MY rebbi, the rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Chofetz Chaim, Rav Henoch Leibowitz ztz”l, had a famous saying that I heard from him often over the years. He would quote a famous general who said that he wanted to leave This World “with his boots on.”

Like the general, who expressed his hope to continue fighting until his last moment, the Rosh Yeshivah would often say that he wanted to be able to continue being marbitz Torah and teaching his talmidim until his very last day.  My father ztz”l, his talmid and assistant for more then 60 years, developed the same mindset as well. This attitude of pushing through until one’s very last breath is something I saw displayed by many of the gedolim I interacted with over the years.

One prime example is the incredible perseverance and inner strength exhibited by the rosh yeshivah Rav Chaim Pinchas Scheinberg ztz”l who lived until past the age of 100 and continued exerting himself for Torah until his last breath. He traveled across the ocean multiple times a year on behalf of the yeshivah, while never missing tefillah at a neitz minyan and never changing any of his hanhagos and personal chumras until his last day. I was zocheh to host the Rosh Yeshivah multiple times in my home for a week at a time and was always amazed at his incredible stamina despite him being close to a century old.

Reb Yussie and Ruchie Stern also hosted the Rosh Yeshivah in their Edison, NJ home many times, and Reb Yussie, who was very close to the Rosh Yeshivah, shared with me an incredible story. On one of his last trips, when the Rosh Yeshivah was already over 90 years old, his son noticed that his father’s passport needed to be renewed before leaving back to Eretz Yisrael.

They went to a nearby office and the woman behind the desk asked Reb Yussie if the rabbi would like a two-year renewal or a ten-year renewal. He responded that a two-year renewal would be sufficient.

But when the Rosh Yeshivah heard about the conversation, he told Yussie to please go back and request the ten-year renewal.

The Rosh Yeshivah, who was already over 90 years old, envisioned coming back to America to fundraise for his yeshivah for another ten years.

Whenever I’m asked to participate in yet another  community project that I feel is beyond my kochos, I think of Rav Scheinberg at that passport office, and of my rebbi with his incredibly warm smile and twinkle in his eye, saying, “ I want to go with my boots on.” And I feel renewed strength.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1043)

The post With His Boots On   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

AS a bochur learning in Yeshivas Chofetz Chaim, I often drove my rosh yeshivah, Rav Henoch Leibowitz ztz”l, to yeshivah. One morning, he asked me to come inside first.

After I sat down, he told me that a dear chaver of my father, Rav Ephraim Wolf z”l, the rav of the prominent Great Neck Synagogue, had reached out to my father for help. Rav Wolf had shared with my father that as a result of a recent medical procedure he would be unable to deliver the derashos he usually gave over the Yamim Noraim. However, as many of the attendees only showed up to shul for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, he felt responsible to make sure they did not lose out on this annual dose of Torah. He’d reached out to my father for advice, and my father said he would consult with the Rosh Yeshivah.

Sitting in the Rosh Yeshivah’s home, he shared that he had decided that I should go to Great Neck to assist Rabbi Wolf. I protested, saying I wanted to be in yeshivah for the Yamim Noraim, but the Rosh Yeshivah just waved away my objection. “I am suggesting that you go,” he said, “not only because it is a chesed to Rabbi Wolf, as well as a chesed to your father who wants to help his friend, but mainly because I think it will be a good experience for you as well.” I knew the discussion was closed.

Before getting out of the car, the Rosh Yeshivah turned to me and said, “You will see that something wonderful will come out of this experience.”

The Yamim Noraim were indeed inspiring, and at Rabbi Wolf’s invitation, I went back to Great Neck for Succos as well, which led to my delivering a weekly hashkafah shiur that evolved into a Gemara shiur. (After two years, a friend took it over, and I believe it’s still going strong, more than 40 years later.)

One of the most memorable personalities who I met over that Yom Yov was an absolutely brilliant individual who was a graduate of MIT and held a degree in philosophy from Yale University. While he had a great love for everything Jewish, he knew absolutely nothing and hadn’t visited a synagogue since his bar mitzvah, more than 40 years earlier. He’d stumbled into the Great Neck Synagogue looking for help to bury his mother who had just passed away and requested a traditional burial, and had the good fortune of meeting Rabbi Wolf, who drew him close with his famous warmth and wit.

He attended every hashkafah shiur religiously and posed dozens of deep, philosophical questions, most well beyond my paygrade.

On my next visit to Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky ztz”l, I shared some of the questions that I found too challenging to answer, and in response the Rosh Yeshivah shared some wonderful insights. After that I asked if I could bring the questioner to ask his questions in person, and the Rosh Yeshivah graciously agreed. At the next shiur, I spent the better part of the hour describing the greatness of Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky. Afterward, I invited my new friend to come with me to meet the Rosh Yeshivah and he eagerly agreed.

The following Sunday, I picked him up and we drove to Monsey. He was visibly nervous and began rattling off to me the list of his most difficult philosophical difficulties.

When we entered, we saw that one of Rav Yaakov’s grandsons had just come with his large family to introduce the Rosh Yeshivah to his newest great-grandchild. We sat down to wait, and watched the Rosh Yeshivah holding the little ones on his lap and trying to get the baby to smile at him. My friend was totally transfixed, watching the Rosh Yeshivah’s every move.

After about 15 minutes, it was our turn. I introduced my friend and the Rosh Yeshivah greeted him warmly. “I understand that you have many good questions to ask,” he said. “You should know that asking questions is the very foundation of our Torah and how we can transmit it to future generations. So please ask and I will try to help if I am able to.”

My friend stayed silent. The Rosh Yeshivah tried again to put him at ease, but he still didn’t say anything. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and turning to him, I said, “You told me once that you have five major questions that you never found an adequate answer for. Why don’t you ask them now?” Still, he didn’t say a word.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, he looked at me and said, “I do not have any questions anymore!” Now I was the one at a loss for words. I felt confused, embarrassed, and thoroughly annoyed all at the same time.

Then the silence was broken. Smiling his unforgettable beautiful wide smile, the Rosh Yeshivah said, “We all have questions at times and other times we don’t have any. Please come back with Rabbi Ginzberg for answers to any questions that may come up in the future.”

As soon as we got back into the car, I turned to my friend and asked for an explanation, which he promptly offered. “I came with every intention of asking my most difficult questions to the Rosh Yeshivah,” he explained, “but in those fifteen minutes, when I observed how he interacted with his family, the warmth, the joy in his every expression and the shine of his countenance, I realized that this is what greatness truly looks like. I realized that only a religion that has absolute truth to it can create a human being as great as this man.

“Questions are only for people who have doubt. After seeing the Rosh Yeshivah in person, I have no more doubt left, neither in my mind nor in my heart. I will never be able to repay you for this great gift you gave me today,” he finished.

This story has an epilogue.  Years after my stint in Great Neck, I heard that my friend had become a complete shomer Torah u’mitzvos along with his children. Things came full circle on Shavuos last year when I davened at the neitz minyan on the Aish HaTorah rooftop.

After hearing someone refer to me by name, another man asked if I was related to the Rabbi Ginzberg that gave the hashkafah shiur many years ago at the Great Neck Synagogue. When I said I was, he told me he was the son of the man I’d taken to meet Rav Yaakov. He told me that while his father had passed away some years ago, every one of his children and grandchildren are today all shomrei Torah u’mitzvos, and most live in Eretz Yisrael. He said that for years after meeting with the Rosh Yeshivah, his father spoke about it all the time.

When Rav Henoch Leibowitz said to me, “You will see that something wonderful will come out of this experience,” little did I know how very prophetic those words would be.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1042)

The post All Questions Answered first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Almost a half a century ago, as a young yeshivah bochur learning in Yerushalayim, I often traveled to Bnei Brak to visit my paternal grandparents, who had moved to Eretz Yisrael several years earlier. Those trips to the famed city of Torah allowed me to spend time with many of the gedolim who resided there, in particular the Steipler Gaon ztz”l.

That year, Yom Kippur fell out on Shabbos. As my father was concerned about how his parents would feel after the long fast, on Motzaei Shabbos I traveled to Bnei Brak to see them. After checking in with them, I went to the Steipler’s home. I assumed he would be busy building his succah, and I hoped I would be able to observe him.

Even before I knocked, though, his daughter stepped out. She recognized me from my past visits and wished me a warm brachah for the new year. But when I asked if I could watch her father putting up the succah, she told me that the Steipler was very weak from the fast and had already retired for the night. However, she said, he had instructed her son not to start putting up the succah until he could join him, the next morning. I asked if I could come in the morning to help, and she graciously responded that I could.

The next morning, I was directed to the mirpesset where the Steipler and his grandson were preparing to start building the succah. While I’ve always had two left hands when it comes to any type of maintenance (even today, decades later, my wife is still in charge of building our succah), it really wasn’t much of a problem.

The Steipler, who was already elderly, was himself very handy (I once witnessed him with a hammer in hand, fixing a nail protruding from a bookcase in Rav Chaim’s study). And while he was terribly weak, from his chair he directed his grandson where to set up the boards and the beams for the sechach. I assisted his grandson in lifting and maneuvering the boards.

Still, while I was thrilled to be there to help the Steipler Gaon with his succah, I confess I was waiting for the moment when I would learn something new. Perhaps a chiddush in hilchos Succah from the Chazon Ish ztz”l, or maybe some special kavanos one should have while putting up the succah? But that never happened. What did transpire, though, offered me a much greater life lesson, one that I can picture in my mind’s eye even today.

After his grandson finished putting all of the boards in place, he picked up the hammer to pound in the first nail. All of a sudden, the Steipler literally jumped out of his chair with a swiftness that belied his age, and tugged at his grandson’s leg, motioning for him to step off the ladder. Then the aged Steipler Gaon quickly began to climb the ladder. Instinctively, I ran over to the ladder to hold it steady for him, but he motioned for me to step back.

He took hold of the hammer and began to pound in the first nail himself, then the second, until every nail was in place. I stood there watching in absolute awe as the aged Steipler, who was sitting in his chair just a few moments ago with barely enough strength to stand up, was now working like a person half his age.

His daughter, who was watching from the other room, came out and told me not to worry. She said her father always insisted on knocking every nail into the succah himself. Only after the nails were all in place did the Steipler sit down again, in a state of complete exhaustion.

I may have not increased my knowledge of hilchos Succah, but I did learn what it means to love mitzvos to such a degree that your entire body transforms itself, finding incredible energy and youthful vigor to use in the performance of a mitzvah.

In truth, this was probably the greatest lesson of all.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1033)

The post The Steipler and the Succah     first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

PHOTO:SHUTTERSTOCK / DAVIDCOHEN156

A famed baseball legend was widely known for his lack of verbal ability, as well as for his charm and wit. One of his memorable quotes was, “It’s déjà vu all over again.”

This came to mind last week when I was asked to write a piece for the new year. As always, I went back to my files to see what I wrote last year at this time to make sure I’m not guilty of self-plagiarism. What I found truly astounding was that it was déjà vu all over again.

Permit me to explain.

Last year I wrote a column about an absolutely horrific and painful event that took place in Eretz Yisrael right after Rosh Hashanah 5784. No, I am not referring to the events of October 7, but to the infamous event that took place on Yom Kippur in Tel Aviv, when a public Ne’ilah service in Dizengoff Square was disrupted by a group of loud protesters. It also happened to be the 50^th anniversary of the 1973 Yom Kippur War, which took the lives of over 2,650 young soldiers (many of whom died on that holy day).

Even the most seasoned veterans of the secular-religious divide were shocked to the core. This was a completely voluntary gathering of Jews of all stripes who wanted to conclude the holiest day on the Jewish calendar united in prayer. A participant later told me that despite her completely secular lifestyle, this prayer service is the highlight of her year, and she was truly horrified.

That column was never published due to the horrific events of October 7. The editors wisely judged, to my great relief, that the subject matter was not suitable in the wake of the Hamas massacre. The original title of that article was “Bushah,” a word that was shouted again and again at every leftist protest throughout the country. The article was about those protests, some of which called for violence against the leaders of the coalition government; the desecration of the Yom Kippur davening in Tel Aviv; and the hatred expressed against the chareidi world in general and yeshivah bochurim in particular.

One might think that after a year of such incomprehensible pain and tragedy, never-ending war on multiple fronts, Yidden still languishing in Gaza’s underground dungeons, and so many fresh almanos and yesomim, things would be different. We would be different. Instead, it’s déjà vu all over again.

Allow me to quote a few lines from last year’s article that was never printed.

The Yom Kippur War was, according to many, the conflict that shook the foundations of the state the most. The Zionist vision that saw in the miraculous Six Day War confirmation that we are invincible, and it’s all kochi v’otzem yadi, experienced an earthquake from the Yom Kippur War. It wasn’t only that Eretz Yisrael lost so many korbanos who died “al kiddush Hashem”; for many, Zionism on some level lost its soul as well.

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avos teaches us that the number 50 is for eitzah — “advice.” The mefarshim explain that the number 40 represents binah, “understanding”; so after a person has achieved a deeper understanding, he is now prepared to share that newfound wisdom with others, and even more so with himself.

The entire country has had 50 years since 1973 to heal, to try to forget the terrible trauma of everything seeming to be lost, to gain a deeper understanding of how we are completely powerless and helpless without the Divine assistance that is the only guarantee for our survival. We of course need an army, and a great one at that, to put in all the human efforts possible to protect us from our many enemies. But Yom Kippur is the reminder, especially this Yom Kippur, that we have no one and nothing to rely on except for Avinu ShebaShamayim..

The newspapers and magazines all printed excerpts from previously confidential government war diaries that clearly showed the dire predictions in the early days of the war. Some even bordered on complete loss of faith that the country could be saved. The mood among a majority of the leading army generals was that all hope was lost. Reading this reminded me of the frightening prediction of the famed Desert Fox, General Erwin Rommel in World War II, who cabled headquarters in Berlin after plowing through Egypt in a matter of days, “Tomorrow I will drink coffee in Tel Aviv!”

Every secular Israeli read these same reports in the days before this Yom Kippur. How is it possible that they were not shaken to the core? The fact they didn’t see to it to join in some form of services on this holy day, and instead chose to disrupt an organized service for mostly progressive participants, is not only beyond comprehension; it is, as they themselves chanted, again and again in front of the eyes of the entire world, the biggest “bushah” of all.

How are we to understand what this is really all about? I would like to suggest that perhaps this was already predicted many years ago. It is a very painful pill to swallow, but no less painful than the reality that took place in Tel Aviv on Yom Kippur.

Rav Mordechai Pogramansky ztz”l, the famed illui from Telz, suffered greatly during World War II, but miraculously survived. After the war ended, a few yeshivah bochurim who had also survived the war, and lost their entire families, received visas to enter Eretz Yisrael. They came to take their leave of the Rav before their departure.

He told them, “While there is no hint of it either in Tanach or in Chazal, there will come a time when antireligious Jews will enjoy great power in Eretz Yisrael itself, and will do everything in their power to remove all vestige of Shabbos and Yom Kippur and the ability to do mitzvos.”

He suggested that through his ruach hakodesh, Yaakov Avinu was shown the situation that would come to be, but he did not share this vision with his children because it would have led to unbearable despair.

DO things look different today after such a year? We don’t have to worry about a similar desecration of Yom Kippur in Tel Aviv, because the city itself passed a law that no public prayer is permitted, outside of the shuls themselves (at least at this point). The leftists and anarchists have greatly expanded their protests and now piggyback on the incredible suffering of the families of the hostages. And now instead of crying “bushah, bushah,” they call directly for the murder of the current prime minister.

I believe it was Abba Eban who once described the UN General Assembly as a place where hate reigns supreme —everyone sits together in one room, but harbors intense hostility for each other. I wonder if the Knesset is really much different. From the very beginning of this horrific war that has caused so much suffering to so many, Yair Lapid has stood on the outside, criticizing, name-calling, and worst of all, going around behind the backs of the current war government by meeting with heads of state throughout the world. To his credit, the arch nemesis of the chareidi world, Avigdor Lieberman, has for the most part kept his public statements to a minimum, although he stubbornly resisted all entreaties to join with the war government at a crucial time for the country.

The one person that is most disappointing, though, is Itamar Ben Gvir, who has long advocated for public visits to the Har Habayis (and who was the subject of an article last year by this author). He has now called for the building of a shul on Har Habayis.

The issue of deferments for yeshivah students is still on the table, but the table has shifted from the halls of the Knesset to the halls of the High Court, served proudly by the attorney general herself, someone who, in the words of one of the heads of the chareidi parties, has an insatiable hatred of all things chareidi.

We have all heard and read stories of incredible chesed among Yidden, and also of previously avowed secularists who have come to respect, understand, and maybe even joined together with their chareidi brothers and sisters. However, these are far and few between and not much has really changed. Unfortunately and painfully, it’s déjà vu all over again.

In closing, I would like to once again reference last year’s article.

There is, however, very encouraging news to think about as Klal Yisrael begins the new year of 5784. In Midrash Rabbah, Rav Shmuel bar Nachman says that when all of Klal Yisrael were preoccupied — Yosef’s brothers with selling him, Yosef with his survival, Reuven with mourning over his inability to save Yosef, Yaakov with mourning over Yosef, and Yehudah with acquiring a wife — without anyone even noticing, HaKadosh Baruch Hu was busy planting the seeds of Mashiach. Often our involvement in the details of our daily lives prevents us from recognizing the overall Divine plan that is unfolding in front of our eyes.

And so, while we can be assured that HaKadosh Baruch Hu is doing His part to help unite us, what should our role be in realizing that goal? I would suggest that as bleak as the situation may look to us, we have to continue to try to bring both sides closer to each other, even just one step. How can that be accomplished? By focusing our attention on the realization that everything can change k’heref ayin, in the blink of an eye. We are taught that every Yid has the potential to change direction and his or her way of thinking, even after a lifetime of being entrenched firmly on the other side.

One of the founders of the baalei teshuvah movement in this country, Rav Shlomo Freifeld ztz”l, the unforgettable Rosh Yeshivah of Sh’or Yoshuv, was once sitting in his succah with a group of close talmidim during the Yom Kippur War. He heard one of them make a disparaging remark about the soldiers, who, for the most part, didn’t keep any mitzvos.

He stood up and pounded the table and, in an emotional voice, said to them, “You should remember that we were all on the 49^th level of tumah, in the very depth of impurity, when we left Mitzrayim. And a mere seven weeks later, we all stood at Har Sinai, ready and worthy to accept the Torah, k’ish echad b’lev echad. Be very careful how you speak about a Yid!”

If we can at least start our new year with that lesson, and begin to look at the Yidden on the other side of the fence with a more understanding and loving tone, then just maybe the Lapids, Liebermans, and Ben-Gvirs of the world will do the same for the rest of us as well.

My dear chaver Reb Shmuel Unger shared with me something that he heard from Rav Avrohom Shor shlita on Shabbos Mevarechim Chodesh Elul, just a few weeks ago. He offered a new insight into what the letters of the name of Elul represent to us. Most of us live our lives with the focus on ani l’atzmi v’lo l’acheirim, which means we only think about ourselves and our positions and not about others. Our avodah this Elul should be just the opposite. It should be ani l’acheirim v’lo l’atzmi, which means that our focus should be all about others and not about ourselves.

If we can start the new year with this new mindset, then just maybe the Melech Malchei Hamalachim will, in the blink of an eye, turn things completely around for Klal Yisrael, and 5785 will be the year that we have all dreamed about and longed for over these last 2,000 years. May it come speedily in our day.

(This article was written l’zecher nishmas Sara Chaya z”l bas Rav Chaim Aryeh Zev.)

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1032)

The post Deja-Vu All Over Again   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

This world is a journey, as the Mesillas Yesharim has taught us, and our mission is to navigate it to the best of our abilities. Alongside the physical journey that has been granted to us is a journey of avodas Hashem. Individuals are given the opportunity to grow and elevate themselves through the challenges and nisyonos that HaKadosh Baruch Hu, in His infinite wisdom, provides us.

These nisyonos come in various forms and intensities. Some are integral to our daily lives — such as the commitment to daven with kavanah, act with derech eretz, and immerse ourselves in Torah and chesed. For these, our educational institutions provide us with the necessary tools through the study of essential seforim such as Mesillas Yesharim and the Chofetz Chaim.

Yet there are certain nisyonos that seem particularly daunting — finding a suitable shidduch, financial difficulties, parenting trials beyond the ordinary, and serious health issues. Addressing these challenges requires special guidance and tools. While they are not always covered in a standard curriculum, the Torah, as taught by our gedolim, offers profound insights on handling these nisyonos. And, thankfully, there are numerous esteemed individuals and organizations dedicated to supporting those grappling with such trials.

One of the most profound and painful nisyonos is that of infertility. Here, too, the community has risen to the occasion, with remarkable organizations and dedicated individuals providing crucial support and assistance.

But this particular nisayon holds a unique place within Klal Yisrael’s history and experience. The Avos and Imahos — Avraham and Sarah, Yitzchak and Rivkah, and Rachel Imeinu — each faced this challenge, and through their experiences, the foundation of Klal Yisrael was established. Each time we celebrate a wedding or a sheva brachos, we recite the blessing: “May the barren one of Klal Yisrael rejoice as her children are gathered back to Eretz Yisrael.”

Chazal tell us that when Sarah Imeinu finally was granted the wonderful, miraculous gift of bearing a child, all the barren women of the world bore children as well. We understand why Sarah was worthy of such a miraculous gift, but why did all the women of the world receive this gift as well?

Our holy seforim tell us that it was in the zechus of Sarah Imeinu. She experienced herself the depth of pain and hopelessness that accompanies long years of infertility — but she was on such a high level that she would not have been able to achieve complete simchah if there were other women in the world still suffering that incredible pain. So in her merit, Hashem remembered all the other barren women in the world to allow Sarah Imeinu to experience true joy.

Many decades ago, I learned with an avreich a few years older than me in Yeshivah Chofetz Chaim (then in Forest Hills). He approached me with a very personal request. He had already been married a few years, and he and his wife were struggling with infertility.

With great emotion, he said to me, “I know that you often go to speak with the Rosh Yeshivah, Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky. Would you be able to give him my name and the name of my wife to get a brachah for us to be zocheh to have a child?”

Knowing how difficult it was for him to make that request, I assured him I would do so on my next visit.

When I presented this request to Rav Yaakov, he asked me if this fellow had also asked the rosh yeshivah of Chofetz Chaim, Rav Henoch Leibowitz, for a brachah.

I responded that I understood that he felt uncomfortable approaching his rebbi for a brachah, because Rav Leibowitz was not himself zocheh to children.

Rav Yaakov responded rather forcefully that this was a big mistake on this fellow’s part. Rav Yaakov explained that of course he himself would extend a brachah with all his heart to the young couple. However, Rav Henoch understood this fellow’s pain better than anyone else, and would surely give a heartfelt brachah from the depths of his neshamah.

After that memorable meeting with Rav Yaakov, I remember sharing with many others what the Rosh Yeshivah taught me: No matter how incredibly sensitive he was to the pain of other Yidden turning to him for a brachah or words of chizuk, in this singular area, it was impossible to truly feel the kind of pain this young couple was suffering without living through the same nisayon oneself. On some level, it is a nisayon like no other.

But where is the Torah guidance for understanding such a nisayon? Why did Hashem build Klal Yisrael through this nisayon of infertility? Why do Chazal teach that there are six akaros — the Imahos Sarah, Rivkah, and Rachel, the mother of Shimshon, Chanah, and the woman of Shunam? The fact that we read the accounts of Sarah and Chanah on Rosh Hashanah underscores the significance of this challenge.

A unique gadol who lived more than 150 years ago dealt with this issue.

Rav Tzaddok HaKohein Rabinowitz of Lublin was born in 1823 into a Litvish family of disciples of the Vilna Gaon. But he later became a devoted follower of the Ishbitzer Rebbe and eventually a Rebbe himself, profoundly influencing the likes of Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, and Rav Moshe Shapira. His extensive writings cover every facet of Torah, both nigleh and nistar, with a profound depth of understanding. (Rav Moshe Shapira told a talmid that there is no difficult sugya in Navi that Rav Tzaddok does not explain.)

But Rav Tzaddok was never blessed with children. Among his many works is a small but significant sefer titled Pokeid Akarim — “Remembrance of the Barren.” This sefer explores the lives of the six women mentioned in Chazal, illustrating how each opened a unique gateway to Hashem and gave birth to a child who impacted Klal Yisrael.

Through learning this sefer, a person can understand that personal nisyonos and pain bond one with HaKadosh Baruch Hu and with Klal Yisrael’s entire existence, from the Avos till the Geulah. Pokeid Akarim is not just for the individuals and families struggling with this particular overwhelming nisayon; every member of Klal Yisrael needs to understand the depths of the pain of infertility and its place in HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s master plan for the world. This profound work has been made more accessible to contemporary readers in And Hashem Remembered Them, an adaptation by Rabbi Zave Rudman, whose own journey reflects his deep engagement with both mussar and chassidus.

In addition, what makes this important sefer truly unique is that Chazal teach us that Torah learned with difficulty remains. After reading a significant portion of this sefer, my fervent tefillah is that the Torah of Rav Tzaddok should bring solace and fulfillment to all who struggle with infertility and ultimately contribute to the complete and joyous fulfillment of Klal Yisrael’s transformation from akarah to simchah.

And finally, if I may be so bold: If I could offer some words of chizuk to Rav Tzaddok himself, if he were here among us, I would tell him about another great gadol in the generation after his. Rav Meir Shapiro also suffered from the same plight of infertility. However, he commented to one of his closest students a little while before he passed away that while he did not merit to fulfill the mitzvah of peru u’revu by having children, he was mekayem the mitzvah by creating two spiritual legacies, the Daf Yomi and the Yeshivah of Chachmei Lublin.

Rav Tzaddok, the towering spiritual legacy that you left behind with all your teachings is epitomized by the very sefer that continues to give chizuk and strength to the members of Klal Yisrael who without doubt need it the most.

Rabbi Chaim Aryeh Z. Ginzberg is the rav of the Chofetz Chaim Torah Center of Cedarhurst and the founding rav of Ohr Moshe Institute in Hillcrest, Queens. He is a published author of several sifrei halachah, and a frequent contributor to many magazines and newspapers, where he writes the Torah hashkafah on timely issues of the day. He is also a sought-after lecturer on Torah hashkafah at a variety of venues around the country.

The post Rav Tzaddok’s Personal Journey first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

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rior to this year’s Yamim Noraim, many writers (including this one) were focusing on Chazal’s comment, “Kol shanah she’ein tokin lah bitechilasah meri’in lah b’sofah — Any year when the shofar is not blown on Rosh Hashanah will have bad tidings at the end.” Everyone wondered what kind of year could be anticipated for Tash”pad (5784). Historians cited research on what actually followed a Rosh Hashanah that fell out on Shabbos: how many difficult years, how many years of plenty. The next time the calendar offers such a scenario, this year will doubtless be featured atop the list of difficult years.

Indeed, commentators have almost universally characterized this year as the worst for Jews since the end of the Shoah. The suffering and loss of life on such a large scale is clearly unparalleled in modern times. Over the last few months, I have begun referring to Tash”pad as “a year of Tishah B’Avs.”

While this year has all been about Tishah B’Av, in actuality, every tragedy and pain inflicted upon Klal Yisrael, whether this year or in any past year, whether individual or collective, has its ultimate source in Tishah B’Av.

In sefer Kolmus Halev (pg. 201), a story is told of a meeting that took place at the home of Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski and a group of rabbanim in Vilna at the beginning of World War II. An attendee commented that the difficulty and tzaros that the Jewish People were going through then were more difficult than the years leading up to the Churban Bayis. While at first Rav Chaim Ozer did not respond to that comment, he later turned toward Rav Avrohom Kalmanovich (the founder of Mir Yeshivah in Brooklyn), and said that this statement was incorrect. For every tzarah that befalls Klal Yisrael, in every age, stems from the Churban Bayis.

Chazal tell us of an Amora who observed two days of Tishah B’Av, the 9th and the 10th. The Gemara questions how he could be allowed to do that; was he not in violation of the issur of bal tosif, as one would be for adding on to any Yom Tov? The answer is that adding an extra day to a Yom Tov does not make it a Yom Tov, whereas adding a day of mourning for the Churban Bayis and for the realization that we are still in galus is not inappropriate, as it is something that we should be feeling every day of the year.

A prominent secular Jewish commentator for years has tried to explain away hateful acts or words directed at Jews as not really being anti-Semitism per se but rather just an extension of world conflicts. The Navi Yeshayahu disagrees with his self-taught analysis: It is all about Klal Yisrael. The pasuk in Yeshayahu says that Hashem promised Klal Yisrael that in honor of Tzion, He would not hold his peace, and for the sake of Yerushalayim, He would not be still. The Targum explains this pasuk to mean that Hashem is promising that until Tzion and Yerushalayim are peaceful and secure, He will allow no rest to come to the earth. In essence, the Navi is telling us that due to the situation in Eretz Yisrael, the world as we know it will never be at peace.

Over the ten months since October 7, this writer has commented often (in this very publication) on the many scenes of devastation I have witnessed during trips to the ravaged towns of the south and the deserted communities of the north. I have described painful encounters with individuals and communities who have suffered so terribly, and who continue to suffer as these words are being written.

We spoke about the need for continued tefillos for our soldiers and their families, for the hostages and their families and for Eretz Yisrael in general. We spoke about the need to fight our feelings of indifference, of burnout, and of being “tefillah’ed out.” And most importantly, the need to feel the pain of Acheinu Beis Yisrael.

What I find personally troubling is that many of us are spending these weeks of the summer in the Catskills, enjoying the slower pace and the cooler air, yet we somehow left our thoughts and concerns for Eretz Yisrael behind on the other side of the George Washington Bridge. I have heard from many people, wherever I go (obviously in response to an article I wrote a few months back about being “tefillah’ed out”), that although their shul back home would never conclude the davening without a kapitel Tehillim, morning or evening, for some reason many of the shuls upstate do not.

There are many people who have made a concerted effort to travel to Eretz Yisrael just to show support and to provide financial support to the cab drivers, restaurants, and local vendors. One member of our shul, who just returned from a weeklong visit, told me that during his trip he was stopped by complete strangers who thanked him for coming to Eretz Yisrael.

The many Yidden who are using this time to travel to exotic destinations around the world should take note of the important lesson that the Belzer Rebbe taught all of us, when he refused to go to his vacation home in Telz Stone to show he identified with Acheinu Beis Yisrael who are in the alleyways of Rafah, in Jenin, or in the underground prison cells of Gaza. While most of us are not on the level of the Belzer Rebbe, by any stretch, this should at least provide us with some food for thought.

I would like to share with you a project that began to percolate in my mind the week after Shavuos, when I had the opportunity to go to Tel Hashomer Hospital with a dear friend to offer some chizuk to wounded soldiers who had already spent months recuperating. Some were missing limbs, some had lost their sight, others had endured many surgeries, with more to follow. We went to give chizuk, and in retrospect, we clearly received it.

I asked them to share their personal stories — where they came from, what their experiences were in the Gehinnom of the Gaza battlefields — and then to share their hopes and dreams for the future. At that moment, I realized that I just did not get it. I do now.

Before, it was all about a “war,” and the numbers. How many dead, how many wounded, how many hostages, how many people displaced from their homes (many permanently). Now I realized that I had been going about it all wrong. It is not about numbers; it is about individuals. Someone’s son, husband, brother, father, daughter, wife, sister, mother. There are whole families in utter turmoil and confusion and full of pain.

I realized then, as I wrote in an earlier article, titled “From Kfar Azah to Bnei Brak,” that after spending considerable time visiting the ravaged communities down south, I was unsure as to what was my responsibility was now. And so, the next day, I went to Bnei Brak to ask several of the gedolei hador that very question.

One of the gedolim I spoke to, Rav Moshe Hillel Hirsch, rosh yeshivah of Slabodka, told us to go back to the States and share what we had seen with Klal Yisrael so they could understand what had happened over there. I took the gadol’s direction very much to heart, and my wife and I traveled to many cities and towns, sharing the horrific events that occurred in Eretz Yisrael from a personal perspective of boots on the ground. Baruch Hashem, the Rosh Yeshivah was correct: Our talks led to so many new chesed and tefillah initiatives on behalf of Klal Yisrael.

Now, months later, I realized that it was just not enough. Our focus was on the general colossal tragedy, but not enough on the individual. We need to focus on the people themselves. We need to learn their names, recognize their faces, hear their stories, and then and only then can we truly feel for their plights.

And so we went back to the Slabodka Rosh Yeshivah and shared with him my new goal, to share some of their personal stories with the general community. The Rosh Yeshivah responded that it might just be too difficult for people in chutz l’Aretz to listen to these stories and then go back to their regular day-to-day obligations. I countered to the Rosh Yeshivah that I fully agreed that for 364 days of the year, it would indeed be too difficult to absorb. However, on one day — the day of Tishah B’Av — it is exactly what Klal Yisrael should be able to do. Indeed, what it must do.

After a few weeks in Eretz Yisrael, I returned home and reached out to a friend, a talented young man named Yaakov Langer of Living L’chaim, and shared my idea of creating a Tishah B’Av video to show to Klal Yisrael, to be titled “A Year Of Tishah B’Av.” It would feature a few brief personal stories of Yidden who have suffered so much, lost so much, and yet, with herculean strength and seemingly unlimited emunah, have been able to move ahead and rebuild their lives and the lives of their families in the best way possible.

I wanted to focus on the very different painful experiences that people are going through, so I made several different categories of interviewees, to ensure we were getting a broad picture. I started with a list of 25 possibilities, and then, due to logistics concerns and time constraints, I narrowed it down to just 12 people. We then began searching for the interview candidates who could best articulate their feelings.

On our trips to Eretz Yisrael over the past months, and our travels to communities down south and up north, I met many different people who were worthy candidates. In the course of interviewing several of them, we were in turn introduced to others, and some of them became the focus of the video.

Our time at Tel Hashomer Hospital, meeting wounded soldiers, brought us into contact with the staff, who recommended that we also speak with certain other soldiers we hadn’t even met before, and their stories were invaluable.

We met several former hostages through the auspices of Rabbi Shai Shechter, who had hosted them in his home; Josh Wander from Maaleh Zeisim, who is a leading member of Zaka; and United Hatzalah, who helped us with some of the interviews as well.

When we invited people in to sit for interviews, I told them that my whole purpose in doing this video is to give Jews in America a proper perspective on the situation in Eretz Yisrael. Yidden in the States are very concerned, but unfortunately, they just do not get it. The focus is on numbers — of victims, of hostages, of days in the war — and not enough on the real people who have suffered (and continue to suffer) so much. By telling their stories, these people would be able to give the real picture of just how horrific this war has been for Klal Yisrael. I guess this resonated with them, as they agreed to do the interviews.

The viewers will have the opportunity to meet a released hostage, a family member of a current hostage, two survivors of the Nova music festival, the sole remaining member of a family torn apart by a terrorist attack, soldiers recuperating from severe wounds, and one of the heads of Zaka who was among the first to enter the destroyed communities the day after October 7. Along with these, there will be a visual presentation of the horrific aftermath (nothing gory will be shown) in the ravaged communities.

One of the most difficult interviews we conducted was with a person from Kibbutz Be’eri named Avida Bachar, who hid with his family in a bunker on October 7. On that day, he lost his wife, a son, and a leg. He is still in rehab trying to learn how to navigate with only one leg. We were advised by the head doctor at the rehab that we had to speak to him first — we wouldn’t be disappointed.

He is not frum (yet), but words of emunah just flowed from this incredible Yiddishe neshamah. During the interview, the videographer could not stop crying. The editor reviewing the video could not stop crying either. And though the editing team and the producer were warned about how the interview had affected others, when they saw it, they could not stop crying either.

Some interviewees, when they were asked to describe their experiences in their own words, were able to start out strong, but broke down when they tried to share their stories.

We set up an interview with a former hostage who had been released after 55 days of captivity. We were told not to ask any detailed questions, as she was still suffering (understandably), and to just let her talk. We had planned on videotaping the interview on a Wednesday evening, but that afternoon, we were notified that she was in no shape to talk to us.

That morning, the news had broken that soldiers had found five bodies of hostages buried deep in a tunnel and brought them back for burial. Well, one of the bodies that was found had been a young man who was held together with this young woman.

While in captivity, she was unable to cope, but he talked to her and gave her the strength to persevere and hold on. After 35 days, she was separated from him, and 20 days later, she was freed along with other women. She credited him with keeping her alive and davened every day for him to return safely. When she heard that his body had been found, she just fell apart and was no longer able to speak with us.

Through our contact, I relayed to her that her non-interview was more painful to me than the interviews we were able to do.

Another very emotional interview was with Donna Cohen. While her town was not attacked that day, her husband heard what was taking place, and he grabbed his gun and ran out the door to help the people in need, telling his wife he would be back soon. He was killed in a gun  battle later that day. She is now alone and raising her children by herself. She lives in indescribable pain, but she shows her strength in continuing with her new life as a widow .

We interviewed Rabbi Doron Perez, the head of world Mizrachi, who lost a son in the war. The interview was powerful, but the footage of him visiting his son’s grave was utterly heartbreaking.

For me personally, the image of so many fresh new graves spread out on Har Hertzl, each containing the remains of a young soldier killed in Gaza since October 7, was extraordinary painful to observe.

As I explained to Rav Moshe Hillel Hirsch, the Slabodka Rosh Yeshivah, all of our efforts and our great expense were for only one purpose. To reframe the perception of this tragic and horrific war from a focus on numbers to a focus on real people. Every one of them is a real person, with a name and a face and loved ones whose lives have been turned upside down as a result. Every individual is a universe unto itself.

Several of the great baalei mussar have commented on the juxtaposition of the parshah of eglah arufah with the details of the wars Klal Yisrael faced in the desert prior to entering Eretz Yisrael. They explained that the Torah’s message is that despite the great loss of life that results from waging wars, one should lose neither the focus on nor the appreciation for every individual life in Klal Yisrael. Even a totally nameless stranger found by the road on the outskirts of town is significant, and we should never lose sight of that.

There are two themes that infuse Tishah B’Av: Churban, and ahavas Yisrael. Rav Aaron Lopiansky, the Rosh Yeshivah of the Yeshivah of Greater Washington, who so values the importance of bringing this message into every Yiddishe home on the very day of Tishah B’Av, will share some heartfelt thoughts on this video as well.

Our vision and hope are that as this video on a “year of Tishah B’Avs” will be watched in every home (regardless of community affiliation) and followed by some serious soul-searching, as is generally done by Yidden on this day all over the world. Without a doubt, it will bring a greater and deeper appreciation of the often-repeated words of “Acheinu kol beis Yisrael hanesunim batzarah u’vashivyah.”

The video can be viewed via LivingLchaim.com (or via YouTube.com/Living Lchaim) and will be free of charge and available throughout Tishah B’Av. May this greater awareness bring with it a greater urgency of tefillah for Eretz Yisrael and Klal Yisrael.

The Navi Yeshayahu tells us that HaKadosh Baruch Hu set up shomrim (guards) to guard the walls of Yerushalayim day and night. Who are these shomrim? Where are they? The Radak on the pasuk explains that the shomrim are those among us who daven each and every day for the rebuilding of Yerushalayim and the Beis Hamikdash. In our tefillos in the morning and in the evening, we daven for “boneh Yerushalayim” and for “Es tzemach Dovid.” We are the true shomrim and protectors of the walls of Yerushalayim. We are now, and we always have been.

Let’s redouble our efforts and our tefillos, to continue to be the shomrim and the protecters of the ancient walls of Yerushalayim. And in that zechus, may we merit to see the rebuilding of those walls with the coming of Mashiach and the final end to all Klal Yisrael’s suffering, once and for all. May it happen speedily in our day.

Rabbi Chaim Aryeh Z. Ginzberg is the rav of the Chofetz Chaim Torah Center of Cedarhurst and the founding rav of Ohr Moshe Institute in Hillcrest, Queens. He is a published author of several sifrei halachah, and a frequent contributor to many magazines and newspapers, where he writes the Torah hashkafah on timely issues of the day. He is also a sought-after lecturer on Torah hashkafah at a variety of venues around the country.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1023)

The post A Year of Tishah B’Avs  first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Though Rav Moshe Feinstein ztz”l left this temporal world decades ago, his legacy as gadol hador and towering posek still endures, as do of course the myriad stories of his gentle nature and middos tovos.

A personal interaction from my youth with this gadol taught me that the depth of his humility was of the same magnitude.

In the early 1970s, when I was about 15 years old and in tenth grade, the plight of Soviet Jewry was in the forefront of everyone’s mind. A major rally had been organized to take place on a Sunday in front of the UN, and tens of thousands of Yidden were expected to attend. I very much wanted to participate and lend my young voice to the chorus of “Let my people go.”

In those days, the yeshivah high school that I attended in Forest Hills, Mesivta Chofetz Chaim, was in session until 3 p.m. every Sunday. When a friend and I approached the menahel at the time, Rav Gavriel Ginsberg ztz”l (no relation) and asked him if we could leave early to attend the rally, he insisted that we wait until yeshivah was over at 3 p.m. and then go. We explained that the rally would long be over by the time we got there.

Though my friend gave up, I was persistent. I said that there must come a time when caring about Acheinu bnei Yisrael takes precedence over an hour of learning. Of course we assured him that we would make up for the missed hour on our own time.

Being the unique person and mechanech that he was, Rav Ginsberg didn’t just dismiss our request as teenagers scheming to get out early, but instead treated it as a serious hashkafic question of chesed versus Torah learning.

He said, “I am too small to take responsibility for two boys missing an hour of learning for this, so I will ask the gadol hador, Rav Moshe Feinstein, to issue a psak on this question.”

I thought he was certainly joking with us, but he grabbed my hand and led me into his office. He went to this desk and dialed Rav Moshe directly. Rav Moshe soon came to the phone and listened to the question, and then responded that we should not leave yeshivah early for the rally. Rav Gavriel thanked Rav Moshe, and the discussion was over.

Or so I thought.

AT 3 p.m., when shiur was over and I walked out of the classroom, I saw that Rav Gavriel was waiting for me. He asked me to come into his office because he wanted to talk to me.

After we sat down, he asked me if I understood why Rav Moshe had paskened the way that he did. I told him that I did not understand, but I accepted his psak, and for me, it was over. I will never forget his response to me.

He said, “If you don’t understand why Rav Moshe said that, then it’s not over. Until you understand it, you will not have learned any lesson from this incident for the future.”

A bit confused, I asked him, “So what do you suggest that I do?”

And he responded, “I know Rav Moshe is home this afternoon, so I want you to go to him and ask him to explain it to you.”

I, a 15-year-old boy with a poor command of Yiddish, should go to the gadol hador and question his earlier psak? I looked at Rav Gavriel to see if maybe he was joking. Maybe this was some kind of lead-up to color war? But he was totally serious and was very insistent that I go.

Prior to that, I had only met Rav Moshe two or three times. A few years earlier, when Rav Moshe came to an annual parlor meeting at the home of one of his earliest talmidim, Rabbi Saul Lasher, my father brought me along to get a brachah from the gadol hador. Other than that, I had never spoken to him. I had also hardly ever been on a train before, and I had no idea how to even get to the Lower East Side.

However, Rav Gavriel was resolute, and before I knew what had happened, I was sitting nervously on a train heading to the Lower East Side apartment of the gadol hador.

I was welcomed in warmly by the Rebbetzin and escorted into the small dining room, where Rav Moshe was sitting with a Gemara open in front of him. He looked up at me with the most angelic smile I had ever seen.

I began by apologizing for bothering him. Then I worked up the courage to ask him why he felt that it was not very important to go out and support the mass effort for Soviet Jewry. Softly and gently, he explained that bnei Torah have a different responsibility and don’t protest or demonstrate like the rest of the world does. It is not our way.

Only a 15-year-old who doesn’t know his place would continue the conversation at that point. And so, I continued.

I asked the gadol hador that if bnei Torah are not allowed to protest or demonstrate the way the rest of the world does, then why shouldn’t they have their own gatherings to go to, in the manner befitting to them? After all, isn’t a message being sent to the young yeshivah boys today that the predicament of our brothers and sisters in the Soviet Union is not our concern?

As soon as the words came out, I realized the absolute absurdity of this scene. A young 15-year-old yeshivah student (and a struggling one at that) was here giving mussar to the acknowledged posek hador for all of Klal Yisrael. I wondered if there were any rocks in the Lower East Side big enough to crawl under.

Rav Moshe was quiet for a few moments. Then he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number very slowly and deliberately. He began to speak to Rabbi Moshe Sherer and told him that he had a “yungerer bochur” with him who had asked a good question.

“I think the Torah tzibbur should organize a united tefillah gathering for the bnei Torah on behalf of Soviet Jewry,” he said.

They discussed it for a few minutes, and then Rav Moshe completed the conversation. Rav Moshe then took out a piece of paper, wrote down an address on it, and handed it to me.

He said, “This is the address of Rabbi Sherer’s office, and he is there now, it is close by. He is waiting for you to come, please go and discuss this with him.”

He shook my hand warmly and wished me much hatzlachah.

I had no idea how to get to Lower Manhattan, where the office of Agudath Israel was located, so one of the kind avreichim at MTJ drove me there in his car.

That was quite a day for a tenth-grade yeshivah bochur. I went from being treated so warmly by Rav Moshe, to meeting Rabbi Moshe Sherer, who spent considerable time talking with me about Agudath Israel and about the gadlus of Rav Moshe. And all of this for a 15-year-old who had never been on a train before.

Rabbi Sherer shared with me that Rav Moshe felt my point about sending the right message to the yeshivah bochurim of the day about Soviet Jewry was very important, and so he had asked Rabbi Sherer to organize, under the auspices of the Agudah, a large, united tefillah gathering for Soviet Jewry. He told me that he would start working on it the very next morning when his staff came in. He then walked me to the door and thanked me for my efforts in making this happen.

When I arrived home later that evening, I tried to absorb all that I had seen and learned that day. The greatest lesson of all was the incredible humility that Rav Moshe had displayed. Not only had he given his precious time to sit with a 15-year-old bochur, but he even listened thoughtfully and followed through on a question I had raised.

The Midrash tells us that when Amram separated from his wife Yocheved due to Pharaoh’s terrible decree — and all of Klal Yisrael followed suit — it was his young daughter Miriam (opinions differ as to how old she was then; some say she was six years old) who told him that he was acting incorrectly. He listened to her and went back to his wife, and the rest of Klal Yisrael followed suit. A case of the gadol hador listening to the voice of a six-year-old girl. And here we had the gadol hador paying attention to the voice of a 15-year-old kid from Forest Hills, Queens.

In the end, the tefillah gathering was an extremely important event and very memorable to all those who participated. For me, personally, as the memories of that event have slowly faded over the many years, the memory of the incredible humility of the gadol hador (and, of course, of Rabbi Sherer as well) will remain imprinted on my neshamah forever.

Rabbi Chaim Aryeh Z. Ginzberg is the rav of the Chofetz Chaim Torah Center of Cedarhurst and the founding rav of Ohr Moshe Institute in Hillcrest, Queens. He is a published author of several sifrei halachah, and a frequent contributor to many magazines and newspapers, where he writes the Torah hashkafah on timely issues of the day. He is also a sought-after lecturer on Torah hashkafah at a variety of venues around the country.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1014)

The post A Lasting Lesson in Humility  first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

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everal decades ago, when I was learning in yeshivah in Yerushalayim, I merited a close connection with the posek hador, Maran Hagaon Rav Elyashiv ztz”l.

One Thursday night, I asked the Rav what his opinion was about Shabbos clocks. He asked me why would I think there was any issue with using them, and I explained that I had seen that Rav Moshe Feinstein ztz”l raises several halachic concerns with regard to their usage.

To my surprise, Rav Elyashiv stared at me and answered emphatically, “There is no such Rav Moshe.”

I responded that I remembered seeing a written teshuvah from Rav Moshe on this topic and could even quote some of his concerns. But again, Rav Elyashiv told me very sternly that there was no such Rav Moshe.

When I got back to yeshivah I looked at my notes and found a reference to the responsum I had quoted. However, I realized that the discussion had not been printed in Rav Moshe’s classic sefer Igros Moshe, but rather in a soft-covered pamphlet called Torah V’hora’ah, a quarterly publication printed by MTJ that featured many fascinating psakim from Rav Moshe. I knew that I just had to find a copy of that pamphlet and show it to Rav Elyashiv. But after pursing many leads, I came up empty-handed.

It was only the next day that I finally remembered where I had seen the pamphlet. I was a frequent Shabbos guest in the Bayit Vegan home of Rav Gavriel Beer a”h (the father of Eli Beer, the founder of United Hatzalah in Eretz Yisrael), and he had an extensive library. I promptly called Reb Gavriel, who confirmed that he indeed had the pamphlet, and graciously offered to lend it for as long as I needed it.

I ran to Bayit Vegan, picked it up, and proceeded to Rav Eliyashiv’s home to show it to him. It was Friday afternoon, though, and those familiar with the Rav’s schedule know that Erev Shabbos was sacred to him. It was his private time to learn. He would lock himself in the Ohel Sara shul and could not be disturbed for any reason.

When the Rebbetzin a”h, whom I knew well, asked me why I had come then, I explained to her that I had a pamphlet with a psak from Rav Moshe that the Rav wasn’t familiar with. She instructed me to leave it with her, assuring me she would give it to the Rav on Shabbos, and told me to come back on Motzaei Shabbos.

I was delighted at her offer. Motzaei Shabbos in the Rav’s home was exclusively for family time and the doors were closed to anyone else. A personal invitation from the Rebbetzin to come back on Motzaei Shabbos was a great privilege. And it wasn’t limited to that week; that initial visit became a springboard for regular Motzaei Shabbos visits for the next 13 months.

In any event, when I returned on Motzaei Shabbos, the Rav conceded that Rav Moshe indeed held differently than he did about Shabbos clocks, but said he disagreed with the psak. He shared with me six questions that he had, and asked me to send them to Rav Moshe and share his responses. I did so and merited to relay several rounds of comments between these gedolei hador. (Note: In subsequent years, additional volumes of Igros Moshe were published and this teshuvah has since been printed.)

Aside from the halachic insight I gleaned, in the context of this saga, the Rav shared something else with me that I have never forgotten. On that first Motzaei Shabbos, after confirming the teshuvah from Rav Moshe was real, I asked the Rav how he was so sure that a teshuvah he was not familiar with didn’t exist.

In response, he shared something astounding with me. He explained that while of course he had heard of Rav Moshe and his greatness in Torah, he had never had any exposure to him or his psakim. Then in the early 1950s, while sitting on the Beis Din Hagadol of Yerushalayim, he was faced with a very difficult sh’eilah concerning a get and was unsure if his approach was correct.

When he heard that the Lakewood rosh yeshivah, Rav Aharon Kotler ztz”l, had just arrived in Eretz Yisrael, Rav Elyashiv decided to discuss the sh’eilah with him.

After he shared the details with Rav Aharon, the Rosh Yeshivah stood up and said, “There is only one person in the world who can deal with this complex sh’eilah, and that is Rav Moshe Feinstein.”

Rav Aharon then picked up the phone and called Rav Moshe in what turned out to be a discussion that lasted close to 40 minutes. And for the duration of the entire phone call, Rav Aharon remained standing. Rav Elyashiv told me that he tried several times to push a chair closer to Rav Aharon so he could sit down, but he just ignored his overtures.

When the call finally ended and Rav Aharon shared Rav Moshe’s psak with him, Rav Elyashiv thanked the Rosh Yeshivah for his time, and then asked him why he would not sit down while on this long phone call.

Rav Aharon responded, “Is it possible to sit down while talking to Rav Moshe Feinstein?”

Rav Elyashiv told me that after seeing Rav Aharon’s reverence for Rav Moshe, he resolved at that moment that he would learn every one of Rav Moshe’s teshuvos and chiddushei Torah until he was completely familiar with all of his Torah. And  that was why he was so sure that the teshuvah I had mentioned didn’t exist  in any of his seforim (which was true until years later).

Watching Rav Aharon display his reverence for Rav Moshe resulted in new vistas of Torah for Rav Elyashiv, already recognized as one of the gedolei hador of his generation. Imagine what this story can do for the rest of us.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1013)

The post Standing Up for Greatness    first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

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ne Leil Shabbos more than a decade ago, my wife and I were walking back from the Kosel to our hotel. A rabbinic colleague whom I hadn’t been in touch with crossed paths with us. He was thrilled to see me and said he had an important favor to ask of me.

He and his wife were having great difficulty with their teenage daughter. They were at a loss as how to guide her back on track. After seeking advice from many authorities, both professional and rabbinic, they were having no luck. Someone suggested he present his problem to the gadol hador, Rav Aharon Leib Steinman, in Bnei Brak.

This was the reason he had come to Eretz Yisrael, but he was struggling to find someone who could help him arrange an appointment with Rav Steinman. He had walked all the way from Ramat Eshkol to the Kosel on Leil Shabbos, davening that Hashem would send him help. He was overjoyed when he saw us, as he knew that I was a frequent visitor to the Rosh Yeshivah’s home. I told him I considered it a zechus to see Rav Steinman, and to do this chesed for another Yid would be a win-win situation.

I made sure to apprise the Rosh Yeshivah of the purpose of this person’s visit and the nature of his question. As we entered the humble apartment on Rechov Chazon Ish, the Rosh Yeshivah greeted us with his warm smile. I introduced my guest, and the Rosh Yeshivah gave him much-needed chizuk and some suggestions on how to move forward with his daughter. After a few minutes , the Rosh Yeshivah gave him a warm brachah, and I tapped my guest on the shoulder, indicating it was time for us to leave.

But before we turned to go, my guest did something absolutely horrifying. I was totally blindsided and was never so embarrassed in front of the aged gadol hador. My guest took it upon himself to mention an ongoing conflict in the yeshivah world between two schools of thought, one side following the Rosh Yeshivah’s opinion and the other adhering to the opinion of another adam gadol. My guest went so far as to softly criticize the Rosh Yeshivah’s position by contrasting it with the positions of gedolim in the previous generation.

I was absolutely mortified. I had made very clear to the gabbaim that I brought this person to ask a very personal question. Never was there even a hint that he would use the opportunity to push a political agenda in the Rosh Yeshivah’s own home.

After we exited Rav Steinman’s home, I suggested to this fellow that he think long and hard about what manner of teshuvah would be required for disrespecting the gadol hador thusly in his own home. I also told him he should find alternate transportation back to Yerushalayim.

I immediately went back inside and approached the Rosh Yeshivah with great remorse about what had happened, and I said to the Rosh Yeshivah that I would understand if he asked me not to return again to his home.

The Rosh Yeshivah broke out into a wide smile that lit up the room. He pointed to his white beard and said, in Yiddish, “It’s been many, many years since I stopped caring about what people say about me. Only what HaKadosh Baruch Hu says about me is important, anything else is absolutely insignificant.”

Rav Steinman always taught me important lessons; this one was a life-changer.

I remember as a teenager reading in the papers that the popular Cardinal John O’Connor of New York, who had strong relationships with many Jewish community leaders, had a made an unfortunate statement regarding the Shoah. I took issue with it and wrote a public letter to him that appeared in a national Jewish newspaper. He read it, and responded to me in a public letter. We had a public correspondence for a while, then it ended.

It created a stir in the community and someone brought it to the attention of my rebbi, Rav Henoch Leibowitz ztz”l, the rosh yeshivah of Yeshivas Chofetz Chaim. I waited for him to say something to me, but he never did. Finally, weeks later, I asked for his thoughts on my correspondence with the cardinal.

His first response was, “I didn’t know you could write so well.” Then a bit later, he said to me, “Not everything you hear needs to have a response. Sometimes silence is the strongest response.”

The Brisker Rav ztz”l once said something similar, albeit more strongly phrased. A minister of religious affairs publicly criticized the Brisker Rav. Rav Aharon Kotler ztz”l was in Eretz Yisrael at the time and called for a hafganah (public demonstration) to protest the lack of kavod for the great Brisker Rav. He then gave a fiery drashah about kavod haTorah that became one of his classics.

Later, when the Brisker Rav heard about the demonstration, he commented, “Whenever a dog barks, we have to make a hafganah?”

Unfortunately, neither the Brisker Rav ztz”l, nor Rav Aharon Leib Steinman ztz”l, nor my rebbi Rav Henoch Leibowitz ztz”l are here for me to consult as to whether some kind of response is warranted in the current situation.

I am referring to the issue of drafting of yeshivah students into the Israel Defense Forces. However, my focus here is not on this nearly century-old source of division and discord in our small country that is being battered from every corner of the earth; nor will I explore the politics or halachic background of the issue.

I am limiting my discussion to the painful phenomenon of people who have always identified themselves with the Torah tzibbur — in varying capacities — who have decided to force their way into this debate and voice their “daas Torah.” Whether they do so on their blogs, public Internet forums, or just on WhatsApp statuses, they have stepped into what is clearly the most important issue affecting Klal Yisrael today. On an existential question that has always fallen under the exclusive purview of the gadol hador to render a decision, today every balabos, every “talmid chacham” knows exactly what should be done.

The Mishnah at the end of Masechta Sotah describes the state of the world at the time of Ikvesa D’Meshicha. One of the characteristics mentioned is chutzpah yasgi, which the Tiferes Yisrael explains as “widespread chutzpah.” Could the Mishnah be referring to our very situation? That people educated in and involved in the Torah community have stepped outside accepted parameters and no longer feel the need to leave Klal Yisrael’s most difficult question to the gadol hador, and instead feel entitled and equipped to render opinions in the matter?

Perhaps a brief review of Chazal’s description of the role of the gadol hador of each generation is in order.

The Ran in his derashos says that in every generation, Hashem puts His Shechinah on the gedolei hador. Just as the Shechinah was placed in the Beis Hamikdash and spread throughout Klal Yisrael, so too in every generation the Shechinah rests on the gadol hador and spreads from there to Klal Yisrael. Chazal in Masechta Bava Basra (12a) teach us that although nevuah was taken from the prophets when the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed, it was not taken from the scholars.

The Ponevezher Rav always taught his students that he lived with the words of this Chazal throughout his life. “In Europe, I accepted the words of my rebbi, the Chofetz Chaim ztz”l, as if they were the words of a navi. After coming to Eretz Yisrael, I accepted the words of the Chazon Ish ztz”l as a navi.”

He explained that he was capable of disagreeing with the Chazon Ish when it came to understanding Torah the same way he was able to disagree with Rav Akiva Eiger. But when it came to worldly matters, he said each and every word that issued from the Chazon Ish’s lips was pure brilliance and to him was “Torah miSinai.”

The late editor in chief of this magazine, Rabbi Moshe Grylak ztz”l, once said he could understand who the Chazon Ish was based on the awe he elicited from his own rebbi, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ztz”l. Rabbi Grylak related that when he was in Yeshivah Kol Torah, Rav Shlomo Zalman, in his daily shiur, would often discuss some of the halachic sh’eilos he was dealing with. Once Rav Shlomo Zalman told them that he was engaged in a lengthy debate with the Chazon Ish on the difficult topic of terumos and maasros. He shared his position and read the correspondence he had with the Chazon Ish.

After many weeks of going back and forth, Rav Shlomo Zalman told his talmidim that he had agreed to the Chazon Ish’s position on the matter. Rav Grylak related that the students were a bit surprised, because their rebbi was very insistent that his position was correct and that his proof against the Chazon Ish’s opinion was ironclad. They wondered what caused him to change his mind.

Rav Shlomo Zalman explained to them that in the last correspondence from the Chazon Ish, he didn’t respond to his arguments, and instead he just wrote, “This is my opinion.”

Rabbi Grylak related that Rav Shlomo Zalman said, “When the Chazon Ish brings proofs for his position, I can refute them with my own understanding. But when he simply says, ‘This is my opinion,’ that’s all of the Chazon Ish’s Torah speaking, which we have no grasp of. Then I have no alternative but to accept his position as Torah miSinai.”

There is a famous story of one of the head rabbanim of the Mizrachi movement coming to ask the Chazon Ish why he was so opposed to the government compromise of allowing religious girls to enter sheirut leumit in lieu of army service. This rabbi challenged the Chazon Ish on his source for forbidding it.

The Chazon Ish ripped open his shirt, revealing his chest, and pointing to his heart, he said, “It’s written here.”

The truth of the Torah was “chakuk al libo,” engraved upon his heart. (Rav Shlomo Lorincz wrote that he later asked the Chazon Ish if there really was no source for this prohibition. The Chazon Ish took out a Gemara and showed him the proof. “At the time, I couldn’t remember the source,” he explained. “I just knew it was the truth.”)

There are those who feel that the gedolim of yesteryear, like the Chazon Ish and Rav Moshe Feinstein, are infallible, but today, niskatnu hadoros — the gedolim of this generation are smaller and don’t have the same siyata d’Shmaya for resolving the difficult issues of the day. There is no greater kefirah than that.

Someone once asked the legendary leader of Agudas Yisrael, Rabbi Moshe Sherer ztz”l, how he was able to work with a Moetzes that had gedolim many years his junior, especially after he had worked so closely for many years with Rav Aharon Kotler and Rav Moshe Feinstein.

He shared the insight of the Gerrer Rebbi, the Imrei Emes, on the Chazal that because Moshe Rabbeinu was ten amos tall (Bechoros 44a), therefore Aharon HaKohein also had to be ten amos tall, because they were shekulim, equal in every way (Bereishis Rabbah 1:21). But that raises the question: How could Elazar have worn the same Bigdei Kehunah that his father Aharon wore (Bamidbar 20:26)? The Imrei Emes answered that somehow, the Bigdei Kehunah that fit Aharon also fit Eliezer. So it was with the Moetzes, explained Rabbi Sherer; the younger generation somehow filled the shoes of their prominent predecessors.

Once I had the zechus to sit at the Leil Shabbos seudah together with Rav Shach ztz”l at his home. I took advantage of the relaxed atmosphere to ask the Rosh Yeshivah several important hashkafah questions. One of my questions: We know that the Chazon Ish set the tone in Eretz Yisrael for many years of full-time kollel learning without any involvement in the army or higher secular learning due to the need to rebuild what was lost in the Shoah. He held that “for the next yoivel shanim, it should be Torah and only Torah.” I asked the Ponevezher Rosh Yeshivah: Since more than 50 years had passed since the Chazon Ish’s directive, why couldn’t we just change the system back to the way it was in Europe before the war?

Rav Shach took the question very seriously. He responded that only a beis din greater in numbers and wisdom than the Chazon Ish could change the system, and since we didn’t then have anyone who could do that, we had no choice but to maintain the derech the Chazon Ish put into place. Years later, I shared that conversation with Rav Aharon Leib Steinman. He responded that he thought Rav Shach was probably the last one who could have made the needed changes, but since he didn’t, it could no longer be done. Thus, the Chazon Ish’s directive remains in place.

Now if Rav Shach, the gadol hador on whose every word the entire Torah world hinged, didn’t feel qualified to make those changes, how can someone with a laptop or an iPhone do away with the Chazon Ish’s directive with the push of a button? Of course, their argument is that this issue is so divisive in Israeli society today that it must be changed to allow us all to come together as one.

Well, maybe there is some truth to that, or to some similar argument. But who is the one qualified to make that change? Only the gadol hador — who may understand that the previous ruling might never have applied to the present circumstances — and who is granted the special siyata d’Shmaya to decide those matters that will affect the status of Torah in Eretz Yisrael for years to come.

There is another important consideration here for the “chutzpaniks.” Many years ago, the gadol hador in America, Rav Moshe Feinstein, received a letter from the vaad in charge of Chinuch Atzmai seeking his opinion on an important matter. Two of the greatest gedolim in Eretz Yisrael, Rav Yechezkel Abramsky and Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, differed on a decision crucial to Chinuch Atzmai’s future financial stability. Unable to agree, these two gedolim asked the vaad to reach out to Rav Moshe for his opinion in the matter, and they all agreed to abide by his psak.

Rav Moshe responded that it was not proper for him to rule on a matter pertaining to Eretz Yisrael, since the great gedolim who lived there had firsthand understanding of the issue. Even though Rav Moshe had given so much of his time and kochos to assisting Chinuch Atzmai, he still felt it was not his place to offer an opinion in this matter, and he deferred to the expertise of the gedolim of Eretz Yisrael.

And yet today we have people issuing opinions on matters in Eretz Yisrael who were never asked, who are not the gedolei hador, and who send out their daas Torah from wherever they sit with their laptops. It’s chutzpah on steroids.

When I shared some of these thoughts with one of the leading roshei yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael today, he added that these people need to understand that when they publicize their thoughts to the tzibbur, speaking on behalf of the Torah world, they are violating the issur of being mevazeh talmidei chachamim — as if to say, we know better than they do.

In this vein, the Chofetz Chaim (Issur Lashon Hara, klal 8, halachah 4) points out that the yetzer hara attempts to fool a person into thinking that the laws against belittling a talmid chacham were only applicable in the times of Chazal, but not in our day. That is a complete falsehood; in every generation, every recognized talmid chacham is qualified to be called such, and all the laws and punishments for being mevazeh a talmid chacham are applicable to him. The Chofetz Chaim concludes that these laws apply also in the case where the bizyonos were made shelo b’fanav, not in his presence. I wonder if the Chofetz Chaim could also have been referring to degrading and disrespectful comments posted on a blog…

I want to address one final issue that I find perplexing. Any person with even the slightest sense of yiras Shamayim in his Yiddishe neshamah can’t help but see the open miracles that we have experienced every single day since October 7. I find it hard to believe that even the most ardent secularists among us still have complete faith in the IDF and its abilities, especially after what happened on October 7. The many stories coming out of Gaza from individual soldiers show that any IDF accomplishments there are due to a Higher Source.

However, to focus on the open nissim every day, we have to be maaminim bnei maaminim. I read a recent army six-month progress report on the war that stated over 13,000 missiles had come in from either the south or the north. While every single Jewish life is precious and irreplaceable, and there was also significant material damage, there were very few lives lost due to these missiles.

Only 37 percent of these missiles were brought down by the Iron Dome system. Where did the other 63 percent of the missiles end up? Hashem is working open miracles for His children each and every moment of the day, in the midst of the Chevlei Mashiach that we are living though. And these are just the miracles that we witness. What about the countless other calamities that Hashem has prevented without our knowledge? We have to consider these things as well.

If the people posting online who identify as bnei Torah refuse to acknowledge these miracles, which Chazal tell us are the direct result of limud Torah in Klal Yisrael, then how can we expect them to grasp the importance of maintaining limud Torah in Eretz Yisrael? If these alleged talmidei chachamim among us don’t recognize it, how can we expect the Lapids of the world to do so?

The damage that their words and ideas bring to our small, besieged olam haTorah is impossible to comprehend. Of course, every Yid should be shedding copious tears and feeling the overwhelming pain of every person who lost loved ones either on October 7 or in the line of duty. Every life is a world unto itself and an irreplaceable loss to all of Klal Yisrael. But to react to this colossal communal pain by minimizing the importance of a strong olam haTorah is misplaced, and just plain chutzpah.

We are about to sit down to the Pesach Seder. Many of our families will be missing one or more loved ones from their Seder, and we need to think of them and feel their loss. Maybe as a way to remember them, we can focus on the many miracles that Hashem continues to do for us each and every day. We can then turn to Hashem in heartfelt tefillah to ask that He continue these miracles and bring healing to all the broken-hearted people in Klal Yisrael.

We say each year in the Haggadah, “kol hamarbeh l’saper b’Yetzias Mitzrayim, harei zeh meshubach” — anyone who goes to great lengths to elaborate on the exodus from Mitzrayim is praiseworthy. The Shelah Hakadosh offers an intriguing interpretation of this: One who elaborates on the miracles HaKadosh Baruch Hu has done for Klal Yisrael, to the point of “harei zeh” — the illumination of the miracles makes them so manifest that one declares “zeh Keili v’anveihu,” this is my G-d and I will glorify Him, and HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s involvement in every aspect of our lives is revealed — that will truly be meshubach. May it happen speedily in our day.

Chag kasher v’sameiach to all of Klal Yisrael!

This article was written l’zecher nishmas Sara Chaya z”l bas Rav Aryeh Zev. Rabbi Chaim Aryeh Z. Ginzberg is the rav of the Chofetz Chaim Torah Center of Cedarhurst and the founding rav of Ohr Moshe Institute in Hillcrest, Queens. He is a published author of several sifrei halachah, sought-after lecturer and writer on Torah hashkafah, and author of the best-selling chizuk resource Rays of Hope (ArtScroll).

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1008)

The post Just Plain Chutzpah   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Photo: Flash90

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once had an appointment to speak to the Ponevezher Rosh Yeshivah, Harav Shach ztz”l, on behalf of  a young couple. They were baalei teshuvah who found themselves moving at different paces in their acceptance of mitzvos, and they needed direction in navigating these challenges. As I arrived early, I decided to go to the beis medrash, figuring that perhaps I would have the opportunity to walk the Rosh Yeshivah home.

Entering the large Ponevezh beis medrash, I beheld the animated milchemta shel Torah waging throughout the room. While Rav Shach was aging, when he gave shiur, or even just talked to avreichim in learning, his vitality and youthful energy were still clearly evident. I watched the Rosh Yeshivah standing up and waving his fists, trying his best to outshout the dozen or so avreichim standing in a circle around him and directing questions at him simultaneously, all at a rapid-fire pace.

When Rav Shach noticed me standing there, he quickly prepared to return home. And while I needed to speak to him, I felt a pang at missing out on the animated discussion happening in the beis medrash. I wondered if I should have joined rather than proceeding to my appointment. However, the lesson I would soon learn from Rav Shach has remained with me all these years, long after the memory of the chiddushei Torah would have remained.

As I escorted the Rosh Yeshivah into his home, he noticed a rather large machine with a headlamp on top of it sitting on the table. When he inquired about it, one of his close talmidim explained to him with much excitement that it was a device that would illuminate the pages of a sefer. The talmidim were well aware of the difficulties the Rosh Yeshivah had been enduring over the last few months with his vision, and the trouble he had learning as a result.

The doctors the Rosh Yeshivah had consulted with had not been able to help him and naturally, he was very disturbed by these developments. Wanting to help, his talmidim had researched different options, and after much research, they’d found this machine and ordered it.

For some reason, though, the Rosh Yeshivah was anything but pleased. He became quite agitated and insisted that the talmidim take the machine away. They were surprised and dismayed, but obviously, they complied. Afterward, the Rosh Yeshivah quietly explained the reason for his determination not to use the machine. When he learned, he explained, he needed to be able to hug the sefer, and the machine would prevent him from doing so. So while it would solve his vision difficulties, he was unwilling to use the device.

And then the Rosh Yeshivah proceeded to pick up the Rashba on the table and hugged it, his face stamped with an indescribable expression of love and joy.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1007)

The post Through Lenses of Love first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.