F

or those of us who merit only occasional visits to Eretz Yisrael, there is an air of urgency lacing the exalted thrill. You have just a few days to get as much of it as you can — and there’s no knowing when your next chance will be.

The Land is saturated with kedushah, this is for certain — but how does one access it? Who holds the key? Where can one find a reservoir deep enough, and accommodating enough, to allow him to drink from its waters, and bring jugs of it back home?

I have a thing with elevators — I don’t like them — and so I walked up the five flights of stairs of Yirmiyahu 44 until reaching the humble door marked simply, “Zucker.” It was enough time to contemplate what to expect. Chassidish. Talmid chacham. English speaking.

The amalgamation of conjectures couldn’t prepare me for the whoosh of energy that cascaded outward as the door swung open. “Shalom aleichem!” A vigorous handshake, an insistence on a glass of water.

It was English. It was relatable.

And yet, one sensed something else, tucked somewhere beneath the shiny beketshe.

It was so, so holy.

In this humble apartment one is met with a blast of kedushas Eretz Yisrael, neatly folded, ready to be pocketed and transported to wherever life may take you.

“I grew up in Golders Green as one of six children,” Rabbi Zucker tells me. Chassidus was not a part of his upbringing — in fact, on the contrary, “We are descendants of Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch.”

Rav Hirsch is the legendary German rav who, with superhuman strength and prodigious brilliance, staved off the Haskalah enough to salvage German Judaism from complete destruction.

But Rabbi Zucker doesn’t see his yekkishe background as a conflict with his chassidish identity. “Tzaddikim referred to Rav Shamshon Raphael as the ‘Baal Shem Tov of Frankfurt,’” he tells me.

How so?

“Because both the Baal Shem Tov and Rav Hirsch worked to fight the Haskalah. They just did it in different ways.”

The Baal Shem Tov worked to fan the inner spark of every Jew, no matter how small or how distant. Rav Hirsch, living in the hotbed of intelligentsia, authored brilliant works of literature to present the truth and beauty of Orthodox hashkafah and refute all proposed alternatives.

“Each was the right man at the right time,” says Rabbi Zucker.

Rabbi Zucker spent many years teaching. Upon returning to Eretz Yisrael following his marriage he studied in the Mir for seven years. He then began to teach in Mevasseret and Ohr Yerushalayim, yeshivos catering primarily to boys from homes that identify as Modern Orthodox. “I did not grow up with Modern Orthodox,” says Rabbi Zucker, “I didn’t even know what the term meant!” But it really didn’t matter. Rabbi Zucker’s influences on his talmidim defied titles and identities.

“I would skip his Gemara class,” a talmid from Ohr Yerushalayim recalls. “I was really struggling with Yiddishkeit  altogether.” One day, Rabbi Zucker called him over. “I want to learn with you b’chavrusa,” he said.

“I said, ‘Uh, okay. What are we going to learn?’ He said, ‘Rav Tzaddok.’ ”

The boy hadn’t an inkling as to what that meant, but he’d soon find out. As he sat across from his energetic rebbi, he was introduced to a world that he never knew existed. Suddenly, every aspect of Judaism carried endless layers of depth. Shabbos was no longer a day of “dos and don’ts,” the mitzvos were no longer inexplicable commandments with little relatability. Everything was deep. Everything was beautiful.

Pretty soon, the boy was going to Gemara class as well.

Rabbi Zucker continued implementing this approach — with phenomenal success — in multiple yeshivos over the course of some 30 years. Aside from Mevasseret and Ohr Yerushalayim he taught in several other yeshivos, including Aish HaTorah where he served as a rebbi for many years.

As of this past Elul, he has assumed the title of rosh yeshivah of a yeshivah he established in the Kehilla Kedosha’s building, which has an enrollment of 22 bochurim.

The ability to transform people’s lives and imbue them with a lasting love for Yiddishkeit does not mean making an effort to show how enjoyable Jewish life can be.

“There are people who think that kiruv entails ‘giving the guys a good time,’ ” Rabbi Zucker says. “They can get a good time elsewhere as well. Yiddishkeit teaches a person romemus — how to be a lofty being, and that is something they have never seen before. When they are exposed to romemus — how you make Kiddush on Shabbos, how you sing uplifting zemiros, it will take them into a different world. People in this generation have sunk so far into their taavos — they are desperate for someone to pull them out. Once they see true romemus, they will wonder, ‘How do you get there? I want to be like that!’ That is what kiruv is all about.”

Ready for the Crowds

The pivot from rebbi to rav began in 2016 when Rabbi Zucker visited the Five Towns. There, he led the Shabbos tefillos and, among the many who joined, was a young man named Daniel Green.

“I had this feeling,” says Daniel, “that we had to start a shul with him.” Daniel already had plans to move to Eretz Yisrael and, when that happened, he got right to work actualizing his dream.

“We started in a living room on Rechov Ramat HaGolan in Ramat Eshkol with twenty guys,” Daniel recalls. “It was Shabbos parshas Toldos.” The davening generated a fireball of energy that exuded a magnetic vibrancy. Twenty grew to 80 and the crowds were spilling onto the mirpeset. This lasted for some six months whereupon they relocated to a basement nearby.

In 2018, they managed to secure the rental of a miklat [bomb shelter] just beside Ramat Eshkol’s Gan Hachamishah Asar, behind Rechov Paran.

The crowds kept growing. Friday nights in particular were immensely popular. Drawn by the magnificent singing of Lecha Dodi, the attendees — now well over 100 — were swept in by the spiritual uplift radiating from Rabbi Zucker’s countenance as he danced, eyes shut tight, hands raised toward the Heavens.

It was becoming obvious that they would need their own space, large enough to accommodate the masses. They managed to secure a long-term lease on a property directly near their rented miklat. Construction began in earnest, and was completed in 2020, resulting in what is likely Ramat Eshkol’s most exquisite edifice. Glass doors carved within the gleaming Jerusalem stone open to reveal an expansive beis medrash dominated by a majestic, medium-toned wood aron kodesh. Recessed ceiling lights provide ambient illumination; rows of polished tables are arranged in impeccable order; elegant wooden bookshelves, filled with a wide variety of seforim, grace the walls.

The Friday night crowd here numbers more than 300. The davening is vigorous, and at its center is the rav, dancing, swaying, crying.

He is in Heaven.

Davening ends and a winding queue forms to wish the rav Good Shabbos.

“Good Shabbos, Moishy,” he says, “how are you feeling? Has the fever gone down?” Moishy will nod, the Rav will bless him with continued health, and then Chaim will step forward.

“Chaim, how did it work out with your wife’s job? Have things straightened out?” If not, Chaim is certain he’ll receive a phone call from the Rav sometime later that week.

And so it goes, with each mispallel acknowledged for who he is and what he needs. Rabbi Zucker will stand there for however long it takes before heading home, committed to interacting with each person in the line.

He is on Earth.

“V’hachayos ratzo vashov.”

But what, precisely, is the appeal? Why are throngs of litvishe bochurim and avreichem cramming into a room packed to capacity to experience a vibrantly chassidish Kabbalas Shabbos?

Rabbi Zucker sheds light on the phenomenon, which he takes no credit for.

Like his ancestor before him, and like the Baal Shem Tov, he is simply the right man at the right time.

IT began very early on — well before his first teaching position.

“When I was in yeshivah, it bothered me that ‘a good bochur’ was a boy who asked good kushyos,” says Rabbi Zucker. “What about tefillah? What about yiras Shamayim? Shouldn’t there be so much more in order to be held in high regard?”

A slightly rebellious streak led Rabbi Zucker to pursue his passions even when it defied accepted yeshivah norms.

“I would go to Stamford Hill when there was a visiting rebbe,” Rabbi Zucker shares. “I went to Antwerp when the Vizhnitzer Rebbe was there for a Shabbos.”

Later on, while learning in the Mir in Eretz Yisrael, he would rarely stay in yeshivah for Shabbos, choosing to roam the alleyways of Meah Shearim, finding hidden tzaddikim whose ways he could learn from. These forays led him to meet Rav Moshe Weber, a Yerushalmi Lubavitcher chassid, who would become his rebbi muvhak.

A classmate of Rabbi Zucker, and a close friend to this day, is the well-known tzaddik, Rav Yitzchak Meir Morgenstern. When they were in Gateshead Yeshivah together, they would venture on various escapades — including sneaking out of Gateshead Yeshivah to attend the farbrengens of Rav Menachem Mendel Futerfas of Chabad — devouring every drop of chassidus within reach.

But this did not impede on his progress in yeshivah.

“My job is to be mekasher — to bring together, the derech of chassidus with the litvisher derech,” he says. There’s no question that in-depth learning of Gemara is the primary way to come close to Hashem — but a correct perspective is crucial.

“A bochur told me that he had been learning under his maggid shiur for two years, and not once had he heard Hashem being mentioned.”

The phenomenon of talmidim in yeshivos who are learning yet feeling no connection has been coming to Rabbi Zucker’s door with increasing frequency. “I see bochurim who are learning yet feel so empty. They are not sensing any spiritual purpose in their learning.”

“How do you know if you’re learning properly?” Rabbi Zucker asks rhetorically. “If you feel taanug from it. If it brings you enjoyment. If you’re bored by the Gemara, then you’re not connecting with the neshamah that lies within it.”

The majority of the mispallelim in Rabbi Zucker’s shul — he estimates it at 90 percent — hail from litvishe backgrounds. They are drawn by precisely what Rabbi Zucker describes — the soul within the Torah that they’ve dedicated themselves to for so long, but did not necessarily appreciate.

“We have people from all walks of life,” says Rabbi Zucker. “There are Sephardim, Ashkenazim, chassidim, Litvaks, roshei kollel, and boys struggling with the basics of Yiddishkeit.”

Rabbi Zucker maintains relationships with leading figures in the chassidishe world. “My rebbe is the Amshinover Rebbe,” he says. The Amshinover Rebbe is very much his inspiration in mastering the balance between Heaven and Earth. He maintains a paranormal schedule, rarely eating or sleeping, yet “he once called me to ask for help getting details about the halachic implications of a certain medical procedure for a family he was guiding.”

When Rabbi Zucker was scheduled to move to his current apartment, he waited for hours outside the Amshinover Rebbe’s room to receive his brachah. Finally, the door opened, a man left, and Rabbi Zucker entered.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” the Rebbe said. “That man’s wife is critically ill. He was in desperate need of chizuk.”

Rabbi Zucker is exceptionally close with Rav Yitzchak Meir Morgenstern and also maintains a close relationship with Rav Mottel Zilber, the Rebbe of Toldos Yehudah Stuchin. Often, when people request practical advice from Rav Morgenstern, he will refer them to Rabbi Zucker.

As the yeshivah world continues to flourish and the various Jerusalem neighborhoods teem with bnei Torah, Rabbi Zucker is there to grant ingress into a deeper realm for all who seek it.

He does this through the lofty divrei Torah he shares each Shabbos (published weekly in a booklet called The Rebbe’s Table) but also, with emphasis on the primacy of tefillah. In the Kehilla Kedosha, even during the week, each perek of Pesukei D’zimra is recited in unison —  following an intense recitation of Korbanos.

“Hundreds of people have said that my shiurim have led them to begin reciting the Korbanos before davening,” Rabbi Zucker says with obvious nachas.

A question often posed to Rabbi Zucker is how one can gain a true sense of connection through his learning and davening. His answer draws on a theme that essentially defines his mission: “Holy but normal.” Rabbi Zucker uses this phrase often; in fact, this was how he described his vision for the shul when the idea was first presented.

“You don’t need mystical kavanos,” he tells the questioner. “You just have to make sure you aren’t skipping steps. Some people arrive late to shul, skip through half of davening and try to catch a Shemoneh Esreh, and question why they aren’t able to feel a connection to Hashem.”

The remedy is straightforward. Don’t do that. The way to access the desired connection is by waking up early, going to the mikveh if one can, learning before davening, reciting Korbanos, and imbuing passion into your Pesukei D’zimra.”

The path to Heaven begins right here, on Earth.

Through his Torah and tefillah, he elevates the masses, granting them a panoramic perspective of the sublime treasure that is Yiddishkeit.

Hence the popularity.

He is the right man. At the right time.

From the Ashes

I was urged to join the Kehilla Kedosha for their Friday night davening so I could watch Rabbi Zucker in action. But he had a family simchah that week and would not be in attendance. Instead, I went on Shabbos morning. The davening was warm and uplifting, a blend of sweetness and intensity.

One notable feature is the diversity of attendees. I spot well-known singer Doni Kunstler in the crowd. There is a balanced blend of older American men who have settled in Eretz Yisrael and younger kollel avreichim who have still not decided on a long-term plan.

Since there is no talking, I can’t note the accents but I later discover that among the crowd, there are natives of America, Canada, Britain, South Africa, and, of course, Eretz Yisrael.

Dr. Eitan, a French Israeli Amshinover chassid, who serves as the Amshinover Rebbe’s doctor, is a regular member as well.

Rabbi Binyomin Weinrib, who now runs Mordy’s Shtiebel in Jackson, New Jersey, and is the Rav of Tallymawr in Tom’s River, is a former — and founding — member.

Celebrated performer Eitan Katz is also a former member. “When Rabbi Zucker’s name is mentioned, I become filled with emotion,” Eitan says. “He is a rebbi who loves his talmidim and loves Jews more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. He is obsessed with Yiddishkeit and with Eretz Yisrael.”

The kiddush after davening stands out most clearly in my memory. Not the food — the herring, cake, and kugel were fairly typical — but the atmosphere. It was parshas Chukas, when we read about Moshe hitting the rock, and when I entered the room, I was met with a lively rendition of the song, “Al Hasela Hach Hach.” The words are taken from Tefillas Geshem recited on Shemini Atzeres: “Al hasela hach — upon the rock he hit, vayeitzu mayim — and water emerged.”

The singing died down and the rav began to speak. He described briefly the process of the Parah Adumah.

“They take a red cow, they burn it, they grind the ashes.” Each element, he pointed out, is a reflection of middas hagevurah. Red, fire, destruction — it all seems so bleak and foreboding. But then — mayim chayim, a prime symbol of middas hachesed —  is poured upon the ash. This mixture succeeds in removing tumas meis, the most severe form of impurity.

From within the middas hagevurah, Rabbi Zucker explained, comes the greatest chesed.

Then everyone rose, held hands, and danced in place, singing an upbeat chassidish tune.

The man that can fuse Heaven and Earth can deduce chesed from gevurah, bringing out energy and potential that no one ever realized they had.

Like water from a rock.

Al hasela hach hach.

SO

much of Rabbi Zucker’s success lies in his power to connect; divergent existences — Heaven and Earth, Gemara and chassidus — blend seamlessly in his world.

But perhaps the greatest manifestation of this power of connection is his ability to connect with people. There is no secret technique; Rabbi Zucker connects with every Jew because he truly loves each and every one of them, and cares for them with every fiber of his being.

One particular plight that is foremost in his heart and mind is infertility. Each year, Rabbi Zucker receives the maftir aliyah on Rosh Hashanah, after which the haftarah is read about Chana and her plea for children.

“He cries uncontrollably throughout,” a mispallel shares.

There was one instance where, just before stepping up for his aliyah, Rabbi Zucker quickly beckoned over a mispallel and whispered something in his ear. A shocked expression crossed the mispallel’s face before he whispered a quick response. Only then did Rabbi Zucker proceed toward the bimah. Later, the mispallel, who was struggling with fertility issues, shared what had happened.

“A while ago, I had told Rabbi Zucker that we were going for a certain test. He called me over to ask if we had done the test yet.”

His ability to connect so strongly also stems from his singular fusion of “holy and normal.” Chaim Rothstein was a talmid in Ohr Yerushalayim about 20 years ago, and he attended Rabbi Zucker’s bekius shiur. Rabbi Zucker also introduced him to Toras hachassidus which, he says, is now a central element of his life.

Chaim since went on to assume a prestigious position as a corporate consultant.

“I would travel to meet with clients, sometimes in remote locations. I would spend the night in a hotel, far from any Jewish community, but I never felt distant or disconnected. I would call Rabbi Zucker and we’d speak on the phone. He was my light, my anchor,” Chaim says.

When the opportunity came up for Chaim to transition to a job where he’d be working with Jewish non-profits, he consulted with his rebbi.

“Rabbi Zucker didn’t immediately say, ‘For sure! It’s so much better than working in corporate America!’ He went through all the practical considerations. Once he determined that everything made sense, he gave me his blessing to take the new job,” Chaim relates.

Rabbi Zucker’s knack for connection can take effect within seconds. A boy who was visiting Eretz Yisrael for just a few weeks once came by the shul to daven. He was scheduled to board the plane back to America that night. Those who knew him were aware that he was in a very unfortunate state and had plans to simply drop Yiddishkeit entirely. One mispallel approached Rabbi Zucker and asked him to speak with the boy. After davening, Rabbi Zucker called the boy over and the two met in his office, emerging just minutes later and heading for the shul kiddush which takes place each week following davening.

The mispallelim who were aware of the goings-on were disappointed. If the conversation was that quick, it must have been unsuccessful. But they were wrong. They later learned that all Rabbi Zucker had said to the boy was, “Give me your word that you won’t get on that plane tonight.”

Taken by Rabbi Zucker’s sincerity, the boy gave his word. He ended up staying in Eretz Yisrael for several years, becoming a close talmid of Rabbi Zucker and making a complete turnaround in his life.

Several times a year, Rabbi Zucker travels to America to visit his many talmidim. These visits are whirlwinds, as he holds meeting after meeting, offering chizuk and advice as well as delivering multiple shiurim. But at one point, an exhausted Rabbi Zucker turned to his close talmid from the days in Ohr Yerushalayim, Leon Mayer.

“Leon, is there a hospital nearby?” he asked.

“A hospital?”

“Yes,” Rabbi Zucker explained, “it’s been three days and I haven’t done any bikur cholim. I never go this long without visiting someone in the hospital. Is there one nearby? Can we go?”

Leon informed his rebbi that the nearest hospital was a distance away and there wasn’t time to travel there. Rabbi Zucker was disappointed.

“So is there anyone sick at home? Can we at least visit someone in their home?”

Leon knew of an elderly woman with a health condition and she was living at home. He took Rabbi Zucker there and the two sat beside her.

“Rabbi Zucker spoke to her, sharing divrei chizuk. Then he stood up and started dancing! He was running back and forth singing, ‘Orech yamim asbie’ehu…’”

The woman, tears rolling down her face, called Leon over. “Who should I write the check out to?” she asked.

Leon smiled. “No one. He’s not doing this for fundraising. He sincerely wants to bring joy to fellow Jews.”

Leon wasn’t surprised by the outstanding concern; he had been on its receiving end plenty of times.

A few years ago, Leon’s father a”h was diagnosed with a severe illness. Rabbi Zucker called constantly to check in. Once, Leon informed him that his father was undergoing an important test and that they’d have the results in a week. When the results were received, Leon called to inform his rebbi of their nature. Rabbi Zucker picked up and whispered, “One second.”

“I then heard him saying the pasuk of Shema Yisrael, enunciating each word slowly,” Leon recalls. “Then he got back on the phone. He said, ‘Sorry, I was just in the hospital putting tefillin on a Yid. I normally wouldn’t keep my phone on but I knew that today you would be receiving results so I brought it along. But don’t worry, I already called your cousin to find out what they were.’

“Every once in a while,” Leon continues, “Rabbi Zucker will call me and ask me to get a minyan together and go to the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s ohel to daven for people in need of a yeshuah.”

Sometimes these calls come at around 9:00 p.m. Eastern Time — which is 4:00 a.m. in Eretz Yisrael.

“He wakes up at around 4:00 in the morning to learn before the day starts.”

Rabbi Zucker once shared an account with Leon that demonstrates a Divine approval of his eminent ahavas Yisrael.

“I was about to give a Gemara shiur and  needed fifteen minutes to prepare,” Rabbi Zucker told him. “I sat down and, at that moment, a talmid approached me and said he needed chizuk in a certain area. I thought to myself, on the one hand, I have rabbim expecting a shiur, and this is just one yachid. So presumably, the rabbim should take precedence. But then I thought, if Hashem sent me this boy at this moment — it must be His ratzon that I help him.”

Rabbi Zucker put his Gemara aside and spent his 15 precious minutes in conversation. The talmidim of the Gemara shiur began filing in and Rabbi Zucker, thoroughly unprepared, opened his Gemara, hoping for the best.

“Then, all of a sudden, there was a blackout,” Rabbi Zucker said. “The shiur was canceled.”

The ahavas Yisrael can be felt even in his more formal classes. “One Thursday night, he was giving a parshah shiur and was speaking about galus,” Leon shares. “Then, he put his head down and burst into tears.”

Rabbi Zucker is very much a loving rav, not known for harsh words of mussar. But there is one exception which — from the sheer shock of it — is seared into the memories of his mispallelim. It happened when a mispallel announced that he was making a siyum haShas. The timing was difficult; there were few attendees — one of which was Rabbi Zucker. Later, the shul received an email which, in no uncertain terms, expressed the rav’s deep displeasure at the lack of commitment to a fellow mispallel. “I’m embarrassed to be the rav of such a kehillah,” the email stated.

It was truly shocking, and utterly uncharacteristic, but the mispallelim got the message. Being a kehillah means attending each other’s simchahs, sharing in their joy, and joining with them in their pain.

This message was internalized to the point that when the son of a mispallel had twins — but one passed away due to complications — many went to the shivah house. There were several women there and, when they learned that mispallelim at Rabbi Zucker’s shul were present, they shared what happened a short time earlier.

“Your rav was here, and was menachem avel the mother. We went over to him and told him that our husbands were fighting in Gaza. We haven’t heard from them in months. He didn’t say anything, he just burst out crying.”

“Once, while he was still teaching in Aish, he met a boy on a street in the Old City,” Leon shares. The boy started to share his various difficulties while Rabbi Zucker listened. When he finished, Rabbi Zucker bent down.

“Climb on my back,” he said, “and I’ll carry you on my wings for the rest of my life.”

This boy would go on to learn with Rabbi Zucker for years.

Rejoice in Giving Up

Of the thousands of gems of wisdom that Rabbi Zucker effuses, he has a few select favorites. One is the Tiferes Shlomo’s homiletic interpretation of the Shabbos morning tefillah, “Yismach Moshe b’matnas chelko — Rejoice Moshe with the giving of his portion.”

Simply understood, this refers to the joy Moshe experienced on receiving the Torah — his “chelek.” But the Tiferes Shlomo offers an alternative explanation. The “matanah” in this context is not what he was “given” but rather, what he “gave up.” Moshe Rabbeinu had just spent 40 days and 40 nights on Har Sinai, learning Torah from Hashem Himself. He was then given the luchos, carved from beneath the Kisei Hakavod. He was at the very zenith of spiritual exaltation.

But then he saw that his people had sinned. They needed him desperately. And so he threw down the luchos — along with the spiritual opportunity they granted him — for the sake of being with Klal Yisrael.

Moshe could have been bitter; he could have been dispirited. He had lost so much.

But we, as beneficiaries of his sacrifice, offer words of chizuk.

Rejoice Moshe! Rejoice!

You sacrificed for Klal Yisrael, and that shall never go unrewarded.

In Rabbi Shmuel Zucker’s presence, one feels that much closer to Har Sinai — to the spark of Moshe Rabbeinu. The united song, the fervent tefillos, and the fiery Torah define the very vision that the Baal Shem Tov set out to actualize.

Rabbi Zucker could remain in the place, a plateau of divinity divorced from all mundanity.

But he chose to step out — into our world, onto Earth — to bring out the best in us.

Al hasela hach hach.

And as he stood at the entrance to the kever of the Baal Shem Tov, one could almost hear the great tzaddik affirming this decision.

V’hachayos ratzo vashov — straddling Heaven and Earth is difficult, says the Baal Shem Tov, but be heartened, Rav Shmuel. Your sacrifice shall not go unrewarded.

Ish es re’eihu ya’azoru ul’achiv yomar chazak.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1042)