Even when he was at the height of his strength, the Rebbe kept to himself, preferring to stay close to his beis medrash and kehillah, traveling very little.

He’s never been a “schmoozer” — a schedule with 18 hours a day slated for learning leaves little time for that — so Mishpacha’s visit into his inner sanctum was beyond every norm.

It was extraordinary.

The Rebbe feels a responsibility to share the story of Hashem’s kindness to him. If the chassidus is a wonder, his own existence, the survival of the house of Vizhnitz, is even more remarkable.

The home of the Vizhnitz-Monsey Rebbe is like an abode from another world, a near exact replica of the erstwhile kingdom of Vizhnitz in the Austrian Empire, a sanctuary filled with the atmosphere and spirit of a bygone time.

Although a camera has never made its way over the threshold, Mishpacha was given the rare privilege of entering to hear the holy words of the tzaddik, as he shares the story of his astounding escape from war-torn Hungary.

Torchbearer of Tradition

It is dusk, day giving way to evening.

A visitor to the Rebbe’s house first passes through the “gabbaim shtib,” or waiting room, where two gabbaim are seated. One writes kvittlach as the other directs traffic. Two long tables stretch the width of the room. There is a feeling of antiquity in the air; a bookcase filled with seforim dominates the d?cor, and chassidishe works are scattered here and there. The father of a chassan writes a kvittel before bringing his son to the chuppah. They will sit with the Rebbe while the kallah and her mother wait in a separate room. Then the Rebbe will step outside and be mesader kiddushin. Neither side will approach the chuppah without a brachah.

The other regulars in the gabbaim shtib are bochurim, who wait patiently as they clutch their sha’os tzetlach. More than once, the Rebbe has said to the bochurim: “When you write a sha’os kvittel, you are doing good for the Jews. I get such chiyus from it. You don’t want to do a toiveh for an alter Yid?”

We strike up a conversation with the bochurim and discover that they are not even Vizhnitzer chassidim. They heard that the Vizhnitzer Rebbe gives a blessing to anyone who brings him nachas with this written record of their diligence, so they come once a month for the brachah.

The Rebbe remains ensconced in his room, hidden from the public eye, carrying on the traditions of his ancestors. He sits with his shiurim and his seforim, guides his chassidim, and encourages them to take advantage of every minute to learn Torah and improve their middos. Despite his advanced age and weakness, there is no sign that he’s slowing down. He continues to demand from himself and others more avodah, more kedushah. He demands abstinence from worldly pleasures and living the kind of life that he remembers from the time of his grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael. For the Rebbe, there is no essential difference between Grosswardein 1936 and Monsey 2016. What was good for the early chassidim is good for the present-day chassidim, too.

Reb Yossel Raab, a man with a radiant face and luxurious beard, skillfully directs the flow of visitors. The Rebbe is still weak, Reb Yossel reveals; he recently returned from the hospital. The petitioners sit around the long tables, perusing the various seforim, whispering Tehillim in preparation for an audience with this tzaddik from generations past.

Salvation Room

It’s time for Minchah in the gabbai shtib. The door of the Rebbe’s room opens a bit, and the Rebbe joins the minyan from his room. Because the Rebbe is feeling weak, he davens while seated, but you can see the awe etched into his face as he speaks with his Maker.

The line moves forward, and we step in to the private room the chassidim call the “praven shtib.” There is no exact translation for the Yiddish word “praven.” The general translation is activity, or creation. So what is it that is manufactured inside the room? Chassidim say that salvation comes through there: It’s where the Rebbe generates the mercy of Heaven.

The door closes behind us, and it’s as though we have traveled through time — like we’re back in Grosswardein. The Rebbe is seated at the head of the table. Despite his infirmity, his mind is sharp. He asks us to seat ourselves, his eyes wise and knowing even as they’re dimmed by dark glasses.

The Rebbe wears the well-known Vizhnitzer hat, the bow of the band positioned on the right side. The Rebbe’s father, the Imrei Chaim, once saw a non-Jew wearing a hat with the bow on the left side, and from that moment, the Vizhnitz style changed. The Rebbe’s white beard and floral beketshe give him a regal appearance, but the majesty in the room emanates from the man himself.

The room is filled with bookshelves bursting with seforim, many of them old collector’s items. But the Rebbe’s eyesight no longer allows him to learn from seforim, so he carries their words in his heart.

A tape player on the Rebbe’s table allows him to listen to recorded gemara shiurim from Rav Chaim Shmerler, a maggid shiur in Eretz Yisrael.

In the brief slivers of time between visitors, the Rebbe listens to another few lines of Gemara, imbibing each word like oxygen. The Rebbe, accustomed to finishing Shas again and again over the years, maintains his minhag in his old age as well, by way of the tape player.

For Posterity

There are kvittlach piled in front of the Rebbe, but otherwise the table is almost bare. We move closer to where the Rebbe is seated.

The Rebbe’s face lights up when he hears that we want to write about his escape, and he smiles broadly. More than 70 years have passed since that horrific ordeal, which fortunately ended well for the entire family of the Imrei Chaim. Still, the events made an impression on the Rebbe. Reticent by nature, when it comes to recalling the miracles that took place for him and his father during their escape, the Rebbe is happy to speak.

The Rebbe sidestepped his minhag to avoid any sort of exposure because he believes it’s important that his story be recorded for later generations. The Rebbe isn’t well, and much of what he said wasn’t detailed. We supplemented his words with accounts of chassidim and earlier derashos in which he elaborated and clarified each point.

And in contrast to most articles, there won’t be accompanying pictures featuring a clear image of the Rebbe of Vizhnitz-Monsey. Instead, there will only be a partial image of the Rebbe, which falls within the Rebbe’s guidelines.

The Rebbe has been covering his face in front of cameras for more than 70 years: He rarely leaves Monsey for fear of being photographed. He made an exception just once, for the Kinus Klal Yisroel at Citi Field in the summer of 2012. The Rebbe was warned that it would be difficult to avoid being photographed in that setting, but he maintained that the campaign to empower Jews to rise above the nisayon of technology called for mesirus nefesh. Sitting on the dais while the cameras flashed was his sacrifice.

A Sefer in Three Parts

While the Rebbe’s chair is plain and simple, there is an antique chair on the other side of the room that once belonged to the Tzemach Tzaddik, Rebbe Menachem Mendel Hager zy”a, leader of Vizhnitz five generations ago. Only once a year, on Seder night, does the Rebbe recline in his holy ancestor’s seat.

Beside the Rebbe’s place there is a tiny aron kodesh, containing a sefer Torah that is smaller still, which the Rebbe dances with on Simchas Torah. There is an amazing story behind this sefer Torah, the Rebbe tells us.

“This small sefer Torah is an inheritance from my father from his mechutan, Reb Zev of Rachmistrivka ztz”l. The sefer Torah was left behind in the ghetto during the war. The ‘Taboristan’ [Jews who served in the Hungarian Army] recognized that it was a sefer Torah, and they wanted to bring it out of the ghetto and send it to my father in Bucharest. They wrapped the sheets of the sefer around their clothes, underneath their outer uniform, and smuggled it out of the ghetto. The sefer Torah was indeed delivered to my father, and now it’s here with me.”

The praven shtib is growing dark. But the Rebbe is careful to conserve electricity, because his grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael, was particular to follow the Torah’s directive not to waste money. “During the winter I would daven with my grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael, on Fridays at haneitz. It was dark when we started, so we’d kindle the lamps. When my grandfather saw, in the middle of Pesukei D’zimra, that there was enough light coming in from outside, he would ask me to put out the lights. My grandfather davened with a tremendous dveikus, with all his strength, barely remaining in this world, yet he would still pay attention to putting out the lights so as not to waste money.”

In the Vizhnitz-Monsey Rebbe’s room, the lights stay off the entire day.

The seforim in the room are part of his father’s private collection. Some of the seforim originally belonged to and contain the handwritten notations of his grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael. The Rebbe treats these seforim with awe. Among them is a sefer that is actually three bound into one: the Likutei Amarim Tanya, of the Baal Hatanya, the Yesod V’shoresh Ha’avodah; and Likutei Torah of Rav Mordechai of Chernobyl. The Rebbe has explained more than once: “The main reason I had a feeling to take davka this sefer with me when I escaped was because I was named after the Rebbe of Chernobyl.” The sefer was his companion while he was on the run.

Recently the sefer began to age and crumble, so the Rebbe arranged for it to be rebound. “I have a special feeling for this sefer,” the Rebbe explained, “because I learned it during a time of tremendous difficulty.”

After the Rebbe’s wife passed away, the Rebbe gave instructions to divide his seforim among his sons. A list was made of all the seforim the Rebbe wanted to keep with him, dating all the way back to those from the printing press of Slavita and Zhitomir. The Rebbe did not want to keep any duplicate seforim except for Likutei Torah of the Chernobyler Rebbe, of which he had two copies, one of them the sefer that was rebound, and a newer printing of the same work. When the Rebbe was asked why he wanted two copies of the sefer, he smiled and asked that the older copy be brought to him. He pointed out that that in the printer’s introduction a few of the lines of type were broken, and explained, “Ich vill oich hobn a gantze Likutei Torah in shtib!” (I want a complete Likutei Torah in my house.)

Seder Night in a Bunker

And so the Rebbe speaks. Rebbe Mordechai Hager was born on the 18th of Tammuz 5682 (1922) in Grosswardein, the cradle of Vizhnitz chassidus between the two world wars. Grosswardein (then part of Hungary and now part of Romania and known as Oradea) was the home of the Ahavas Yisrael and his son the Imrei Chaim. The Rebbe’s brother, the Yeshuos Moshe, was six years his senior. Because there weren’t many grandchildren around then, the Rebbe grew especially close to his grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael. Though he was niftar around the time of the Rebbe’s bar mitzvah, those years together produced a bind the Rebbe has treasured for his entire life.

In his youth, the Rebbe learned in Szekelyhid (S?cueni) near Grosswardein, in the yeshivah of Rebbe Yoel of Satmar in Romania, and in Pupa, under the Vayechi Yosef. But most of his teenage years were spent learning on his own in his father’s court.

The Rebbe was 18 when World War II broke out. The region remained untouched for the first four years of the war, and the Rebbe, together with his family, remained there until the last possible moment, when the Nazis were already tying the noose around their necks.

When the Rebbe was asked why his family didn’t escape earlier, he answered: “We in Hungary had no idea what was happening in Poland. We were completely cut off from them, and we hadn’t heard anything about the murders and the suffering of our fellow Jews there. It was only in the middle of 5703 [1943] that one of the first refugees from Poland came. His name was Reb Mendel Feiger, a Kossover chassid, and he told us what was happening. Many Polish refugees came after him, who told us even more horrific stories. The Belzer Rebbe, and relatives of Dzhikov, Riminov, and Bobov were among the refugees, and when we heard what they had to say, we felt faint.

“At first, the Hungarians thought it was just propaganda, that the refugees were trying to ingratiate themselves so they would get money, but we believed what we were hearing.”

When the Germans finally captured Hungary on 24 Adar 5704 (March 19, 1944), a “shvartze kamareh,” a black cloud, fell over the Hungarian Jews, and they were all terrified.

The most practical escape was Romania, a short distance away. The Rebbe explains that there were those who said that Romania was also dangerous, but it was better than remaining in Hungary. “Once we decided to escape, we immediately started to make the necessary connections. But then Pesach was upon us, so we pushed off our plans in order to make some sort of Yom Tov preparation.”

In the meantime, Jews from all over Hungary came to Grosswardein in hopes of crossing the border to Romania.

Rebbe Yudeleh Horowitz of Dzikov arrived earlier following a dream he had on the first day of Rosh Hashanah 1944. In the dream, he saw the Ahavas Yisrael warning him about horrible events to come. Says the Rebbe: “Before he escaped, he took all his seforim up to the roof of his home and hid them there. And when he returned after the war they were all still there. He didn’t lose even one sefer.

“From the time he arrived in Grosswardein,” says the Rebbe about Reb Yudeleh, “he did not leave my father’s side for a second. At one point there was a fear that my father was going to be captured. When he went to sleep in the house of a neighbor, Rebbe Yudele went with him and insisted on being in the same room. When my father went to the mikveh, Reb Yudele would shake with fear until he returned home.”

Plans for escape were secretly taking shape, even without a clear destination.

The Rebbe says the family started gathering up all their valuables. In one box, they put all their gold and buried it. In another, the silver. In a third, they put all their clothing and housewares.

The Rebbe continues: “At that time we started building bunkers. At first we dug temporary bunkers, where it was only possible to stay a few hours. The reason we did this was because we heard from the Polish refugees that the Germans would burst into Jewish houses and kill anyone they found there. Afterwards there’d be a lull, and then it would start all over again. So we made ourselves a temporary bunker in case we needed it.”

On Erev Pesach 5704 (1944), instead of cleaning the house, baking matzah, and preparing for the Seder, the Vizhnitzer Rebbe and his family were busy digging. The Rebbe says, “On the night of bedikas chometz, we finished building the bunker. When we heard rumors that the Nazis were coming for all of us, we ran inside, but there were no attacks.”

The Rebbe conducted the Seder in the bunker. It was customary for the chassidim to celebrate with the Imrei Chaim, but that year, besides Reb Yudeleh Dzikover, the only ones allowed to join the Rebbe were his sons, Moshe Yehoshua, Yehoshua Hager-Lau, and yibadel bein chayim l’chayim, the Rebbe of Vizhnitz-Monsey and his daughters, among them Tzipora Friedman (Ben Shalom), who escaped on the last day of Pesach.

“On Chol Hamoed Pesach we started building a larger bunker, so that it would be possible to remain there longer if necessary. In the new bunker there was enough room for 40 people, but it was difficult to breathe. In the end the goyim found the bunker. They were going around in the house above, and they smelled kerosene, which we used in the bunker for cooking. They started searching for the source of the smell, and they found the bunker. Of course, they immediately arrested all of us.”

The Rebbe recalls that they also built an additional bunker, a larger one with more air into which 13 people could fit. “We put barrels in the bunker to pour used water into, and from time to time we needed to remove them, so the people who worked in the Munkatabor took them out. They also brought food and other necessities. Among those who helped us at that time were Reb Yosef Steiglitz and Reb Zaideh Einhorn, chassidim of my father.

“At a certain point, we were forced to accept help from a non-Jew. We hired him and paid him a nice sum of money to bring food and take out the barrels. Not long after, the goy reported us to the Germans. At that time, there was no longer a ghetto in Grosswardein; most of Hungary had been emptied, and as the ghettos were liquidated, they brought all the prisoners to a city near Pupa.”

Says the Rebbe: “After Pesach 1944 we started to think seriously about escaping to Romania. My father agreed that we needed to cross the border, but he wanted the rest of the family to go first. He was very hesitant, because since he didn’t speak Hungarian or Romanian, he was worried about being stopped for questioning and exposed. But the main reason he didn’t want to go was because he couldn’t make peace with the thought of cutting off his beard and peyos, which he would have to do if he tried to cross the border. It pained him so greatly that he delayed the escape for as long as possible.”

During the war, the Rebbe explains, there was a debate among the gedolim if it was permissible to register themselves with non-Jewish names because of pikuach nefesh. The gedolim of Poland permitted it, but the Hungarian gedolim did not. “Baruch Hashem, no harm came to us because of it. On the subject of dress, it was decided that it was only forbidden to dress like a priest, but donning farmer’s clothing to disguise one’s Jewish identity was permitted. When we escaped we wore farmer’s clothing — it would have been impossible to escape otherwise.”

The Rebbe and his family had also considered fleeing to Eretz Yisrael, but that path was also blocked. Three months before the Nazis invaded Hungary, Reb Itche Meir Levine, the son-in-law of the Imrei Emes of Gur, applied for a visa to enter Eretz Yisrael on behalf of the Rebbe and his family.

“By the end of the winter of 5704 [1944], we were set to travel to Eretz Yisrael,” the Rebbe recounts. “I traveled to Pupa then, in order to join my family and go with them to Eretz Yisrael. The Pupa Rav called me aside, and said, ‘I also need to escape, but I am a Rebbe with ten children to care for. I can’t just travel without preparation. I ask of you to please try to arrange papers so that I can travel to Eretz Yisrael.’

“But in the end,” the Rebbe continued. “I didn’t go to Eretz Yisrael. We were ready to go, we had packed up everything we needed, but the certificates never came. There were other families whose visas had already arrived, among them Rebbe Shulem Leizer Halberstam [of Ratzfert], but ours never came.”

To the Forest

On the day the Germans herded the Jews of Grosswardein into the ghetto, the Rebbe recalls in wonder that his sister, Rebbetzin Sheva Ernster a”h, happened to be outside the ghetto. “By hashgachah pratis, someone told her that they were looking for workers to cut down the trees in a forest outside of the city, near the Romanian border. When my sister heard this, she immediately thought it would be a good way to get out of the ghetto and closer to the border. She registered the entire family to work, and received ‘kartlach’ [cards] allowing us to leave the ghetto.

“Until today, we have no idea why they wanted to cut down the trees, or why they chose Jews who had no experience to do it. It was clear that it was from Hashem, and min haShamayim it provided the perfect opportunity for my father’s rescue. As I mentioned, my father did not want to cross the border. He was literally pushed against his will, and he was forced to escape.”

In the forest, the Rebbe says that his father and Reb Yudeleh refrained from work on Shabbos, sitting in the goy’s house nearby. During the seudah, they heard that the “Deutsche autos” were coming to the forest to take all the Jews back to the ghetto.

“My father immediately removed everything from his pockets and escaped into the nearby forest together with some other people. They wandered from place to place until b’siyata d’Shmaya they were able to cross the border into Romania. My father left behind precious tefillin, inherited from his father, written by the holy hand of Rebbe Moshe Sofer of Pshevorsk. My father would say that perhaps he should have taken the tefillin ‘k’lachar yad,’ for which he could have found a heter, but he didn’t have time to consider his options.

“In any case he had a mazel: A man from his group took tefillin, however he did it, and my father did not miss even one day of laying tefillin.”

Standing Up to Eisav

The Rebbe explains that he was hesitant to leave by himself because he felt a bochur should not be without his parents and guidance.

“But Reb Yudele encouraged me to go. He said the situation was getting worse, and there was nothing to do but escape.

“I went with three other bochurim to the grave of my grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael, to part from him. When we came out of the ohel, a group of Germans saw us and immediately converged on us. I decided not to run away because, as it is brought in the Zohar Hakodesh regarding Yaakov and Eisav, if you stand up to the goyim they have no control over you. And in fact, they didn’t do anything to me. They insulted me a bit but they didn’t touch me.

“I packed a bag to take with me when I escaped. In it I put tefillin, a Chumash, some food and clothing, and cream to remove my beard and peyos. I also put in there the three seforim bound together, and a piece of the middle atarah of my father’s tallis. My mother a”h cut up the atarah into small pieces and gave each of us a piece as a segulah and a shemirah for when we crossed the border.

“On our first Shabbos in the ghetto, I was exposed to secular Jews, who until then had lived in a separate neighborhood. I could not tolerate their intentional chillul Shabbos, and I had an overwhelming desire to escape from there as soon as possible. On Shabbos afternoon I received the kart’l allowing me to leave the ghetto to work in the forest. Even though I was desperate to leave, I couldn’t go on Shabbos because it was forbidden to carry. I could forgo everything, but I could not leave without my tefillin.

“Reb Yosef Meir Braun, he should be remembered for good, gave me the idea to go on alone and I could send the tefillin with a goy afterward. The goyim were still going in and out of the ghetto because they had to look for other places to live. They would occasionally do favors for the Jews, with the thought that soon they would be free of them.

“I heeded his advice. I left the ghetto on Shabbos and waited in the attic of a house outside of the ghetto. They did what they promised, and sent my bag to me with a goy on Shabbos afternoon. I had to bring the kart’l in order to leave the ghetto so I put it under my koppel and carried it k’lachar yad.”

His stay in the attic lasted only a few days.

“Before we left,” the Rebbe continued, “I thought — where were we going to get wine to make Kiddush? And there, in the attic, there were a few ‘kestlich’ (cartons) of wine belonging to Reb Shlomo Kahan a”h, a wine merchant, who had already escaped. I took a sealed bottle, relying on the fact that it was hefker and definitely permissible to use, with no possibility of theft. When I met Reb Shlomo after the war, I told him about the wine and he said he definitely would have let me have it. I was very happy to hear this, and because of him was able to make Kiddush.”

Into the Unknown

“As we were crossing the border, I concentrated on the name of my grandfather — the Ahavas Yisrael — and names of other ancestors, as well as the name of Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev ztz”l. I did not take my mind off my emunah in Hashem Yisbarach or from limud haTorah for even a second. I recommend saying the pasuk from Devarim [5:26]: ‘Mi yitein v’hayah levavam zeh l’yiras Osi kol hayamim — Would that their hearts be like this, to fear Me and to keep all My commandments all the days.’”

After the dangerous escape, terrified they were being brought to certain death,  the Rebbe crossed the border into Romania. B’chasdei Shamayim, the escape was successful.

Says the Rebbe: “On Erev Shabbos, we were taken to the house of a non-Jew on the Romanian side. We were supposed to keep going to Arad, but if we were to do that, we would have had to travel on Shabbos. We refused to go because there was no longer an issue of sakanas nefashos. So we stayed there all of Shabbos.

“In the goy’s house, along with the food we had with us, we witnessed the milking and had chalav Yisrael to drink. As we couldn’t use the goy’s pots to boil the milk, we asked them for a new pot, but we didn’t buy it from them, because then we would have had to toivel it. We also took some eggs from there.”

The Rebbe pointed out, with flashing eyes, “B’ezras Hashem, even there I was able to review the sedrah on Erev Shabbos Kodesh. We had taken bread with us. Wine for Kiddush we also had, the bottle I had taken from the attic. We had enough to last us for Kiddush Shabbos night and Kiddusha Rabba, but for Havdalah we used brandy we got from the goy, as it is permissible according to all opinions to use ‘chamar medinah’ for Havdalah, which you cannot do for Kiddush.”

Diamond in the Dust

The next stop was a train that was supposed to take the Rebbe to the city of Arad, deep in Romania, a region considered safe. But then, plans changed.

“On Yom Rishon, Parshas Behar-Bechukosai, the smuggler brought us to the train going to Arad. There, some goyim reported us, and one of the police chiefs took us all off the train. We asked them not to send us back to Hungary, where we would be turned over to the Germans and certain death.

“As soon as morning broke, I immediately stood up to daven and lay tefillin, because I had no idea what the day was going to bring. When I started Baruch She’amar, I heard the train arriving, and I knew that we needed to go with the guards. But because I didn’t want to stop in the middle, I pretended I hadn’t heard anything. I knew that in Romania they would not shoot me. I thought: What could they do to me? Shout at me? At most, beat me? I was determined to finish davening. The policemen shouted at me, but I ignored them, and they were forced to wait until I finished davening Shemoneh Esreh and I removed my tefillin.

“The police brought us to the prison but b’siyata d’Shmaya they eventually released us in exchange for money, and we continued on to Arad.”

In the past, the Rebbe would lament, “I ate pas akum when I was imprisoned by the Romanian police. We were desperate by then, wondering how long we would be incarcerated. But if I had held on just a little longer, by the next day, we already had plenty of pas Yisrael.”

A few years ago, Antwerp dayan Rav Chaim Yosef Dovid Weiss, author of Shu”t Va’ya’an Dovid, listened to the Rebbe tell the story of eating pas akum. He wrote a detailed teshuvah in response, explaining that the Rebbe acted properly, and that eating pas akum while in prison was halachically permissible. The Rebbe studied the teshuvah for several days, and from then on, he did not discuss the issue any further.

“When I arrived in Arad,” says the Rebbe, “I was amazed to see Yidden behaving as though there was no war raging nearby. I couldn’t believe my eyes. When I opened the door to the beis medrash, I saw the rav of Tashkent sitting and learning with his talmidim. We all thought that the entire world had been destroyed, and there was no Torah left anywhere.”

The Rebbe remained in Arad for two weeks. During that time, he met with Rav Moshe Dovid Ostreicher, author of Tiferes Adam, who recognized the Rebbe from Grosswardein. Even though the Rebbe had been forced to remove his beard, when Rav Ostreicher saw him, he ran over from the other side of the street to greet him. The Rebbe asked, “How did you recognize me without my beard?”

Rav Ostreicher replied: “Even when it is covered with dirt, a diamond still glitters.”

After two weeks in Arad, the Rebbe continued on to Bucharest, where he was reunited with his father, the Imrei Chaim. The capital of Romania was considered safe territory because the Nazis had not invaded there, and they stayed until the Nazis had been defeated.

On the 18th of Sivan, while still in Bucharest, the Rebbe married Rebbetzin Faiga Malka a”h, daughter of the Skverer Rebbe, Yaakov Yosef Twersky, who had arrived with his family in Bucharest. The Rebbe wanted to remain in Bucharest with his wife, but a little more than a year later, on 28 Elul 5706 (1946) the young rebbetzin passed away. The following year, on 15 Av 5707 (1947), the Rebbe married her younger sister, Rebbetzin Sima Mirel a”h.

In 1946, after his first marriage, the Rebbe returned with his father to devastated Grosswardein, where they met up with the very few survivors of the destruction. The Imrei Chaim worked mightily to infuse the survivors with the will to live, the drive to build chassidishe homes. His son, too, the Vizhnitz-Monsey Rebbe, was involved in spiritual rescue: He set up a yeshivah, starting with seven talmidim, including Rav Hershel Veiner of Bnei Brak, and Rav Berel Friedman, rosh hakahal of Satmar in Brooklyn.

In Adar 5708 (1948), after his second wedding, the Rebbe traveled with his father-in-law, the Skverer Rebbe, to Prague, where they obtained visas for America. When they arrived on American shores, the Rebbe settled in Williamsburg, where a group of Vizhnitzer chassidim welcomed him with open arms and crowned him leader of their kehillah. Newspaper clippings from that time, the precious possession of many Vizhnitzer chassidim, contain welcome notices taken out by the chassidim announcing the Rebbe’s arrival.

In 1964, the Rebbe moved to Monsey and established a kehillah there. Under the direction of his father the Imrei Chaim, who was meanwhile re-establishing Vizhnitz chassidus in Bnei Brak, the Rebbe led the kehillah, travelingd once a year to see his father for the Yamim Noraim. After his father’s petirah in 1972, he would go visit his father’s kever on his yahrtzeit, 9 Nissan.

Blossoming in Monsey

When the Rebbe speaks about the amazing development of the chassidus in Monsey, his eyes light up. “When we relocated to Monsey, it was little more than a wasteland. There may be those who still remember the ‘sechach’ growing everywhere. You couldn’t go further than Maple Street, because anyone who tried would sink in the mud.

“In Grosswardein, when we were fleeing from the Nazis, we thought that the entire world was being destroyed, and there was no Yiddishkeit and no Torah left anywhere. We were completely cut off from the rest of the world. We had no radio, the newspapers could not be trusted, and we had no telephone. But it is forbidden for a Jew to despair, no matter what situation he finds himself in.

After the war, the decision to go to America, Eretz Yisrael, or perhaps to some place like Uruguay or Brazil, was difficult.

The Rebbe relates that his father had always wanted to establish a separate place to build the chassidus, far from the large cities.

“Nobody believed my father would succeed,” says the Rebbe. “He was forced to wander all over America until he had enough money to get started. It was only after he succeeded beyond all expectations that other groups began to do the same.

“Here, in America, the survivor community was small, very few were still shomrei mitzvos. So we saw that a kehillah needed to be established here as well. Even though the yetzer hara has no derech eretz, and it gets into everything, we still had to try. So with this goal in mind, we built a community in Monsey. My father-in-law, the Skverer Rebbe, followed suit and built New Square. From there, the idea took on a life of its own.

“When we came to Monsey,” says the Rebbe, “there was no organized kehillah. And Hashem helped that we were able to build it up until Monsey became a beautiful Jewish city.”

And that is where the Rebbe’s story of escape ends, on Monsey’s Phyllis Terrace.

Before we leave the room, the Rebbe holds out his hand for us to kiss in a traditional sign of respect, not his usual custom, and blesses us again. “You merited a rare gesture,” we were told, a sign of the Rebbe’s gratitude for sharing the glory of Heaven, the miracles of a different time.

But those who’ve seen the next chapter unfold — how the Rebbe took a small group of survivors, gave them back the Shabbos they’d once known, encouraged them to learn Torah, and to raise chassidishe children — knows that the greatest miracle of Vizhnitz-Monsey is still unfolding before his eyes.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 631)