That Harav Hagaon Reb Shneur Kotler לצל” ז was a man of unusual humility, compassion, and consideration . . . in possession of vast Torah knowledge . . . a person who felt the weight of Klal Yisroel’s problems on his shoulders—this was universally recognized. The wounds of his untimely passing last summer are too fresh, however, to permit us to fully appreciate Reb Shneur’s greatness. Perhaps when the passage of time has dulled some of the pain and affords us a historical perspective of his achievements, such an assessment will be possible. For the meantime, we present the impressions of the late Rosh HaYeshiva of Bais Medrash Govoha as recorded by a talmid, Yaakov Yosef Reinman.
The Rosh Hayeshiva
The roots of Reb Shneur’s greatness and his role as a leader in Klal Yisroel reach back to the earlier generations of his illustrious family. He was born in 1918, to Reb Aharon Kotler in Slutzk, Poland, where his maternal grandfather, Reb Isser Zalman Meltzer, was Rosh Yeshiva and Rav. He spent his early childhood in Kletzk where Reb Aharon had become Rosh Yeshiva in 1921, and he later studied under Reb Baruch Ber Leibovitz in Kamenitz. In 1940, Reb Shneur joined his grandfather in Yerushalayim. It was there, as head of the Yeshiva Eitz Chaim, that Reb Isser Zalman introduced the Lithuanian system of analytic Talmud study to the Holy Land. Reb Shneur spent many years learning under his tutelage, becoming a leading disciple, and developed a very close personal relationship with him. People who knew them remarked on the striking similarity between their personalities and characters. While in Eretz Yisroel, Reb Shneur also attended the shiurim of the Brisker Rav, Rabbi Yitzchok Zev (Reb Velvel) Soloveitchik, the shmuessen of Reb Izak Sher and Reb Chazkel Sarna in the Chevron Yeshiva, and had close contact with many other leading Torah figures, including the old Gerer Rebbe, who is said to have remarked about him, “This bachur is worth his weight in gold!”
Incidentally, his years in Eretz Yisroel gave him a strong sensitivity to the problems and attitude of the people of the land, which in turn contributed to his success in his later role as a leader of international scope.
In 1947, Reb Shneur came to America to be with his father, Reb Aharon, who had founded Bais Medrash Govoha in Lakewood in 1943.
The awesome greatness of Reb Aharon is well-known to all. He was a fiery presence in the mid-20th century, and left an indelible mark on the international Jewish community that may well affect the lives of our people for generations to come. He was a gadol hador in tzidkus as well as in Torah (as the Satmar Rav זצ”לצל” ז said at his leviah).
When Reb Aharon came to America, he found a Jewish society drifting away from the mainstream that had marked Jewish life in Europe. Devotion to Torah and mitzvos, the hallmark of Jewish continuity throughout history, was waning. The concept of universal study of Torah as the fundamental activity of Jewish people was more a memory than a thriving reality.
Undaunted, Reb Aharon set out to build a yeshiva in the original European form. He had escaped the destruction of European Jewry and brought with him the seeds of Torah study at the highest level—the ambition to strive for greatness in Torah, the concept of Kavod Ha Torah (the glory of Torah), the all-encompassing nature of Torah—and replanted them in America. He did not lower his standards to adapt to the American bachur; he demanded that the American bachur measure up to his high standards. His shiurim were the same as he had said for his talmidim in Kletzk. The demands for achievement he made of them were the same as he had demanded of his talmidim in Kletzk. And they responded. To the amazement of skeptics, he produced talmidei chachomim of excellence who were later to form the vanguard of a rejuvenating force for American Jewish society.
Reb Aharon battled for the acceptance of the idea of Kollel. He felt that the focus of the life of every Jew should be the study of the Torah; earning a living was but a necessity. Only by learning in Kollel could a young man develop this perspective. When necessity would force him out of the yeshiva into the world at large, he would be well-armed.
Passing the Torch
When Reb Aharon passed away in 1962, the heavy mantle of leadership fell on the shoulders of his only son, Reb Shneur, who was but forty-four at the time.
Only a small group of people were present when—during the week of Shiva—the lay leadership of Bais Medrash Govoha
entered the room where the late Rosh Yeshiva’s family was sitting, and proclaimed, “Yechi Hamelech! (Long live the King!) Mazel Tov!”
Reb Shneur broke into incontrollable sobbing—surely for the freshly felt grief that he was experiencing; in addition, no doubt, for the terrible sense of inadequacy anyone might feel in being expected to fill the awesome gap left by so great a spiritual giant as Reb Aharon—anyone, but especially a person so self-effacing as Reb Shneur.
When Reb Shneur took over the yeshiva, he found a world that was ripe for Torah expansion. The Torah World needed someone willing and able to devote tremendous energy and talent to accomplish that goal, someone with broad vision and relentless drive. Above all, it needed a leader who would himself be a symbol of the elevating power of the Torah, a man to whom people could relate on a personal level. With time, Reb Shneur proved himself eminently suited to the task.
In his convictions and aspirations, Reb Shneur was the same as his great father. He, too, was steeped in the long chain of mesorah and struggled to preserve it in its original form. He, too, believed that all people possessed a measure of greatness, and he too urged them to live up to it. And in matters of principle, he was like Reb Aharon—outspoken and unyielding. But in style and personality they were very different. Reb, Aharon was a challenger; Reb Shneur, a conciliator. Reb Aharon was fire; Reb Shneur was velvet.
Eclipsed Greatness
The genius of Talmudic analysis, Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Brisk, once commented that the Chofetz Chaim’s greatness as a tzaddik was so dazzling that it blinded people to his greatness as a talmid chacham. The same could be said of Reb Shneur as a man whose seemingly limitless Ahavas Yisroel inspired so great an outpouring of love from others, that at times it seemed to overshadow his awesome standing as a talmid chacham. Those who spoke to him, however, could not but be overwhelmed by the encyclopedic scope of his knowledge. Indeed, there was practically no sugya (topic) in Shas with which he was not intimately familiar, on which he could not quote Rishonim and Acharonim from memory on the spot. His shiurim were wide-ranging and finely conceptual. His command of Tanach, Aggada, Midrash, and maamorei Chazal was breathtaking: Quoting obscure Midrashim verbatim, citing the precise pasuk or Chazal for every occasion, even serving as a resource for his father, Reb Aharon when he was searching
for the elusive passage or quote. While he delivered his shmuessen in the yeshiva, one could almost see his mind at work as he developed his basic theme, supporting it with new proofs and applications as he spoke. He drew on his vast knowledge and, with his originality, translated it into a panoramic vision of recognition of the Creator’s design for the world and the role of the individual in it.
Growth of Bais Medrash Govoha
At the time he became Rosh Yeshiva, Bais Medrash Govoha was relatively small by today’s standards. There were barely one hundred bachurim in the yeshiva, and some thirty-five young men in the Kollel. Under his direction, the yeshiva went through a period of spectacular expansion. Approximately twenty years later, when he passed away, the yeshiva had close to one thousand talmidim—about half of them in the Kollel, and virtually all of them mature bnei Torah over the age of twenty.
Under Reb Shneur, Bais Medrash Govoha developed into more than just a yeshiva. It became a center of learning such as the world perhaps has not known since the days of the yeshiva in Pumbadissa in Bavel; true to its name, it became an “exalted house of study.” Besides the main Mesechta that the yeshiva studies, the yeshiva encompassed many chaburos (study groups) concentrating on other areas across the entire spectrum of Shas (the entire Talmud) and Shulchan Aruch (Codes)—some of these chaburos containing as many as one hundred members, yeshivos within the yeshiva … each of these chaburos usually having at least several exceptional talmidei chachamim in its ranks. Lakewood became a world of opportunity for the industrious talmid . . . a place where he could find literally hundreds of talmidei chachamim, baalei havana (men of depth), and baalei halacha (applied Torah law), with whom he could discuss any subject, and who might possibly even take him as a chavrusa (study partner) . . . where he could move from yeshiva to yeshiva, within the same walls, to develop himself in every seder of Shas and in halacha lema’aseh … where he could find bnei Torah who came together from every continent . . where he could feel the very heartbeat of the Torah as it pumps vitality to the centers of the world. . . .
Reb Shneur accomplished this incredible feat by running the yeshiva with an extremely delicate touch in dealing with others, using his gifts of mind and heart.
Reb Shneur treated every talmid as an adult and expected him to perform as such. Reb Shneur spoke to each young bachur with the same derech eretz and deference that he would show to a venerable gadol. He never called
anyone by his first name without prefixing it with “Reb.” He never made any personal demands on a talmid, for he was there for the sole purpose of giving to the talmid.
Entering the bais midrash with 400 people present to deliver a shiur or shmuess, Reb Shneur would quickly scan the entire assemblage, and then begin, Later, he would buttonhole a talmid to discuss a point in the shiur, or call over another talmid who he felt should have been present but wasn’t, In that momentary glance upon entry, he could “roll-call” the entire assemblage and file away the data for subsequent use. He faced a vast crowd and saw individuals.
The Burden
The yeshiva’s growth brought with it a tremendous increase in Reb Shneur’s burden. Besides saying shiurim, speaking in learning with an increasing number of talmidim, and dealing with them on a one-to-one basis, the financial load became staggering. Reb Shneur worked tirelessly with the administration and lay leadership to raise money for the ever-growing operating budget of the ever-expanding yeshiva, while completing the building of a beautiful beis midrash, dormitories, and dining room building.
During these past ten years, Lakewood experienced a new phenomenon: Talmidim leaving the yeshiva for business or the professions had developed so strong a bond with the yeshiva that they purchased homes and settled near the yeshiva, forming a satellite community in Lakewood of over one hundred families. Because of these families and the older members of the Kollel, the Lakewood Cheder—the boys’ school and the girls’ school—emerged, with a combined enrollment of over seven hundred children. Reb Shneur devoted a great deal of attention to guiding this community, and to overseeing the Cheder, its curriculum, its policies, and its internal problems, spending many a sleepless night struggling with its problems.
II. Man of Klal Yisroel
Rabbi Yechezkiel Abramsky זצ”לצל” ז, known for his Chazon Yechezkiel commentary on Tosefta, had been a Rav in Russia, and later in London, and was described by many as the prototype Ray, whose imposing presence was such that he inspired awe in all who came in contact with him.
In his later years, when living in the Bayit Vegan section of Yerushalayim—and, incidentally, no less imposing—he told a
visitor, “Don’t compare me to Reb Aharon Kotler. I’m busy with my writings on Tosefta, my shiurim, and an occasional meeting for Chinuch Atzmai and the like—but that’s it, Reb Aharon carries all of Klal Yisroel on his shoulders.”
At Reb Shneur’s leviah, Rabbi Yaakov Kaminetzky שליט”א ליטא” ש
cited Elisha’s lament for his mentor, Eliyahu Hanavi: “My father, my father, chariot of Israel!”
“How awkward for me to use these words about Reb Shneur,” said Reb Yaakov, “when I was at the Bar Mitzva of his father, Reb Aharon, who was my junior in years. Yet the expression is most appropriate. Reb Shneur was father and mother not only to the Yeshiva in Lakewood, he also carried on his shoulders the burdens of Klal Yisroel! … He left worthy successors to fill his role in Bais Medrash Govoha, but who can replace him in regard to Klal Yisroel?”
Indeed, Reb Shneur did follow in the footsteps of his father with time and assumed a leading role in major Torah-disseminating organizations all over the world. Reb Aharon did not concentrate exclusively on his own yeshiva, but felt personally responsible for all of Klal Yisroel and the proliferation of Torah all over the world. He was a life-force in Vaad Hatzalah, a world leader of Agudath Israel, at the helm of Torah Umesorah, a founder of Chinuch Atzmai, and he was deeply involved in many other projects and organizations.
Like his father before him, Reb Shneur was driven by a boundless sense of responsibility for the furtherance of Torah everywhere. Using the Yeshiva as a base, he spread Torah in countless communities: He was instrumental in establishing yeshivos and kollelim in cities across the continent, and beyond—even as far away as Melbourne, Australia—with Bais Medrash Govoha providing Roshei Yeshiva, magiddei shiur, and even a nucleus of talmidim for struggling new institutions. He helped set up the organizations, develop community backing, and inspire support by personally meeting with key people—all over the world.
If any yeshiva anywhere, from Argentina to Israel, was in trouble or needed help, he was ready to contribute with the same dedication and energy that he devoted to the welfare of his own yeshiva, thinking nothing of flying across the country for a day or two to iron out difficulties or to raise funds.
Reb Shneur’s Klal activity carried a unique imprint all his own. Everything he did seemed to reverberate with a profound love—a special love for every individual Jew, which combined to form an intense love for all of
Klal Yisroel—a love that expressed itself in terms of a deep-felt feeling of achrayus (responsibility). Indeed, he always kept his sights raised beyond his own yeshiva. In one of his last letters, he writes that whenever he spoke at a fund-raising affair for the yeshiva he never mentioned Bais Medrash Govoha; he spoke only of the greatness and importance of Torah as a concept.
Like his grandfather and his father before him, Reb Shneur was a leading figure in the international Agudath Israel movement; he served on both the presidium of Agudath Israel of America and, as of late, on the Moetzes Gedolei HaTorah (Council of Torah Sages) in America—involved in both the practical, day-to-day concerns of the movement as well as in its broader policy-making board. In addition, he was active in the leadership of Torah Umesorah, and Chinuch Atzmai.
Reb Shneur saw Agudath Israel as the primary vehicle for carrying out his responsibilities for Mal Yisroel as a whole:
In 1971, when reports reached America that Soviet Jews were being permitted to emigrate to Eretz Yisroel, Reb Shneur called the national offices of Agudath Israel of America, urging that the topic of helping them be put on the agenda of the annual convention. A short time later, Reb Shneur called again: “A meeting should also be convened in New York.” As usual, Reb Shneur begged, urged and demanded action—stressing the historical dimensions of what was happening—and volunteered his own time and effort… .
He did the same again when Soviet Jews began to come to these shores, carrying a major part of the burden of the Se’er Hagolah Institute for Russian children.
When Iranian students came to America in large numbers, to escape the hazards of Khomeini’s government, a group of Roshei Yeshiva and community leaders met at the Agudath Israel national offices to plan to meet their needs. Recalls one of the participants: “We spent hours trying to determine how each individual school or community could deal with respective aspects of the problem. Then Reb Shneur spoke up, painting in broad brush strokes the needs for large scale action: ‘We must plan on a community-wide basis, engage rabbis and teachers familiar with the halachic traditions and minhagim of this group. . . .’
“It all sounded so abstract and quixotic, but as we look around and see what has happened since, Reb Shneur’s words were truly visionary.”
Rosh Hashana, 5743 : The incredibly crowded study hall of Bais Medrash Govoha is silent, Everyone is on his feet waiting for the tekios to begin . . . hearing the silence, a silence deepened by
the absence of Reb Shneur’s annual pre-tekios address—truly a fever-pitched plea to be concerned over the needs of Klal Yisroel and to beseech G-d to answer these needs: Torah education in Eretz Yisroel … military security of the beleaguered country … Soviety Jewry … Iranian Jewry .. . alienated Jewish youth joining cults . . . South American Jewry … the well-being of the diminishing number of Torah scholars. . . These problems were a tangible presence in the Bais Hamidrash, which fairly throbbed with the Rosh Yeshiva’s urgent concern. His words reverberated as words emanating from a man with a burning mission in life who felt compelled to enlist others in his undertakings. That’s how it had been for some fifteen Rosh Hashanas. But this year, his voice is stilled and silence fills the crowded room.
III. Gifts of the Heart
Friday night in the Yeshiva: Hundreds of talmidim and visitors line up to wish the Rosh Yeshiva a “Good Shabbos.” As they file quickly by, Reb Shneur responds with a nod to each “Good Shabbos” greeting, seeming to make a mental note of each greeter as he passes, projecting a warm smile, a Mazel Tov to a new father, quickly inquiring after everyone’s welfare. Suddenly he pulls someone out of the line for a lengthy exchange and carries on a conversation with him, while continuing to acknowledge each greeting . . . dealing with hundreds, as a mass and as distinct individuals.
Reb Shneur had an uncanny knack for pinpointing a person’s interests, needs, level of scholarship, and attention span. In a friendly conversation, he would zero in on the best subject for a discussion and maintain the dialogue—for quite a while, at times, but never for too long. A halachic problem, a passage in Navi, historical insights, communal problems in a Midwest community, Israeli politics, progress in a shidduch—he knew the topic and often offered valuable insights, workable remedies and solutions, and words of comfort and encouragement. Of course, this ability reflected a keen intelligence; but more, it reflected gifts of the heart, a feeling of genuine love that the other person could feel. Reb Shneur seemed to identify with every Jew he met, putting himself in their place.
After a yeshiva function in a New York City hotel, Reb Shneur stepped out to a waiting car, Opening the front door to enter he noticed five young people crowded on the back seat to make room
for him in the front. He stepped back and closed the door, refusing to enter: “There’s no room.”
“Don’t worry,” he was assured, “they are managing very well.”
But the Rosh HaYeshiva was adamant. “They are not lap-children,” he insisted, “and we can’t expect them to ride back to Lakewood in such discomfort, I’ll get another ride.”
At Reb Shneur’s urgent request, a real-estate broker met with him—to arrange a second mortgage on his home. It seems that Reb Shneur became aware of two parties undergoing extreme difficulties with their business, and he wanted to lend them $30,000 to tide them over their crisis.
Even as a child of five, he would often forego supper, claiming that he wasn’t hungry, if he felt that it would involve too much bother for his mother.
Only The Other Person’s Burden
Several talmidim were accompanying Reb Shneur on a stroll in the warm spring sunshine. He had just returned from the hospital after undergoing surgery, and they were full of hope that he would recover. He grimaced in obvious pain with every step, but he spoke not a word about himself. He only inquired after their affairs.
Passing the neighborhood shul, they came upon an elderly man sitting on a bench, who had also just come out of the hospital. Reb Shneur sat next to him and—gently refusing to discuss his own condition—encouraged the old man to speak about himself. The man sensed Reb Shneur’s genuine concern and he opened up. As he spoke of his pains, his fears and anxieties, Reb Shneur hung on his every word, both men apparently deeply satisfied with the discussion.
On the way back, Reb Shneur remarked to one of the talmidim, “Baruch Hashem I was able to finish the letter you asked of me a few weeks ago. In my present condition, I could never write it properly.” This was the only mention he made of his extreme discomfort.
His dedication and sheer hard work were of unbelievable intensity. On a typical day he would arise early to learn before Shacharis. After Shacharis he would schedule personal meetings with talmidim which were often interrupted by a barrage of telephone calls from all over the world. The weekly shiur and periodic shmuessen took time and effort, but he was forced
to spend much of his time away from Lakewood. His involvement in the Yeshiva’s affairs had him travel to New York almost daily for conferences, parlor meetings, and other fundraising functions, as did his other Klal obligations. Flying to other cities was almost a weekly necessity. In addition to these activities, however, he participated in countless simchas of talmidim or friends; he simply could not bring himself to refuse. He felt impelled to share their joy. Regardless of when he returned home—even in the middle of the night—he would sit down and learn until three o’clock in the morning—unbelievably, with interruptions for Klal and Yeshiva affairs, even at that hour.
To most of us, such a schedule is beyond conception: such energy, such stamina seem superhuman. The difficulties of such a routine are much more than physical; the mental and emotional strain are even more taxing. An ordinary person would not have managed to maintain such a schedule, but Reb Shneur was no ordinary person. He was completely given over to Klal Yisroel; he had no personal life nor family life in the conventional sense. He elevated his family and imbued them with the same sense of mission that possessed him. His Rebbetzin stood by his side with valor and dedication to match his own. He left behind him a home of Kedusha, unaffected by material values.
At the wedding of a talmid where Reb Shneur was the mesader Kedushin (officiated), the chassan’s family had a custom of paying the mesader kedushin under the chupah, and then and there, the chassan’s mother handed Reb Shneur a check for $100. When the cancelled check was later returned, endorsed by the yeshiva, she called Reb Shneur and told him, “The check was not for the yeshiva. It was for you personally.”
Reb Shneur replied, “Ach! If only I had known, I would have given it to Chinuch Atzmai. It’s in such desperate need now!”
Man of Peace
Reb Shneur’s ability to identify closely with others undoubtedly contributed to making him a “man of peace.” It is to his credit that the yeshiva and the community never experienced the type of dissension and squabbling that have affected other rapidly growing yeshivos and communities. When issues inevitably arose that provoked polarization, inflamed tempers, and seemed to call for decisive action, Reb Shneur did not assert his authority, even when it was indisputably his. Rather, his first concern was, always, to defuse the situation and restore calm, then to discuss
the problem in a rational atmosphere and to find a solution that provided both justice and harmony.
Many times this process would frustrate the combatants because Reb Shneur seemed to be delaying a decision needlessly. Often, this tactic was out of an awareness that he might cause someone pain that was avoidable. His motives were only guessed at later, at best.
At the end of Yom Kippur, Reb Shneur made a practice of davening Maariv before the amud. Somehow it seemed appropriate to hear his sweet, warm voice raised in song to the Borei Olam at the start of the new slate. It made the kedusha of Ne’ila linger in the air even after the Aron Ha-kodesh had been closed. Reb Shneur, however, had reasons of his own: One year, he had told the shaliach tzibbur not to wait for him to finish Maariv Shemone Esrei because everyone was hungry and weak from the fast. The shaliach tzibbur, however, did wait. Reb Shneur then decided to be the shaliach tzibbur himself for Maariv, for whenever he davened before the amud he automatically finished more quickly.
• Typical of his distaste for dissension at the last Knessia Gedolah of Agudath Israel in Yerushalayim, he spoke of the importance of avoiding lashon kora (slander), and the destructive forces it unleashes. He proposed that Jewish people all over the world learn a portion of Shemiras Halashon of the Chofetz Chaim every single day—a daf hayomi of sorts of self-improvement.
• In the same vein, Reb Shneur used public platforms to plead for harmony among Jews. At the last National Convention of Agudath Israel of America that he attended, in November, 1981, he marked the occasion of his father’s nineteenth Yahrzeit to call the people to a sense of responsibility for Klal, and to work together with harmony.
• He sounded a similar note with unusual poignancy at his last public appearance—at the Agudath Israel Annual Dinner in May, 1982—where, in great pain from his terminal illness, he cited a Midresh that calls for Jewry to emulate malachim by being united in voice and mind in declaring Heavenly authority.
• Again, at the last meeting of the Moetzes Gedolei Ha Torah which he attended weeks before his passing, he encouraged measures for preserving harmony within the organization at large.
The Steel Frame
Three years ago, Reb Shneur and his family were struck a crushing blow: his twenty-six year old son, Meir, who had just recently been married and had a small child, died an agonizing death. Reb Meir was a ben Torah to his very last fiber, a source of joy to all who knew him. He loved everyone and was beloved by everyone. Reb Shneur was as close to him as a father can be to his son. When he died, Reb Shneur was devastated. And it was in his overwhelming grief that he showed the steel that buttressed his soft exterior.
In the chapel, before the leviah, he turned to one of his talmidim who was working with Iranian youth that had fled Khomeni’s Islamic Revolution. He said, “Don’t think that during the shiva you won’t be able to consult with me and enlist my help. I want you to continue coming to me with every problem as if nothing had happened.”
During the shiva, every Rosh Yeshiva that came to be menacheim avel left persuaded to take some of these young men into his yeshiva. Personal grief did not interfere even slightly with the faithful execution of his responsibilities.
When he himself fell ill this past winter, this steel showed through once again. He drew on his last ounce of strength to contribute to the Klal Yisroel. He was literally carried to the yeshiva to deliver shiurim and shmuessen. He spoke to the yeshiva from his hospital bed by radio hookup and, his voice breaking, said that he felt as if everyone in the yeshiva was his ben yachid (cherished only child).
The most recent meeting of the Moetzes Gedolei Ha Torah was originally scheduled to be held in his home, but he refused the honor. He would not hear of making the senior members travel to Lakewood. Instead, perilously ill, he traveled to New York. He had to rest every half hour or so, but he participated constructively and creatively until the conclusion of the meeting.
When the doctor told him that he had but a few months to live, he told the Rebbitzen on the way out. “I have so much locked inside my head, seforim to be written, things to accomplish.” He remarked that it was not the pain of his illness that concerned him but how his condition would affect his ability to help others. Among the various responsibilities he mentioned, he divulged that he had been secretly supporting eleven poor families. While others will step in to support the yeshiva in his absence, who would take care of these families?
When waiting to enter surgery, he spent two hours making a cheshbon hanefesh (personal accounting). He said to the
Rebbetzin, “There is a person who insulted bnei Torah and I think I may have answered him a little too harshly. Please call him up and ask for his forgiveness.”
During his last days, he was lying in the hospital and groaning. Asked if he was in pain, he replied that he was, thinking of the casualties in Lebanon.
The Source of His Strength
Reb Shneur’s rare inner strength brings to mind one of his own Torah commentaries:
The pasuk tells us that Hashem “appeared” to Avraham in Elonei Mamrei, The Ohr Hachayim Hakadosh asks why this prophecy is expressed as “appeared,” while all other prophecies to Avrohom—to leave the land of his fathers, to take his son Isaac to the Akeida, and so on—are expressed as “Hashem said to Avraham.”
Reb Shneur referred to a pasuk in Iyov (42:5): After lyov’s friends had come to argue with him and reconcile him to his afflicted state, the pasuk tells us that G-d spoke directly to Iyov from a storm-wind. And Iyov answered, “L’shaima ozen shmaticha v’atah eini ra’ascha . . .1 had heard of You by ear, but now my eyes have seen You. Therefore, I am remorseful and I have become consoled for the dust and ashes,” Yet G-d’s words to Iyov were essentially the same as what his friends previously had told him, which he had rejected.
Reb Shneur explained that when a person’s understanding is based on logic, he can never be totally satisfied; there is always a lingering doubt. But when he sees the same thing in actuality, empirically, all doubts are dispelled. No unanswered question can affect his perception of what he has seen as the truth. This is implicit in Iyov’s confession: As long as I knew all of this only by ear, I was not fully satisfied. But now that my eyes have seen the Shechina, all questions become meaningless, and I have become reconciled to my condition.
When Hashem commanded Avraham to leave the land of his fathers, or to take his only son, Yitzchak, and sacrifice him at the Akeidah, this was a nisayon—a test. Had G-d appeared to Avraham to issue these commands, the imperative to listen would have been so obvious that there would have been no nisayon. Therefore, He only spoke to him.
G-d’s bikur cholim visit to Avraham, however, was not meant to be a nisayon. This type of divine encounter, comforting him in his sickness, could be conveyed through “appearance,” without compromising its purpose.
To a certain extent, Reb Shneur had aspects of this rare quality of “eini ra’asicha—my eyes have seen You.” He lived on a different plane. His real world—the world that he occupied—was the world of ruchnius, spirituality, and it transcended the barriers of time; the past, the present, and the future were all immediate realities: The past was alive in his mind. When he spoke of what his father or other gedolim said or did, it was more than just a memory. They were in the room with him, vibrant and gloriously alive. . . . He had a total awareness of the present, and what had to be accomplished . . . And he had a vision of the future, of a reinstated Malchus Shamayim —the Heavenly Kingdom on earth. It was a goal that sustained him and drove him throughout his life. His shmuessen rang with vision.
When he davened, it was obvious that he saw himself standing before G-d, which inspired a keen awareness of his life goal. And so he had the strength to rise above his afflictions and continue with his holy work.
Symphony of Life
On 3 Tammuz, 5742, Reb Shneur went up to the yeshiva shel ma’alah. Although the gravity of his condition was known, the world was stunned. All over the world people had been saying Tehillim and fasted for his recovery. Somehow it was unthinkable that he should not recover. If only one percent of the people in his condition recovered, who else was more worthy of being included in that one percent? If those that recovered did so only through a miracle, who was more worthy of the miracle? But it was not to be.
Tens of thousands of people gathered, inconsolable, at his leviah, here and in Eretz Yisroel. The outpouring of genuine grief from every diverse segment of the international Jewish community was a tribute to how universally respected and loved he had been.
Reb Shneur was a poet; everything he wrote or spoke had a lyric, poignant quality. He loved music and song, but the most beautiful poem and the most magnificent music he composed was his own life. Every day of his life was an elegant verse, every deed an exquisite turn of phrase. Every smile was a lilting melody, every word an enchanting note. His accomplishments have
left us a better world. His image will linger in our minds, an inspiration and a challenge.