[Page 77]

He became a symbol, a legend in his life, but still trembled for fear of falling victim to pride. Hundreds of thousands of Hassidim in Poland spoke his name. For members of the more recent generation of Hassidim in Poland, the words “Rabbi Ben–Zion of Ostroveh” symbolized a bygone era of glory that has disappeared, an exalted generation among whom spiritual giants once walked, whose feet touched the ground but whose heads reached the heavens, scattered the clouds and brushed up against the stars, who served as a bridge that connected the high heavens with the world below.

In his early days, when Rabbi Ben–Zion first appeared in the study house of the old Seraph of Kotsk [Kock]^[1], he was a young man of tender years, one among the many links in a long and thick chain. But in the evening of his life Rabbi Ben–Zion remained the sole and unique representative and symbol of an entire period, an entire world, the last of the Mohicans, who reminded the masses of the Hassidim of Poland of the fire from which they were forged, of the holy and pure, of the innocent and truthful foundations upon which the mighty and grand Polish Hassidic movement was built. It had encompassed entire worlds and had attained previously unknown dimensions both in its content and scope, placing its indelible imprint upon the entire Jewish people.

Generations came and went, one watch came on duty while another exited. But the wonderful period of Kotsk never ended in the eyes of hundreds of thousands of Hassidim in Poland. It still stood before their eyes even after the Seraph and his students had long disappeared in a whirlwind up into the skies. It remained standing in the singular image of the aged, but forever young, Rabbi Ben–Zion, who represented it in all its purity, holiness and exaltation. The period of Kotsk did not end in the eyes of the Hassidim of Poland as long as the great Rabbi Ben–Zion walked among them, the teacher and educator, the influencer, the true Hassid who was created without a blemish.

Rabbi Ben–Zion was born in Warsaw in the year 5600 [1839–1840] to his father, the Gaon Rabbi Binyamin David, a dayan and preacher in that great center of Jewish life. He was opposed to Hassidim and Hassidism, but was one of the great scholars and activists. Yet he was a loyal friend of the leader of the Hassidim in Warsaw and the outstanding genius of Polish Jewry, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir of Ger [Gur or Gora Kalwaria]. Rabbi Ben–Zion was a bright and talented child, who studied diligently and was fearful of sin. Before he was eight years old he had already come up with innovations in his studies and even offered some of his insights in writing to the renowned Gaon Rabbi Shlomo Kluger of Brody^[2]. When Rabbi Binyamin David realized how special his young son was, he immediately sent him to the home of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir so that he might test him in his studies. The many Hassidim who always filled the house of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir played with the gifted child, who came by frequently. They became close to him and came to adore him. Ties of mutual love grew between the bright boy and the brilliant Hassidim and elderly men. They quickly brought the young Rabbi Ben–Zion into the world of the Hassidim. After a time the young lad became a Hassid with all his heart and soul, to the point where he joined the group of Hassidim that traveled from Warsaw to Kotsk.

Joining the Hassidic community did not interfere with Rabbi Ben–Zion's studies, nor did it detract from his diligence. On the contrary, with true devotion he added areas of study to his regular program. He dedicated all his senses and desires to the Torah. When he first arrived in Kotsk the Hassidic rebbe, known as the Seraph, said to him: “Hassidism without Torah is merely an external trapping. We want a true internal Hassidism. To achieve that kind of Hassidism is only possible by means of Torah.”

Rabbi Ben–Zion was immersed in his studies of the Torah. His entire

[Page 78]

objective and aspiration was to attain wholeness through his studies, a true Hassidism, and not to turn his Torah studies into some kind of practical instrument. He quickly ascended in the levels of the Torah. His breadth of knowledge amazed many. And his acuity went extremely deep. His father, the Gaon Rabbi Binyamin David, the Mitnaged, acquiesced in the adherence of his beloved son to the Hassidim. The fact that his Hassidism did not detract from his study of Torah, but rather the opposite, gladdened his father. But because of his extensive studies, his eyesight was being harmed. The doctors ordered that he abstain for a short time from his studies so as not to strain his eyes by poring over books. Rabbi Yitzchak Meir was told about the doctors' orders. The sainted gaon said to him: “So for a time you will study by heart.” But Rabbi Ben–Zion did not weaken in his resolve and claimed: “No subject is that well retained in my memory that I am able to study it by heart.” But Rabbi Yitzchak Meir went on to say, “If someone cannot also learn by heart it is a sign that he does not truly harbor Torah within his heart.”

He was saddened by this. So Rabbi Ben–Zion left for Kotsk, where he met with the Hassidic rebbe there and laid out his problems before him. The reply of the Seraph was entirely different. He said, “Those doctors object to your studies. Don't listen to them.”

Rabbi Ben–Zion did not listen to them. He quickly got well. His vision no longer troubled him. But he began to fear pride or haughtiness or boastfulness. So he performed a self–evaluation. Here he was, a talented young man, fully formed, a scholar and a Hassid. But the gaping chasm of pride loomed before him. He could have easily fallen into this trap, and who would save him? If he did so, all his Torah and all his prayers, his labor and hard work would be of no value and no purpose. Feeling depressed, he appeared before Rabbi Yitzchak Meir and laid out his fears.

The holy gaon replied, “An empty vessel prefers the noise of pride more than a full vessel. One who lacks knowledge prides himself more in what he knows than one who has knowledge and does not brag. So what do we have to be boastful about and why should we be boastful?”

Rabbi Yitzchak Meir was not serving officially as the rebbe at this time, declining the mantle of office. He even paid homage to the rebbe of Kotsk by frequently visiting him as one of his most loyal Hassidim. Therefore he would respond, advise, guide and direct only those of his students who were closest to him. So when the Gaon Rabbi Binyamin David came with his son, the now groom Rabbi Ben–Zion, to the house of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir before they left for Ostroveh to seek his blessing for his wedding, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir took the groom into a special room and whispered to him secretly, “If it [sex] is refined, there is no greater refinement than it. But if it is vulgar there is nothing in the world more vulgar.”

The father–in–law of Rabbi Ben–Zion, Rabbi Leizer^[3], much like his own father Rabbi Binyamin David, also objected to Hassidim and Hassidism. But this was not sufficient to discourage the enthusiastic fourteen year–old young man whose entire being burned with pure Hassidism. Even though he was young in age, he was among those in the court of the aged rebbe of Kotsk who were the very best, older people who had led distinguished lives and were giants in the Torah and in Halacha, in deeds and in Hassidism. Nevertheless, the young man from Ostroveh found an attentive ear and an open door wherever he went.

The final hour was closing in on Kotsk, enmeshed as it was in a holy storm, where everyone was seeking the naked, pure, nameless truth that was hidden there. But it held off the masses knocking at its gate, which was tightly closed with a thousand locks and bolts. But the way for Rabbi Ben–Zion was open. People related to him with complete seriousness, with affection, despite the fact that he was just a beginner Hassid, taking his first steps in the garden of Hassidism. Yet he already carried the secret of the Seraph rebbe, who was hidden away, removed and separated from the world. In his final days Rabbi Ben–Zion said, “Once the rebbe of Kotsk revealed to me some miraculous things which I cannot reveal until the final hours before my death.” But a brain clot struck him in the last days of his life and prevented him from revealing his secret.

Before Rabbi Ben–Zion reached nineteen years of age, the great rebbe of Kotsk was called to his maker. The glorious annals of Kotsk, written in blood and fire, stormy and turbulent, seemed to be coming to their end. More than 10,000 Hassidim assembled and came to Kotsk, in mourning and deeply distraught, to participate in the funeral of the Seraph rebbe. The young Rabbi Ben–Zion walked about in a daze. He could not believe what he had heard with his ears

[Page 79]

and what he had seen with his eyes. It was not possible that the rebbe had died just like any other person. Was he not like an angel from above, like a divine seraph?

The large congregation of Kotsk all but fell apart after the death of the aged rebbe. The large majority, including Rabbi Ben–Zion, affiliated with the Hassidic sect of the rebbe of Ger. From then on he was always counted among the students of that great Polish gaon. Henceforth he was considered one of his most devoted Hassidim, loyal to him with all his heart and soul. He took no step in his life without consulting his holy teacher. And while still young in years, he was thought of as one of the greatest and sharpest students in the circles of the rebbe of Ger. Although young in age, his deeds and actions were like those of a tried and true Hassid. Everything he did was weighed and measured. He was great in Torah and Hassidism, in ethics and actions, and very close to the rebbe, whom he went to visit often.

A number of years had passed since his marriage. All the while he was dependent upon his father–in–law, who took care of all his needs. But the time had come for him to provide for his household. And he did not want to enter the rabbinate. He did not want to accept the mantle of the office of rabbi. He decided that he would instead enter the world of business. He visited the rebbe and presented his thoughts. But the rebbe decided otherwise, saying, “There are many merchants. But I want to hold on to you.”

So Rabbi Ben–Zion was no longer inquiring about or interested in business. In a single moment he adjusted his thoughts and aligned them with those of the rebbe. He continued to devote all his time to Torah and Hassidism. His modest income somehow made due. It did not worry or burden him. Many years had passed since his marriage, but he still had no child. From time to time he would mention this to the rebbe, who would reply, “If you trust in God, He will assuredly come to your aid.”

But trust in God, true trust, is an exalted status in the eyes of a true Hassid, a level that is not easy to attain. Besides, who can guarantee that one will ever attain that level of wholeness? So Rabbi Ben–Zion did not relent with the rebbe, and reminded him at every opportunity that he was deprived of children. The rebbe would say, “If someone really wants to obtain something with all his heart and soul, he should confine himself to a particular place, where he should pour out his pleas before God with sincere tears, and intensify his prayers until God answers him.”

That same night Rabbi Ben–Zion closed himself in the room where he lived, and poured out his prayers all that night with hot tears, praying that he would be granted living children. In the morning he left his room, his pleas and prayers complete. In a year his first child was born. At the same time his second rabbi, the rebbe of Ger, was called to heaven in a whirlwind on high, seven years after his [Rabbi Ben–Zion's] marriage [1866]. Once again the large sect of Hassidim was greatly bereft, shaken to its foundations.

The Hassidim of Kotsk–Ger stood before a difficult transition problem. In Augustow, rebbe Yechiel Meir opened up his house of study; in Strikov [Strykow], so did rebbe Zeev Wolf^[4], in Chizov [Czyzewo], rebbe Baruch^[5]; in Lipno, rebbe Nahum Yisrael. And some of the Ger Hassidim returned to Kotsk, where they joined the congregation of rebbe Rabbi David^[6], the son of the late aged rebbe. For his part, Rabbi Ben–Zion, like the overwhelming majority of the Ger Hassidim, went to Alexander, to the rebbe Rabbi Chanoch Henich Hacohen, the lion among the various groups of Hassidim and students of the late rebbe.

Rabbi Ben–Zion was friends with the grandson of the rebbe, Rabbi Aryeh Leib of Ger^[7], who was seven years younger than him. He was considered his best friend and companion. Rabbi Aryeh Leib was beloved unto his great and esteemed grandfather like no other, and valued by the masses of the Hassidim. He was eighteen when his father's father, his teacher and the one who raised him, the Hassidic rebbe of Ger, passed away. He reluctantly agreed to accept the position of rabbi in the town of Ger, in place of his grandfather. But he adamantly refused to accede to the wishes of the masses of Hassidim to serve as the rebbe in lieu of his grandfather the rebbe, that prince of the Torah.

In Ger, Rabbi Aryeh Leib remained in that now orphaned house, as the eyes of the masses of Hassidim throughout Poland were lifted

[Page 80]

towards the outstanding young man, who was considered a supremely holy person. He did not go into town or any other place. Rabbi Ben–Zion maintained the faithful and strong friendship with the rabbi of Ger. Whenever he traveled to Alexander, to visit the great Hassidic rebbe Hacohen, the “High Priest,” on the way back he would divert to Ger and met with Rabbi Aryeh Leib, who was completely isolated and shared confidences with him.

Once when he was returning from Alexander, Rabbi Ben–Zion came and told the young rabbi of Ger what he had heard from the Hassidic rebbe Rabbi Chanoch Henich Hacohen when he was expostulating before thousands of his Hassidim who were crammed into his court. He said, “It is written, ‘They wandered aimlessly in the desert and were lost. They could not find a city to settle in. They were hungry and thirsty. Their souls were sad and silent. And they cried to God when they were in trouble to save them from their distress and to lead them on a straight path towards a habitable city.’ ‘They wandered aimlessly in the desert and wasteland’ refers to those who erred and err in the teachings of the Torah. ‘A place to settle they did not find’ means that they studied and studied, but for some reason were not able to achieve the desired purpose, and therefore, they were ‘hungry and thirsty’ for the teachings of the Torah. ‘Their souls were sad and silent and they cried to God when they were in trouble’, then ‘from their distress he saved them’ means that God rescued them from the predicament which they were in and God led them on a straight path towards the desired goal.”

When Rabbi Ben–Zion finished speaking, the young rabbi of Ger decided right then to join the Alexander Hassidic sect as just one of its Hassidim. He visited Alexander and from then on went there regularly at specific times determined in advance every year to see the rebbe Rabbi Chanoch Henich.

For four years the rebbe of Alexander led the largest Hassidic sect of those days. When he passed on to the high heavens [1870], a portion of the Hassidim gravitated to the Hassidic rebbe Rabbi Avraham of Sochachew and crowned him as rebbe. But the large majority of the Hassidim of the rebbe of Alexander once again flocked towards Ger, to the young rabbi. Once again they did not want to accept the determined declination of Rabbi Aryeh Leib to serve as rebbe.

During the period of service of the great rebbe of Alexander, Hacohen, the “High Priest,” the rebbe Rabbi Aryeh Leib would study in the great house of study in Ger, which was now nearly empty and which had been built during the period of service of his grandfather, the rebbe Rabbi Yitzchak Meir. Since the passing of the rebbe of Alexander masses of Hassidim flocked to Ger. Hundreds of Hassidism surrounded the young rebbe, who still refused to accept the post, from all sides and wherever he went. When he entered the study hall as usual to give his regular lessons, he was immediately surrounded by many who crowded around his place of study. He was forced to return home and his room. When Rabbi Ben–Zion came he sighed and said, “Look at this, Ben–Zion, I have even been chased out of the study hall.”

In those days Rabbi Ben–Zion was already considered one of the giants among the Hassidic sects, one of the central pillars in this great movement which, from its very founding, changed the image and substance of Polish Jewry. He was one of the closest people to the rebbe Rabbi Aryeh Leib of Ger, one of his confidantes and advisers. From a temporary business in the sale of lottery tickets, which were purchased by regular subscribers, he made a modest living. His business did not interfere with his rest nor did it rob him of his time. He was always available for Torah and Hassidism, for regular classes from early morning until late at night, and for very long trips to Ger, to the rebbe.

In Ostroveh young men gathered around him and became his finest and most devoted students. They learned from his Torah teachings and they listened to his words, to his talks and discussions. Whenever Rabbi Ben –Zion would come to Ger he would be surrounded by many Hassidim, young and old, who spared no effort to be in his presence, to listen to his stories and words. He created cadres of students who followed in his path, and educated many young men in pure Hassidim. They studied his words and analyzed his stories. They were prepared to go into great depth to learn and study the meaning of Hassidism. They examined his conduct and deeds in great detail in order to understand the true pathways of a Hassid.

To dine in the presence of Rabbi Ben–Zion was an experience

[Page 81]

never to be forgotten by any Hassid, whether young or old. It was always possible to learn something from him, whether in Torah or Hassidism, in ethics or in human behavior, a veritable living guide to wisdom and knowledge. The Gaon Rabbi Avraham Leib^[8], the rabbi of Brok and one of the greatest rabbis of his generation, was much older than Rabbi Ben–Zion. He was among the Hassidim of Kotsk and considered by many as a holy man. Many turned to him with questions and asked for his blessing and prayers. As one of the Hassidic rebbes, he received many personal notes of petition. People told of wonders emanating from the holy spirit in his house of study.

Once during a very snowy season, when it was freezing cold and strong winds were blowing, the Gaon Rabbi Avraham Leib suddenly appeared before the house of Rabbi Ben–Zion in Ostroveh. He was wrapped in a big fur coat and was breathing with difficulty. The rabbi of Brok was old and weak by this time, and walking the roads was difficult for him, especially in the winter. But no impediment or difficulty would prevent him from his strong desire to meet with Rabbi Ben–Zion and to have dinner with him. The next morning, after having met with Rabbi Ben–Zion and dined with him, he would return to his home, to his town and his yeshiva.

Once a number of great rabbis shared a Saturday evening meal. Included among them were a number of outstanding Hassidim, among them the Gaon Rabbi Avraham Leib of Brok, Rabbi Ben–Zion and Rabbi Yisrael Yitzchak of Ostrolenka, the well known Hassid, and other Hassidim.

Rabbi Ben–Zion opened with the following words: “We learn in the Midrash [rabbinical commentary] on the Book of Proverbs that when a scholar sits and propounds, God forgives the sins of the people of Israel. And why would that be?” Rabbi Ben–Zion asked. He continued, “Because a wise man recognizes the lowliness and worthlessness of man. But when he sits broken–hearted and studies, God is filled with mercy and forgives the sins of the people of Israel.”

The rabbi of Brok then arose and said, “My fellow Jews. Rabbi Ben–Zion has never said anything nicer than this. It is the essence of the truth. Jews come to me with various written pleas of petition, but I am at a loss to answer them. I stand before them full of embarrassment and shame, my heart breaks. They go on their way to do everything they need to do. And so from broken heartedness comes their salvation….”

Rabbi Ben–Zion never accepted any such written special pleas and declined to accept any official position. Whatever the appointment, he fled from honors, even though honors pursued him. His standing grew steadily, despite his unwillingness. Many proposed various rabbinical positions in large and important communities to him, but Rabbi Ben–Zion fended off such proposals with both hands. He was not even prepared to entertain the thought of such a position. When they pressed him, he would tell the following story:

There were once two Hassidim of Kotsk who were loyal and devoted friends. They were excellent scholars, but were plagued by many serious problems. They suffered from such stresses that one of them finally could no longer stand the pressure and went out to look for and find a respectable position as a rabbi in one of the cities. The second was able to withstand the pressure and refused to take a rabbinical position, continuing along his path as a full–fledged Hassid.

After a time, when the pressures overcame the Hassid, who had continued to shoulder his burden, he went out on the road for a time to collect some money to meet his pressing needs. He arrived in the city where his old friend was serving as the rabbi. The rabbi recognized him and began to shudder as he approached. He made a fuss over him and immediately invited him to his house. They were both glad that they had met once again. The rabbi stood and told his friend about all his heavenly as well as this–worldly duties: in the morning he had to deliver a lecture to the young single men; and in the afternoon to the older, married ones who were preparing to be instructors. In the evening, after evening prayers, there were once again two classes that he had to give, one for the more learned local people and a second for the average person. Day and night people would come and asked him questions, simple ones as well as complex ones. And the affairs of the community at large also weighed upon him. Added to all this were his own needs to study as well as other matters, and the rabbi never had a free moment.

The poor Hassid let out a heavy sigh. The rabbi was alarmed, thinking to himself that he had sighed because of his wretched condition and his difficult situation, as he has nothing compared to my status, that is, my having the best of both worlds [Torah and material well being]. So he decided to console his old pal and friend. He turned to him and said, “One must accept everything with love. Not everyone gets to benefit from both tables. As it is said, one may have more and one may have less, as long as their heart is directed heavenward.” The poor Hassid replied, “I did not sigh for myself or my situation, but rather for you and yours. You are busy day and night, summer and winter, and not a moment

[Page 82]

of free time do you have to evaluate your deeds or to reflect on the quality of your way of life. As such, you may end up departing from this world, heaven forbid, without having done penance.”

Rabbi Ben–Zion did not serve as a rabbi or a Hassidic rebbe, nor as a dayan or a teacher, nor as a community leader or head of a yeshiva, repulsed by any official or exalted position. He did not occupy any role, but his personality was radiant. It spoke to the community and symbolized the highest, most complete, purest and holiest form of Hassidism, free from any blemish, the Hassidism of wholeness, a pure Hassidism that asks nothing in return for itself, a Hassidism that raises and elevates one to ever higher levels, a Hassidism that contains all the elements and characteristics that the sages enumerated.

He was an outstanding gaon, his knowledge equally broad–based and sharp in all subject matter of the Torah. He studied with diligence and enthusiasm all of his days, investing all of his great abilities in his studies. He made his study of the Torah an integral part of his life, but refused at any price to turn it into a means of making a living, or to use his innovations or teachings into a means of aggrandizing himself or others. He was fearful with all his being of the thought that people would call him a great person of Torah. Moreover, how could he give knowledge to others before acquiring it himself, how could he be concerned with the improvement of others, before he improved his own soul?

The Hassidim surrounded him without let up, always besieging his house, accompanying him wherever he went, hanging on his every word, his stories and words becoming a permanent part of the legacy of the masses of Hassidim, who uttered his name with trembling voices, saying “Rabbi Ben–Zion told,” or, “Rabbi Ben–Zion said.” In Ger he was educated in the court of the Hassidic rebbe Rabbi Aryeh Leib, author of the S'fat Emet [The Language of Truth], the eldest son––and one who was always destined for greatness––of the rebbe Rabbi Avraham Mordechai. The elder rebbe once turned to his son and said, “The sages have said, acquire a friend for yourself. Everyone should have a good friend. Even you should have such a friend. Take Rabbi Ben–Zion as your friend.”

Time passed by and, in the prime of his life, Rabbi Aryeh Leib of Ger passed away [1905]. His oldest son, Rabbi Avraham Mordechai, filled his place. Once again, one watch departs, while another takes its place. Rabbi Ben–Zion continued to travel to Ger with enthusiasm. This was now his fifth teacher. He was now a Hassid who was reaching maturity. In the eyes of the masses he was “the great Rabbi Ben–Zion,” but in his own eyes he was a simple Hassid in need of a teacher and a guide, a Hassid who thirsts for every word that emanates from the mouth of the rebbe.

Tens of thousands streamed into Ger, trailing in the dust of the rebbe's footsteps, adhering to him heart and soul, receiving his teachings on the Torah as if they came directly from Sinai, crowding around his table with sacred trepidation. They turned their ears with enthusiasm to hear every word that the great rebbe articulated. Around his table were seated the greatest of his Hassidim, rabbis and laymen, crowded together and completely in his thrall. Among them was Rabbi Ben–Zion. Now the rebbe began to speak words of Torah. Thousands melded into a single bloc, holding their breath. The rebbe now recounted some of the thoughts of the greats of Hassidism of previous generations, like the Besht [acronym for Ba'al Shem Tov, Master of the Good Name]^[9] and the Seer of Lublin^[10], the “Holy Jew” from Peshischa^[11] and Rabbi Bunim^[12], as well as the aged rabbi of Kotsk^[13] and the rebbe of Ger, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir^[14]. These are the angels of the heavens who have, over the generations, gone to heaven and left behind their teachings to illuminate the eyes of those living on the earth below. Once he began, “And Rabbi Ben–Zion says…”

Rabbi Ben–Zion was sitting there at the table as just one Hassid among many Hassidim, but this did not affect him in any way. He remained what he was all his life, a true Hassid, who submits to the rebbe with all his heart and soul. Once on the holiday of Shavuot [the Feast of Weeks], when the rebbe had concluded his audience, he went out for a walk in the garden next to his home, which was adjacent to his large house of study. At the window overlooking the garden stood Rabbi Ben–Zion and some other Hassidim, looking towards the rebbe, who suddenly came over to the window and called for Rabbi Ben–Zion. The by–then elderly Hassid, who had already come to know illness and pain, did not move towards the somewhat distant door so that he could go out to the garden. Rather, he jumped right out the window like a boy, and stood before the rebbe like a servant before his master.

Throngs of people streamed to Ger. Nearly one thousand rabbis, dayanim, and heads of yeshivot were among the Hassidim of Ger, many of whom were exceptional scholars, giants of Torah. Many of them were considered outstanding Hassidim. But Rabbi

[Page 83]

Ben–Zion was alone among this huge congregation, for he had attained hitherto unknown levels in the history of Hassidism, so unique was he.

Rabbi Ben–Zion was loyal to his rabbi and was also devoted to him in every capillary of his soul. Every day Rabbi Avraham Mordechai taught a class to his sons and sons–in–law. Rabbi Ben–Zion participated in that class whenever he was staying in Ger. Once he was a few minutes late. He heard in the adjoining room that the rebbe had already begun his lecture, so he refused to enter. He did not want to disturb the rebbe, who was younger than him by many years, but who would rise from his chair to greet him.

Rabbi Ben–Zion had now reached his later years. He was about seventy years old, but he still made tracks to his teachers, the rebbes, never desisting from his travels. His illness and weakness did not prevent him from doing so. It was correct, he said, as Rabbi Bunim of Peshischa had once said, that the adherence of Hassidim to their rebbes was like a punishment for them from on high, because the children of Israel had not listened to their prophets, and had mocked their words, so now they were being punished by being covered in the dust of the feet of their rebbes. But Rabbi Yitzchak Meir of Ger said that this was the correction of later generations to the flaws of the preceding generations. The Hassid travels to the rebbe to repair things that were damaged thousands of years earlier.

Up until his later years, until a very advanced age, Rabbi Ben–Zion never changed his way of life. He refused any official office. He did not serve as a teacher or educator, nor was he a leader or guide. He saw himself as just a Hassid among Hassidim, one among equals. But neither did he chase away the enthusiastic young men who were devoted to him, who learned Torah and Hassidism from him, and who viewed themselves as the students of Rabbi Ben–Zion. These students were different from others. They were more enthusiastic, deeper, stronger than others of their type. Their knowledge of Hassidism was broader and more comprehensive. They withstood every test and were purer of heart because of the strength of Rabbi Ben–Zion that devolved upon them.

He taught at pre–determined sessions every day. Young unmarried and married men were happy that he allowed them to study with him. Every morning he taught a class in Gemara [the later parts of the Talmud] and Tosafot [commentaries thereon], following the set order of the Talmud. The lesson included regular study of the earlier commentators, like the Rashba [acronym for Rabbi Shlomo ben Aderet]^[15], the Ritva [acronym for Rabbi Yom Tov ben Avraham Asevilli]^[16], the Shita Mekubetztet [The Collected Interpretations]^[17], and others. After a recess he taught a second session following the order the Shulchan Aruch [The Set Table]^[18]. This was a more hands–on lesson in the application of the law, starting with the Gemara that deals with a particular Halacha and then the commentaries of the Rif [acronym for Rabbi Yitzchak Alfasi]^[19], the Rosh [acronym for Rabbi Asher]^[20], and then the Tur [The Column]^[21], the Shulchan Aruch and other later decisors, until the law became clear. The same approach was applied to each paragraph of the Shulchan Aruch. His teaching was in–depth, endeavoring to fully understand both the particular issue as well as the law that was being studied.

His teaching was undertaken with the fear and awe [of God], with actual trembling. Once when he was about to begin the lesson, before he had even opened the Gemara, he said to his students with holy enthusiasm, “In earlier times, when Hassidim approached the opening of the Gemara, they gave a drop of blood from their hearts out of a feeling of subjugation and shame, as they realized how low their status was and how sad their condition, how disgusting their behavior was as compared to the scholars of the Gemara, who towered over these students to articulate their pronouncements.” And his words, which as usual came forth from the depths of his big heart, penetrated the hearts of his students who heard his moral teachings. They were excited to hear all of his discussions, all of his stories. His students, who excelled in their knowledge of the Torah and in their exceptional Hassidism, learned much from him. He had hundreds, if not thousands of students who were dispersed all across Poland before the Holocaust. Many who passed them by would say in admiration, “There goes a student of Rabbi Ben–Zion.”

Rabbi Ben–Zion expressed his approach to teaching in a few sentences, which he once wrote down on the title page of the Sefer Hachinuch [The Book of Education]^[22] he had in his home, which was only found after his death. The following sentences he apparently wrote for himself: “This book is called Education… because of the requirement to educate one's child and not to deviate from this obligation, for the commandments themselves teach a person to adhere to God. As it is said in the Gemara and Midrash, His [God's] fringes will strike man's face. And as it is written in the Zohar [Radiance or Splendor]^[23], the 613 commandments of the Torah were given to us by God for our advantage, so that we might be together with Him, which is the very meaning of the word ‘commandment’. Fortunate is the man who will always immerse himself in this holy book so that he might

[Page 84]

know the difference between ‘thou shalt’ and ‘thou shalt not’. Because even though man is mired in the desires and worries of this world, if he but remembers that God has commanded that this is what you should do and this is what you should not do, he surely will not stray from the commandments of God. How much more so if he remembers that He who commanded him what to do and what not to do is the one who created and produced him, who supports and sustains him, and who can kill him and take his sustenance from him, and make him ill and also heal him, and take everything from him from his very breath to his body and wealth and children and everything else that he possesses. Therefore, he surely will observe everything that He commands him to do.”

Occasionally Rabbi Ben–Zion would dine with his students, whether young Hassidim or elderly ones. And he sometimes would tell stories. And each of these stories was a treasure in itself, aimed at a particular target, uncovering new worlds and opening up new horizons. They were more influential than formal lessons of ethics and reproof. A story would take on flesh and bones of its own. It became a part of the reality of their past that was more influential than anything else on the young men and on the aged who pressed in to hear him and who absorbed every word. Some of his stories resulted in complete revolutionary changes in the hearts of his listeners. They served as food for thought or for in–depth analysis, and led to the understanding of entire aspects of life and to the leveling out of life's pathways. It is said that only Hassidim fully understood the value of his stories, and that at his feet were educated generations. Rabbi Ben–Zion told many stories, and they became the permanent legacy of the Hassidim of Poland.

The stories of Rabbi Ben–Zion were intertwined like chains, one story being connected with another like pearls on a necklace. He was likely to sit for over an hour with his Hassidim and tell stories. And he did not indulge in exaggerations. Everything was on point and on subject. So it happened in the days of the rebbe who was the author of the Chiddushei Harim [The Novellae of the Rim, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir of Ger], Rabbi Ben–Zion told, that there were very sharp young married men who worked diligently on their Hassidism. Once the rebbe said to one of these outstanding young men, “It is true and correct that you aspire to be a Hassid on the one hand, but on the other hand you do not wish to separate yourself from your baser side, from your young man's characteristics [Yiddish, fun gruben yung deines]. So what will be the outcome?”

“The main thing is to act and to completely fulfill, to carry out things by means of one's own actions. Something that is done by means of an agent is acceptable, as a person's agent is tantamount to himself. But in any event it is not like the real person himself, in actual fact.” And Rabbi Ben–Zion went on:

“Once the Hassidic congregation of Kotsk in Warsaw split up. For some reason the wealthy separated themselves from the poor, who sat around all day and studied Torah. The former proceeded to create a new Hassidic house. The wealthy put forth a claim that since they had donated all the money to acquire the books in the old Hassidic house, they felt that the books belonged to them and that they therefore should be transferred to the new house. Furthermore, because they had not only donated all the money for the books, but had also purchased all the privileges of being called up to the Torah, and had also paid for the right to read the portion of Atah Horeitah [You have taught]^[24] out of their pockets, the books of the old Hassidic house rightfully belonged to them.”

“But the poor learners who remained in the old Hassidic house claimed that the books belonged to them. This was because all the honors that were fully paid for in the Hassidic house were actually owned by those who study day and night. But because those who sit and delve into the Torah are so immersed in their studies, they have no time to go out into the streets and engage in business. And while the Hassidic house needs money to acquire books and for other expenses, the learners sell the honors that belong to them at full price in exchange for the purchase of books and other needs of the Hassidic house. The rich have therefore received full value for their money. They have no right to claim any further compensation, whereas the poor learners hold full rights to the books in the house of the Hassidim.”

“The rebbe Rabbi Yitzchak Meir, to whom both sides brought their claims, decided in favor of the poor learners who remained in the old Hassidic house.”

Rabbi Ben–Zion was put off by money and by the wealthy. He spoke with awe about the fear of honors by great Hassidim who were desperately poor, and who were not ashamed of their poverty. As Rabbi Ben–Zion told:

“It was told about Rabbi Hirsh Ber of Grabovitz [Grabowiec], a great Hassid, who was marrying off one of his sons. When it came time for the wedding he went with his son, the groom, to the town where the bride lived for the pre–wedding ceremonies. They arrived there and entered

[Page 85]

the inn. Rabbi Hirsh Ber asked that the bride and her mother come over. The mother–in–law, the mother of the orphaned bride, arrived to clarify some matters. It was also necessary for the groom to see the bride, for it is forbidden for a man to marry a woman until he has seen her. After the widow had returned to her home, the bride appeared. Rabbi Hirsh Ber inquired as to why the two had not appeared together, was there a lack of harmony between the mother and her daughter? He found out that they were so poor that they had only one coat between them, so that when one went out, the other had to stay home. When Rabbi Hirsh Ber heard this, he was overcome by emotion and turned to his son the groom and said: ‘God has granted us a great favor in regard to the commandment of providing for a bride, my son. Come with me to the town square and we will collect money for the poor bride so that she will have her own clothing.’”

Rabbi Ben–Zion lived as a resident in Ostroveh for more than seventy years. He became a veritable bone of its skeleton, an integral part of its body, the head of the Hassidim and the glory of the community. Both the old and the young took pride in him. Even the local Mitnagdim felt honored because of him. He never accepted any official position in his life, but his influence was felt in everything. And if Ostrow Mazowiecka was transformed into a citadel of Hassidism and Hassidim, it was chiefly because of Rabbi Ben–Zion. Many of the opponents of Hassidism became Hassidim because of Rabbi Ben–Zion.

In the early years of Rabbi Ben–Zion's presence in Ostroveh the influence of the Hassidim on the residents of the city was still weak. The officers and congregants of the old house of study, almost all of whom were opponents of Hassidim and Hassidism, for all intents and purposes were the ones who determined the direction of the community. They were the ones who ultimately decided who would serve and who would not serve as rabbi of the city. Slowly but surely the strength of the Hassidim grew. The influence of Rabbi Ben–Zion steadily increased to the point where no rabbi or dayan was chosen without the assent of this famous Hassid.

When the candidacy of Rabbi Yehuda Leib Gordin was proposed as rabbi of Ostroveh, people went to interview him in the place of his previous position in Augustow. Among them was Rabbi Ben–Zion and Rabbi Berish Shapira, son of the Gaon Rabbi Isaac Charif, the rabbi of Slonim, and one of the heads of the Mitnagdim of the city. But only after the candidacy of Rabbi Gordin was deemed acceptable by Rabbi Ben–Zion was he chosen as rabbi and chief of the rabbinical court.

Before Rabbi Gordin, the Hassidic rebbe Rabbi Gershon Chanoch of Radzyn had served as chief of the rabbinical court. There was no love or understanding lost between the Hassidim of Ger and those of Radzyn. Rabbi Ben–Zion was not among the supporters or friends of the rebbe from Radzyn. But loyal to the truth, he praised the work of Rabbi Gershon Chanoch as rabbi and chief of the rabbinical court, and his strong stand concerning everything regarding religion and Torah. But more than once Rabbi Ben–Zion told how the rebbe of Radzyn prevented anyone who derived learning from non–Jewish sources or who sent his son to a gymnasium [secular academic high school] from even entering into his house. Could not such a person just pray at another house of Hassidim or visit another rebbe?

Rabbi Ben–Zion loved the truth and was one of those who was not afraid of the truth. He was devoted to the pure approach of Kotsk that was committed to the pursuit of truth. He praised every revelation of truth and justice no matter its source. More than once the students of Rabbi Ben–Zion heard him praise Mitnagdim, simple people, no matter who. He lauded the Gaon Rabbi Ben–Zion, the chief of the rabbinical court of Bielsk^[25], a sharp opponent of Hassidim and Hassidism, because of the following true story: Once Rabbi Ben–Zion [of Bielsk] preached against dissolute women who went out without covering their hair, as required by Halacha.

When he finished his lecture one of the residents approached him and asked: “Was it not true that the rabbi's own daughter went out into the streets with her head uncovered? Is it appropriate for her father, the rabbi, to preach such piety to others?”

The rabbi replied: “So what? If my daughter would convert, God forbid, or would mount the pulpit and preach to the public that she had converted, would that make it permissible?”

[Page 86]

Rabbi Ben–Zion did not involve himself in the ongoing affairs of the community. He was always burdened and busy with his own matters, his study of Torah and his prayers. But neither did he restrain himself when it came to matters of the breach of the walls of religion. When the Germans captured Ostroveh, during World War I, members of the Zionist parties in town assembled in order to decide upon the establishment of a gymnasium in the city that would provide a co–educational education having a clearly secular and anti–religious curriculum. When Rabbi Ben–Zion was notified about the meeting, he immediately went there accompanied by his outstanding student, the Gaon Rabbi Moshe Goldblatt.

This sharp Rabbi “Moshaleh”, who was then a young man, entered the place and raised his voice in pain against the flawed idea of transforming Ostroveh into a den of educational iniquity. The assembled crowd was prepared to consider the matter. Rabbi Ben–Zion sat next to him, defending his beloved student. He, too, raised his voice, demanding and insisting that the crowd disperse in order to prevent steps that would destroy this glorious community. No one dared to raise his voice against Rabbi Ben–Zion in reply. The attendees dispersed and returned to their homes without further discussion. The plan never materialized. A gymnasium was never established in the city up until its destruction.

As Rabbi Ben–Zion aged, his honored position in the community only rose. But the elderly Hassid continued to act as just a simple resident among the other residents. There was never a mourner in town to whom Rabbi Ben–Zion did not pay a visit of consolation. There was never a matter in which Rabbi Ben–Zion did not shoulder his share of responsibility. Every month he would visit the rabbi of the city at his home, as the sages of old had prescribed.

In the years following World War I, Rabbi Ben–Zion became weaker. He passed the age of eighty. His vision declined. Walking became difficult for him. But despite all this, he never changed his customs or his daily routine. It was difficult for him to go to the house of the Hassidim, so he agreed that a small minyan [prayer quorum] of young scholars who were his students would regularly assemble to pray at his home.

Despite his weakness deriving from his extreme advanced age, Rabbi Ben–Zion never changed his daily set routine, with its long teaching sessions that were scheduled in advance. But he did begin to speak of his departure from the world that was getting closer. He said to his only son, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Rabinowitz, “I am in no hurry for you to recite kaddish [the memorial prayer] or for you to study Mishnayot [the early part of the Talmud often studied in memory of a deceased individual] after I depart. But remember that I did urge you to honor the Hassidim with the fear of God and with refreshments on the first anniversary of my death.”

In his book, Vayelaket Yosef [Joseph's Collections], the Gaon Rabbi Yosef Mandelkorn, one of the immigrants from Ostroveh in Jerusalem, writes: “On the eve of the last holiday of Hoshana Rabba [the seventh day of Sukkot] of his life, I was invited to his home. His eyes were failing from weakness, and as such he requested that I read for him from the biblical chapter of V'zot Habracha [And this is the blessing]. It was one part text and two parts interpretation, as usual. When I reached the verse, ‘And Moses, the servant of God, died there,’ he stopped my reading and did not permit me to continue to the end of the chapter. I said to him that it is appropriate to finish a worthy deed, especially on the eve of Hoshana Raba. But Rabbi Ben–Zion refused to listen, and ordered me to stop and that was it.”

And for the holiday of Shavuot that year he once again made his way to Ger, to the court of the rebbe. He was weak and wracked with illness and pain. With great effort he was able to make this last journey, refusing to hear anything about canceling his trip to the rebbe. He had traveled seventy–one times on the High Holidays to five different rebbes, and sixty–nine times for the holiday of Shavuot to mark the receiving of the Torah in the study house of the rebbe.

Because of his weakness he was not able to sit at the table of the rebbe, which was surrounded by thousands of Hassidim who devotedly crowded in to absorb something of the Torah and the conduct of the rebbe. Rather he sat in the room of the rebbe adjacent to the great study hall because of his weakness. And when the rebbe passed by, the great Hassid broke out in bitter tears. A chapter that spanned seventy years of effort and holy work was coming close to its end.

After the holiday Rabbi Ben–Zion took his leave from the rebbe and set off to return to Ostrow Mazowiecka. On his way he stopped at an inn in Warsaw, and was immediately stricken by a blood clot in the head. The time of his departure was closing in. Rabbi Ben–Zion had thought that he would find his eternal rest in Ostrow Mazowiecka, the city of his residence. He now asked that the boards of his study table be sawed up and re–configured into his coffin.

[Page 87]

He ordered that his grave be dug alongside that of a simple water carrier, a man by the name of Zalzberg, a Jew who had served for twenty–five years in the army of Tsar Nicholas I, but who remained observant of the Torah and its commandments, be it the most minor or the most serious. But it was in Warsaw, the city in which he was born, that his soul was returned to his maker. It was on the nineteenth day of Sivan, 5686 [June 1, 1926]. He was eighty–six years of age.

In their masses his students and admirers streamed into Warsaw, to Twarda Street No. 13, the site of the inn where he died. On a wagon hitched to horses the deceased was taken to the cemetery in Warsaw. This time the Hassidim diverged from local custom, in honor of the greatest of Polish Hassidism. The wagon was pulled by the masses to the edge of the cemetery. But when the cortege reached Gensia Street, which is on the way to the cemetery, the mourners took out the stretcher upon which he lay and the students carried it to the grave site. A sea of humanity filled the gigantic cemetery of the community of Warsaw. Tens of thousands came to pay their respects to a glorious chapter in the Hassidism of Poland, which came to an end with the death of Rabbi Ben–Zion.

His only son, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Rabinowitz, and his son–in–law, Rabbi Moshe Leib Wolman^[26], the son of the rabbi of Plonsk, were both killed in the Holocaust.

Editor's notes:

1. Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotsk (1787–1859), known as the Kotsker Rebbe. Return
2. Rabbi Shlomo ben Yehuda Aharon Kluger (1783–1869). Return
3. Leizer (or Lajzor) Aronson (or Arenson). Rabbi Ben–Zion's marriage to Chana Gitla Aronson was recorded in the town records of Ostrow Mazowiecka in the summer of 1856. She was born in Suwalki in 1840 and died in Ostrow Mazowiecka in 1914. Return
4. Rabbi Zeev Wolf Landau of Strikov (1807–1891). Return
5. Rabbi Baruch Shapiro (ca. 1787–1877), known as the Czyzeve Rebbe. Return
6. Rabbi David Morgenstern of Kotsk (1809–1873), Hassidic leader who spent the last twenty years of his life in seclusion. Return
7. Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter (1847–1905), also known by the name of his book, the S'fat Emet. Return
8. Rabbi Avraham Yehuda Leib Kozak (1814–1895), known as the Broker Rav. Return
9. Rabbi Yisrael ben Eliezer (d. 1760), an itinerant mystic from Podolia, Poland, considered the father of Hassidism. Return
10. Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Horowitz (c. 1745–1815), early Polish Hassidic leader and “miracle worker.” Return
11. Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Rabinowitz (1766–1813) of Peshischa [Przysucha], another early Hassidic leader. Return
12. Rabbi Simcha Bunim Bonhart (1765–1827), also of Peshischa, an early Polish Hassidic leader. Return
13. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Morgenstern (1787–1859) of Kotsk, Hassidic leader who spent the last twenty years of his life in seclusion. Return
14. Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter Rothenberg (1799–1866), founder and first rebbe of the Hassidic dynasty of Ger [Gur or Gora Kalwaria], one of the largest. Return
15. Eminent rabbi/Talmudist from Barcelona and leader of Spanish Jewry (1235–1310). Return
16. Eminent rabbi/Talmudist from Seville, Spain (1250–1330). Return
17. Principal work of Rabbi Betzalel Ashkenazi (ca. 1520–ca. 1592), a leading Talmudist of Ashkenazi origins, but who lived in the predominantly Sephardi Ottoman Empire, chiefly in Egypt and Palestine. Return
18. A chief work of Rabbi Yosef Caro, born in Toledo in 1488 and, after the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 and from Portugal in 1497, lived in Ottoman Turkey, Salonika, Egypt and Safed, Palestine. The book, a condensation of his larger Beit Yosef [House of Joseph], is one of several––and the most widely accepted––medieval compilations of Jewish law. He was also leader of the famous mystic kabbalist group in Safed. He is the ancestor of the contemporary historian Robert Caro. Return
19. North African–born Sephardi rabbi/Talmudist of Fez, Morocco (1013–1103), author of Sefer Hahalachot [The Book of Laws], one of the earliest codifications of Jewish law. Return
20. Born ca. 1250 in Germany, from which he fled, he died in 1327 in Toledo, Spain, where he served as rabbi. He is the author of Piskei Halachot [Decisions of Law], a core legal commentary on the Talmud that is still widely consulted. Return
21. Shortened title for Arbaah TurIm [The Four Columns], a work of Jewish law written in four topical parts by Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher (ca. 1270–ca. 1340), son of Rabbi Asher (see above). Return
22. An anonymous book written in 13th century Spain enumerating and elucidating the 613 commandments of Jewish law, one of several such compilations. Return
23. A book of much debated origins that first appeared in 13th century Spain and is the foundational work of the Jewish mystical movement known as the kabbalah. Return
24. An honor on the holiday of Simchat Torah that is often auctioned off to the highest bidder. Return
25. Rabbi Ben–Zion Sternfeld (1835–1914) of Bielsk Podlaski. Return
26. Rabbi Moshe Leib [Moszek Lejb] Wolman, son of Victor [Wictor] Wolman, was married to Rabbi Ben–Zion's daughter Freida [Frejda] (b. 1877). They had at least three children: Leizer [Lejzor] (b. 1895), Liba (b. 1903), and Yisrael Yaakov (Srul Yankiel) (b. 1910). Return

  Ostrów Mazowiecka, Poland     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2024 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 15 Dec 2016 by JH