As a youngster, Rav Henach Cohen thought he’d found his calling teaching Torah in Los Angeles. Then a phone call from Rav Aharon Kotler changed his life, and positioned him as one of the primary figures aiding the Lakewood Rosh Yeshivah in his passion for developing the Chinuch Atzmai system into a vibrant, burgeoning educational network. In honor of Rav Aharon’s yahrtzeit, he shares his memories of the challenges and triumphs along the way

PHOTOS Menachem Kozlovsky

I

t’s hard to imagine a better introduction to the ideals I would discuss with Rabbi Henach Cohen — listening to, and appreciating gedolei Torah — than his reaction when I called to request an interview. He said no. I suggested that perhaps the encounters and relationships he enjoyed with the great leaders of the Torah world, in his capacity of director of Chinuch Atzmai, could inspire others. He hesitated, then suggested, “I will call the Rosh Yeshivah and ask his opinion.”

“The rosh yeshivah” he refers to is Rav Malkiel Kotler shlita of Beth Medrash Govoha, grandson of Reb Aharon — whom a much-younger Henach Cohen was privileged to serve, acting as the Rosh Yeshivah ztz”l’s right arm in developing Chinuch Atzmai. Generations have come and gone, Rabbi Cohen has enjoyed a productive career — yet still, he asks.

Ultimately, he agreed to my request, but with a disclaimer.

“We are discussing the Rosh Yeshivah, not me. And before we begin to talk about Reb Aharon, you need to understand something. Chazal say, ‘im rishonim k’malachim — if the earlier generations were like angels …’ He was from a different world. Many gedolei Torah arrived here after the war and became roshei yeshivah, but he was a rosh yeshivah back there, while still in his twenties!

“Reb Aharon sat at a table with the Chofetz Chaim, absorbing his mesorah for dealing with Klal Yisrael, with communal issues. The Rosh Yeshivah arrived in America groomed and ready for leadership, already belonging to the nation, committed to its rebirth. He was on fire, burning with zeal, intent on serving, on giving, not on taking. He had no sense of self; nothing belonged to him.”

Reb Henach recalls the furniture in the Rosh Yeshivah’s apartment. “The chairs were mismatched. He had metal beds, like we had as little children. Materialism meant nothing to him.”

Rebbetzin Kotler once gave Reb Henach 25 dollars, and asked him to buy the Rosh Yeshivah a new hat, since he was going to Eretz Yisrael, where he would be meeting government leaders and activists.

In the car, Reb Aharon began to protest. “Please, Henach, 25 dollars can really help a family in Eretz Yisrael. I have a fine hat already, give me the money.”

But Reb Henach held firm. “The Rebbetzin gave me the money, and it’s a sh’eilah of kavod haTorah. I can’t get involved.”

Old School

The decor and furnishings in Rabbi Cohen’s office, the American home of Chinuch Atzmai in Lower Manhattan, are simple, reflecting an old-school view of askanus and the values of the great Rosh Yeshivah: “klal gelt” is holy. There is a sense that Rabbi Cohen thinks twice before making a photocopy, or replacing a pen.

Reb Henach is old-school in the literal sense as well: along with six other boys, all cousins, he learned in a one-room cheder atop the store his great-grandfather owned.

Before the turn of the 20th century, his elter-zeideh, Reb Binyomin, had arrived in Ottawa, Canada, from the Russian hamlet of Sislovitz, running to avoid being conscripted by the Czar’s army. (Hint to the fact that Reb Henach’s destiny was connected with that of his mentor? Sislovitz is the shtetl made famous by young Ahreh’le Sislovitzer, the lion of Slabodka, later the Lakewood Rosh Yeshivah.)

His great-grandmother would stand in the Ottawa train station and greet new European arrivals with the question, “Are you a Shabbosdige Yid?” She was determined to create a community of shomrei Torah in the Canadian capital.

After his bar mitzvah in Ottawa, Henach was sent off to Torah Vodaath in New York. There, he developed into a real ben Torah, growing close to his rebbeim, but showing none of the signs of a future activist. Eventually, his parents left Ottawa and moved to New York, settling in the quiet Italian enclave of Boro Park.

Rav Gedalia Schorr, the rosh yeshivah, apparently saw potential in the young boy, calling him aside one day. “Since you are one of the only talmidim who lives in Boro Park,” he said, “I want you to get up in a certain shul this Shabbos, in Kensington, and make an appeal for Torah Vodaath.”

Reb Henach recalls protesting. “I told him that I was fearful of public speaking. At my bar mitzvah, I had frozen, and was unable to deliver the pshetel. But Rav Schorr assured me that it would be fine. ‘This week is Parshas Shemos,’ he said, ‘so you’ll read them the first Rashi, that Yidden are like stars. Each one shines brilliantly, and that’s what we do here at the yeshivah — we help them show their light.’”

Many years later, Reb Henach met an older European Jew who’d arrived in America with little intention of providing his children with a Jewish education, believing that America was different from his European birthplace. The fellow related that on his first Shabbos in New York, he’d davened in a small shtiebel, and after kriyas haTorah, a teenager had stood up to make an appeal for Torah Vodaath. “I saw an American kid, speaking a rich Yiddish and describing yeshivah life with such enthusiasm. I saw that it was possible to send kids to yeshivah here as well, so I changed my mind.”

Rabbi Cohen concludes the heartwarming story. “That was Rav Schorr’s zchus; it was his drashah, after all. But I will tell you this: Although I’ve delivered hundreds of drashos since then, I think that one was the best!”

At Reb Simcha’s Side

Rav Schorr, seeing what Henach Cohen would yet become, sent his talmid on another mission. “Torah Vodaath, at that time, drew many day-school boys from across the United States, and we were all trained to speak their language, to draw them close.

“So when Rav Simcha Wasserman opened his yeshivah in Los Angeles in 1963, Rav Schorr saw a way to provide the Western part of the country with a yeshivah that could serve the cities in and near California. He asked me to go out there and help Reb Simcha get started.”

The locals in sunny California had no concept of a yeshivah, and were content to send their sons to learn at 3:15, when public school let out. Reb Henach, still a bochur, was determined to change that mind-set.

“We said no way. You like learning? Then you come to yeshivah for the full day. We had a great rebbi, Rabbi Moshe Weitz, and we hired the best math, history, and English teachers we could find. We had a nice building and dormitory, and we meant business.

“The kids would come and be blown away by the yeshivah experience; they wanted to run and buy tzitzis and be yeshivah bochurim. But Reb Simcha was a great man, and he saw further. He told us, ‘Sensations soon fade away, and we’ll be left with nothing. The only way to keep them is to give them a real sense of geshmak in learning. If you make a bochur into a lamdan, then you’ve succeeded. Then he’s in for the long haul.”

For two and a half years, Reb Henach worked at Reb Simcha’s side building the yeshivah. When he went home for Pesach, his mother informed him that his time was up.

“I was getting older and there were no shidduchim in California, so she told me that she wanted me to spend the next six months in New York.”

He had arrived on Erev Pesach, and was planning to leave Motzaei Pesach, when he received the phone call that changed his life. Rav Aharon Kotler was on the line.

He had heard about the hardworking young askan and, he explained, he needed to hold a fundraising dinner for Chinuch Atzmai, the chareidi school system in Eretz Yisrael. He wanted Henach Cohen to help him pull it off.

“But now I’m teaching Torah and getting sipuk, fulfillment!” young Henach protested.

“Yes,” replied the Rosh Yeshivah softly, “but this way you’ll have hana’ah. Du vest zein nohnt tzu mir [You’ll be close to me].”

That founding dinner was memorable. Rav Yoshe Ber Soloveitchik, the guest speaker, compared Reb Aharon to the Chasam Sofer, saying that each generation has a leader who feels responsible to lead it in battle. Reb Henach recalls Reb Aharon pulling on Rav Soloveitchik’s sleeve in mid-speech, begging him to stop with the effusive praise.

After the dinner, Reb Henach — fully immersed in the cause — joined Reb Aharon at a meeting in philanthropist Stephen Klein’s office.

There was an awareness that they were living at an historical juncture, and Reb Aharon had the passion to infuse everyone at that meeting with a sense that they could make the difference. “It was as if he had no yeshivah of his own. He put Chinuch Atzmai at the forefront of his mind and heart. Wherever he went, he pleaded for Eretz Yisrael’s future.”

Reb Henach reflects on the organization’s finances back then, at its inception. “The Chazon Ish had succeeded, through Moshe Shapiro of the Mafdal, in convincing the government to fund another stream in education, independent of the government agenda. Ben-Gurion figured that the Orthodox population wouldn’t be around for much longer, so he agreed that the government would fund

60 percent of the Chinuch Atzmai budget. Our responsibility at the fundraising end was only for 40 percent of that budget, approximately $10,000 a month.”

Once Chinuch Atzmai was formed, Reb Aharon called an asifah of the best, brightest teachers and asked them to use their talents to keep Torah alive in Eretz Yisrael.

“Reb Aharon said that Klal Yisrael was at a juncture where we needed to keep the Torah alive, and that called for mesirus nefesh. Every single teacher and principal, with the exception of one, joined Chinuch Atzmai.

“Not one to preach and not practice,” continues Reb Henach, “Reb Aharon acted on his words. He went to visit the Brisker Rav, who had a mekurav named Reb Chaim Solomon, a son of the Charkover Rav and a businessman. Reb Aharon took a personal loan for $40,000 to pay the teachers, and when he returned to America, he called a gathering to raise money and pay back that loan.

“It was in the dining room of the old mesivta building on Bedford Avenue, in Williamsburg. Do you know who came? A few alteh Mirrer talmidim and some poor mechanchim. They emptied their pockets, though.”

Reb Aharon’s Army

Soon enough Reb Henach became a crucial player in Reb Aharon’s plan, setting up an effective Chinuch Atzmai office, and sending money to Eretz Yisrael each month. He expounds on the Rosh Yeshivah’s vision.

“Reb Aharon established a seminary in Bnei Brak to train teachers and rebbeim for the Sephardic community, Beit Ulpana, which later moved to Chazon Yechezkel. Reb Aharon insisted that the rebbeim also learn math and English so that they could teach in the government school system, citing the fact that Rav Chaim Ozer had made a similar innovation in Vilna, when he saw that the situation called for it.

“You know what? The most effective rebbeim in the Chinuch Atzmai system came from that school.”

Rabbi Cohen reaches for a newspaper clipping on his desk. “I want to tell you something. Reb Aharon correctly intuited that the Sephardim would be the future of Torah in Eretz Yisrael, and he made sure that they weren’t overlooked. He believed in investing resources in their communities at a time when their own government didn’t believe in them.

“Just this week I read an article that now, in 2011, for the first time, there will be more Sephardim above the age of 18 entering the yeshivos gedolos in Eretz Yisrael than Ashkenazim. Were he here to read that clipping, Reb Aharon would have such nachas. He saw it then. He dreamed of the day when Sephardic talmidim would learn from Sephardic educators, cultivated from within their own communities.”

Rav Aharon’s first act at the helm of Chinuch Atzmai was the establishment of Keren Sha’ot Toraniot, extracurricular learning sessions for the students that would be held after one o’clock. (The government only funded half a day of school.) The extra learning stemmed from his belief that coming to school and doing well wouldn’t be enough to keep these boys committed.

“It was the same thing Reb Simcha had said — they needed to experience a ‘geshmak’ in learning in order to be motivated to continue on to yeshivos.”

The Rosh Yeshivah’s prediction that Reb Henach would grow close to him was realized. Following a gathering of all Reb Aharon’s talmidim — Histadrus Talmidei Kletzk/Lakewood — Reb Aharon turned to the bochur and asked, “Where were you last night?”

“Last night?”

“At the gathering of talmidim.”

“I never learned in those yeshivos,” replied Reb Henach.

“But I sent you an invitation!” said the Rosh Yeshivah.

“I don’t know anyone there.”

Reb Aharon looked at Reb Henach for a long moment. “But you know me ... and a ben bayis is more than a talmid.”

As a Team

On a field trip to Eretz Yisrael, someone suggested a local girl for the eligible young director of Chinuch Atzmai.

Chana, the daughter of Reb Eliyahu Mordechai Sonnenfeld — youngest son of Yerushalayim’s rav, Rav Yosef Chaim — had studied in the Gateshead Teacher’s Seminary. Upon returning to Eretz Yisrael, she and some friends headed off to Beer Sheva, to reestablish the Bais Yaakov there as a Chinuch Atzmai school. She was one of the most effective teachers in the Chinuch Atzmai system, a fitting life partner for the young man who devoted all his energies to the movement.

The new chassan had a problem: he had a job back in America, but his kallah — and wedding — were in Eretz Yisrael.

“Reb Aharon told me to remain there until after the wedding, that my job would wait for me. I will always be grateful to Marvin Schick, who filled in for me in my absence, running from school to school and emptying the Chinuch Atzmai pushkes, despite the fact that he was so busy with his own schooling at the time.”

After his marriage, Reb Henach and his new wife returned to New York, where he resumed his activities at Chinuch Atzmai.

Back then, it was Reb Aharon leading the charge, but his passion and dedication inspired the other gedolim.

One Erev Yom Kippur, Reb Henach received a phone call from the Kopycznitzer Rebbe, asking him to come over. “Listen,” said the Rebbe, “on Erev Shavuos, Reb Aharon called to ask me for a loan so that he could pay the rebbeim and teachers before Yom Tov, so I’m sure now he needs the same thing, even though he didn’t ask.”

The expression on Reb Henach’s face tells me that he still marvels at what happened next.

“The Rebbe had a large pile of pidyonos, money that had come along with the many kvittlach brought in by Yidden throughout that day and the preceding days, the time of year when rebbes are busier than ever. In one fluid move the Rebbe moved his arm across the table and knocked all the money into a bag and handed it to me, without even counting it. I protested, and the Rebbe said ‘ich ehl shoin hubben tzu machen Yom Tov, I’ll be all right; the teachers at Chinuch Atzmai can surely use the money.’”

Reb Henach continues. “The Kopycznitzer would muse that Chinuch Atzmai was his ‘kisha’le,’ his pillow, for the Next World. One day, I was at our office on Nassau Street and I received a phone call from Reb Aharon. He’d obtained an appointment with a wealthy man, Reb Binyomin Citron from Brazil, and he wanted me to come over and to bring the Rebbe as well, who was up on Henry Street, on the East Side. After the meeting was over, we prepared to go our separate ways. I flagged down a taxi for the Rebbe, but he refused to accept the ride, saying, ‘The five dollars the taxi will cost can make Shabbos for a teacher in Eretz Yisrael. I’ll take a bus.’

“Reb Aharon went to the train, the Rebbe to the bus, and I hurried to the bank to send the money we’d made off to Eretz Yisrael.”

Recalling that meeting, Reb Henach shares a rich piece of history. “The donor that day, Reb Binyomin Citron, was a builder in his native Brazil. He was telling us about a beautiful building he’d erected for use as a yeshivah, describing how ‘We’re going to produce talmidim just like Mr. Mendlowitz did in Torah Vodaath.’

“Reb Aharon responded, ‘Buildings don’t create talmidim, people do. If you have the right rebbeim, you can produce great talmidim. We will send you the best rebbi in the system to help build Torah in Brazil.’”

Reb Henach finishes the story. “True to his word, Reb Aharon sent Reb Zelig Privalsky to Brazil, where he was extremely successful in educating the children for many years.”