Hi Kids,
I hope you are all well and enjoying the
summer. Our summer has officially started as the nurse has arrived in
camp safely with Tal B"H and I will be going up IY"H for Shabbos. I got
mixed reviews for last week's story selection and I hope this week's
compensates for that. I will try and tell it the way R' Vallach
does. Ellis Island, New York - 1925 - A distinguished yet modest
looking young man steps off the boat onto American soil. His
possessions for the most part consist of books - sfarim - as many as he
could take on the journey. He, a short while later began to reside in
the Bronx. That is where he, the holy Rabbi Moshe Yechiel Epstein of
Ozerov, (1889 - 1971) set up his chasidic court.
A small glimpse into his
background - when he turned 3 years old, after having his haircut
celebration, was given a big black kippah to wear on top of his new
payos. The toddler felt like a 'big boy'. Then his father brought him
into his 'inner sanctum', his study, lined from top to bottom on every
wall with sforim, and from the sweet, awesome silence of the room, he
heard his father's loving voice, " come my big boy, let's learn." From
that day his destiny was set. His life was totally focused on the study
and teaching of Torah and Judaism. His connection to Torah was so
strong and imperative that once when he was very ill, about 70 years
later, and the prescribed medicines were not helping him as he got
weaker and weaker, he 'cured himself' by leaving his bed against
doctor's orders and going into his study. The soothing effect of his
favorite environment and his concentrated learning, actually removed
the illness. But back to the story…
The first few years in
the Bronx were extremely difficult. They were too poor to afford heat
in the winter and often had zero food in the house. Over time however,
his reputation began to spread - the vastness of his knowledge, the
warmth and empathy with which he spoke to all those who came to seek
his counsel and brachos - Rabbis were coming to discuss weighty Torah
issues and regular Jews began to seek his advice and bracha in health
and financial, as well as spiritual areas. With the donations he
received, his family survived.
One day, a
distinguished looking man came to speak with the Rebbe. He was one of
the founders of a certain Jewish community, who was an integral player
in the successful building of a beautiful shul. After great effort, the
shul now had many members, a prestigious Rabbi and a vibrant program of
learning activities daily. He was the president. The problem was that
new members were joining the shul, who wanted to make some changes to a
lot of things. Politics turned ugly and there was much bad-mouthing and
loshon hora. People were even spreading false rumors about him and were
trying to taint his reputation.He did not know what to do.
The man could see in the Rebbe's
expression, how strongly he felt his pain as he told the story. Still
the man did not expect anything more than a pep talk to be strong etc.
However the Rebbe's response was to seem to withdraw into himself and
to groan to himself " What am I doing in America ". The man did not
understand and asked what the Rebbe meant. The
Rebbe, cognizant of the man's confusion, began his story. " I came to America
from Poland, way before World War 2 - at a time when Judaism in Poland
was alive and vibrant and Judaism in America was extemely weak. There
were barely any Jewish schools for my children, hardly any chasidism
and very difficult circumstances in many other areas. So what made me
come here ?" "
My grandfather was the third grand Rebbe of Ozerov and my father was
the Rav of the town. When my grandfather passed away, my father became
the Rebbe and I, at the age of 22, became the Rav. With Hashem's help,
we opened a yeshiva and established much learning in Ozerov. It was a
wonderful time then, before world war 1. My work in Ozerov gave me
quite a reputation in Poland and I received offers of rabbinical
positions in some great and famous Jewish communities - but I turned
them all down preferring to stay in my hometown - the place of my
ancestors."
" World War 1 broke out in 1914. Life in Poland became
excrutiatingly torturous. Ozerov was taken over by one side and then
the other. Each government that took over was worse than the last.
Decrees, outlandish taxation, out and out anti-semitism. Finally the
Russians took control. They forced all the Jews to evacuate the city
taking only what we could carry on our backs. As we walked down the
road to who-knew-where, we watched the local farmers rush past us back
into the city salivating at the thought of ransacking the now
'abandoned' Jewish homes. Not long afterwards, tears and worry all over
our faces, we turned back to see the plumes of smoke rise up from what
was once our home - Ozerov burnt to the ground - completely. After a
while the Russians were seen abandoning the razed city and I decided to
lead the way back and rebuild. We returned to the desolation of no more
shul, no more mikveh, no more houses. I began rebuilding. I raised
money from other towns, encouraged people to build their homes. Just as
we were getting some momentum, a plague broke out in town - among the
many dead were my wife and three of my children. Both my parents died
that year as well. I don't know where I got the strength to keep going,
but Ozerov was eventually rebuilt. The shul, mikveh, yeshiva and aside
from my duties as the Rav, I also became the Chasidic Rebbe of Ozerov.
It seemed like the glory days of Ozerov had returned. So why did I come
to America?"
"
An uncle of mine, quite a lot older than me, lived in Ozerov. Certain
people felt that for various reasons, he should be the Rav and Rebbe of
Ozerov instead of me. Although he only had a very small following, they
were very vocal and the arguments were becoming nasty. Before they
became too terrible, I ran away - as far as I could - to America… As the Rebbe told his story, tears streamed
down his cheeks - tears over the destruction of his people. " And today
Ozerov is once again destroyed. The Nazis YmShm, occupied the town.
Before deporting all the remaining Jews to the camps, they took the old
Rabbi, my uncle, out into the middle of the street with all the Jews
lined up on the sides of the street to watch, as they ripped the Aron
Kodesh out of the shul, with the Torahs inside, and loaded it onto the
back of the Rabbi. The Jews watched in horror as the evil nazis laughed
while the old Rabbi was crushed under the weight of the Aron - he was
buried under the holy Aron - Hashem should avenge his death. Go home, "
the Rebbe said to the spellbound shul-president. " Think about my story
and come back tomorrow if you want to talk more."
The
next day, the president handed in his resignation to the shul. No one could
read this glimpse into the life of R' Moshe Yechiel, and think that he
was some kind of "wooss" to put it in the common vernacular. He fought
for the community and for what was right all his life against the most
incredible of odds. But when the machlokes - the divisions - became
personal, he ran as fast and as far as he could. The Ozerover Rebbe was
most definitely well schooled in the most basic lesson of this week's
parsha - the destruction and potential devastation which can result
from divisions which get personal. Something we should all do our
utmost to avoid.
I hope you all have a wonderful Shabbos (an especially exciting
one for "H" and hopefully not too challenging for
Brian).
I love you all . 'd'
Important Numbers
