They wear kippot serugot under their shtreimels, gartels over jeans or army fatigues. They are chassidim of the Pashkaner Rebbe, Rav Yisrael Friedman, who believes he’s been able to bridge major gaps in Klal Yisrael

11 Elul Tish — Thursday night, 10 Elul 5774

T

hat end-of-summer scent drifts through the evening air in the definitely un-chassidic southern Jerusalem neighborhood of Gilo. The large building at the bend in the road beckons with its light, as I step inside to a perfectly-set rebbishe table, two flames flickering atop a pair of silver candlesticks. A silver goblet with a rounded cup and slender leg stands prominently in the center of the table. The chassidim in their gartels focus on one person.

At the head of the table sits the Rebbe, the son-in-law of the Imrei Chaim of Vizhnitz and a sixth-generation descendant of Rav Yisrael of Ruzhin. His eyes are closed and his right hand covers his forehead, in the customary posture of the dynasty. An elegant fur kalpik conceals his knitted yarmulke. Behind him sits his son, a brigadier in the IDF, with a gartel wrapped around his waist. Alongside him are the Rebbe’s grandsons, students in various hesder yeshivos, with matching kalpiks.

Absolute silence reigns in the room. Now Brigadier General Hoshea Friedman begins to hum “Ranenu Tzaddikim,” one of the 26 niggunim of dveikus composed by Rav Yisrael of Ruzhin. The chassidim join in. The singing grows louder, the lyrics emerging in the clear, fluent Hebrew of native Israelis. The chassidim sway gently back and forth. The voices are like those of Bnei Brak chassidim, but their appearance marks them as Religious Zionists from Gilo.

Am I hallucinating?

Out of the Limelight

It’s two weeks later, and I can’t shake the vision from my head. I’m compelled to find out more about this tish I’ve visited, a scene reminding me of tzaddikim who are pictured in all sorts of settings, transcending time and space. And so I make my way to a modest house in Gilo, behind a pastoral row of trees and next to a gate emblazoned with a “beware of dog” sign. Here lives the Rebbe of Pashkan, a crown prince of the Ruzhiner dynasty and leader of the last Zionist chassidic court in history. While the population around here is varied, chances are that none of the residents fathom the twin flames whose joint fire burns in this house: the dynasties of Ruzhin and Vizhnitz.

I knock. Rebbetzin Tziporah, the youngest child of Rav Chaim Meir of Vizhnitz, opens the door politely. In European-accented Yiddish, she asks what I want. I note the “Welcome back, Savta” signs posted on the door; apparently, she’s just returned from a visit to her one surviving brother, the Vizhnitzer Rebbe of Monsey, whose hashkafah is far removed from her own. Later I will learn that the close sibling bond has managed to overcome the heated differences.

The Rebbetzin invites me inside. The walls are covered with photos of the patriarchs of the dynasties: Rav Chaim Meir Hager, the Imrei Chaim of Vizhnitz; his father-in-law, Rav Zev, of Rachmistrivka; Rav Yitzchak Friedman of Bohush; the Ahavas Yisrael of Vizhnitz; and more. In the living room, I find Rav Yisrael Ish-Shalom Friedman, Rebbe of Pashkan, absorbed in a sefer. Despite his age, the Pashkaner Rebbe is clear-minded and astute. His demeanor is reminiscent of the royalty of Ruzhin; noble, disciplined. His voice is deep, his words clearly enunciated, his forceful tone belying his 90-plus years. He looks at me, asks the Rebbetzin to bring some refreshments from the kitchen, and then asks the purpose of my visit.

I introduce myself. The Rebbe listens intently, careful not to interrupt until I’ve completed my request for an interview. The Rebbetzin shoots a questioning look at her husband. “To tell you the truth,” he says, “I’ve never given an interview to the media. It’s a very important principle for me. My holy forebears have always stayed far away from publicity, as if it were fire. But if the Rebbetzin agrees to speak, I would not object.”

I ask if I may return that night to continue the conversation. “My door is always open,” the Rebbe replies with a smile.

Upon my return, the Rebbe greets me warmly, reiterating that any insights or memories he will offer during our conversation should not be understood as an official interview. He considers publicity to be a tool of the yetzer hara. “Part of our siyata d’Shmaya comes from staying out of the limelight,” he tells me.

I suggest that in this case, the benefits might outweigh the costs: This is an opportunity to forge connections between different communities and bridge a major gap in Klal Yisrael.

“That is a connection you can find here, b’chasdei Hashem,” the Rebbe says in a Romanian-spiced Yiddish. “At the last tish, which was a combined yahrtzeit seudah for several of our ancestors, there were, relatively speaking, many more chareidim than in the past. There has been progress.”

And so I settle into a chair, to hear the Rebbetzin’s account of their unusual life path, sprinkled with occasional comments and stories from her eminent husband.

Beneath the Rebbe’s Chair

Rav Yisrael Friedman was born in 1923 in the Romanian town of Bohush. He is a sixth-generation descendent of Rav Yisrael of Ruzhin, and a ninth generation descendant of the Mezritcher Maggid — a direct ben achar ben of both.

His father, Harav Yitzchak Friedman, was not a rebbe. But the name of his grandfather on his mother’s side, Rav Menachem Mendel of Bohush, spread far and wide through Romania as a wonder-working rebbe. The holy grandfather and his grandson became extremely close. Historians relate that the current Pashkaner Rebbe was groomed to become a rebbe from a very young age. A private melamed, Reb Yaakov Mordechai, known as the “rebbes’ rebbi” in Ruzhin, was hired to teach him. The melamed’s first student was Rav Yaakov Friedman of Husyatin. Another student was Reb Menachem Nachum of Itzkan, while the last one was, ybdlch”t, Rav Yisrael Friedman, the Rebbe who is reviving the Ruzhiner dynasty in the National Religious community.

Though he was a sickly child, the Rebbe recalls an enchanted childhood. “I remember my childhood as a magical tale of parks and birds,” he often says. It was a wonderful youth filled with learning and chassidus, whose impressions influence his life to this day. “Until I was seven, I’d receive a day-old-lamb on my birthday, as a segulah for shemirah during the upcoming year. I would raise the lamb until my next birthday. On my birthday the lamb, which had become a ram by then, was taken and slaughtered and the meat was distributed to the poor. I used to get very upset because I had become attached to the animal. But then they would bring me a new one.”

Already then, the trajectory of his life was different from that of the other princes of the dynasty. In addition to acquiring Torah knowledge from Reb Yaakov Mordechai, he was assigned private instructors to teach him languages and science. When he grew older, he traveled to Vienna to be tested on his general knowledge, and later earned a doctorate.

Three years after the birth of the prince of Pashkan, there was great joy in Grosswardein, Transylvania. It was 1927, and a daughter named Tziporah had been born to Rav Chaim Meir Hager, known as the Imrei Chaim. He was the son and eventual successor of Rav Yisrael of Vizhnitz.

In Rebbetzin Tziporah Hager’s memories, those childhood years — a lull between two world wars — were a beautiful time for the Vizhnitzer court. Little Tziporah was affectionately called “Poikenyu” by her grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael of Vizhnitz, who loved her deeply. She was musically talented and picked up the Vizhnitz nusach tefillah for the Yamim Noraim. “When she was a small girl,” relatives related, “the Ahavas Yisrael would sometimes ask her to remind him of certain parts of the Vizhnitzer nusach.”

The family also relates that before the Yamim Noraim or an upcoming simchah at the court, Vizhnitz court composer Reb Nissan would compose a new tune, and would practice it together with the kappelyah, the chassidic choir. “Our mother would hide in the room during the rehearsal,” her children relate, “learn the song and then run to sing it for her grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael. Reb Nissan would get upset because the new song was supposed to be a secret. But the Zeide just laughed.”

That wasn’t the only time she hid. “Our mother had a hiding place where no one could find her, under the armchair of the Ahavas Yisrael, in the reception room,” her children tell me. “They would ask her to stay there when women would come to the Rebbe for brachos, to make sure there were no issues of yichud. She heard a lot about the trials and tribulations of women at the time, and how the Ahavas Yisrael would encourage and bless them. She was very attached to him.”

“Now We Must Part”

I ask Rebbetzin Tziporah if she remembers her brother, later to become the Yeshuos Moshe — the previous Vizhnitzer Rebbe — as being unusually diligent. “Of course,” she says. “Since he was very young he was unique.”

“Tomorrow night is Rosh Hashanah. Do you remember your father’s nusach?” I ask.

“Yes, I remember,” she says. “I live with it all the time. But I can’t sing it for men…”

I wonder aloud how a young girl acquired such an extensive knowledge of the Vizhnitzer nusach. The answer, it turns out, is simple: little Tziporah didn’t miss a single tefillah in Grosswardein.

“To this day, wherever I am, I always sing the Vizhnitzer niggunim,” she says. “I’d remember how I used to stand in the ladies’ section with my mother, Rebbetzin Margulis. She was something special — the daughter of Harav Zev of Rachmistrivka, who was the gaon of the generation. She was an exceptional person. She gave tzedakah and took care of all the chassidim who would come to him for Yom Tov. She had an outstanding personality.”

And did she adapt to the Vizhnitzer nusach hatefillah?

“I’m not sure,” Rebbetzin Tziporah muses. “After all, her father had his own nusach. I can’t know that because she never davened out loud. And we didn’t ask her. These things are personal.”

“Do you remember the passing of the Ahavas Yisrael?”

“Certainly. I was a big girl already.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“What’s the question? When my grandfather passed away, my father took me with him. It happened on Friday night and the levayah took place on Motzaei Shabbos. He took me when my grandfather was already on the floor. He stood beside the body and said tearfully, ‘We’ve never separated, and now we must part.’ ”

Tears fill Rebbetzin Tziporah Friedman’s eyes when she recalls this moment — one of the most poignant memories she has.

“My father took his father’s passing very hard. My father was one of the smartest Yidden, one of the chachamim of his generation. He was so wise for having taken me. He wanted to mold me. It is a memory that never leaves me.”

White Feet

Following the passing of his father in 1936, Rav Chaim Meir took on the mantle of leadership. But just a few years later, the skies of Romania began to darken; the Nazi boot was drawing closer to the tranquil Vizhnitzer hoif and the court began to dismantle.

“My father was taken to the labor camps,” Rebbetzin Friedman says of the Imrei Chaim. “The men in his camp were assigned to chop trees in the forest. On Shabbos, they bribed the guards and he stayed back in the camp for a minyan instead of going out to chop trees. Those despicable creatures would always conduct aktions on Shabbos, but my father remained with a minyan in the camp. So one Shabbos, when they conducted an aktion targeting the Jews of Grosswardein, he was in the camp. The guards didn’t make an issue out of it, and his life was saved.”

The Rebbetzin remembers the faces and names of dozens of her relatives, primarily cousins, who did not make it out alive. She realizes that few other families were as fortunate as her own; miraculously, the Imrei Chaim managed to smuggle all of his children out of the war zone.

Tziporah, who was 17 at the time, escaped in the guise of a Hungarian farm woman. “The gentile who smuggled us out took us to a tavern and threw us there and ran away. We were barefoot, like gentile farm woman. But the people saw our white feet and began to laugh. No farm woman had feet like that. We were afraid they would turn us in. But ultimately we reached our destination. My father’s chassidim in Arad had gotten a message that I reached the Romanian border. They took us to Arad, and then to Bucharest.”

“Where were your siblings at the time?”

“Reb Moishele (the Yeshuos Moshe) was already in Eretz Yisrael. Reb Mottel (of Vizhnitz-Monsey) had escaped with our mother. Sheva (Sheva Bracha Ernster) remained with my father in the ghetto, and he refused to escape. But Sheva helped smuggled out Hinda (Adler) with her two daughters, Ruchelle (Berzovsky, the Slonimer Rebbetzin a”h, the wife of the Rebbe shlita) and Minka’le.”

“Can you describe your reunion with your father in Romania after the war?”

“I have no words to describe it, because my father was a person with so much love, for every Jew, how much more so for his Yidden.”

“Do you remember something he said at the reunion?”

“He said what we say to all Jews; everyone says the same thing. We weren’t privileged characters. In Romania, we were refugees, plain and simple.”

The Survivors

The story of the Pashkaner Rebbe’s escape from the Nazis is also remarkable.

At the beginning of the war, he was drafted into the pro-Nazi Romanian army. During the Yamim Noraim of 1942, he was sent to serve as a chazzan for the Jewish soldiers there. The rabbinical semichah he had received at the age of 17 impressed the Romanians and would ultimately be one of the keys to his salvation; it allowed him to serve in a less dangerous posting for the duration of the war years.

At the end of the war he, like his future wife, came to Bucharest, a haven for many of the region’s refugees. His grandfather, Rav Mende’le of Pashkan, the elder Rebbe of the dynasty at the time, was also in Bucharest. His uncle, Rav Yitzchak of Bohush, worked to absorb the masses of refugees, hosting many in his own home.

When the Imrei Chaim arrived with his handful of chassidim, he also found a place of refuge in the home of Reb Yitzchak of Bohush. That was the first encounter between Reb Yisrael of Pashkan and his future father-in-law. It was enough to leave an indelible impression on the young Ruzhiner descendent.

During the Yamim Noraim that year, the bond deepened. “In Ruzhin, it isn’t customary for the Rebbes to daven for the amud. So I when I considered whether to daven in my uncle’s minyan or in the nearby Vizhnitzer minyan, I decided to go to the Vizhnitzer minyan. There I would hear the Imrei Chaim davening for the amud.”

You might say it was the Vizhnitzer nusach of tefillah that brought the couple together, because this was where his first encounter with the Rebbetzin occurred.

The Pashkaner Rebbe remembers it well: “The Vizhnitzer chassidim didn’t daven in a shul, but in a large hall. The door was closed. The Imrei Chaim saw me approaching from the window and sent his daughter Tziporah to open the door for me.”

“Until then I didn’t even know that my future husband existed,” the Rebbetzin says.

“In retrospect, did you realize that he’d intentionally asked her to do it?” I ask Rav Yisrael.

“There are some things that remain hidden,” he answers.

Another family member adds: “In Bucharest, the newly arrived rebbes had a tradition of paying visits to the rebbes who’d been there before them. So the Imrei Chaim visited Reb Yitzchak of Bohush. Then the latter paid a return visit. And in an unusual step, he asked his nephew, the young Rav Yisrael, to accompany him to the Imrei Chaim, something which had never happened before and would never happen again. So apparently both sides knew that the shidduch was predestined.”

“Bucharest at the time was filled with rebbes,” Rav Yisrael remembers. “I took advantage of my close proximity to the Imrei Chaim and would visit just to watch him, to hear him speak. He was extremely wise and had boundless ahavas Yisrael. And what a talmid chacham… the divrei Torah said in Vizhnitz include a lot of gematrias. There is a collection of letters to his talmidim — an exceptional sefer — that indicates his depth of knowledge.

“To this day,” he says, “that bond with the Imrei Chaim deeply influences us and our children.”

Sparks in the Mud

In 1946, both Reb Yisrael and Rebbetzin Tziporah arrived in Eretz Yisrael separately; he on a ship of the illegal aliyah, which was caught by the British and taken to the Atlit detention camp, and she — three months later — heavily made up so as to assume the identity of her sister Hinda, who was 20 years older than her and had already attained citizenship in Palestine.

Relatives encouraged the two to meet, even while Rav Yisrael was in the detention camp. A few months later they decided to build their home together, while the Imrei Chaim was still in Europe.

The chuppah took place in Nahalal, and the Yemenite rav of the moshav conducted it. Few relatives were present; most were still in Europe.

The couple’s choice of residence is perceived by the family as a step toward birur nitzotzos, gathering the hidden sparks, and a desire to draw Jews closer, and thus to hasten the Redemption. They chose to settle in Reshafim, a kibbutz in Northeastern Israel originally established by the Hashomer Hatzair movement. The kibbutz became home to many immigrants from Vizhnitz and Bohush, primarily the “fohrers”— the travelers — who traveled to the rebbes of Vizhnitz and Ruzhin even if they didn’t have much of a spiritual grasp of the Rebbes’ ways. “The Rebbe believes that the sparks of holiness are found in the deepest mud,” his students explain. More than that, they don’t say.

Rav Yisrael’s children relate that their uncle, Reb Yitzchak of Bohush ztz”l, once told them: “You should know that your father is a big Rebbe in Reshafim, and your mother, a great Rebbetzin.” Despite the endorsement, in the court of Vizhnitz there was difficulty accepting the choice of residence. At a meeting with his daughter and son-in-law, the Imrei Chaim asked them to move to Bnei Brak, but the request was gently but unequivocally refused.

The year 1960 marked a turning point in the Vizhnitzer dynasty. The Imrei Chaim suffered a stroke. Masses of chassidim feared for his health, none more than his family. His daughter Tziporah, traveled to the hospital to visit her father. It had been some time since they’d met, and — according to the family — when she entered, the Rebbe opened his eyes and sobbed for two hours. The next morning, he showed signs of recovery.

After that incident, Rebbetzin Tziporah decided to take the children and move next to Shikkun Vizhnitz in order to be near her father. In Vizhnitz, they rejoiced. Rav Yisrael gave up his position as secretary of Reshafim and moved to the religious Kibbutz Saad. Each Erev Shabbos, the family would come together. In 1964, the Friedmans traveled to France on an education mission that would last three years.

In 1967, right after the six Day War, they returned from France and settled in Kibbutz Saad. The Pashkaner Rebbe then began to conduct himself as a rebbe. He wore a shtreimel with the Ruzhiner pointed yarmulke, as his forefathers did, and began to disseminate chassidic concepts from his wealth of knowledge.

From that point on until the Imrei Chaim’s passing on 9 Nissan 1972, the bond between him and his father-in-law deepened. .

Grandeur and Humility

Ruzhin, one of the most ancient chassidic dynasties, has at times been greatly misunderstood. The regal trappings that characterize the chassidus have been misconstrued as bloated grandeur. But in essence, the Pashkaner Rebbe tells me, Ruzhin is about extreme humility.

“Our purpose in life is to turn ani, the ‘I’, into ayin — ‘nothingness,’ ” he tells me. “A person who lacks true humility can be anything, but not a rebbe. That is an extremely important principle in Ruzhin. It does not mean that the person becomes nothing; it means that he reaches the level at which his ani, his sense of self — which is such a dominant force in so many people and stems from impure influences — becomes ayin, ‘nothing.’ He must entirely subjugate his self at the peak of his prominence, his learning, or his creativity. That was the level of ayin achieved by my ancestor, the Maggid of Mezritch. And it is a standard among Ruzhiner chassidim.

“When you know all this,” the Pashkaner Rebbe says, “then you can resolve what some believe to be the great Ruzhiner contradiction. For all that the Ruzhiner court was characterized by grandeur, it simultaneously stood for utter humility.

“The Ruzhiner Zeide, the founder of the dynasty, believed and davened that Mashiach would yet come in his time and lived his life with that in mind. It is possible, I imagine, that he saw himself as a potential Mashiach. The outer show of magnificence would be aligned with that view. At the same time, there are clear testimonies that the Ruzhiner Rebbe hardly ate. When he fled from Russia to Kossov, his mechutan, the Toras Chaim of Kossov, welcomed him, found him a place to stay and made sure there was a minyan. A member of that minyan later recorded some remarkable things about the Rebbe in his memoirs. Not flowery praises, but records of his daily conduct. He relates how many languages the Zeide spoke, how he even knew the vernacular of a Romanian farmer. And then he writes: ‘We subsisted on the Rebbe’s shirayim because he ate like a day-old baby.’

“This helps us understand who the Ruzhiner was, and how he forged the path that his successors maintain to this day.”

And when I venture, “There probably isn’t anyone else alive who is a sixth-generation-descendant of the Ruzhiner Zeide, as the Rebbe is,” his answer is quick in coming: “I don’t make those calculations. Because if I do, then I risk increasing my ‘humility.’”

Taking Root

Fourteen years ago, the Friedman family settled in Gilo. Reb Yisrael of Pashkan, who’d followed his stint in Kibbutz Saad with a post of Rosh Yeshivat Hesder in Netivot, began to conduct himself as a rebbe within the national religious community. The midrashah that he heads began to attract members of the national religious community seeking a chassidic experience. Slowly, slowly, the court grew. Today his tishen even attract chareidim, admirers of Vizhnitz who come to observe the Ruzhiner prince groomed for leadership since his youngest years.

“In recent years, chassidus has been taking root in the nation religious community,” he’s observed. “You can see it now at the tishen. There is a trend toward chassidus and that’s a big thing. ”

Among the Rebbe’s children, Brigadier -General Rabbi Hoshea Friedman, the IDF’s chief reserve officer, is the most staunchly rooted in the path of chassidus. During the week he wears a military uniform as part of his job, along with a long beard and peyos. While davening, he will wear a broad gartel over his fatigues. On Shabbos and at the weddings of his children he proudly wears a shtreimel and kapoteh. In the family, he is recognized as his father’s natural successor.

Since the passing of his rebbi, Harav Yitzchak of Bohush, who lived in Bnei Brak toward the end of his life, Brigadier Friedman has a chassid-rebbe relationship with his father. He gives kvittlach to Rav Yisrael and sits at the tish as a chassid. His children, who are deeply integrated in the National Religious society, proudly bear the names of their ancestors: Chaim Meir, Yitzchak, Margalit. When they marry, they cover their knitted yarmulkes with a pointed shtreimel, just like their cousins in the other Ruzhiner courts.

It’s early evening in Gilo. We’ve traveled back in time, explored raw memories and touched the essential elements of chassidus. My hosts are as gracious as ever, but I fear staying too long. As I get ready to leave, I’m in for a surprise: The Pashkaner Rebbe, despite his age and status, escorts me four amos to the door, with a warmth that I can almost feel. He then blesses me with long years and that we all merit the Redemption very soon.

The door closes. I can hear the Arab muezzin echoing through the neighborhood, a harsh reminder that the hostile neighborhood of Beit Jala is right nearby — another sign that the Redemption, the lifeblood of the father of the Ruzhiner dynasty and his remarkable successor, has not yet arrived. But as the barriers between brothers slowly crumble, it’s surely closer than ever.

Visit a certain tish in Gilo, and you might feel it too.

“He is a Great Man”

Just a few weeks ago, on Erev Rosh Hashanah, the women streaming to Selichos in the large beis medrash in Shikkun Vizhnitz noticed a special guest: Rebbetzin Tziporah Friedman of Pashkan. They weren’t surprised; the Rebbetzin — who generally keeps a low profile in Vizhnitz — is known to visit the court of her father’s successor at certain times.

The Rebbetzin deeply respects the current Rebbe of Vizhnitz, her own nephew. “I’ve known Rav Yisrael since he was born,” she explains, “And he’s one in a generation. I’ve remained in contact with him throughout the years. For me, there is no one more worthy of filling the place of my father and brother.”

In fact, every Erev Chanukah the Rebbe of Pashkan and the Rebbetzin express their respect for him by lending him the menorah of Rav Pinchas of Koritz, which they inherited, so that he can light it. For the rest of the year, the menorah is kept in a vault.

The Songs that Never Stopped  

Tziporah Friedman (Ish-Shalom), daughter of the Imrei Chaim of Vizhnitz, is the younger sister of Rav Moshe Yehoshua Hager ztz”l, the previous Vizhnitzer Rebbe, and ybdlch”t Rav Mordechai shlita, the current Vizhnitzer Rebbe of Monsey. Another sister of the Imrei Chaim of Vizhnitz was Miriam, who was married to Rav Yehudale Horowitz of Dzhikov, then to Rav Yehoshua Greenwald of Chust after her first husband’s passing, and then to her zivug shlishi, Rav Yitzchak Yaakov Weiss, the Gaavad of Yerushalayim. The other sisters were Hinda Adler, the wife of Rav Naftali Adler of Dzhikov, and Sheva Bracha Ernster, the wife of Rav Moshe Ernster — founder of Kiryat Meor Chaim in Tzfas and Yerushalayim and the father of Rav Menachem Ernster, the current rosh yeshivah of Vizhnitz in Bnei Brak.

The Vizhnitzer royal family traces its lineage back to Rav Menachem Mendel Hager of Kossov, the author of Ahavas Shalom and the son of Rav Yaakov Koppel Chassid of Kolomaye, a talmid of the Baal Shem Tov and the baal tefillah in his beis medrash.

His grandson was Menachem Mendel, the first rebbe of Vizhnitz, also known as the Tzemach Tzaddik (and a son-in-law of Rav Yisrael of Ruzhin). The Ahavas Yisrael, the third rebbe of Vizhnitz, once commented about the Yamim Noraim davening, “My grandfather, the Tzemach Tzaddik [who composed a large percentage of the tunes], injected fire into the machzor! A niggun,” he said, “prevents a person from being weak or neglectful in his service of Hashem.”

Dozens of years after she left Vizhnitz, those penetrating Vizhnitzer tunes haven’t left Rebbetzin Tziporah. The devoted daughter of the Imrei Chaim remains closely attached to this special reminder of her rich heritage.

The Chronicles of Ruzhin

Rav Yisrael of Ruzhin, who associated each of his six sons with a different seder of the Mishnah, was the forebear of dynasties spread across the chassidic world. When he passed away on 3 Marcheshvan at age 54, each of his sons was asked to lead a different community, and thus became the leaders of many chassidic groups. His eldest son, Rav Shalom Yosef, served as Rebbe in place of his father, but he passed away within the year. Rav Shalom Yosef’s eldest son (and the Ruzhiner’s grandson), Rav Yitzchok, became the spiritual leader of the Romanian town of Bohush. The next son was Rav Avraham Yaakov of Sadigur, the progenitor of the Sadigurer and Boyaner chassidic dynasties. The third was Rav Dov Ber of Leova, the fourth was Rav Menachem Nachum of Shtefenesht, the fifth was Rav Dovid Moshe of Tchortkov, and the sixth was Rav Mordechai Shraga of Husyatin. He also had four daughters, who went on to become the forebears of major chassidic courts. His daughter Miriam married Rav Menachem Mendel of Vizhnitz, the founder of the Vizhnitzer dynasty.

Rav Yitzchak of Bohush had 18 children, five of them sons. The leadership was passed onto Rav Yitzchak’s son Rav Yisrael Shalom Yosef. Rav Yitzchak of Bohush’s other sons were Rav Avraham Yehoshua Heschel of Ajud, Rav Yaakov of Husyatin — author of Ohalei Yaakov, and Rav Moshe Yehuda Leib of Pashkan, the grandfather of Rav Yisrael Friedman shlita.

Rav Yisrael Shalom Yosef, who succeeded his father as rebbe of Bohush, left two sons-in-law who succeeded him: Rav Menachem Mendel Friedman of Bohush (grandfather of Rav Yisrael Friedman) and Rav David Twerski. Rav Menachem Mendel didn’t have sons to succeed him, so he asked his nephew Rav Yitzchak — son of the Shpikover — to succeed him. Rav Yitzchak, the new Rebbe of Bohush, later moved to Eretz Yisrael and settled in Tel Aviv. He was known for his great love of Eretz Yisrael and saw a Divine Hand in the state. He passed away in Bnei Brak in 1992. His grandson, in contrast — the current Bohusher Rebbe — has leanings toward Satmar.

Rav Moshe Yehuda Leib of Pashkan had three children, one of whom was Rav Yitzchak Friedman, the son-in-law of Rav Menachem Mendel of Bohush and the father of the current Rav Yisrael of Pashkan.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 530)