“What did you do to merit the great holiness I see shining from you?” the Tzemach Tzedek asked him. Reb Meshel was a pious man, but certainly didn’t consider himself special. After much prodding, the Tzemach Tzedek discovered the reason for the aura of holiness he perceived: Years before, Reb Meshel heard about a Jewish soldier who fell in battle, and at much personal risk, dragged him away from the killing field to give him a proper Jewish burial.

“This is the reward for your great zchus,” the Tzemach Tzedek told him. “When you get to Jerusalem, you’ll find a tzaddik named Hillel Moshe Ben Tzvi. He is a part of the neshamah of Rabi Elazar ben Arach. You will tell him all the secrets of the hidden Torah that I’m about to reveal to you. If he still doesn’t believe I sent you to him, tell him that once I was walking in the forest and found a minyan of Jews reading the Torah. Ezra HaSofer was the baal korei, Aharon was Kohein, Moshe Rabbeinu was Levi, Avraham Avinu got Shlishi, and David HaMelech was Maftir. Tell him he was also there; then he’ll have to believe I sent you.”

In the merit of caring for that meis mitzvah, Reb Meshel did indeed connect to the tzaddik. Later he became affiliated with the newly formed Chevra Kadisha Perushim (called the “General Chevra Kadisha”), which served the Ashkenazic community made up primarily of the followers of the Vilna Gaon. Five generations of Gelbsteins have run the chevra kadisha ever since, including Rabbi Gelbstein’s grandfather, who was a son of Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, and his father, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Gelbstein.

Sacred Duty

Rabbi Gelbstein still cuts an imposing figure with his trademark bushy grey-black eyebrows, green eyes, and peppered beard, although a decade of illness and the sudden death of a married daughter have taken their toll on the once indefatigable presence that would be found at every funeral. And every terrorist attack. It was Rabbi Gelbstein who created the Chesed Shel Emes organization (the forerunner of ZAKA), which was a natural outgrowth of his dedication to kavod hameis.

Even before the spate of gruesome terrorist attacks and suicide bombers that have plagued the country in the 16 years since the Oslo accords, Rabbi Gelbstein would zoom onto the scene of car accidents and other bloody fatalities, making sure to gather up blood and tissue for burial before the police clean-up crew would move onto the scene with hoses to wash away the mess. And then, when suicide bombers and exploding buses came crashing on the heels of each other, Chesed Shel Emes volunteers found themselves in the media spotlight as they scaled buildings with their spackling tools and crawled through shrubbery with their plastic bags salvaging blood and body parts.

Chesed Shel Emes was founded in 1989, after a Palestinian terrorist grabbed the wheel of a #405 bus traveling from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, plunging it down a cliff into a ravine, killing 16 people and injuring another 27. The photo of Rabbi Gelbstein splattered with mud and blood in the depths of the ravine — he was a volunteer medic for Magen David Adom — was plastered across the newspapers.

Rabbi Gelbstein trained 180 volunteers over that year, mostly from the chareidi and chassidic sectors, although upwards off ten times that number initially applied to be part of his cadre of rescuers. In their first training session, Rabbi Gelbstein would show films from various attacks, footage too shocking to be shown on television. Many participants didn’t return; if they couldn’t deal with the footage, how could they handle the real thing?

And then he found himself caught in the middle of a political maneuver.

“The photographers would rush to the scene and focus on our volunteers, with their beards and peyos, scaling buildings, hoisted up on cranes, or crawling through burned-out buses,” Rabbi Gelbstein remembers. “They loved the pictures of the frum volunteers up in trees or on the ledges of buildings scraping off blood and collecting body parts. It was much more colorful to them than the dedicated, exhausted police officer who was also involved in rescue. Finally one officer got up in public and stated, ‘We’re not going to let the dossim have a party. I don’t want to see these frummies around here anymore.’ I was under great pressure to change the name and have the organization become less ‘religious’ and separate and more mainstream. ‘Chesed Shel Emes’ was too Jewish. They wanted something that would be part of the police force, part of government operations; and so we received new instructions to wear caps with the Mishmar Ezrachi [civilian guard] insignia and become part of the police. That way, they said, the volunteers would also be covered against injury and we’d be able to continue our work.

“But I had brought in the extreme anti-Zionists who were dedicated to saving Jewish lives and the great mitzvah of chesed shel emes, but didn’t want anything to do with the police. I told my supervisors, ‘He’s doing a thankless, messy job; he’s providing a service with mesirus nefesh. If you make distasteful conditions for him, you’ll lose him.’ At the time I was on the board of Magen David Adom, and in the end we got our people authorized as trained MDA volunteers, without having them involved with the police. We were the pure pach shemen; we went out whenever we were needed and stayed away from politics.”

Historical Record

Chesed Shel Emes eventually morphed into ZAKA and changed hands, but that didn’t mean Rabbi Gelbstein was off the scene when it came to the mitzvah of preserving the honor of the deceased. As head of Chevra Kadisha Perushim, he has been a pivotal mover in the restoration of burial grounds on Har HaZeisim, which has been under constant sabotage by Arab gangs ever since Israel repossessed the land in 1967, and resumed burials there. Furthermore, the General Chevra Kadisha holds the key to much of Jerusalem’s history. Records existed for hundreds of years detailing all the burials that took place on Har HaZeisim, but these records were either lost or destroyed. Over the years, the Chevra Kadisha has collected every scrap of information available to reconstruct these details, and has developed a computer bank holding fascinating and often obscure information of Jerusalem’s deceased over the generations.

And much of that information is in Rabbi Gelbstein’s own head. A documentary on Israel’s Channel One about burial in Jerusalem claimed that Rabbi Gelbstein is a walking map of Jerusalem’s cemeteries: He can tell you where anyone was buried over the last hundred years, at least. He can also tell you where the deceased was originally from, his profession, his family status, and if he was a Kohein, Levi, or Yisrael. “We record everything,” he says. “You never know what will be important.” He says he has witnessed stories of emotional family reunions after someone went to look for information about an ancestor’s grave.

“I’m in it from birth,” is how Rabbi Gelbstein, who’s been running the General Chevra Kadisha for the last 40 years, shrugs off the compliment. But he can’t hide the glint of pride when he mentions that his only son, Yitzchok, a Chabad askan living in Jerusalem’s Rechavia neighborhood, is moving into the family line. “He’s only 32 and he’s doing taharos. I’m very proud of him. I didn’t think he’d do it.”

Today Rabbi Gelbstein’s health precludes him from digging graves in rainy mud or officiating at levayos on a freezing night, but his family members learned early on what mesirus nefesh for kavod hameis means.

“After we married, we spent Rosh HaShanah with my father-in-law, who lived in the center of town. In Jerusalem we bury the dead on Yom Tov, and a funeral was to take place at Har HaMenuchos the first day. My father was head of the Chevra Kadisha then but he was already old and weak, and so I walked to Har HaMenuchos and handled the levayah. By the time I returned, I’d already missed the Minchah and Maariv minyan, so I ran to the mikveh, returned to my shver for the seudah, and no sooner had I walked in than I received a message that there was another levayah, this one at Har HaZeisim. Now my new kallah was really upset, but her father turned to her and said, ‘Motek, you should be happy you have such a husband, a tzaddik, a baal mesirus nefesh.’ “

For years afterwards, Rabbi Gelbstein has always slept in his office on Rechov Pines on Rosh HaShanah, halfway between the two cemeteries.

Land Grab

Toward the end of the 19th century, the Ashkenazic (Perushim) Chevra Kadisha was joined by close to 20 smaller chevra kadishas belonging to each chassidic group that had come to Eretz Yisrael and opened their own “kollel” and their own burial society. Eventually all these joined into the Chevra Kadisha Chassidim, and Har HaZeisim served both chevras. Every plot of land on Har HaZeisim was purchased from the Arabs and registered in the Turkish land registry. The last transaction was in 1939.

Meanwhile, another Ashkenazic chevra kadisha called Kehillas Yerushalayim was created by the pre-State Zionist leadership, which asked the British governors to give them land for another cemetery because Har HaZeisim was becoming too dangerous to reach. The British gave them land adjoining the Sanhedrin tombs. Today the Sanhedria cemetery is at the corner of the bustling Bar Ilan and Shmuel HaNavi intersection, but at the time it was an open field on the outskirts of the city.

With the outbreak of the War of Independence and the Arab takeover of East Jerusalem in 1948, access to Har HaZeisim ended.  Since the Zionist establishment only permitted Kehillas Yerushalayim to use the Sanhedria cemetery, and the Jews of the Old Yishuv would never agree to be buried by the “Zionists,” the Perushim Chevra Kadisha was in a bind — where would they bury their dead? Rabbi Gelbstein’s maternal grandfather (Rav Sonnenfeld’s son, Rav Yaakov Meir Sonnenfeld) died that year and was buried with several others on a plot of land behind the old Shaare Zedek hospital building on Jaffa Road. Close to 200 people were eventually buried there between 1948 and 1950.

After the war, the Sanhedria cemetery also became inaccessible, and a section of land was negotiated for both Kehillas Yerushalayim and Perushim in an area called Sheikh Badr, not far from the Knesset. That cemetery, used for three years and containing about 250 graves, has become a recent pilgrimage point for people who wish to pray at the grave of Rebbe Gedalyah Moshe of Zvhil.

Meanwhile, Har HaMenuchos was being prepared as the main cemetery in Jerusalem. Kehillas Yerushalayim received more than half the land. After much political maneuvering, the three other chevra kadishas in Jerusalem — Perushim, Chassidim, and the General Sephardic Chevra Kadisha — received their own plots. Today Kehillas Yerushalayim buries exclusively on Har HaMenuchos, while Perushim continues to bury on Har HaZeisim as well.

Paying for the Privilege

Burial in Jerusalem is big business. Hundreds of years ago holy men would travel over dangerous roads and rough seas to live out their lives and be buried in the Holy Land; those with less endurance would try to obtain a clod of earth to be put into their graves. “Today it’s cheaper and easier than ever,” says Rabbi Gelbstein. All one needs is about $10,000 to be buried in Jerusalem, a bit less in Beit Shemesh.

For an Israeli citizen or even a tourist who dies while in Israel, burial is free, since the expenses are paid for by Bituach Leumi, Israel’s National Insurance Institute. Although chevra kadishas may not charge a citizen for a burial plot, they can charge a little over $2,000 if a citizen wants to reserve a specific plot. Often, after one spouse passes away and is entitled to a free burial, the surviving spouse will want to purchase an adjoining grave. The purchase price was set by the Knesset, although chevra kadishas say it doesn’t cover the total cost of preparing a grave. Yet they don’t seem to be suffering undo financial hardship. So where do the funds come from?

“From chutz l’Aretz,” says Rabbi Gelbstein. “That’s what has always sustained the chevra kadishas all the years.” Rabbi Gelbstein adds that his chevra takes no government funds and prefers it that way. “This way we remain independent, and can stay true to our mesorah.”

This includes not doing multi-storied burials, where four stacked caves are created, with the tombstones running across the length of the grave. “We don’t do it. Neither do the chassidim,” says Rabbi Gelbstein, who refuses to enter into a halachic discussion on the obviously sensitive subject. “Ask your rav,” he says.

The practice of layered graves was started because of concern that Eretz Yisrael was running out of space for cemeteries. “Today, every citizen who gets a free burial goes into a layered grave, except with us,” says Rabbi Gelbstein. If a person wants more elbow room for his eternal rest, he has to pay. Do people care? “Not really,” he says. “Most people don’t want to pay extra for this.”

The family of anyone who dies in Israel can appoint the chevra of their choice to handle the burial, without charge — as long as they adhere to the customs of that chevra.

“Anyone can come to us,” says Rabbi Gelbstein, “but we have certain conditions. We only bury the Torah observant, and we only allow our traditions. That means no wreaths, no English on the matzeivah, no black tombstones, no pictures, and no women to give hespedim.”

Many people from abroad who choose the Perushim Chevra Kadisha for burial are surprised by some of the practices of “minhag Yerushalayim.” The most obvious is that the children do not participate in the funeral procession or participate in the actual burial, and that women don’t attend the burial. But Rabbi Gelbstein says that although there might be some initial shock, family members who have chosen his chevra kadisha for burial have made the choice because they want to ensure the burial will be done without compromising tradition.

“When a family chooses an Eretz Yisrael burial, they automatically know the rules will be different. Obviously, they want ruchniyus. They could have had a lovely burial in chutz l’Aretz. Pinchas Mandel a”h [the most well-known US liaison for burials in Eretz Yisrael] knew which people to send to us. We relied on him to send the people who were shayach to us. Now his son has taken over, and we continue to rely on him to know which chevra kadisha is most appropriate for his clients.

“Sometimes it does happen that a father dies and the son makes a huge effort to fulfill his father’s last wish and bury him here. So he travels on the plane with the body and accompanies it to Jerusalem. If he doesn’t know the custom, it’s true that he might be disappointed if he can’t participate in the burial. But we try to accommodate the family within our parameters.

“The Zohar states that a ‘lo kasher’ [a nonobservant] should not accompany the meis, and so in order not to differentiate between or embarrass any of the offspring, it became the minhag Ashkenaz that no children accompany the parent.  So what we do is have the children go first, or stay on the side, until the grave is filled. Once the grave is filled the sons stand by the grave and say Kaddish. Because there is another Zohar that discusses the great nachas to the meis when his children say Kaddish at the kever.

“I took care of the burial of Menachem Begin. He didn’t want to go to the government chevra. When his wife had passed away, he came to us. He wanted a traditional service, without wreaths, without an honor guard firing off a salute. And when he died, his son Benny — who is not religious — went first and stood at the side.

“But there are a lot of surprises too. You would think that a person who makes the huge effort of accompanying his father’s body all the way to Israel would go to any length to fulfill his mission. I was once handling a niftar, and we got stuck in an accident for four hours on the main highway outside Jerusalem. I sensed this son was going to give me trouble when I explained our standards. The son had a flight back, but his father was nowhere near being buried. So what did he do? He got out of the vehicle, climbed over the meridian, flagged down a cab going the other way and sped back to the airport. By the time we finished the burial, it was 4 a.m. It was sad — he didn’t miss his flight, but he missed his father’s funeral. Now, had it been on time, he surely would have screamed, ‘What? I can’t bury my own father!?’ Instead, he made the choice to miss the whole thing. For the flight, he sacrificed.”

But Rabbi Gelbstein never gets flustered. He says the privilege of helping a Jew access his own dalet amos in Eretz Yisrael, a known segulah for atonement in This World and reduced suffering in the Next World, is worth the effort.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 399)