A Place of Every Bochur

“Since the day the yeshivah opened almost a century ago,” says Rabbi Naftoli (“Totty”) Lebrecht, the yeshivah’s tireless administrator who’s in charge of fundraising and maintenance, and the yeshivah’s always-available troubleshooter, “it hasn’t closed its doors even for a single day, not during the Holocaust, and not during the Covid pandemic.”

The yeshivah, today the largest in all of Europe, was founded in Gateshead in the northeast of England in 1929 by the town’s mohel and shochet, a Novardoker talmid named Rabbi Dovid Dryan. The town had a small frum population, organized by a young orphan named Eliezer Adler who was taken in by his uncle when he arrived in England from Stanislav, Galicia. But once he realized that his uncle intended to make him work on Shabbos, he decided to establish his own independent community in nearby Gateshead, a small coal-mining town founded in 1887. His core group were members of his own family from Stanislav, together with Jews from neighboring Newcastle.

Reb Dovid realized that the community needed a yeshivah to survive and thrive, and so he turned to his rebbi, the Chofetz Chaim, for help finding a rosh yeshivah. The Chofetz Chaim sent him Rav Nachman Dovid Landinski and Rav Eliezer Kahan, both talmidim of Novardok who had fled Russia, and at its inception, the yeshivah — which started off with less than a minyan — was actually another of the many branches of Novardok network and named “Yeshivas Beis Yosef” as were all the branches of Novardok.

Later on, the mantle of leadership passed to the two Reb Leibs — the towering geonim Rav Leib Gurwicz and his brother-in-law Rav Leib Lopian. Upon their passing, the yeshivah came under the leadership of the current Rosh Yeshivah shlita, who is both the son of Rav Leib Gurwicz and the son-in-law of Rav Leib Lopian.

With such illustrious roots, what’s been the secret to the yeshivah’s success all these years? I ask the Rosh Yeshivah.

He thinks for a moment and then chooses his words carefully.

“Perhaps it’s the rare unity you see here — chassidim learning alongside Litvaks. Maybe it’s because we have a seder halachah — something that isn’t a feature of many other yeshivos. Or maybe, you could say it’s the great diligence instilled here by the previous roshei yeshivah — my father and father-in-law, zichronam livrachah.”

The Rosh Yeshivah never considers that perhaps it is his own world-renowned diligence that continues to drive the yeshivah to remain an incredible factory of Torah dedication. The Rosh Yeshivah has little interest in life beyond Torah, and has never aspired to move beyond the quiet confines of Gateshead — only to learn, and learn, and learn, hour upon hour, day and night.

Rav Avraham Aran, a local dayan and longtime chavrusa of the Rosh Yeshivah, says the Rosh Yeshivah is so focused when he’s in the middle of learning that even if he’s brought a snack, he isn’t aware exactly what or how much he’s eaten.

“He’ll turn to me and ask, ‘Tell me, what exactly did I eat, and do I have to make an al hamichyah?’ ” Rav Aran relates. “Another time while I was learning with him, a little grandson came in and was climbing up and down until it really began to annoy me. But Reb Avrohom didn’t notice at all. He was totally absorbed in the learning. Then, after we finished, the grandson returned, and the Rosh Yeshivah turned to him and said, ‘So good to see you! I didn’t see you for a long time….’”

Rav Eliyahu Gurwicz, the Rosh Yeshivah’s son and a maggid shiur in the yeshivah, sums up the supreme diligence that he saw at home from a young age.

“If it’s not connected to Torah, my father simply has no interest.”

Homecoming

As a son-in-law of Ponevezh Rosh Yeshivah Rav Berel Povarsky, Reb Eliyahu learned in Eretz Yisrael for many years, before returning to live in Gateshead a decade ago. His arrival left its own lasting mark on the yeshivah. In addition to his own shiurim, he urged the appointment of young ramim who are themselves yeshivah alumni. This led to the introduction of a team of shoel u’meishivs — a group of talmidei chachamim who are available to guide bochurim during the learning sedorim and beyond.

They also oversee the yeshivah’s cherished “Yom HaChavrusa” — a uniquely Gateshead event in which chavrusas are carefully paired. “It’s one of the most heartwarming sights in the yeshivah,” one talmid tells me. “The older bochurim take responsibility for the newcomers, each helping the other with genuine care and devotion, and by the end of the day, no one is left alone. The newly-matched pairs then ascend the bimah in the center of the beis medrash to receive a warm mazal tov from everyone in the heichal.”

There’s not much to do in Gateshead outside of yeshivah life. It’s still a town characterized by its yeshivos, kollelim, seminaries, and a spiritually-driven community revolving around Torah education. And that’s been its success story all these years.

“For most of my father’s life, he learned Torah without material comfort,” Reb Eliyahu tells me. “My mother even sold her wedding ring to help with the family’s finances so he could learn with peace of mind. And when my older sister got married, the wedding meal was pareve — there just wasn’t any extra money. Still, the joy of Torah always filled our home.”

Yet when I asked the Rosh Yeshivah why we no longer have gedolim like the caliber of previous generations, he gave a long, heartfelt monologue — nostalgic for the Torah diligence of the past.

“We have to look at what used to be, and what we have today,” Rav Avrohom Gurwicz says. “Let’s look at the hasmadah of the Vilna Gaon. He learned all day and night, except for four hours. Then we move to the generation before the Holocaust — take Rav Meir Simchah of Dvinsk, the author of the Ohr Sameach. Before he was appointed rav of Dvinsk, his wife worked to support them, and he sat and learned. It was said about him that not a day passed when he learned less than 18 hours. But even back then, they were asking Rav Meir Simchah the same question: ‘Why are there no gedolim like there used to be?’ He replied: ‘The talents are the same. What’s missing is the hasmadah.’

“When the Ponevezher Rav was a fourteen-year-old bochur,” the Rosh Yeshivah continues, “he went to Rav Yosef Zundel Hutner, the rav of Eishishok, who told him, ‘You don’t need to burn yourself out. Fourteen hours a day is enough….’ We don’t have such concepts today.”

Perhaps this is why Torah diligence has always been the symbol of the yeshivah.

“When we came here,” Rav Ezriel Rosenbaum tells me, “we knew there was only one thing: lernen, lernen, and lernen.”

The Hungarian raised Rav Rosenbaum — a descendant of the Chasam Sofer — served for many years as a maggid shiur for third-year students. Even today, confined to his home, he still gives shiurim there to select groups of talmidim. He recalls the days when he arrived in Gateshead as a teenage war refugee from Budapest.

“It was enough for us just to see the roshei yeshivah learning with such tremendous hasmadah for us to develop a love for Torah,” he says.

That love of Torah instilled by the Rosh Yeshivah stays with students long after they’ve left the benches of the beis medrash. Mr. Aryeh Melinek, a member of the yeshivah’s alumni board (and my chaperone on my tour of the yeshivah), describes how the yeshivah transformed him from a boy who studied in a religious school with a government-run curriculum, to a yeshivah bochur in every fiber of his being.

“To this day,” he confides, “when I arrive in Gateshead, I feel like I’m in a completely different world — a magical world that I haven’t found anywhere else.”

He’s not alone. Over the course of its hundred years of existence, boys have come to the yeshivah from academic-track schools and changed their direction entirely. Rav Yosef Aharon Oppenheimer, one of the yeshivah’s veteran maggidei shiur, initially came for just two years. His widowed mother agreed to let him study in Gateshead on condition that he would afterward proceed to university. Those two years stretched — and continue to this very day.

I meet Reb Yosef Aharon at his home, while he’s learning with a French bochur. This is just one example of how the yeshivah is a Torah melting pot. English bochurim from backgrounds without basic knowledge of Yiddish mix naturally with gartel-clad chassidish bochurim who struggle with English. But within a short time, not only do both groups become fluent in each other’s languages, but their differences gradually melt away — thanks to their shared love of Torah, inspired by the Rosh Yeshivah.

Torah scholars from across the Jewish spectrum took their first steps here — from people like Rav Yaakov Hillel, head of Yerushalayim’s Ahavat Shalom yeshivah for mekubalim to Rav Shlomo Bussu, grandson of the Baba Sali, to Rav Moshe Chaim Denderovitz, one of the leading roshei yeshivah in Gur.

“In the end,” says Rav Simcha Feld, one of the senior ramim, “it’s the sugya itself that unites everyone.”

Gateshead’s mashgiach ruchani, Rav Mordechai Yosef Karnovsky, points out that despite its clearly Lithuanian image, Gateshead also always had a certain touch of chassidus due to Rav Eliyahu Dessler,  the first head of the Gateshead Kollel in the 1940s, who encouraged the study of chassidic texts and quoted them frequently in his writings. Rav Karnovsky, who was born in Gateshead and studied as a bochur in the very yeshivah where he continues to teach Torah and deliver mussar talks to this day, will often reference sources such as Shem MiShmuel, Rav Tzadok, and the Sfas Emes.

In fact, Rav Dessler’s only vision of a kollel on English turf coincided with that of Rabbi Dryan, who sent out a letter to 21 rabbis asking if they’d be interested in opening a kollel. They all refused — only Rav Dessler had the foresight to push it through. And the face of British Jewry was changed forever. The famous scholars in that first group included Rav Chaim Shmuel Lopian and his younger brother Rav Leib Lopian, future rosh yeshivah of the Gateshead yeshivah, the latter’s brother-in-law Rav Aryeh Leib Grossnass of the London Beis Din, Rav Zusia Waltner, founder of Sunderland Yeshiva, and Rav Moshe Schwab, the future mashgiach of Gateshead.

Different Times

The Rosh Yeshivah delivers his shiurim in Yiddish — even as he speaks perfect Oxford English —while some of the other staff give their shiurim in English. That firm adherence to the yeshivah’s linguistic roots hides the fact that times have very much changed when it comes to the intake of talmidim.

“In the past,” the Rosh Yeshivah tells me, “it was indeed harder to push bochurim to full-time Torah learning. Most parents wanted their sons to go to university.”

Reb Eliyahu, the Rosh Yeshivah’s son, shares a powerful story about his grandfather, Rav Leib Lopian: “He had a student from Antwerp whom he wanted to bring to the yeshivah, but the boy’s father absolutely refused. He wanted his son to pursue academic studies. What did Reb Leib do? He picked himself up and traveled to Antwerp. He arrived at the father’s office and asked to speak with him. The father understood what this was about and refused to let him in. Reb Leib asked for just a few minutes, and the father relented. Reb Leib told him only one short thought:

“’It says about Yitzchak that his eyes dimmed due to the smoke from the idolatry of Eisav’s wives. The question arises: What about Rivkah? Why didn’t it affect her? It’s because she grew up in the house of Lavan. Think about it,’ Reb Leib said to the intransigent father, “‘sixty years she was already in Yitzchak’s house, and still the impression from Lavan’s home influenced her. And you want to tell me that three years in university won’t damage your son’s soul?’ The words entered the father’s heart, and he agreed to send his son to yeshivah. That son is now one of the prominent Torah scholars in Bnei Brak.”

According to the Rosh Yeshivah, love of Torah is the ultimate solution to the spiritual temptations of our time. That was also his answer to my question: What is the best way to guard ourselves against the dangers of technology?

“The best way,” the Rosh Yeshivah declares firmly, “is to instill a love of Torah within the younger generation. And the way to do that is through Torah learning itself. The learning itself brings about a love of Torah. Of course, at the beginning it isn’t easy — Torah is acquired through hardship — but the more one learns, the more one tastes the sweetness of learning.”

“Rav Rakow ztz”l  [the gaon Rav Betzalel Rakow, Gateshead’s former rav]  once told me: There is no other way to combat the challenges of today than to implant a genuine geshmak in Torah learning within the younger generation. But that’s only on condition that the Torah is indeed learned with geshmak.

“He quoted the well-known Chazal: ‘Barasi yetzer hara, barasi Torah tavlin — I created the evil inclination, and I created the Torah as its antidote.’ But, he added, Torah can only serve as a remedy if it’s a tavlin (spice) — if it’s flavorful, if it’s pleasing to the spiritual palate. How, then, do you instill that initial geshmak in learning?

“That’s the job of the educators and teachers. When the Gemara is explained well — or even a pasuk in Chumash or a section of Rashi — it endears and sweetens the Torah for young students. Of course, that’s just at the beginning. Later, as one continues learning independently, over and over, engaging in Torah with diligence — one begins to develop a true taste for Torah.”

Love What You Learn

This extraordinary love of Torah that the Rosh Yeshivah speaks of is palpable. It’s something that came up in conversation with both current and former students.

“In Gateshead,” one of the young maggidei shiur told me, “there’s no external social pressure to learn. Those who do learn, do so from a sincere and honest internal drive, out of genuine love for Torah — not to impress anyone.”

“If you manage to educate a bochur to truly love Torah,” says the Rosh Yeshivah, “then even later in life, he will want to learn all day. And even if he can’t, he will still set fixed times for learning and invest great effort in cultivating his love for Torah.”

How much that means in practice, says the Rosh Yeshivah, obviously depends on circumstances. “The Rashash had a bank from which he supported himself — but he sat and learned all day long, going into the bank only for one hour each day. Of course, this is not a directive for everyone — it depends entirely on each person’s situation and what his responsibilities demand.”

In the yeshivah, there’s another method as well: The administration provides the bochurim with the best possible physical conditions — a far cry from the austerity which prevailed a century ago when the yeshivah opened.

In the yeshivah, all the traditional “yeshivish” masechtos are studied, but for the Rosh Yeshivah, the end goal is all-encompassing Torah knowledge.

“To really understand a sugya,” the Rosh Yeshivah says, “one should really know all of Shas.”

And he shared the following:

“Rabbi Michoel Fisher, a rabbi in London who had studied in the Radin yeshivah, once told me that when he was a bochur, he went to say a shtickel Torah to the Rogatchover Gaon. He began saying a certain chiddush on the beginning of Maseches Nedarim, when the Rogatchover immediately flipped to the last page of the mesechta and asked him, ‘Did you learn this page, too?’ The boy was surprised. ‘What does that have to do with my chiddush?’ The Gaon replied sharply, ‘There’s no such thing. The entire Torah is connected.’”

But while broad knowledge remains the goal, the reality is that times have changed that target as well. “What has changed over the years,” Rav Mordechai Yosef Karnovksy tells me candidly, “is that the bochurim of today learn with more depth — but less volume.”

Bred in Brisk

While the Rosh Yeshivah spent most of his years in Gateshead, as a bochur in the mid-50s he spent several years in Yeshivas Brisk in Yerushalayim, which gave him an opportunity to bask in the shadow of the Brisker Rav before the Rav passed away.

I tried to find out if the Rosh Yeshivah saw any of the chumros the Brisker Rav was famous for.

“Actually,” he tells me, “I saw kulos.”

One of those instances happened on Erev Pesach. “While I was in yeshivah, since we didn’t have our own homes, they asked us to help do Bedikas Chametz at the house of the Brisker Rav,” the Rosh Yeshivah remembers. “I was told in advance that I’d probably need to check the cracks between the tiles. So when I arrived, I innocently asked him, ‘Do I really need to check there?’ He answered dismissively, referring to the Gemara’s term for a beautiful cake, ‘Do you think you’ll find a gluska yafeh there?’

“I asked whether I should check behind the closet, and again he answered that there was no need. ‘It’s similar to someone who had a rockslide fall on him,’ he explained [a halachic concept indicating one is exempt from checking]. He also didn’t tell us to check the books, only the shelves. As for the kitchen, he didn’t allow us to check it — only his sons — because he held that all the kitchen utensils are considered places where chometz enters, and must be thoroughly inspected.”

It’s commonly thought that the orbit around the Brisker Rav was always tense, due to his stringencies and meticulous standards. But the Rosh Yeshivah is quick to challenge that.

“It’s true that before performing a mitzvah, the Brisker Rav was tense and focused,” says the Rosh Yeshivah, “but in general, he was incredibly calm. It’s told that during Israel’s War of Independence, his family members constantly urged him to go down to the shelter, but he refused. One time, he did go to the shelter — and a bullet pierced his bed exactly where he would’ve been lying. They said to him, ‘See, Tatte? It was good that you went to the shelter.’ He answered, ‘If I had been there, the bullet wouldn’t have come.’ ”

The Rosh Yeshivah grows thoughtful, then shares a memory that clearly left a deep impression.

“I recall a scene that moved me profoundly,” he says. “It was during the period when the Brisker Rav was waging a fierce battle over a public cause. He was fighting with all his might, but at the time, it seemed as though the battle was being lost. I once entered his home and found him sitting at the table, softly humming to himself — but the melody was tinged with sadness. He was murmuring the words, ‘Nachamu, nachamu ami.’ It touched me deeply. In the end, the Brisker Rav did emerge victorious. But I will never forget that moment — the sight of a gadol b’Yisrael bearing the pain of the Shechinah’s honor with such quiet intensity.”

Why the Honor?

When the Rosh Yeshivah reached marriageable age, a shidduch was suggested with his first cousin — the daughter of Rav Leib Lopian, his mother’s brother. There was some hesitation within the family, and the matter was brought before their mutual grandfather, Rav Elya Lopian ztz”l, who performed a Goral HaGra — which came out in favor, and so the shidduch was finalized.

In his early years, the Rosh Yeshivah learned in Gateshead’s famed kollel.

Sixty-two years ago, Reb Avrohom became a maggid shiur in the Gateshead yeshivah, and following the passing of both his father and father-in-law, he ascended to the position of Rosh Yeshivah. Since that time, Reb Avrohom is the yeshivah, and the yeshivah is him. There is nothing more synonymous with Gateshead than the Rosh Yeshivah himself.

Over the years, he has raised generations of talmidim. Many of today’s bochurim are third or even fourth-generation talmidim of the Rosh Yeshivah, and they regard him with reverence, and share a deep personal connection with him. He remains a central figure in their lives, even many years after they’ve left the yeshivah.

Despite all the years that have passed, the Rosh Yeshivah’s daily routine hasn’t changed. For decades, he’s stood at the lectern, opened the Gemara, and begun delivering the shiur. But first, there’s a soul-stirring mussar lesson in Chovos Halevavos, with which he opens every daily shiur. As the Rosh Yeshivah, he doesn’t check who’s present and who’s not. Utterly absorbed as he is in the sugya, he doesn’t usually tune in to what’s taking place outside of the daled amos of the Gemara.

Even after raising thousands of students, even after the phone at his home on 134 Whitehall Road rings constantly with Jews from all over the world seeking his guidance and blessings, he continues to live modestly in his corner of the world, not truly understanding why people show him such honor.

“I travel with him around the world on behalf of the yeshivah,” Aryeh Melinek tells me, “and he never agrees to sit at the head of the table. He simply doesn’t understand why that honor should be his.

“Recently,” Reb Aryeh continues, “we arrived at the home of a supporter of the yeshivah in London. The host insisted that the Rosh Yeshivah sit at the head of the table. He even offered to donate £5,000 to the yeshivah if the Rosh Yeshivah would agree to sit at the head. ‘If it’s for the benefit of the yeshivah,’ the Rosh Yeshivah said with his characteristic humility, ‘then I’ll do it.’ ”

The Rosh Yeshivah’s humility and authentic simplicity is one of his characteristic traits. He speaks with every person with endless patience, smiles with sincere warmth at every child, and personally escorts every visitor to and from his home.

His talmidim tell me that at a recent fundraising dinner in London for the yeshivah, instead of speaking about money as the organizers expected, he delivered an entire talk about refining one’s character traits. And those traits are expressed just as clearly within his own home. The respect and admiration the Rosh Yeshivah shows toward his wife, Rebbetzin Sarah, is one of the most well-known facts in Gateshead. He makes no calculation of his own honor when it comes to hers. She personally answers many phone calls that pour into their home, and handles each one with wisdom and sensitivity.

I

ask the Rosh Yeshivah for his view on the current draft decree in Eretz Yisrael. His response is unequivocal — but as always, it begins with a story.

“When my grandfather, Rav Elya Lopian, was a bochur, he was summoned for military conscription. This was still in Lithuania. At the time, there was a tzaddik named Rav Mordechai Oshminer, and my grandfather wished to travel to him for a brachah.

“But then Rav Simcha Zissel of Kelm told him something unforgettable: ‘It says that one who accepts upon himself the yoke of Torah is spared from the yoke of government and worldly burdens. If you truly accept the yoke of Torah, you will be protected from the draft. But if you go to Rav Mordechai Oshminer for a brachah, you’ll think it was his merit that saved you, and your gratitude will be misplaced. Accept upon yourself the yoke of Torah, and you’ll be saved — and you’ll owe thanks to the Ribbono shel Olam alone.’

“So if you ask me what will be with the draft crisis, my answer is: Of course the askanim must do their hishtadlus. But for the bochurim themselves — if they truly accept upon themselves the ol haTorah, they have a clear and explicit promise: They will be spared.”

But during a time of war like now, when so many families are suffering unspeakable losses, what can we answer when people ask why we, the bnei yeshivah, do not serve?

“Anyone with even a drop of emunah understands how deeply the Ribbono shel Olam protects Am Yisrael in the zechus of Torah. During this war, we’ve witnessed so many open miracles that defy logic and have no connection whatsoever to military strategy or human effort. One would have to be spiritually blind not to see that it is in the zechus haTorah that such overt nissim have occurred.”

The Rosh Yeshivah then turns his thoughts to the rising tide of educational decrees in England and America.

Earlier this year, he sent out a letter in light of the looming education decree in England, in which the government is demanding the inclusion of educational material for young students that stands in direct contravention to the Torah. The government’s current school legislation is no one-off, but part of a decade-long push to implement secular liberal ideas in schools, even for the youngest children. Acutely worried about the future of chinuch in the country, the Rosh Yeshivah sounded the alarm in his letter. He wrote that if the law actually passes, those who fear Heaven should move to a more accommodating country.

In America, similar pressures have emerged, particularly in New York, where advocacy groups and legal petitions have targeted the yeshivah system’s curriculum. These efforts have led to widespread scrutiny, triggering legal battles and public campaigns as the Orthodox community pushes back against attempts to regulate or reshape its educational autonomy.

The Rosh Yeshivah says that while these developments have to be fought in the world of activism, their concurrent rise in two different countries indicates that there’s a spiritual dimension as well.

“These are not just random developments,” the Rosh Yeshivah says. “They are a sharp and painful message from Shamayim. Perhaps it is because we have not invested sufficiently in the chinuch of our children. We underpay our melamdim and mechanchim, and as a result, those with talent and potential are not interested in entering the field of chinuch. That is a serious charge against us.”

And what of the question of whether bochurim from abroad should come learn in Eretz Yisrael?

“Undoubtedly, the spirit of Torah in Eretz Yisrael is more potent than in chutz l’Aretz. And of course, there is no Torah like the Torah of Eretz Yisrael. On the other hand, the tranquility and supportive conditions for intensive learning are more accessible in chutz l’Aretz. Still, I would recommend that every bochur at least visit the world of Torah in Eretz Yisrael. It is a powerful and transformative ruchniyus’dig experience.”

Complete Faith

Our own conversation was already drawing to a close, when suddenly the Rosh Yeshivah turned to me and gently remarked — with characteristic humility — that I had forgotten to ask one of the questions I’d sent him in advance. He began reading: “People today are carrying a lot of pekelach. There are many orphans, many ill people, so many struggles. How can we strengthen our faith in face of all this?”

It was a good question, and important to hear what the Rosh Yeshivah would say. “With emunah, one can withstand all trials,” Rav Gurwicz replies to the question he’s just read. “It says in sefer Hoshea — and we say it daily when putting on tefillin — ‘And I will betroth you to Me forever; I will betroth you to Me with righteousness and justice, with kindness and compassion. I will betroth you to Me with faith, and you shall know Hashem.’

“Hashem says to the Jewish people, ‘I will betroth you to Me forever’ — we have an eternal connection, like a marriage. But like in any marriage, each side brings its share. Hashem says, ‘I will betroth you with righteousness and justice, kindness and compassion.’ In other words, ‘If you bring righteousness and justice, I will bring kindness and compassion. I will betroth you with faith, and you shall know Hashem — if you bring faith, I promise you that you will know Hashem.’

“Of course, it’s not easy at the beginning. At first, it’s not complete faith. But like everything in the spiritual realm, we just have to start, and the rest will follow. The faith will only grow and strengthen.

“My brother-in-law, Rav Gershon Lopian, was a rabbi in Edgware, London. He had a taxi driver in his congregation whom he tried to persuade to keep Shabbos, but the man refused. ‘What will be with my livelihood?’ he wondered. Reb Gershon told him, ‘Just start. Keep a few Shabbosos. It will be hard at first, but afterward you’ll see that Hashem will provide your livelihood just the same.’ And that’s really what happened in the end.”

These are no empty phrases — the Rosh Yeshivah is no stranger to personal tragedy. In the fall of 2019, his daughter, Rebbetzin Gittel Kaplan — wife of Rav Nissan Kaplan — passed away in the prime of her life. His family members relate how he accepted the decree in silence and love. Vayidom Aharon.

“On the day my sister passed away,” Reb Eliyahu tells me, relating an extraordinary account of the Rosh Yeshivah’s self-mastery, “the situation was already critical, but my father managed to continue to sit and learn. He was here, she was in Yerushalayim. When they came in and informed him that she was niftar, he didn’t say a word. He simply closed the Gemara and prepared to sit shivah.”

Today, everyone seems to be chasing after segulos, I remark to the Rosh Yeshivah.

“The greatest segulah,” he replies firmly, “is not to chase after segulos.

“At the Chanukas HaMishkan — such a lofty, elevated moment — Moshe Rabbeinu offered a brachah to Bnei Yisrael. What did he wish for them? He didn’t bless them with wealth. He didn’t say that their enemies should fall before them. Rather, ‘Vihi noam Hashem Elokeinu aleinu — May the sweetness of Hashem rest upon you.’ The greatest segulah is to merit feeling kirvas Hashem — a closeness to the Ribbono shel Olam. Of course,” the Rosh Yeshivah adds, “it must be paired with ‘uma’aseh yadeinu konenah aleinu’ — that we merit becoming vessels fit to receive the Shechinah.”

In a generation where even within the litvish world, trends of chassidishe practices — segulos and pilgrimages to kivrei tzaddikim — are becoming increasingly mainstream, the Rosh Yeshivah remains a lone bastion of authentic litvish mesorah. His life immersed in litvish Gateshead have never brought him into real proximity with the world of chassidus. He recalls two single encounters with chassidish rebbes: he went in once to the Beis Yisrael of Gur, and once attended a Vizhnitzer tish in Bnei Brak.

What does this paragon of the litvish world think about the widespread phenomenon of traveling to the graves of tzaddikim, especially leaving Eretz Yisrael to do so?

“Israelis have the Kosel Hamaaravi in Yerushalayim, a place from which the Shechinah has never departed. Why should they leave Eretz Yisrael and go to graves in chutz l’Aretz when we have such a holy makom right there?

And yet — and herein lies the wonder — despite their Rosh Yeshivah’s utterly different starting point, the chassidishe bochurim in Gateshead feel completely at home in his yeshivah.

Rhythm of Life

After several days in Gateshead — sitting through full sedorim and absorbing the steady rhythm of the kol Torah echoing through the beis medrash — I feel that if I stay any longer, I’ll become part of the chaburah myself. I can feel the uplifting atmosphere of Torah hovering in the very air of this town.

Gateshead is a city where there is nothing to do… except sit and learn. There are no attractions here, no glitzy avenues or sprawling malls. There are only yeshivos, kollelim, seminaries — and a community so ascetic, so entirely devoted, that its world begins and ends within the daled amos of Torah.

As I step into the taxi for the 15-minute ride to the Newcastle International Airport, a shiny, modern facility serving many points in Europe that makes access to Gateshead so much easier than in the days of the first roshei yeshivah, I manage one last glimpse of this towering Torah giant — his feet firmly planted in Gateshead, but his head reaching the heavens.

I look with admiration at the dignified figure standing at the door, careful as always with the mitzvah of accompanying his guests out — a rosh yeshivah who for decades has been humbly keeping to his corner in Gateshead, yet whose immense spiritual influence spreads across the entire Torah world.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1063)