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[Page 47]
Rabbi Yehoshua Hakohen Blumenthal z.tz.l.[1],[2]
by David Hakohen Burstein[3]
Translated by Allen Flusberg
I will write a bit about the history of our father, Rabbi Yehoshua Hakohen Blumenthal, may the memory of the righteous in the world to come be a blessing. He was born in the city of Yugustov[4] to his father, our teacher and rabbi Reuben z.l.[5] From his early years he was a great prodigy, and he studied Torah in the yeshiva of the great Chatam Sofer[6], z.tz.l. Our father was first appointed as rabbi of the town of Lazdei[7] in the province of Suvalk[8], and afterwards he became rabbi of the district city Mariampoli[9]. My father became engaged in a serious dispute with the freethinkers [non-observant Jews] who were living there. At that point he already had one child, a gifted son. Because of the great anguish the dispute inflicted on him, this gifted son, with whom my father was very close, died. Right after the seven days of mourning for his son had ended, on the very next morning, my father suddenly loaded his books and other belongings onto a wagon and returned to his town, Lazdei.
When the people of Lazdei heard that their saintly, prodigious rabbi, Yehoshua Hakohen, was on his way back, all of them—young and old, men, women and children—came out a great distance[10] from the city to joyfully greet him. He stayed there several years in peace and quiet. Then declaring that he wished to live in Lithuania, where the people were more God-fearing, he moved to Bialystok[11] and founded a high-school yeshiva[12] there. When he would give his lectures, there was not enough room in the Beit Midrash for everyone who had come to hear him speak; people would be standing outside around all the windows of the Beit Midrash to hear his amazing pilpul[13]. At that time he was famous everywhere, referred to as Rabbi Yehoshua'le the Sharp.
Our father was seeking to live a tranquil life, but then the incident of the eighteen geese suddenly crept up on him. At that time there used to be women in Bialystok who sold slaughtered geese. Once a very poor woman salted[14] the meat from eighteen such slaughtered geese together. Afterwards a nail was found in the head of one of the geese in a manner that made that goose non-kosher. By then the geese had all been mixed up together, and it was no longer possible to distinguish from their heads which of them was the non-kosher one. However they did find a nail puncture in the side of one of the geese, opposite its head. This woman went to inquire about the [kosher] status of the geese. She came to our father and asked him for a ruling, but she neglected to inform him that she had already asked [a different rabbi] and the goose[15] had been ruled not kosher. Our father declared all the geese to be kosher with the exception of the one that had the nail puncture in its side. Then the elderly ritual judge [who had made the original ruling] started a terrible dispute with our father; but our father stated that had he known that this question had been asked of someone else beforehand who had ruled it non-kosher he would not have responded [to the woman] at all. The next morning all my father's students dispersed to all the Batei Midrash[16] of the town, each of them carrying a slice of fried meat taken from the other seventeen geese, and they ate them publicly in front of everyone who had attended the morning services there. Then the controversy really flared up and turned into a major storm that lasted a long time, until the responsum of the great scholar of that generation, Rabbi Shmuel Avigdor[17] z.tz.l of Karlin, came back, stating that he agreed with everything my father had said. Our father left Bialystok and went to Yanova[18], and from there to Kamenetz in the year 5627[19].
[Page 48]
All his life he studied and taught; he would wake up every night at 1 AM and spend the time studying until it was time for the Morning Prayers. On the night of the holy Sabbath [Friday night], when he would get up at midnight to study, our saintly mother Sarah daughter of Gavriel would also have to get up with him; she would sit at the table, watching over him to make sure he did not move the candle[20].
He was a man of incomparably excellent character: he never lost his temper and he loved his fellow man like himself. Although he was impoverished during all of his last years, money did not matter to him at all. When someone poor came to his door, he would take all the money he found in his own pocket and give it to this poor person. His salary in Kamenetz-Litovsk was one kopek[21] per week from each household, although not everyone would pay.
He went up to Heaven on the 11th of Shvat, 5640[22]. Before his death he said to my saintly mother, “Are you aware that in another four days my little Avraham'le[23] will be bar mitzvah?” He was 65 years old when he died.
Footnotes
[Page 49]
My Grandfather,
Rabbi Moshe Yitzhak of Kamenetz-Litowsk[1],[2]
by Moshe Rabinowitz
Translated by Allen Flusberg
My grandfather, the great scholar Rabbi Moshe Yitzhak Rabinowitz, z.tz.l.[3], was born in Vilna [Vilnius] in the year 5604 (1833)[sic][4], to his father, the righteous great scholar Rabbi Naphtali Hertz, a man of good character and great wisdom; and to his mother, the righteous Rabbanit [Rabbi's wife] Chena the daughter of the famous rabbi, Luminary of the Diaspora, our great teacher, Rabbi Yehuda Abelson of Neustadt[5], who wrote the following in his well-known book Zichron Yehuda: “My son-in-law, the great learned Rabbi Naphtali Hertz, perfect in all virtues, deserves honorable mention[6].”
My grandfather was a great Torah scholar. Even in his youth he was famous for having amazing talent, and he was one of the Torah titans. The Prodigy of Bielsk said of him in his book Divrei Emet: “For nearly sixty years I was one of those who often visited the home of Rabbi Naphtali Hertz and his sons, among them the great scholar Rabbi Moshe Yitzhak; in Vilna they were known as great prodigies.” And Rabbi David Tebele Ephrati, in his book Toldot Anshei Shem [Chronicles of the Famous Personages] in the year 5635[7] refers to him as “my relative, the great, prodigious Rabbi Moshe Yitzhak.”
For nearly thirty years he officiated as the Rabbi of Kamenetz-Litowsk, a small town that was located far away from any main city. Yet there were learned laymen in Kamenetz, and its rabbinate was imposing and famous.
In the 19th-century towns of Lithuania the life of a rabbi was hard. The Jews of the towns did not provide them with material luxuries. Their lives were difficult and filled with suffering, and sometimes they did not even have enough to eat. Rabbis of that era led miserable lives, yet they accepted it all with love. My grandfather was one of them. He was a symbol of love for the Jewish people; he was well-liked and well-accepted for his good nature and his simplicity. He was the spiritual shepherd of his flock.
He was well-versed in the entire Talmud, having gone through it in sequence many times. And with respect to his religious-court rulings the Torah-world rabbis would take his judgments seriously. There was a story told of a litigant who lodged a complaint with the greatest rabbi of the generation, Rabbi Chaim Brisker[8], over a religious-court ruling my grandfather had made. The great Rabbi of Brisk responded as follows: “I rely on the Kamenetz Rabbi, for he is a great Torah scholar.”
His home was open to everyone, and prestigious Torah scholars would often visit him. Even rivals were received with open arms. He dedicated himself completely to study and worship[9], while paying attention throughout to the needs of his townspeople.
During the winter of the year 5668[10] my grandfather passed away in Kamenetz, where he was laid to rest. His brothers were: Rabbi David Tevel Katzenelboigen[11], Chief Rabbi of St. Petersburg, and Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Elboim, Chief Rabbi of Chicago, z.tz.l.
Footnotes
[Page 50]
Rabbi Reuven David Hakohen Burstein,
May God Avenge His Blood[1]
by Rabbi Yehuda Gershuni
Translated by Allen Flusberg
A day of turmoil and confusion for the Jews of Kamenetz–Litovsk, a day of rage and fury, a day on which the firmament above wept bitterly, mountains and hills wailed, and the earth trembled and quaked: this was the bitter, harsh day on which [human] cruelty exceeded that of wild beasts.
My heart goes out to you, Kamenetz, for your rabbis and your enlightened scholars, for your merchants and laborers, for all the members of your community, whose souls were all as pure as that of Heaven. They may have gotten into disagreements, but they esteemed one another: for when trouble came upon any of the town residents, the entire community would gather in the synagogue, utilizing their powerful weapon of interrupting the Torah reading on the Sabbath[2]. They would not leave the synagogue until the matter was properly settled and requisite aid was given.
Among the pearls of the Kamenetz community there stood out the remarkable personage of the community rabbi of Kamenetz–Litovsk, the prodigious and saintly sage, Rabbi Reuven David Hakohen Burstein, may God avenge his blood. He stood head and shoulders above everyone; his soul had been fashioned beneath the Throne of Glory. He was pure of mind and sharp–witted, with a gentle soul and good lineage.
Rabbi Burstein was descended from distinguished families of the people of Israel. His most prodigious father, the saintly Rabbi Yehoshua Hakohen Blumenthal, of blessed memory, was the rabbi of the city of Lazdei[3] and the city of Mariampol[4]. He was also the head of the yeshiva and head of the court in Bialystok[5]; and at the end of his life he served as rabbi of Kamenetz–Litovsk.
The brother of Rabbi Burstein was Rabbi Aharon Burstein, the prodigy of his generation, someone with a profound comprehension comparable to that of the Rishonim[6]. He was referred to as the prodigy of Tavrik[7]. When he was 18 years old he became the head of the Slabodka Yeshiva[8]. During the First World War, when Rabbi Aharon Burstein was deported to Russia, the philanthropist Shoshana Persitz[9] of Moscow used her own money to found a yeshiva in the city of Bogorodsk[10], on the condition that Rabbi Aharon Burstein should deliver his Talmud lectures there in Hebrew. And at the end of his life he was appointed head of the Rav Kook Yeshiva in Merkaz Harav[11] in Jerusalem. To this very day the people of Jerusalem speak of his wondrous and miraculous genius, his proficiency and his conduct.
[Page 51]
Aside from greatness in Talmud, Rabbi Reuven David Hakoken Burstein was extremely proficient in the Biblical text, in grammar. He was also a master of Aggadah[12]: just as he was proficient in the plain meaning of the Biblical text he was also sharp in Biblical exegesis. While I was studying at the Kamenetz Yeshiva I would occasionally visit Rabbi Burstein. Once I asked him the following: it is a well–known fact that in the yeshivas no one studies Nach[13], only Gemara, Rishonim and Poskim[14]. And so when had he found the time to learn so much Nach, as well as the Rishonim's commentaries on them? And Rabbi Burstein answered that during the holiday seasons, when all the yeshiva students were busying themselves in the joy of the holiday as was customary in the yeshivas, he would sit and go over Nach with the commentaries of the Rishonim. Rabbi Burstein published a wonderful two–volume work on Halacha[15] and exegesis; it was called Divrei Radakh[16]. His work demonstrates the clarity of his penetrating understanding of all difficult matters, in all the subjects of the Torah.
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He inherited the power of innovation from his teachers, who were world luminaries: the great prodigy Rabbi Yitzhak Yaakov Rabinowitz of Ponevezh[17] and Rabbi Chaim Halevi Soloveitchik[18]. From the former he inherited his sharpness, and from the latter the capability of analysis. His good qualities were those of pure–minded Torah scholars. He valued and was fond of all people, every human being: he accepted everyone with welcoming open arms and with kindness. Among all his spiritual qualities there stood out grace, beauty and good nature. He was glad to do good to all and to help individuals. He spoke gracefully and mildly, weighing his words with forethought. I was always surprised by the amount of patience he displayed. Once a visitor asked him whether his patience was an innate familial trait that he had inherited—or was it an ability attained by self–imposed training, through the power of Torah knowledge and introspection. For this had been the practice of the greatest rabbinical scholars throughout the generations, to refine their deeds and purify their souls, in order to be esteemed and thereby magnify respect for God and his Torah. This very idea was taught by our sages, who wrote (Yoma 86): “Of a rabbinical scholar who acts good–naturedly and modestly, people say ‘Happy is his father who taught him Torah, happy is his teacher who taught him Torah, and woe to those who have not studied Torah; see how pleasant the manners and proper the deeds are of someone who has learned Torah.’ And of such a person it is said, ‘Israel, it is through you that I am exalted’ (Isaiah 49).”
To this question Rabbi Burstein replied as follows: “The quality of patience that I practice has no particular advantage, but the ‘essence of the law’ [basic, obligatory law] requires it. For the sages of the Talmud defined the requisite measure of patience of those who head the community, saying, ‘To what extent is the community leader supposed to carry the burden of the community? In the way the nursing mother carries her infant (Sanhedrin 7a)’[19]”. And he explained this metaphor in the name of the prodigious Netziv[20], as follows: When the mother is carrying her nursing baby in her arms, and it happens that he has a bowel movement, as infants do, and he dirties her and her clothing, making him repugnant—what does the mother then do? Does she angrily toss her baby down because of his repugnant deed? God forbid, the very opposite: she good–willingly and gently cleans him, dressing him in fresh clothing. And afterwards she takes the child into her arms and nurses him, and also willingly and lovingly kisses him, speaking to him tenderly and pleasantly. So the relationship between them has not been harmed; in fact the stench has actually strengthened the love.
This allegory was used by the Talmudic sages to describe the responsibility of the community leader, who is required to carry the burden of the community on himself. And if a member of the community upsets him, or even insults him, it is forbidden for the leader to angrily reject him or to chase him away. The very opposite: he should bring him closer, responding to his issue by kindly explaining whatever he should be made to understand, until he leads him onto the desirable path, the path of honor and ethical behavior.
In his book Rabbi Burstein extensively dwells on the meaning of kiddush hashem [sanctifying the name of God]. One has the feeling that it is as if he foresaw that he was destined to become a burnt sacrificial offering, together with the rest of the Jewish community of Europe, at the hands of the contaminated unclean ones, may their names be blotted out. He quotes the Talmudic statement in Menahot 29: “When Moses went up to Heaven, he saw the Holy One, Blessed be He, sitting and drawing crowns[21] on the [Torah] letters. He said to Him, ‘Master of the Universe, who is holding you back [from leaving your writing as it is, without crowns]? ’ He answered, ‘There is a certain person, named Akiva son of Joseph, who will live many generations from now, and who will someday expound heaps and heaps of laws from every single stroke…’ Moses said to Him, ‘Lord of the Universe, let me see his teachings, and let me see his reward.’ God said, ‘Turn around’. Moses turned around and saw them weighing out his [Akiva's] flesh at the market stalls.[22] Moses said, ‘For this teaching, this is the reward?’ God replied, ‘Be silent, this is my decree.’” All the commentaries wavered as they grappled with God's reply. Did Moses not know that this was God's decree? What deeper meaning does this statement hint at?
[Page 53]
Rabbi Burstein delved deeply into this subject to ascertain the Talmud's message. He explained it as follows: During the period in which the people of Israel dwelled in their land, there were times when the people were influenced by the foreign culture of idol worship. Yet there was then no threat against the continued existence of the nation and its spiritual values, no danger that it would assimilate into the other nations and cease to exist: for a people dwelling in its own land, a people whose kings and officials came from among them, could not assimilate into other nations and lose their very existence.
But after the destruction of the Temple, when the Jewish people were scattered among the nations and hatred of the Jews broke out in all its intensity, the dispersed people were no longer immune from the great danger to their existence in the face of decrees, persecution and forced conversion, in spite of all the decrees of the Men of the Great Assembly and the Talmudic sages to arm the people with spiritual values, with fences [around the law] to maintain their existence. To preserve our existence the Jewish rabbis saw fit to instill within us the concept of martyrdom.
All Jews are obligated to martyr themselves in circumstances that come under the rule of “be killed rather than transgress”[23]. And from this derives the long history of the devotion that characterizes us after the destruction of our land, a devotion that began with Rabbi Akiva and the rest of the ten martyrs executed by the Roman regime, and continued into the Jewish exile from Spain and others.
This teaching was introduced by the great Jewish sages after the destruction of the land, and they were the first to be killed for the sanctification of the Divine Name—to serve as models of self–sacrifice to the Children of Israel, to bequeath some of their strength to them, to impart some of their spirit to their generation and to future generations, for the sake of national survival.
This virtue was infused in the nation's bloodstream and in that of their children. The tradition of martyrdom served the nation by preserving its existence from those times unto this very day.
There is a story from the Crusader period, of a certain city in Germany in which most members of the Jewish community were martyred for the sanctification of the Name, tortured to death. But among them were some who could not stand up to this challenge and converted [to Christianity]. The rabbi of the city, the martyr Rabbi Yechiel of blessed memory, slaughtered with his own hands his son, who was a groom at the time, for the sanctification of the Name; afterwards the rabbi killed himself, sanctifying the Name of Heaven. When those who had converted saw this terrible deed, they regretted what they had done and changed their minds, saying that it was better to die with these martyrs than to live with the unclean ones; they were then all martyred. This story became known throughout all the Jewish communities, whereupon they all became willing martyrs for the sanctification of Heaven, for Rabbi Yechiel's deed had become a model of devotion and self–sacrifice for the Jews.
[Page 54]
And with this he explained God's reply to Moses: It was for this reason that Rabbi Akiva was destined to teach this path of self–sacrifice and martyrdom to all of the Jewish people. It was for the purpose of preserving the Jewish people that Rabbi Akiva and the rest of the ten martyrs, executed by the Roman regime, were obligated to fulfill this decree.
His pure words shine like the glow of the firmament, connecting the annals of our people's history with the Divine pledge to secure our continued existence. They reveal Rabbi Reuven Burstein's exalted spirit and the deep insight of his thinking on the continued survival of our people.
A generation of knowledge has been destroyed before our very eyes with a cruelty that has had no equal in our people's history. From the terrifying bereavement wrought by the crematoria, from the mounds of ashes of their burned bodies—those of the most worthy of our young people—Israel courageously and vigorously flowered anew: in blood and fire Israel rose up in its land in order to preserve the eternal flame of our people, never to be extinguished.
What connection exists between the destruction of the diaspora and the revitalization of our people in our land—this remains a divine, unfathomable mystery. And yet we can console ourselves with the knowledge that the sun has not set on Israel. May the souls of the pious and righteous radiate like the glow of the firmament; may our sacred communities that were martyred for the sanctification of God's Name obtain their final rest seeing that the eternal destiny of Israel is indeed not false; and may they obtain their vengeance by seeing our land rebuilt. “And I shall avenge their blood that has not been avenged, and God will dwell in Zion.”[24]
Footnotes
[Page 55]
Rabbi Avraham Aharon Hakohen[1]
by Rabbi Reuven David Hakohen Burstein[2]
Translated by Allen Flusberg
And the following is the life story of my brother, the saintly prodigy[3] z.tz.l[4]. He was remarkably gifted as a child; and when his wondrous talents amazed my prodigious father, the latter, fearing the evil eye, attempted to keep it hidden. He even prevented the boy's teachers from singing his praises. Nevertheless everyone knew the secret, for this child was not only a prodigy, he was a genius from the day he was born. In his deep comprehension of all aspects of Torah and wisdom, even when he was a child, he was like a great, brilliant elder. And in addition to his prodigious capabilities he was also extremely diligent during his childhood, like our father z.tz.l. From the very day that he began studying in cheder[5] at the age of four, and until the day he died, he never stopped, studying day and night without pause.
The well–known calamity that befell him in the town of Shavil[6], leaving him within a hairsbreadth of being hanged, was actually a consequence of his disciplined diligence in Torah study. It took place at the beginning of the war [World War I]. When the Germans entered the town of Tavrig[7], which was on the border, my brother fled with his family to Shavil. The Germans entered Shavil as well, but afterwards the Russians fought them off; the Germans retreated from Shavil and the Russians came in. My brother paid no attention to what was occurring in the town; he stood behind his lectern with his open Gemara[8] on it, studying out loud with great diligence in his usual manner. But then Russian Cossacks came by and saw him swaying back and forth and talking to himself. They said: “This man must be a spy who is passing information with signals to the Germans. They put him in a dungeon and he was sentenced to hang. On the morning of the third day all had been prepared for the hanging. His wife and children already knew that the Russians were about to hang their father, their crown and glory—this weak, ill man who had no more on him than skin, bones, and an enormous brain. His family members were all stretched out on the floor of the house with their heads down, towards the ground, too weak to even weep. Meanwhile the men of the town Shavil, to their everlasting disgrace, did nothing to try to rescue him, each of them being afraid for his own life. But God in Heaven was using this as a trial, to test the people of Shavil, and at the last moment He roused the spirit of a young girl, daughter of the religious judge from Tavrig; she had also fled with her entire family from Tavrig to Shavil. Entering the Beit Midrash[9] while the entire congregation was praying shacharit[10] together with their rabbi, Rabbi Atlas, she called out in a loud voice: “Why are you silent? Is this the right time for you to be praying, while the prodigy of Tavrig is being led to the gallows? None of them answered her, for the silence of the fear of death had fallen upon them. They did not make a move, each of them fearing for his own life. Then the precious girl left them and ran over to the [Russian] general, castigating him with appropriate words over the great mistake that they were about to make; she spoke to him of the responsibility for the blood of a saintly, pure man that they were taking upon themselves. And God made her words find favor in the general's eyes. I have also heard that this girl was accompanied by a certain [Christian] priest, who swore by all that was holy to them that this man was entirely innocent. Then the general said to the girl: “Take him out of the dungeon quickly, but under the condition that he must leave the city right away. So she took him out and immediately hired a wagon, sending him to the city of Glubaka[11]. And may God recompense her well for this good deed she carried out with great devotion, saving the life of a lofty, righteous man and rescuing him and his entire family from a terrible misfortune.
[Page 56]
When our father died, my brother was thirteen years old. He left to study in Suchowola[12], where the family of my mother, of blessed memory, lived. He studied there for only half a year. When he returned from there the prodigious Rabbi Libtchik[13] Keidaner, who was then the rabbi of Wysoko–Litovsk[14], located near Kamenetz–Litovsk, took a liking to him, and he took him in to groom him as his youngest daughter's future husband. He brought him into his home immediately and they studied together. My brother was fifteen years old when they were married. At that point Rabbi Libtchik z.tz.l announced that this new son–in–law of his knew more than the rest of his rabbinical family put together—him and his other sons–in–laws, all great rabbis, as well as his son the rabbi, of blessed memory. One year and three months later, my brother's father–in–law, the great Rabbi Libtchik z.tz.l died, leaving my brother with absolutely no means of support; at the time I was ten years old and was being supported by my brother while I was studying at the Wysoko yeshiva. Since his father–in–law had died on him, my brother, who was now suffering from hunger and want, told me: “What can I do for you, my dear brother, when I haven't even a penny for myself? I was then compelled to eat “day meals”[15]. And when my brother was seventeen years old he left Wysoko for Keidan[16], district of Kovno, the birthplace of his father–in–law, z.tz.l, to study there. He studied there with amazing, superhuman diligence, almost 20 continuous hours daily, studying out loud with no break. While he was studying his voice was so pleasant that many of the townsmen would gather around the Beit Midrash every day, to listen to the sweet sound of his studying. They refrained from entering the Beit Midrash so as not to interrupt him; instead they stood outside, unable to tear themselves away from the lovely melody of his learning.
All his life my brother would jokingly relate that a certain shoemaker in Keidan turned him into a studious Torah scholar. And this was the story: My brother was staying as a guest in the home of a shoemaker who would wake up early each morning to engage in his craft—repairing shoes belonging to the townsfolk by hammering nails into them, or sewing new shoes together. The noise prevented my brother from sleeping, so he would get up and go to the Beit Midrash to study. One day when the shoemaker went there to look for him, he heard his pleasant voice of study, and he liked it so much that he preferred to be there listening rather than working. The next day the shoemaker woke up earlier to get his work done even sooner, so that he could go to the Beit Midrash with my brother after my brother woke up. But when the shoemaker began working, my brother was unable to sleep and got up too. The next day the shoemaker got up even earlier, as did my brother, until finally my brother was waking up in the middle of the night. It was then that he began to have a malady of the heart that put stress on him for the rest of his life, and from it he developed a chest illness called asthma that [eventually] cost him his life.
[Page 57]
When he was about 18 years old he was given the position of Yeshiva Head at the Slabodka Yeshiva[17], where everyone referred to him as the prodigy from Wysoko. And truthfully my brother was already then a giant of learning. His understanding was profound; and his logical reasoning was concise, like that of the Rishonim[18]. He also had an amazing memory; he was extremely studious and never forgot anything that he had learned. There is no doubt that someone like him would have been considered one of the Torah prodigies even in the previous generation.
Because of differences of opinion between him and the administrators of the Slabodka Yeshiva, he left the yeshiva for Kelm[19] to study there. There he suffered again from poverty and want. Then a great conflict broke out in his town, Wysoko–Litovsk, against their rabbi, Rabbi Shimshon of blessed memory, who had been selected as town rabbi to succeed Rabbi Libtchik, my brother's father–in–law. The townspeople who opposed their new rabbi rose up and wrote to my brother, inviting him to return to the town to take the position of town rabbi, which, they said, was rightfully his. They also sent him an official document stating that he was now the town rabbi. Knowing of his dire situation, they had thought he would jump at the opportunity, but they were completely mistaken. He turned their proposal down, bringing up their rebellion against their rabbi and the discord against him that they had created. Meanwhile my brother's family was still residing in Wysoko, living in dire straits, until my brother was appointed rabbi of the small city of Tzitevian[20] near Kelm. He was then 24 years old. He stayed there a year–and–a–half until he was appointed rabbi of Riteve[21], where he stayed five years, and then moved to Aniksht[22]; and from there he went to Salant[23], and from Salant to Shadova[24], and from Shadova to Tavrig. And in Tavrig he officiated in his position for about 23 years. During the war [World War I] they were all expelled from the town deep into Russia. The philanthropist Shoshana Persitz[25] of Moscow used her own money to found a yeshiva in the town of Bogorodsk[26], where she requested my brother be the head of the yeshiva on the condition that he should give his discourses in the Holy Tongue [Hebrew]. I do not know how long this yeshiva lasted in this town, but afterwards it moved, with my brother, to the town of Saratov[27], and in the end it fell apart completely. My brother took a position as town rabbi of Cherkasy[28], where twice there were terrible, frightful murders committed by the Ukrainians against the Jews. At that time the murderers pursued my brother, but he managed to get away by going into the home of a Gentile physician. The murderers chased after him into the house, as well; the physician's wife held them back for a while, but they overpowered her. While this was going on my brother had managed to climb out through a window and escape.
When the roads to the district of Kovno[29] were open again my brother quickly returned to his town of Tavrig, where he was overcome by asthma. The doctors told him that his illness would ease up in the Land of Israel, so he hurried to go there. But not only did he not improve, his condition actually worsened. And in addition he had to serve as Yeshiva Head at the Yeshiva Merkaz Harav[30] in Jerusalem, and to give his Talmud lectures there. At the end of a year–and–a–half his life came to an end there before he had reached the age of 59, so he did not merit a long life in Jerusalem as he had hoped. When he was still a youngster he had told me that were he to have a choice he would prefer being the rabbi of some village in Israel to being the rabbi of a city outside Israel.
Footnotes
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