recounted by the Ponevezher Rav:  “He would begin the shiur in a calm tone, serenely, perhaps by citing a passage of Gemara or the words of the Rambam. Barely five minutes would pass before the atmosphere became electrified — a back-and-forth dialogue between him and the students was underway. Sparks and flames of Torah flew from his mouth and between the students.”

Rav Meir Berlin noted the contrast to other yeshivos: “In Volozhin, the shiur was a sacred avodah, and the Rosh Yeshivah was regarded almost like a Kohein Gadol. In Telz, however, the shiur was more like a chavrusashaft. As soon as the Rosh Yeshivah began speaking, one student would ask a question, another would respond, a third would bring a proof, and a fourth would refute it.”

The Telz shiur was the epitome of the “Milchamtah Shel Torah” — the battle to achieve clarity in Torah. The battle metaphor captured the intensity, the high stakes, and the vigor of the intellectual exchange. Students would “attack” the Rosh Yeshivah’s positions with questions, and he would “parry” their objections.

The seeming ferocity of this battle might suggest an adversarial atmosphere, but in reality, it reflected a shared commitment to truth. It was as if their very souls were at stake, so seriously did they take the debate.

This combative quality served a crucial purpose. By creating an environment where ideas were vigorously challenged, Telz trained its students not merely to absorb information but to analyze it critically, to test its foundations, to explore its implications. In short, it taught them to think.

When students presented flawed arguments, Rav Leizer’s responses could be startlingly direct. He might thunder at the student: “What do you know anyway?! You understand nothing, you boor! Do you think you know better than everyone? Any little child has more sense than you!” Yet these harsh words carried no lasting sting, because, as author Zev Rabiner put it, “The students accepted these reprimands with love, understanding their rebbi’s true intent.”

When Rav Leizer once spent a Shabbos in Kovno, en-route to visiting Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski (1863–1940) in Vilna, the students of both Slabodka yeshivos crossed the bridge and converged upon his hotel. Years later in Baltimore, a former student at Knesses Beis Yitzchak, Mr. Harry Wolpert, described the scene:

When Rav Leizer saw that hundreds of yeshivah students had arrived, he skipped the formalities and immediately launched into a shiur with his trademark intensity. The students listened attentively until the flow was interrupted by a quiet but assertive voice. Who was the brave one?

Hundreds of eyes shifted their gaze toward “Arke Sislovitzer” (Rav Aharon Kotler). Almost as quickly as he’d been interrupted, Rav Leizer shot back, “Du ploiderst vi a shaigetz! — You babble like a shaigetz!”

That made it official. There was no longer any doubt that one of the youngest students in Slabodka was also one of its greatest, for there was nothing more complimentary in yeshivah circles than being the recipient of a full-frontal attack by the great Rav Leizer Telzer!

In Zev Rabiner’s biography of Rav Leizer, he describes how on one occasion, something unprecedented occurred: As many as 15 students encircled Rav Leizer at once, peppering him with questions from all sides and not letting him continue his lecture. Each student endeavored, like a craftsman displaying his skill, to showcase his keen intellect and find a flaw in their rebbi’s words. This went on for a short while with great intensity. As the subject of this “attack,” Rav Leizer was absolutely delighted — Rabiner describes him as “me’ushar u’medushan,” brimming with joy in this battle of wits.

Rav Shimon Calmed the Storm

Rav Shimon Shkop, who would go on to become one of the yeshivah world’s most influential maggidei shiur, actually got his start as a maggid shiur in Telz when he was less than 25 years old. But it took a tragic twist of fate for him to take on the position at such a young age.

When Rav Shimon was a bochur learning in Volozhin, Reb Moshe Mordechai Idelewitz arrived in Volozhin and approached the Netziv, asking him to recommend a top bochur as a shidduch for his daughter. He wanted a son-in-law he could support for years, enabling him to continue learning without distraction. “Get me the best bochur in the yeshivah,” he requested.

The Netziv suggested Rav Shimon Shkop, one of the most promising young minds in the yeshivah. The shidduch was finalized, and shortly thereafter, Rav Shimon became engaged.

Before the wedding, however, news reached Volozhin that his future father-in-law had lost his entire fortune. The assumption among his fellow students was obvious — without financial support, the engagement wouldn’t hold. After all, the entire premise had been that Rav Shimon could continue learning without needing to seek a position.

But Rav Shimon didn’t back out. Years later, Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, who had been a fellow talmid in Volozhin at the time, recalled the story: “Rav Shimon thought to himself, ‘It’s bad enough the man lost all his wealth — so now he should lose the shidduch, too?’”

A few years after his marriage, when Rav Shimon was still young — around 24 years old — Rav Leizer, now his uncle by marriage, reached out to him.

Rav Leizer, the brother of Rav Shimon’s mother-in-law, had built a reputation as one of the leading roshei yeshivah of the era. Now, as rosh yeshivah of Telz, he needed another maggid shiur.

He remembered the chiddushim Rav Shimon had said at his own wedding, as was customary in those days. Impressed by his depth and clarity, Rav Leizer saw in him the ideal candidate for the role.

At just 24 years old, Rav Shimon accepted the position and began delivering shiurim in Telz, accepting a mandate that would shape generations of talmidim and leave an indelible mark on the Torah world.

Rav Shimon later recounted that when he first began delivering shiurim in Telz, he was deeply uncertain whether he could continue. He would toil for hours preparing his shiurim, exerting himself to the point that, to relieve his exhaustion and headaches, he had to wrap his head in damp cloths to soothe the pain. With a smile, he added, “After some time, I realized that under no circumstances could I give this up.”

Rav Shmuel Markowitz, a student of Rav Shimon who later became the rav of Turetz (the small town adjacent to Mir where Rav Shimon was born) reminisced:

“I recall the great storm stirred by the students with their questions, as Rav Shimon’s words initially seemed foreign to them. It required no small amount of patience to explain and sweeten his novel teachings, to emphasize and highlight every subtle nuance of reasoning. But Rav Shimon, with his extraordinary patience and his vast and rich treasury of unique expressions, would always calm the storm. Slowly but surely, his approach took root in the hearts of his students, enabling them to grasp his path in learning.”

Rav Yosef Leib Nenedick, a product of the Talmud Torah in Kelm who would go on to a storied career as the mashgiach in Ponevezh, Kobryn, Lomza, Kletzk, and Radin wrote in the Sefer Hayovel dedicated to Rav Shimon:

“I remember when I was a young student at the Telz Yeshiva, where Rav Shimon exerted a tremendous influence over the more than 300 students in the yeshivah. After his shiur, when we would daven Minchah, I would find myself davening with a depth of deveikus beyond my usual level. This was solely due to the profound impact of his shiur, which opened my eyes to the greatness of the Torah and He who granted us with it.”

One might wonder how 300 students attended Rav Shimon’s shiur, considering the overall size of the yeshivah. This question was answered in an entry in the Sefer Hayovel written by Rav Yitzchak Kosovsky, a brother-in-law of Rav Chaim Ozer and later the Chief Rabbi of South Africa, who studied under Rav Leizer from late 1897 until 1899. He explained that although he was among the elite students studying under Rav Leizer in the highest shiur, “We all went to hear Rav Shimon’s shiurim (as well). At the time we were studying Yevamos and his shiurim were astounding and evoked profound admiration.”

Rav Zalman Rotberg (1913–2002), rosh yeshivah of Beis Meir, recalled a conversation he had with Rebbetzin Leah Shkop. These were her words:

“Although many students would accompany my husband after the shiur, continuing to engage in Torah discussion, his student Rav Elchanan Wasserman surpassed them all. He would not leave his Rebbi’s side — walking alongside him, continuing to discuss Torah with him, escorting him, and striving to delve deeper and deeper into their discussions, all the way to the inner room where Rebbi would retire for the night. Rav Elchanan was so immersed in learning that he never stopped, even inside the house.”

The Table Moved with Him

Rav Leizer was known for his vivid rejoinders: “Imagine if all the taverns in the world were made into one tavern, all the wine barrels into one barrel, and all the drunks into one drunk, and that person drank the entire barrel — he still wouldn’t babble as foolishly as you just did!”

Or he would say, “If you lined up ten Turks (a symbol of dull-mindedness), they wouldn’t babble as much as you do.”

When a student posed a particularly insightful question, Rav Leizer would suddenly stop, order the student to stand, and rebuke him playfully: “This question is a ‘geneivah’ (stolen goods). You are in possession of a ‘stolen’ question, not your own. It must be from somewhere — perhaps from the Maharit or from the Ketzos!”

Multiple accounts testify to Rav Leizer’s physical expressiveness during his shiurim. Rav Moshe Shatzkes (1881–1958) described:

“It was not easy to stay close to Rav Leizer when he spoke in learning. When the discussion went on, the fiery passion of Torah would burn within him like a conflagration. At times, he would reach such excitement that he would seize his interlocutor’s hair or tweak his cheek — and when the other moved away, Rav Leizer would pursue him.”

Rav Avrohom Shimon Geffen (1882-1978) shared with Aharon Sorasky a vivid memory of Rav Leizer delivering a shiur. The scene was electrifying — his words igniting the room with passion, his entire being immersed in the depths of Torah. So intense was his absorption that the table before him shifted across the floor as he unconsciously pushed it back and forth. At times, his hands would land not on the table but on a student, whom he would unknowingly grasp and maneuver along with the rhythm of his fiery delivery, utterly unaware of anything but the Torah unfolding before him.

Rav Yitzchak Kosovsky (1877–1951) related that during his shiurim, “His limbs would tremble with unusual excitement, and sparks would flit from his mouth.” Questions posed during the shiur often sparked heated debates among all present, and Rav Leizer would sometimes descend from the podium to join the discussion, returning to his place only after the matter was settled.

Rav Meir Berlin describes the timing of these Torah battles: “In the summer, when the days were longer, the shiur was given on Shabbos afternoon at four o’clock. In the winter, Rav Leizer gave his shiur early Shabbos morning. While the entire town was still asleep, enjoying oneg Shabbos, lively voices would fill the street where Rav Leizer lived — voices of debate, of excitement, of deep passion, of simchas haTorah.”

This approach produced generations of talmidim renowned for their analytical abilities. Most students from Rav Leizer’s shiur “later became great rabbanim and roshei yeshivah in their own right.” The “milchamta shel Torah” that characterized these shiurim wasn’t merely an educational technique — it was Telz’s distinctive contribution to the world of yeshivah learning, a legacy that continues to influence Torah education to this day. As one talmid put it, “If you never saw Rav Leizer’s face shining during those hours, then you have never seen true spiritual joy and exaltation.”

Until You Smell the Ketzos

Rav Leizer introduced a distinctive approach to learning. His method was based on understanding and logic, though not with exclusive reliance on one’s own intellect. He adhered closely to the commentaries of the Rishonim and the greatest Acharonim, never making a move in learning outside the bounds they set.

Nevertheless, he maintained that a person must use his intellect to penetrate to the core of the subject and that the pilpul (dialectical analysis) prized by Chazal was designed for this purpose. Rather than focusing primarily on dissecting the words of the later commentators, Rav Leizer directed his students to concentrate on the Rishonim — particularly the Ramban, Rashba, and Ritva — who delve deeply into the Gemara’s literal meaning. He also emphasized certain Acharonim who utilized a similar method of analysis, such as the Nesivos Hamishpat, Rav Akiva Eiger, and the Ketzos Hachoshen.

Rav Leizer’s emphasis on these particular commentaries marked a shift in yeshivah education. For generations, the standard commentaries studied in-depth among Torah scholars had been the Shitah Mekubetzes and Maharam Schiff (which the publishers of the Vilna Shas had included in their editions). At Telz, however, among the Rishonim, the Ramban, Ritva, and Rashba became primary, while among the Acharonim, Nesivos Hamishpat and Ketzos Hachoshen took precedence.

The Ketzos Hachoshen, authored by Rav Aryeh Leib Heller (1745–1812), became so central to the Telz curriculum that an adage was coined: “Telz talmidim know the Gemara from the Ketzos.” In his book Gedolim Fun Unzer Tsayt, author Yaakov Mark adds: “And they know the pesukim of Tanach from the Gemara.”

In countless memoirs, students of the Telz Yeshiva pointed to the central role that Rav Leizer played in popularizing the Ketzos as a premier “lomdishe” sefer in the late 1800s. Rabbi Dr. Shmuel Shraga Bialoblocki (1888–1960), a student of Telz, described it as follows: “He deserves special credit for introducing the Ketzos Hachoshen as a classic work within the Lithuanian yeshivah world. The sefer’s author was from Galicia, and yet had a decisive impact on the litvish derech halimud. Rav Leizer’s flashes of brilliance were quite similar to the Ketzos….”

Rav Shimon Shkop would later confide to his close talmid Rav Yisroel Gustman (1908–1991) that his true rebbi was the Ketzos Hachoshen. Rabbi Yaakov Bienenfeld, rav of Young Israel of Harrison, shared with this author that he once heard a story about a rav who got lost when visiting Telz, and asked a local for directions to the yeshivah. The stranger responded, “Keep walking until you smell the Ketzos.”

Where Wits Were Sharpened

The intensity of study at Telz under Rav Leizer’s leadership is captured in this description from Rav Dov Katz in Tenuas Hamussar:

“The yeshivah was always roaring like a stormy sea, with groups standing and passionately debating halachah. Following the shiurim, which provided the foundation for further analysis, the intensity of discussion reached its peak.

The students spent most of the day in heated debates, through which they gained more than from the seforim themselves. And [these debates took place] not only within the walls of the yeshivah, but wherever you encountered the students — in the stantzias and in the streets, sitting in their homes and walking along the roads, when they awakened and when they lay down — they were immersed in Torah dialectics with boundless energy and fiery passion. The entire city of Telz had transformed into one great yeshivah, where the sound of Torah never ceased for even a moment.”

In the mid-1890s, future Mirrer rosh yeshivah Rav Eliezer Yehuda Finkel (1879–1965) was sent by his father, the aforementioned Alter of Slabodka, to study in Telz. His time in Telz was formative to his development as one of the great roshei yeshivah of his time. He is quoted by Zev Rabiner in his book as saying: “The proper thing for a yeshivah student to do is to go to Telz for two years in order to develop and cultivate thinking power, methods of reasoning, and insight into the depth of the words of the Rishonim and their perception — according to the rules and firm definitions of the Telz nusach (style) — and then continue to study in one of the other yeshivos.”

Rav Yerucham Asher Warhaftig (1875–1965), a Telz student in the late 1890s, wrote in the introduction to his Shalmei Yerucham that in his time, the yeshivah counted 450 students, “mostly of superior talent, all sharpening each other’s wits in halachah and sparring with each other assiduously. The discussion (pilpul) of the Gemara, Rishonim, and Acharonim was constant, with some even struggling to refrain during the Krias HaTorah and the chazaras hashatz.” He noted that this practice of “speaking in learning” during davening was stopped as soon as Rav Leib Chasman was appointed mashgiach.

Admission Policy

Almost immediately after Rav Leizer took the helm, throngs of young men from all over the Russian Pale flocked to Telz, eager to benefit from Rav Leizer’s teachings and drink from his wellspring of wisdom. The throngs became a stream after the closing of Volozhin in 1892, and the yeshivah quickly became overcrowded, unable to accommodate the surge of students.

In response, the administration decided to publish notices in the newspapers, announcing that the yeshivah would no longer accept new students. The announcement warned that anyone planning a journey to Telz should be aware that they would be wasting their travel expenses, as the yeshivah had no ability to absorb additional students.

In his memoirs, the Israeli historian BenZion Dinur (1884–1973) writes of his experience:

“As soon as we arrived, we went to the yeshivah. We handed in our letters, but it turned out that the business of admission to a yeshivah is no easy matter. At the Telz yeshivah, the standard practice was for a student seeking admission to so inform the yeshivah administration in advance, to send recommendations, and, only upon receiving an acceptance letter, to show up. Each student also had to guarantee a certain minimal income [this was usually procured from the Jews of their town of origin, who supported the Torah study of promising young locals].

The yeshivah students were not allowed “eating days” (or even “weeks”) [at the expense of the townspeople of Telz] except on Shabbos, when a student could be the guest of a local inhabitant. The yeshivah administration was very strict regarding the terms of admission and never accepted students who had not applied in advance and who had not brought a letter of acceptance. Moreover, we were young, especially me; I would not celebrate my bar mitzvah until Chanukah [some two months away], and boys of this age were not even in a yeshivah at that time.

But because we had come from “a great distance” and had brought multiple recommendations, because Poltava district was a fair source of income to the yeshivah, and because we brought recommendations even from the “envoys” of the Telz yeshivah who in late summer had passed through our district towns, it was not easy for the yeshivah directors to deny us admission.”

At a later stage, a firm rule was established: from each town or village, only one student would be accepted, and from the larger cities, two. Once a student from a certain town was accepted, registration was closed for all other bochurim from that town until he left yeshivah. This system was intended to keep the yeshivah enrollment at a manageable number.

Of course, the persistent young men of the era found ways to get around the restriction. It was not uncommon for a young man who was determined to study under Rav Leizer and hear his shiurim, but whose city’s quota had already been filled, to spend several months in a distant town from which no students had yet been accepted to Telz. There, he would reside with a relative and obtain letters of recommendation from the local rabbanim, allowing him to achieve his coveted goal: to become a talmid of Yeshivas Telz.

On one occasion, during a conversation with a prospective student, Rav Shimon Shkop suddenly realized that the young man had orchestrated precisely this sort of subterfuge. A brief moment of tension filled the room, and the student was convinced that he was about to be sent back to his hometown. But Rav Shimon immediately smiled and said warmly, “Nu, the Torah atones for all sins,” and accepted him.

A similar incident is recounted by Zev Rabiner about a student from Brainsk who “impersonated” a boy from Mielicze:

“When I entered Rav Shimon’s office for the entrance exam, he greeted me with love and warmth and asked, ‘From which city are you?’ (It was his custom to address students using the more respectful Yiddish plural form of the word “you.”)

“‘From Mielicze,’ I answered softly.

“‘Did you notify the administration in writing about your arrival?’ he asked gently.

“‘No,’ I replied hesitantly.

“‘Why not? We announced it in the newspapers.’

“‘I don’t read newspapers,’ I responded.

“‘Do you have a letter of certification?’ he inquired.

“‘Yes,’ I answered, my heart pounding. I handed him a letter from the Rav of Brainsk. As soon as he glanced at it, he exclaimed in surprise: ‘But you are from Mielicze! How do you have a letter from the Rav of Brainsk?’

“I began to explain: ‘My parents live in Brainsk, and that is where I came from. However, I was raised and studied in Mielicze, with my grandfather, and everyone considers me a Mieliczer.’

“A slight smile flickered across Rebbi’s face, as if he had just been relieved of a burden. He understood the situation well and, with a twinkle in his eye, remarked, ‘Indeed, changing one’s name annuls a person’s decree….’ ”

Watch and Weep: A Dramatic Performance in Rav Leizer’s Home

INMilkutai HaVolozhini (1927), author Yitzchak Rivkind described the deep and lasting impression caused by the closing of the Volozhin Yeshivah and the ensuing ripple effect on the entire olam hayeshivos:

The closure of the Volozhin Yeshivah left a profound and lasting impression on the students of the Lithuanian yeshivos…. The impact of the closure was so great that it gave rise to this remarkable fact: The entire episode of the closing of the Volozhin Yeshivah was turned into a theatrical performance in yeshivah circles, and for many years this performance held a prominent place in the festive programs and celebrations of yeshivah students across nearly all Lithuanian yeshivos and their branches.

The first yeshivah to innovate this tradition was the Telz Yeshiva, which itself had been established following the destruction of Volozhin. At that time, there was in Telz an 18-year-old student who was deeply moved by the closure of Volozhin and wrote a dramatic piece titled, “The Closing of the Volozhin Yeshivah — in Five Acts.” That young author later became the esteemed Rabbi Yitzchak Eizik Friedman, formerly rabbi of Grozde and currently of Kurshan in the Kovno district [and a mechaber of several prominent seforim].

Characters and Plot

The “characters” are mostly abstract: the Netziv and his students, the Talmud, the Torah, Knesses Yisrael, and Eliyahu Hanavi.

The plot in brief: due to the closure of the Volozhin Yeshivah, a great danger looms over the Talmud — the life-source of the Jewish people in exile, the source of its culture and spirit. The Talmud falls ill; the Torah prays to G-d on behalf of her only child. Knesses Yisrael, too, pleads with her Creator — for her own existence and the survival of Torah and the Talmud, without which she cannot endure.

Act I: The closure of the yeshivah
Act II: A dialogue between the Netziv and his students
Acts III–IV: Prayers by the Torah, the Talmud, and Knesses Yisrael
Act V: The Netziv visits the grave of his grandfather, Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin — the yeshivah’s founder. (Indeed, it was the Netziv’s practice to go to his grandfather’s grave whenever danger threatened the Jewish people.)

Finally, Eliyahu Hanavi appears, reveals himself to the Netziv and to Knesses Yisrael, and delivers words of comfort and hope, lifting their spirits.

The first performance took place on Chol Hamoed Succos, in the year 5653 (1892). Its emotional effect on the entire yeshivah and all those in attendance was profound and powerful — they wept and shed tears.

In a letter to Zev Rabiner, Yitzchak Rivkind writes something astonishing:

“The gaon Rav Eliezer Gordon requested that the play be performed a second time in his home. He spent the entire day of Hoshana Rabbah preparing for it, and personally helped set up the stage.
On the night of Shemini Atzeres, the play was performed again in his home.
 He loved the play so deeply, and its impact was so significant, that he even permitted us to ring a bell during the performance.
 Only when one of the prominent townsmen commented that ‘the world’ may not understand that we had permission, did he advise us to ring a silver spoon against a saucer instead.”

(See Aruch HaShulchan – Orach Chaim 338:2)

The Mussar Controversy

Despite his own connection to Rav Yisrael Salanter, Rav Leizer initially appeared ambivalent about incorporating structured mussar study into the Telz curriculum. However, as concerns grew about the spiritual development of the students amid the challenges posed by secular influences, Rav Leizer, together with his son-in-law Rav Yosef Leib Bloch, eventually instituted a mussar seder in the yeshivah.

In 1897, Rav Leizer hired a dynamic new mashgiach, Rav Leib Chasman, to oversee the students’ development, particularly in mussar. Having a mussar program enforced by a mashgiach was a novel concept at the time. Some Torah scholars felt that regular mandatory mussar study would detract from their Gemara learning, and many students in Telz protested this innovation, even going on strike. Their attitude was undoubtedly influenced by the arrival of students from Volozhin, which had been closed by Russian authorities five years earlier. In Volozhin, there was no mandated study of mussar, nor was there a mashgiach who set down the rules.

From 1897 onward, the mussar controversy simmered in the yeshivah, with occasional major flare-ups. At one point in 1905 the conflict became so severe that Rav Leizer closed the yeshivah for six months. The controversy only began to subside in the last years of Rav Leizer’s life, though full acceptance of the mussar approach wasn’t achieved until Rav Yosef Leib Bloch assumed leadership of the yeshivah after Rav Leizer’s passing.

Seeking Staff

It wasn’t only the mussar controversy that made the period from 1902 to 1905 particularly turbulent for the yeshivah. Staffing issues also played a large role. In 1902, Rav Yosef Leib departed Telz, assuming the rabbinate of the Lithuanian towns Varniai and Šeduva. Shortly afterward, Rav Leib Chasman resigned as well, returning to Kelm. When Rav Shimon Shkop departed in 1903 for Maltch, it left the yeshivah in a position of having lost three of its leading figures within a relatively short period.

Rav Leizer made significant efforts to find suitable replacements. He invited Rav Yitzchak Yaakov Rabinowitz (Rav Itzele Ponevezher) to give shiurim at the yeshivah. When Rav Itzel initially consented but later changed his mind, Rav Leizer was so disappointed that he prepared to summon him to a din Torah. He assigned his student, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman (later known as the Ponevezher Rav), to represent the yeshivah at the hearing.

When Rav Kahaneman protested that Rav Itzel would argue that “a hired worker can withdraw even in the middle of the workday,” Rav Leizer replied, “I made a kinyan, a halachically sanctioned acquisition, using a garment to make the deal binding. According to the Ritva, in such a case a worker cannot retract!”

Rav Kahaneman then asked whether Rav Itzel might have the right to send another worker in his place, to which Rav Leizer responded, “Another Rav Itzele? Is that possible? Does such a man exist?”

Rav Leizer then approached Rav Boruch Ber Leibowitz (1862–1939), then serving as rav of — and operating a small yeshivah in — the town of Halusk, but this arrangement also failed to materialize when Rav Leibowitz stated he would need the approval of his teacher, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik, leading Rav Leizer to cancel the appointment.

Eventually, Rav Chaim Rabinowitz (later known as Rav Chaim Telzer) was appointed as rosh yeshivah. He had been teaching at Knesses Bais Yitzchak in Slabodka, which had not aligned itself with the Mussar Movement. Rav Leizer’s choice of candidates, all of whom had opposed the Mussar Movement, suggests a possible shift in his attitude, although there is no explicit evidence of this.

(Interestingly, the reverse is seen when looking back at the mashgichim hired by the Ponevezher Rav, an avowed opponent of the Mussar Movement; his choices, Rav Eliyahu Dessler and Rav Yechezkel Levenstein, were legendary Mussarites.)

Rav Leizer’s keen insight also came to the fore as he reshaped the ambit of the traditional mashgiach position. The position of mashgiach in Telz was no mere formality; under Rav Leizer Gordon’s leadership, it became a central pillar of the yeshivah’s spiritual framework. Unlike the mashgiach of a mussar yeshivah, who delivered shmuessen and shaped the students’ moral development, or the mashgiach in Volozhin, whose duties were largely administrative, the Telz mashgiach was tasked with igniting his talmidim’s passion for Torah and yiras Shamayim.

This shift reflected Rav Leizer’s recognition of a changing reality: Bochurim could no longer be expected to develop a deep spiritual world organically. Earlier generations had assumed that once a young man entered the beis medrash, his devotion to Torah was assured.

Several mashgichim served during Rav Leizer’s tenure:

Rav Bentzeh-Velvel Krenitz (1893–1895)

Rav Leib Chasman (1897–1903), though student unrest led to a brief hiatus

Rav Yaakov Katz (1903–1904)

Rav Eliezer Luft (1904–1905, until the yeshivah was shut down)

Rav Shmuel Fundiler (from 1906 onward)

All of these mashgichim aimed to realize Rav Leizer’s broad vision for the role. Times were changing, he sensed, and without proper guidance, even bnei Torah could fall prey to the influence of the Haskalah or the Russian revolutionary fervor. In an 1894 fundraising brochure, Rav Leizer emphasized that the mashgiach was not merely a supervisor; he was a guardian of the yeshivah’s soul.

Tension and Unrest

Another hiring challenge ensued when Rav Leizer attempted to appoint his son-in-law, Rav Yitzchak Isaac Eliezer Hirshowitz (1870–1941), to a teaching position at the yeshivah. Until then, all senior posts had been held by family members, and Rav Leizer tried to appoint the no-less-qualified Rav Hirshowitz after Rav Yosef Leib’s departure. However, this move met with opposition from the rebellious students.

The tension erupted into an open rebellion shortly before Chanukah 1905, which the students called a hopkeh. Telz talmid Simcha Assaf described the scene:

“The hopkeh used to begin with a Sha! The hundreds of students would be studying aloud, much louder than usual, and suddenly silence would fall. A whisper ran through the throng: Sha! And silence reigned, so absolute that one could hear the buzzing of a fly. After a few seconds the students would start to study again very loudly, and then came another Sha!, and a third and a fourth. This Sha! boded no good. It was a sign of the coming storm. At the end of the time set for study, the students would throw down the benches and shtenders and leave the beis medrash in complete disarray.”

Rav Hirshowitz went on to take a position as a town rav, and regular studies resumed after a couple of days. But Rav Leizer was deeply aggrieved and disappointed, especially by the participation of his own students from the highest shiur, and he ceased teaching them. The students felt the chill in their relationship and stopped visiting his home.

Rav Leizer, however, could not endure this situation for long. His life was so deeply intertwined with the yeshivah and his students that after two months, he resumed teaching.

Despite the conflicts during this rocky period, Rav Leizer’s love and compassion for his students never wavered. When he decided to act firmly toward a group of rebellious students by cutting off their food stipend, a young Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, one of the foremost students in the yeshivah, brought their petition before the Rosh Yeshivah on behalf of the students, who were now studying in a local shul. Rav Leizer asked him, “What are they up to now?”

Yosef Shlomo replied simply, “They are learning diligently, but starving.”

This brief sentence pierced Rav Leizer’s heart. Despite his refusal to ignore the misdeeds of the rebellious students, he quickly gave young Yosef Shlomo a sizable sum to distribute among them.

Rav Nissan Waxman (1904–1982) recounts:

“When I served as a rabbi in Lakewood, there was a hotel owner named Reb Betzalel Goldstein [who was instrumental in the founding of Beth Medrash Govoha], who had studied in his youth in Telz and was a close student of Rav Leizer Gordon.

He told me that during the revolution years in Russia, the turmoil also reached the Telz Yeshivah, disrupting the regular order of study. Rav Eliezer was deeply distressed by this. He addressed the students and said:

“My beloved, precious ones, do not think that I oppose all your views. It may very well be that I agree with many of your claims. However, remember that our sages taught: ‘There is a time for Torah, and there is a time for prayer.’ This teaches us that we must not blur boundaries. Everything has its proper place and must not be compromised. A person should indeed know many things, and shape his life according to his own understanding.

“Yet this yeshivah has always been a fixed and sacred place dedicated solely to Torah. Therefore, I implore you, do not destroy this holy edifice.

“Every student is free to travel home and study whatever he wishes. But as long as he is here in the yeshivah, he must conform to the order dictated by the sanctity of this place. The yeshivah was founded and receives funds from the community exclusively for Torah study.

“If, Heaven forbid, we deviate from that commitment, I will have betrayed my mission and stolen public funding. I beg of you — do not cause me to become one who betrays holiness and commits theft in my old age.”

“His words made a profound impression upon all the students and brought the unrest at the yeshivah to an end.”

When Rav Kook Came to Telz

IN 1904, in one of the most intriguing episodes concerning the Telz mashgiach position, Rav Leizer invited Rav Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook (1865–1935), then Rav of Boisk (Bauska, Latvia), to serve as mashgiach.

Rav Kook traveled to Telz and spent several days there before ultimately declining the position, choosing instead to accept the rabbinate of Jaffa in Eretz Yisrael. But before leaving, he made a bold proposal: The yeshivah should introduce studies in Tanach, Midrash, Zohar, Kuzari, Emunos v’Deos of Rav Saadya Gaon, and the Rambam’s Shemonah Perakim — texts that would have drastically changed the traditional yeshivah curriculum.

One version, related by Rav Nosson Kamenetsky in the name of Rav Yeshaya Hadari (1933–2018), Rosh Yeshivah of Yeshivat HaKotel in the Old City of Yerushalayim suggests that Rav Leizer rescinded the offer after discovering that Rav Kook assisted his wife in the kitchen on Friday afternoons — conduct some in Telz deemed unbecoming of a gadol b’Yisrael.

Yehuda Mirsky, a biographer of Rav Kook, sees it as part of Rav Kook’s broader struggle with conflicting pulls exerted by both the beis medrash and rabbinic leadership. Indeed, a 1907 letter reveals that even after moving to Jaffa, he contemplated departing his rabbinic position to succeed the recently deceased Rav Yitzchok Blazer as the head of the Kollel Vilna in Yerushalayim — perhaps a sign that he continued to feel the pull of the yeshivah even after he’d joined the rabbinate.

Interestingly, in 1906, a short time after his proposal to Rav Kook, Rav Leizer himself seriously weighed an offer to move to Yerushalayim and fill the role of the increasingly frail Rav Shmuel Salant (1816–1909), rav of Yerushalayim’s Ashkenazi community. But he ultimately decided to remain in Telz.

Had Rav Kook assumed the role of mashgiach in Telz (a big if), and had Rav Leizer made the transition to Yerushalayim, their respective biographies, along with the histories of both the Telz Yeshiva and the budding yishuv in Eretz  Yisrael, may well have taken radically different courses.

Intoxicated by Torah

Despite the impressive infrastructure, elite aura, and prominent staff Rav Leizer brought to his yeshivah, many students attested that his own overwhelming, uncontrollable love for Torah served as the most powerful influence upon them.

Rav Leizer’s love for Torah study was legendary, perhaps his most defining characteristic. Rav Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg (1884–1966) known as the Seridei Aish, described a chance meeting with Rav Leizer at the train station in Königsberg, where Rav Leizer immediately engaged him in a deep Talmudic discussion: “I heard that you have a good little head (nuseh kampl); I will ask you a [Talmudic] question.” When Rav Weinberg offered an answer, Rav Leizer “kissed [him] lovingly on [his] forehead.”

When Reb Leizer heard about the success of Rav Chaim Brisker’s (1853–1918) innovative shiurim, Rav Leizer immediately invited Rav Chaim to come say a shiur in Telz Yeshivah. When Rav Chaim declined, Rav Leizer offered to vacate the positions of rav and rosh yeshivah for Reb Chaim, forgoing all personal benefit and honor so the talmidim could enjoy the maximum benefit to their learning.

In 1901, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik chose Rav Leizer from among all the great rabbanim of the area to officiate at the wedding of his son, Rav Moshe (1879–1941), in Pruzhin.

When asked why he selected Rav Leizer for this honor rather than older or more renowned scholars, Rav Chaim responded, “Who knows who is the greatest in Torah? But one thing is for certain — Reb Leizer is the gadol hador in ahavas HaTorah (the greatest of the generation in love of Torah), and that’s why I chose him.”

When the great Sephardi gaon, Rav Chaim Chizkiya Medini (1832–1904), prepared to publish his renowned work, S’dei Chemed, he hesitated over the title. Could the word S’dei be used, given its orthographic resemblance to one of Hashem’s names? Seeking guidance, he turned to Rav Leizer, who responded with a full-length pamphlet brimming with brilliance and sharp analysis. His incisive reasoning and vast knowledge left a lasting impression, showcasing a depth of scholarship that resonated far beyond the immediate question at hand.

Stories abound that illustrate Rav Leizer’s consuming passion for Torah learning. During his brief term as rabbi in Slabodka, he once passed by a shul and overheard a young man asking his friend a challenging Talmudic question. Rav Leizer immediately thought of an answer and knocked on the locked door to gain entry. When no one opened it, he climbed through an open window to join the discussion.

Similarly, when Rav Leizer was en route to serve as sandek at a bris, he passed a Slabodka shul and heard a student posing a difficult question. He stopped at the window and offered his answer, which led to a heated discussion. After two hours, the guests at the bris went searching for him and found him in the beis medrash surrounded by bochurim heatedly discussing divrei Torah. Rav Leizer, somewhat embarrassed, apologized to them and said, “Can a drunk abstain from whiskey placed before him?! That is how I cannot hold back from solving a difficulty in the sugya.”

This analogy to an alcoholic unable to resist a drink was one Rav Leizer used repeatedly to describe his relationship with Torah study. Once, two Telz residents came to him for litigation of a din Torah, and he put them off for another time, claiming he was busy with a public function. Then a student approached him with a question on the Gemara — and he spent hours discussing the answer. When the community members expressed their astonishment, he explained that “when it comes to Torah, I’m like an alcoholic who cannot control himself when there is liquor in the room.”

Rav Meir Berlin crystalized this overwhelming love in his memoirs, adding another dimension:

“One trait Rav Leizer possessed, similar to my father (The Netziv), was a love for Torah — not just a love for Torah in the abstract sense, but a simple love for the person who studies Torah.

By this I mean that he clothed the concept of love of Torah into a tangible form by caring for the needs of those who toil in the study of Torah so that they should never lack anything. They should be provided with all of their physical needs — bread to eat and clothes to wear — and not fall ill due to torn shoes and the like.

This ‘simple’ and pure form of love for Torah is lacking in many people. For the sake of the abstract ideal of loving Torah, they are ready to go through fire and water, and even when a yeshivah student falls ill, they are willing to make great efforts to heal him. But to be invested in the well-being of the Torah learner — like a father concerned for his son — this they do not grasp. My father comprehended it with exceptional precision, and Rav Leizer Telzer also exhibited this remarkable quality. Perhaps this is the utmost trait that must distinguish a rosh yeshivah.”

My Student, My Child

Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, the future Ponevezher Rav and one of Rav Leizer’s most distinguished students, related that during a discussion of a difficult sugya, Rav Leizer became so engrossed that he grasped his thumb and twisted it forcefully, inadvertently dislocating the bone. In his intense concentration, Young Yosef Shlomo did not even feel the injury at the time. Years later, he would express concern that at the time of the ultimate redemption, he (as a Kohein) might be disqualified from serving in the Beis Hamikdash because of this blemish.

Another student, Rav Moshe Rosenstein (later mashgiach of the Lomza Yeshiva), once observed Rav Leizer writing a halachic responsum. So absorbed was he in the task that he failed to notice when he reached the end of the paper and continued writing on the bare tabletop.

Rav Yisrael Shurin recalled a striking memory shared by Rav Chaim Heller (1878–1960) about the fiery enthusiasm of Rav Leizer Gordon. Rav Leizer had a habit of showering praise on anyone whose Torah insights impressed him.

Rav Chaim Heller was not yet 13 when Rav Leizer visited his father’s home and engaged the young prodigy in a lively Torah discussion. As the debate unfolded, Rav Leizer suddenly stopped, eyes alight with excitement.

“You will never become a gaon… because you are a gaon already!” he declared.

In Sefer Daas Chaim, Rav Chaim Walkin (1945–2022) the revered Mashgiach of Yeshivas Ateres Yisrael in Yerushalayim shares a story that the Chazon Ish was fond of relating about Rav Leizer, a testament to his true love for each of his talmidim:

A wealthy man, a staunch supporter of Torah, approached Rav Leizer in search of a son-in-law — someone he could support in learning for life. Rav Leizer welcomed him and said, “Come, choose a bochur who finds favor in your eyes.”

As they stood at the entrance of the beis medrash, the man’s gaze settled on a young scholar immersed in his learning, his voice carrying the sweet melody of Torah. “Who is he?” he inquired.

Rav Leizer responded, “He is my only child.”

The wealthy man, assuming the Rosh Yeshivah’s son was off-limits, continued scanning the room. His eyes landed on another promising bochur. Once again, he asked, and once again, Rav Leizer answered, “He is my only child.”

A third time, the same scene played out.

Finally, unable to contain his bewilderment, the man blurted out, “Rebbi, how many ‘only children’ do you have?”

Rav Leizer smiled and said, “Believe me, in this yeshivah, I have four hundred ‘only children.’ ”

CHAPTER 3: STALWART SPIRITUAL WARRIOR

Backbone of the City

T

he yeshivah world today knows of Rav Leizer as a pioneering rosh yeshivah. But at the very same time that he molded Yeshivas Telz, he blazed a new trail for rabbanim as well. Yaakov Mark described Rav Leizer as “the first of a new breed of rabbanim to emerge in Russia: A leader who combined profound Torah scholarship with worldly knowledge, wresting communal authority from ignorant overlords and redefining the role of the rav. No longer would a rav be seen as a ‘holy batlan’; under his watch, the rabbinate became a position of power, influence, and action.”

In Telz, nothing happened without Rav Leizer’s knowledge and approval. He was not merely a spiritual guide — he was the city’s backbone. When a fire broke out, he was there, directing the firemen. His home was a hub of communal leadership, filled with petitioners seeking advice, especially on Russian law. Among the sacred volumes on his desk lay the Svod Zakon — the Russian Legal Code — in which he was, by all accounts, as proficient as any lawyer in town.

Beyond his role as an educator, Rav Leizer served as a moral compass for the Telz community. He championed fair treatment for workers, especially the vulnerable and poor. When he learned that local matzah bakery owners were requiring their workers — including women and young children — to labor from early morning until late at night, he issued a regulation mandating that bakery doors be locked no later than 10:00 p.m.

His official reasoning was that tired workers could not properly observe the intricate laws of kashrus related to matzah production. However, he privately revealed to family and close associates that his true motivation was to protect the poor laborers from exploitation.

Similarly, Rav Leizer combated dishonest business practices in the community. When he discovered that certain shopkeepers were using deceptive scales and weights, he intervened forcefully, compelling them to purchase and use accurate measuring devices, which became known as “the Rabbi’s weights.” He personally visited shops to ensure compliance. The reputation for fairness spread beyond the Jewish community, with villagers from surrounding areas specifically requesting these honest measures for their transactions.

Even non-Jews respected Rav Leizer and sought his blessings. He persuaded district authorities to allocate a significant portion of a meat tax toward building mikvaos (ritual baths) and maintaining synagogues.

Against the Enlightenment

But if Rav Leizer was engaged in public service, it was always in defense of Torah. His opposition to the Haskalah was unrelenting, waged on multiple fronts. In 5630/1870, he and his rabbinic allies struck an agreement with Yechiel Brill of Paris, transforming the Halevanon periodical into the voice of Orthodox Jewry in Russia — a direct counterforce to the maskilic publications Hamagid, Hameilitz, Hacarmel, and their ilk.

Three years later, he again stood at the forefront of this war, battling a government decree that sought to force simple cheder rebbeim to obtain secular diplomas.

To the maskilim, he was an unmovable adversary. To his people, he was a fortress — unyielding, brilliant, and unafraid. He would mock the contemporary literary and academic publications of maskilim (knowing all too well that such material could be alluring to some of his more intellectually curious yeshivah students).

Ben-Zion Dinur recalled — over 65 years later — how Rav Leizer singled out a passage from the Geschichte der Juden of Heinrich Graetz (1817–1891), a multivolume historical work considered a classic specimen of Wissenschaft literature. (In the 1890s, Graetz’s work was translated from German into Hebrew by Shaul Pinchas Rabinowitz [1845–1910], making it all the more accessible to yeshivah students.)

Rav Leizer scoffed at Graetz’s description of Yehoshua crossing the Yarden (Jordan River) “one clear spring day.” Aside from rebuking the deliberate omission of any of the miracles involved (“Not everyone has the privilege of seeing nissim…”), Rav Leizer jeered at the liberties that Graetz, the supposed “great historian,” took with his facts, saying: “How can he claim to know the weather at the time? Perhaps it was actually a gloomy and overcast afternoon….”

His valiant opposition to the maskilim provoked their anger, and they retaliated by reporting the yeshivah to the government authorities and by campaigning in their periodicals Hameilitz and Hatzofeh against fundraising for the Telz Yeshivah, claiming that Rav Leizer was insufficiently nationalistic.

Rav Leizer’s sharp wit sometimes emerged in his confrontations with critics. In a conversation with a wealthy man who refused to donate to the yeshivah because Rav Leizer did not support Dr. Theodor Herzl’s Zionist vision, he responded with sarcasm:”How do you know that I am one of Dr. Herzl’s admirers? It is well known that collectors will pay vast sums for an article used by a famous person. Chassidim, especially, will pay great sums for the tefillin worn by a well-known tzaddik. I, too, am prepared to pay a small fortune for the tefillin — of Dr. Herzl.”

Enduring Connection

Despite his efforts, much like the other great Torah leaders of the time, Rav Leizer could not prevent all of his students from being influenced by secular movements. Some ultimately left the path for the various “isms” that plagued that generation.

He regularly visited an old friend who had become an influential Bundist (Jewish socialist) to solicit funds for the Telz Yeshiva. On one such occasion, another Bundist arrived and chastised the friend: “Why would you contribute your hard-earned money to such a ‘backward institution’?”

The friend smiled and replied with unexpected candor: “Yeshivos are important. If not for them, where would we develop our next (Bundist) leaders?”

Despite the undeniable fact that some students moved away from life as a yeshivamahn, their connection to their beloved rebbi never ceased. Following Rav Leizer’s passing, a powerful tribute was penned in Eliezer Ben-Yehuda’s newspaper, Ha-Tzvi by a former student named Yisrael Shapiro, who recalled the glory days of decades prior in poetic terms:

When I hear the name Telz Yeshiva, countless memories, deeply etched in my mind, come rushing back…. I remember the intense and bustling life within the four walls of the beis midrash, where Torah learning continued day and night. I recall the fiery passion and excitement during the sharp debates and halachic discussions in the shiurim of the roshei yeshivah and the spiritual fervor of the yeshivah when resolving a difficult kushya….

The impression of those days remains engraved in my heart, even as I later sat for years on the benches of the university, surrounded by the intellectual world of the West. Of all those memories, one image lingers most vividly in my mind — that of Rabbi Eliezer Gordon.

I was privileged to serve him and learn from him for three years. He breathed life into us; he gave us our neshamah, our spirit of holiness. He was himself a man full of vitality, a powerful seeker of truth. His love for Torah was overwhelming, an unquenchable fire, and this love he bequeathed to us as an eternal inheritance….

People may think or say what they will about Telz Yeshiva — whether in praise or critique — but one fact remains undeniable: it was great because of its great leader. And I am not the only one who feels this way. Rabbi Eliezer stamped his personality onto the yeshivah, and his imprint was pure and untainted gold refined to its highest level.

This is the power of a true leader, who imbues his students with his spirit. And everything Rabbi Eliezer did was guided by a deep inner conviction, driven by an uncompromising yiras Shamayim, which knew no bounds. If there were truly yerei Shamayim in our time, he was greater than them all. He was also a symbol of righteousness and integrity, humility and sincerity — his outward and inner self were one.

Another student, Moshe Eliezer Yakubinsky (1886–1965) of Jedwabne, Poland, resurfaced in the United States as Morris Jacobin, a labor leader in Local 17 of the Cloakmakers’ Union. While hardly leading the life of a yeshivah graduate, he took multiple opportunities to publicly write of his undying love and admiration for his rebbi, Rav Leizer: “I am one of [his students]. His name is holy to me. My soul stirs at the mention of his name….”

United Front

By the early 1900s, Rav Leizer stood at the forefront of a new era, rallying Torah Jewry against powerful waves of secularism that threatened traditional Jewish life. Determined to unify rabbinic leaders under a single banner, he became instrumental in founding “Knesses Yisrael,” a pioneering effort to present Torah Judaism as a cohesive ideological force.

Working closely with Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski, Rav Chaim Brisker, and other prominent rabbanim, Rav Leizer passionately urged diverse Torah authorities — litvishe roshei yeshivah, chassidic rebbes, and German rabbis alike — to overcome differences and unite in defending Torah values against secular inroads.

It was around Adar 1907 that Rav Chaim Ozer publicly proclaimed the formal establishment of Knesses Yisrael, which would be the first legally recognized rabbinical organization of its kind in Czarist Russia. In Rav Chaim Ozer’s correspondence regarding the details of the establishment of Knesses Yisrael, as well as the signatories to the official kol korei that launched it in the public sphere, five prominent rabbanim from the Pale of Settlement were named as the driving force behind this initiative.

Aside from Rav Chaim Ozer himself, there was Rav Chaim Soloveitchik of Brisk, Rav David Friedman of Karlin, Rav Eliyahu Chaim Maizel of Lodz, and Rav Eliezer Gordon of Telz. The stated goal of said organization was a unification of the Torah community in order to confront the myriad challenges facing Torah Judaism from without and within in the early years of the 20th century.

Rav Leizer Gordon was especially active in his leadership role, and with characteristic zeal he went about raising awareness, raising funds, and spearheading its first national conference. In a followup letter to the official kol korei proclamation that was dispatched to various rabbis across the Pale of Settlement, Rav Leizer Gordon addressed the fundraising woes of the nascent organization:

“…it is worth noting that the present moment carries an unprecedented opportunity to accomplish our goals. This is because in the current atmosphere, the shlomei emunei Yisrael are no longer intimidated by those who threw off the yoke of religion, and those who fear Hashem feel confident in articulating their positions on observing religion, and those that fear Hashem feel confident that they, too, can articulate their positions regarding observing religion…. Therefore, any rabbi who is negligent with dispatching the funds collected is causing undue delay to the upcoming general conference…. Signing for the furtherance of Torah & mitzvah, Friday 3 Cheshvan 1907, here in Telz, Eliezer Gordon, Telz.”

Not one to rest on his laurels, throughout the winter of 1907/8, Rav Leizer Gordon attempted to rally the rabbinical leadership across the Pale around the banner of Knesses Yisrael. A feverish correspondence ensued, and he requested that clusters of local rabbanim gather in regional capitals on Tuesday 27 Sivan to coordinate their respective positions within the new organization.

Apparently, Rav Leizer Gordon was too energetic for the slow pace of government recognition of new Jewish organizations in Czarist Russia. With an unmitigated enthusiasm to advance the cause, he announced a national conference to be held for Knesses Yisrael in Vilna on Lag B’omer of 1908, with participating delegates from across the Pale of Settlement.

This would have been a historic gathering, and the first ever of its kind. In order to call a conference of this sort in the Russian Empire, however, one needed a special license, which could only be issued by the Interior Ministry in St. Petersburg. Rav Chaim Ozer felt that Rav Leizer Gordon had acted too fast in calling the conference without procuring the necessary permission. In a surprise to no one, the license was not forthcoming, and Rav Leizer’s Lag B’omer conference was indefinitely shelved.

But the ambitious vision of Rav Leizer, Rav Chaim Ozer, and their cohorts did have a lasting impact in another realm. It culminated in the historic 1909 conference in Bad Homburg, Germany, an unprecedented gathering where leading Torah figures drafted a strategic blueprint for the future of this united group. These deliberations planted the seeds for the founding of Agudas Yisrael, establishing a framework that emphasized strong Torah education, centralized rabbinic leadership, and steadfast opposition to secular ideologies. Rav Leizer’s role was pivotal: His stature and clarity of purpose galvanized rabbinic unity, helping bridge long-standing divides and inspiring confidence among skeptical leaders.

And his foundational work bore fruit three years later, when the Agudas Yisrael movement was formally established at the 1912 Katowice Conference. Rav Leizer’s visionary leadership had set the stage in building one of the most influential forces for Torah Judaism in the 20th century and beyond.

CHAPTER 4: THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE

The Great Fire of Telz

IN

June 1908, the Jewish press reported an outbreak of terribly destructive fires across the Pale of Settlement. From every part of this region — essentially a large Jewish ghetto into which Jews had been forced to move from all parts of Russia — came news of one small town after another being destroyed. Zorki, Dorbiani, Horodis, Shereshoff, and Eishishok near Vilna were among the affected places, and hundreds of Jewish families were left homeless in each location.

The perpetrators of these fires were never traced, largely because there was no will to find them. Although the Russian police should have investigated each outbreak to discover the incendiaries, the methods of the provincial Russian police and their attitudes toward cases affecting Jews made it unsurprising that the hooligans prospered and continued their destructive work with impunity.

At its inception, the Telz Yeshiva was housed in one of the largest shuls in the town. As accommodation became increasingly cramped, in 1895 a proper yeshivah building was erected to accommodate the large number of students already attending or anxious to join. This building would serve the yeshivah for over a decade, until disaster struck.

In August 1908, the Russo-Jewish Committee in London received a telegram from St. Petersburg with devastating news: “On July 31, 1908, the whole town of Telz burned, five thousand co-religionists ruined, roofless and starving. Extraordinary disaster, claim your charity, having formed a committee, implore you to do your best in England. Representative community, Warshawsky.”

A Jewish correspondent who traveled to Telz to investigate found that there had been two successive fires. The first had destroyed 70 houses, the second 250 more. The fires disproportionately affected Jewish homes, by a nine to one margin: 4,073 Jews and 425 Christians were left homeless. The total damage was estimated at 1,200,000 rubles.

The local governor’s response only worsened the tragedy. He behaved disgracefully toward the Jews, refusing them assistance and mocking their expressions of distress. He reportedly said that the fire would serve instead of a pogrom — revealing the true nature of the disaster.

Eyewitnesses reported that the district head, a rabid Jew-hater named Pezenkov, denied the Jews fire-fighting equipment at critical moments without apparent reason. He first commanded the Fire Brigade to protect the Imperial Bank, although every article of value had already been removed to safety. Later, when several fire engines arrived from the neighboring town of Plungian, Pezenkov interfered with rescue efforts, directing them to position themselves in front of a house that wasn’t even in danger.

Among the many buildings destroyed was the Telz Yeshiva. Its destruction represented not just the loss of a structure, but a severe blow to Rav Leizer Gordon’s life’s work.

Rav Leizer, who had been out of Russia at the time of the fire, returned to find his hometown devastated, and immediately threw himself into rebuilding the ruins. Not only did he immediately begin to reconstruct the yeshivah building; he also labored to have all the Jewish houses rebuilt, so that no family should be left without shelter. The students, who following the fire had been split between the local shul as well as the one in Plungian, returned to Telz and to their diligent routine. But the Rosh Yeshivah, now burdened by a heavy financial load, was forced to travel to far-off places to collect money.

A Tale of Two Communities

The London that greeted Rav Leizer Gordon in the bitter winter of 1910 was essentially two separate Jewish worlds that happened to share the same metropolis.

In the elegant drawing rooms of London’s West End, the Anglo-Jewish aristocracy — led by Chief Rabbi Natali “Hermann” Adler (1839–1911) and luminaries like Sir Samuel Montagu (1832–1911 and Dr. Asher Asher (1837–1889) — conducted their affairs with British restraint and Victorian propriety. These were Jews who spoke the Queen’s English, who had replaced their Eastern European patronymics with respectable British surnames, and who viewed themselves primarily as Englishmen of the Mosaic persuasion.

The atmosphere among this Jewish establishment toward Eastern European immigrants was decidedly frosty. The secretary of the Jewish community, Dr. Asher Asher, along with Member of Parliament Sir Samuel Montagu, had even traveled to Lvov in 1882 to persuade Jewish leaders in Russia to discourage emigration to England, fearing it would “arouse the wrath of the Englishmen.”

But journey eastward, past the Bank of England and into Whitechapel, and one entered an entirely different world. Here, the narrow streets teemed with Yiddish-speaking immigrants fresh from the shtetlach of Lithuania and Poland. Since the 1880s, nearly 100,000 Jews had arrived in waves, fleeing pogroms and crushing poverty. The Machzike Hadath Shul, led by Rav Avraham Abba Werner (1837–1912), stood as a spiritual fortress for these newcomers. More than just a shul, Chevra Machzike Hadath was a group established in response to the iron rule of the United Synagogue (the umbrella group controlled by the Chief Rabbi).

It was extremely painful for those raised upon strict Torah standards to witness the diminished status of the Anglo-Jewish rabbinate. Anglo-Jewish ministers were deliberately prevented from receiving official rabbinic ordination locally, and if they traveled abroad to earn authentic semichah, they faced further humiliation upon their return. The Chief Rabbi denied them the right to call themselves “Rabbi,” forcing even distinguished scholars, who had borne the title proudly for years, to settle for the lesser designation of “Reverend” — a rule deeply offensive to those who valued their hard-earned rabbinic dignity. The Machzike Hadath vowed to make changes to this system. But it was an even more egregious act of “rebellion” that really caused a stir with the establishment.

When in 1891, the immigrant Jews established their own kosher supervision under the aegis of Chevra Machzike Hadath, Chief Rabbi Adler viewed it as open rebellion against his authority. He went so far as to appeal to famous Eastern European rabbanim — including, ironically, Rav Leizer himself — to ban the creation of a separate shechitah body. In November of that year, he obtained letters from Rav Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor, Rav Leizer Gordon, Rav Yehoshua’leh Kutner, and the Netziv proclaiming their opposition. (The Machzike Hadath in turn claimed that the Chief Rabbi had misrepresented them and ultimately gained the support of Rav Shlomo Breuer and the Chofetz Chaim to continue their own shechitah — though at the same time, the Chofetz Chaim pleaded with the group to seek a peaceful resolution with the Chief Rabbi.)

Into this fraught atmosphere stepped the venerable Telzer Rav, unaware that his mission to save his beloved yeshivah would soon end in tragedy.

Journey of Last Resort

Since that devastating day in the summer of 1908 when fire had ravaged Telz, consuming most of the city including the yeshivah building, Rav Leizer had worked tirelessly to rebuild. Though he had managed to secure some loans and pledges based on his personal guarantee, he still faced a shortfall.

Despite being 68 years old and in failing health, Rav Leizer made the fateful decision to journey to London. Indeed, nine months prior, when Rav Yitzchak-Isaac Halevi (1847–1914) had invited Rav Leizer to attend the aforementioned rabbinic conference in Bad Homburg, he acknowledged Rav Leizer’s frailty, writing: “I did not write to you until now because I heard that it is difficult for you to travel — may Hashem heal you — and that you also did not come to the gathering of rabbis in Vilna because of ill health.”

As Rav Baruch Moshe Feivelson (1882-1968) noted in his sefer Birchos Moshe: “Rav Leizer Gordon was very sick in his last years and the doctors warned him to be extremely careful. But in all his fiery devotion to Torah, he did not heed them.”

This passion for Torah had defined his life; now it would define his final chapter as well.

Accompanied by his wife as well as Rav Aharon Walkin (1864–1942) of Shad (later of Pinsk), a noted darshan with whom he shared close family ties, Rav Leizer Gordon set out on a long and taxing journey by train and boat in early February 1910. The crossing was stormy and unpleasant, but he was driven to help his beloved yeshivah.

What happened next was shared in an article by Rabbi Avraham Schischa (1915–2011) in the Torah Journal HaDarom (Vol. 32).

Upon arrival in London, Rav Leizer encountered immediate difficulties. To his dismay, it became clear that no proper accommodations had been arranged. London’s Torah circles were unprepared for his visit.

Then, in the first of a series of uncanny events, a well-off local businessman stepped forward and graciously offered to host Rav Leizer and his party in his home. The host’s name was Reb Mendel Rapoport, a quiet, dignified man. The two men greeted each other warmly. Only later, after they had spent time together, did their identities truly emerge — and the full weight of their shared history came to light.

Three decades earlier, Reb Mendel had lived in Telz, where he had faithfully served the community as a shochet u’bodek under the esteemed Rav Yehoshua Heller (1814–1880) and had earned the trust of all. When Rav Leizer first arrived in Telz as the new Rav, Reb Mendel, like the other shochtim, brought his slaughtering knife to be inspected.

Rav Leizer, known for his precision and high standards, examined the knife and made a caustic remark questioning its fitness for shechitah: “Arich mir a chalif? This, too, is a slaughtering knife for me?!” The words cut deeper than the knife itself.

Reb Mendel, a sensitive and G-d-fearing man, was crushed. Though he had served honorably for years, he felt his dignity unravel. Without protest, he resigned from his post, left Telz, and eventually settled in London. There, he gave up ritual slaughter entirely, entered the world of commerce, and prospered. But a silent ache remained in his heart.

Now, after nearly 30 years, the man whose remark had altered the course of his life was sleeping under his roof.

When the story emerged, Rav Leizer was stunned. He had never known the consequences of that passing comment. Overcome with emotion, he turned to Reb Mendel and asked for forgiveness for the pain he had caused unknowingly.

But this was not all.

The following evening, Reb Mendel brought Rav Leizer to the Machzike Hadath Synagogue for Maariv. There, Rav Leizer was introduced to the rav of the shul, a distinguished man with a white beard and penetrating eyes — Rav Avraham Abba Werner.

Once av beis din of Telz, Rav Werner had served under Rav Yehoshua Heller and had been a leading candidate to succeed him as rav. When the position opened, Rav Werner had hoped — with good reason — to be chosen. Instead, the younger Rav Leizer was brought in from Slabodka. Disappointed and disillusioned, Rav Werner left Lithuania, first for Helsinki, then to London, where he quietly served the immigrant community since 1891.

Rav Leizer now realized that his arrival in Telz had come at a cost he never imagined. With deep sincerity, he approached Rav Werner and asked his forgiveness, declaring that had he known of Rav Werner’s candidacy, he would never have accepted the position.

Once again, reconciliation came. The two embraced as friends, the old shadows lifted. Another old, personal account had been settled for Rav Leizer.

As Rav Zvi Hirsch Ferber (1879–1966) — who heard these accounts directly from Rav Werner — later wrote: “No one could understand why such a great man had traveled so far for so small a sum. All that was needed was 5,000 rubles — a relatively small amount, and one that could easily have been raised with a single letter to any of the communal leaders and wealthy admirers of his in St. Petersburg or Moscow, who held him in the highest esteem.

But now it was clear: Rav Leizer had not come merely to raise money. Divine Providence had charted this journey so he could make peace with the two men he had unknowingly hurt and receive their full-hearted forgiveness.”

The Fateful Meeting

Despite these meaningful reconciliations, Rav Leizer’s primary mission — raising funds for the yeshivah — faced significant obstacles. He secured an appointment with Chief Rabbi Hermann Adler, the spiritual leader of British Jewry, hoping both for a donation and introductions to influential communal figures.

Unfortunately, the meeting did not yield the support he anticipated. After patiently waiting, Rav Leizer was finally ushered into the Chief Rabbi’s office. Rabbi Adler politely explained that he could not assist, citing numerous pressing local causes requiring immediate attention. Further complicating matters, Chief Rabbi Adler seemed to have been led to believe — based on outdated or incorrect information — that the Telz Yeshiva had permanently ceased operations following the earlier mussar controversy. This misunderstanding was exacerbated by the steady stream of emissaries from Eastern Europe who visited Rabbi Adler, some of whom claimed affiliation with prominent institutions that, upon closer inspection, were misrepresenting themselves or in some cases, were altogether fictitious. As a result, it seems that Chief Rabbi Adler may have believed that Telz was among those institutions, mistakenly but without malice, leaving Rav Leizer deeply dissapointed.Rav Leizer was deeply shaken by this cold reception and the apparent failure of his mission. The stark contrast between the respect he commanded in Lithuania and his treatment in London was jarring. Here was one of Europe’s greatest geonim, the head of a world-renowned yeshivah and a leading defender of authentic Judaism, being treated like an unwelcome beggar.

On Motzaei Shabbos, February 12, 1910, after a day when he had appeared well and in good spirits, Rav Leizer sat at his host’s table. His thoughts turned to the Jews back home in Telz and their confidence that he would return with more than enough funds to pay all outstanding debts. The realization that he had failed in his mission left him despondent and distressed.

According to contemporaries, these thoughts led to a heart attack from which he never recovered. He suffered the attack at 7 p.m., and by midnight, despite the late arrival of Dr. Douglas Frederick Kennard, Rav Leizer could no longer be revived.

The cause of death would become a matter of debate. The official inquest concluded that he had died of complications from chronic asthma and bronchitis, conditions that had plagued him for six years. But those who had seen him at shul that Shabbos attested that he had appeared healthy. In numerous accounts published soon after, many directly attributed his death to the distress caused by the failed fundraising mission and his treatment by “highly placed personages.”

London Has Fallen Down

News of Rav Leizer’s death spread rapidly through London’s Jewish community, sowing profound shock. During the week, he had visited numerous people, appearing to be in good health. Now, suddenly, one of the greatest Torah scholars of the age had passed away in their midst.

The funeral, which took place after a brief delay required by British law for an inquest, witnessed scenes of grief rarely observed in England. Punctually at 11 o’clock on Tuesday morning, the hearse departed from the Spital Square Synagogue, making its way to the Philpot Street Great Synagogue, where the hespedim were to be delivered.

The streets were so crowded with mourners that police had to manage the traffic. Contemporary newspaper accounts estimated that over 50,000 people attended the funeral — the largest Jewish funeral ever held in England to that point. The scene was so overwhelming that plans to hold the hespedim inside the synagogue had to be abandoned. Instead, police formed a special square, and the eulogies were delivered from a temporary platform erected in front of the building.

A remarkable assembly of rabbinic leaders gathered to pay their respects. Present were the Chacham Dr. Moses Gaster (1856–1939); Dayanim Moses Hyamson (1862–1949) and Asher Feldman (1873–1950); Rabbi Avigdor Chaikin (1852–1928), the Rabbi of the Federation; Rabbi Avraham Abba Werner; Rabbi Samuel Daiches (1878–1949) of Leeds; Rabbi Shmaryahu Yitzchak Bloch of Birmingham (1864–1923); Rabbi Shmuel Yitzchak Hillman of Glasgow; the Ridbaz (1845–1913), who was visiting from Tzfas; Rav Yoel Leib Herzog (1865–1934) of Leeds and his son, future Israeli Chief Rabbi Yitzchak Eizik Herzog (who had just completed a grueling semichah exam from the Ridbaz); Rav Moshe Mordechai Epstein (1866–1933) of Slabodka; Rabbi Hirsch Hurwitz (1863–1946) of Sunderland; and eventually, the Chief Rabbi himself.

The Chief Rabbi’s presence was particularly noteworthy. When he noticed the enormous crowds that had gathered, he asked a rabbi standing next to him: “What is this great commotion here?” The rabbi answered: “Since Oliver Cromwell’s readmission of the Jews to England in 1656, no rabbi of his greatness has been buried in this country.”

In his eulogy, Rav Hurwitz of Sunderland stated: “Regarding the departed, one can say: Kelm raised him, Telz established his prominence, London buried him. The Telzer Rav was found dead while dedicated to his love for Torah. The question arises, who is responsible for the eglah arufah?”

(The eglah arufah is brought when a person is found dead without any obvious guilty party. Rav Hurwitz was, in effect, asking the assemblage: How could a notable Torah scholar die alone, far from home — and who is accountable for that?)

Of all the hespedim delivered that day, none was more powerful than the one given by Dayan Shmuel Yitzchak Hillman of Glasgow. Rav Hillman and Rav Leizer had engaged in regular correspondence over many years. Originally, Rav Hillman had planned to be in London to assist Rabbi Gordon with his fundraising efforts; now, instead, he was there to deliver his friend’s eulogy.

Standing before the hushed crowd, Rav Hillman delivered a fiery and emotional hesped comparing Rav Leizer’s sojourn in London with Yosef Hatzaddik’s journey to Egypt, and his burial on distant, foreign soil to the pain that Yosef Hatzaddik experienced when his brothers lowered him into a pit.

Rav Hillman then issued a passionate appeal:

“My dear colleagues and rabbis, if the death of this great scholar in our city has had any effect on our hearts, we must give charitable donations [for his yeshivah]. Whether [we are] a person who gives large amounts or a person who gives small amounts, [it is our duty] to raise up his holy yeshivah on its foundation, so that, by our enthusiastic response, he will have a share [in rescuing Telz Yeshiva from ruin] even after his death.”

Rav Hillman’s dramatic presentation of the final moments of this great scholar who had come to England from Russia only to be coldly treated by the establishment, followed by his unexpected passing and burial so far from home, made waves at the funeral and was widely cited across the community.

A Legacy Reborn

The days following the funeral witnessed a remarkable transformation in the London Jewish community’s attitude toward the Telz Yeshiva. Deeply moved by Rav Leizer’s shocking passing — and perhaps feeling collective guilt over how he’d been treated — they mobilized with unprecedented generosity.

In a letter to the Vilna daily Ha-Zman on February 18, a London resident addressed the rumors swirling across Eastern Europe:

“After the death of our great guest, our citizens wanted to correct the wrong perpetrated in our city against him during his life. The honor they withheld during the week he spent here, they wished to bestow on the third day after his demise” — when, after an investigation by British authorities into the cause of the strange death, the funeral took place — “as if they wanted to atone for the cool and cruel reception accorded him, which undoubtedly advanced his demise.”

Lord Rothschild contributed £100 to the yeshivah fund, and Lord Swaythling £50, along with a separate contribution for Rav Leizer’s family. The Chief Rabbi, now more than convinced of Rabbi Gordon’s greatness, also contributed handsomely. In just days, enough money was raised not only to rebuild the Telz Yeshiva but also to provide for Rav Leizer’s bereaved wife and five children.

Rav Leizer’s body was laid to rest in Chevras Bnei Yisrael Cemetery (Edmonton Cemetery), in North London. The Federation of Synagogues built an ohel over his grave, a testament to the honor accorded to this great gaon. The mausoleum, made of bricks and covered by a peaked, shingled roof, resembles a miniature house. It is entered via a sliding, wooden door, and within lies a simple grave with a small headstone. A ner tamid burns continuously inside.

The effusive inscription on the large stone tablet attached to the ohel’s outer back wall testifies to the community’s respect: “This memorial was erected as a testimony to and in public appreciation of the worth of Eliezer Gordon, Rabbi of Telz, Russia, and head of the great local yeshiva, who died in London, whilst on a visit for the purpose of raising funds for the advancement of Jewish education in Russia….”

The outpouring of grief was not limited to London. In Brainsk, an overcome Rav Shimon Shkop moved the assembled to tears with his passionate eulogy of the uncle with whom he had worked closely for 18 years.

In Brisk, the crowds that came to hear the hesped by the city’s maggid were so overwhelming that Rav Chaim Soloveitchik could only participate by standing outside the shul (which he did).

In Yerushalayim, masses of mourners gathered to hear the words of Rav Yitzchak Vinograd (1851–1912), staying until three o’clock in the morning.

And on New York City’s Lower East Side, the attendees of the planned memorial at the Telzer Shul on Ludlow Street were shocked when the speaker, a 75-year-old native Telzer named Rav Tzvi Hirsch Kobre, suddenly collapsed at the podium, passing away before uttering a word. His tombstone in Mt. Zion Cemetery in Queens reads, in part: “while speaking, he passed away in shul….”

During his fateful journey to London, Rav Leizer Gordon achieved far more than he could have imagined. Through his death, he not only secured the future of his beloved yeshivah, but also brought about a rare moment of unity between the divided Jewish communities of London. Above all, his life’s devotion to Torah had culminated in the ultimate sacrifice — giving his very life for its continuity.

As one contemporary wrote: “Thus the great Gaon Rabbi Eliezer Gordon can be said to have paid with his life for the reestablishing of the famous Telz Yeshiva he had founded many years ago.” His legacy, like the eternal flame that burns at his graveside, continues to illuminate the Torah world to this day.

Seeds and Saplings

In the aftermath of Rav Leizer’s sudden passing, his son-in-law, Rav Yosef Leib Bloch, moved back from Šeduva to Telz, to assume the leadership of the yeshivah, a role he served in for the next two decades. Matters became complicated with regard to the rabbinate of the town — some of the townspeople expressed a preference for splitting the two positions, and electing Rav Leizer’s younger son-in-law, Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, as the rav. The town might have become embroiled in a lengthy feud — but for Rav Zalman: Not only did he renounce any claim to the rabbanus, but his wife, Sarah Miriam (1881–1965), actually campaigned and collected signatures for Rav Yosef Leib’s candidacy. Then the Sorotzkins left Telz, traveling to Voranava (present day Belarus), some 200 miles to the Southeast, where Rav Zalman became the rav.

When word of this remarkable act of selflessness reached Radin, the Chofetz Chaim was reportedly so impressed that he declared, “Telz will yet return to the Sorotzkin family.” In 1941, this prophecy began to blossom when Rav Zalman’s son, Rav Baruch (1917–1979), became engaged to Rochel Bloch (1920–2006), granddaughter of Rav Yosef Leib. By then Telz was on the precipice of destruction, as the final chapter of its glorious history was about to be penned in blood.

But although the mighty Tree of Life that was Telz may have been felled, its seeds were scattered around the globe, with saplings taking root in Cleveland, Chicago, Riverdale, and Eretz Yisrael. Today the spirit of Rav Leizer lives on in the progeny, students, seforim, and yeshivos of all of his beloved “only children,” who would carry on his legacy of spreading Torah for much of the 20th century.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1057)