Jewish World Review August 7, 2000/ 6 Menachem-Av 5760
Eyewitness to greatness
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BORO PARK, BROOKLYN | IT IS MORNING and I find myself, as is often the case, in the Bobover rebbe's minyan.
As the morning Shacharis service
nears completion, Kaddish, the prayer for the merit of a departed soul,
is being uttered by the rebbe. A Holocaust survivor who lost family during the
war, it is certainly not the first time he's had to recite the ancient Aramaic words.
However, today is different. Very different.
The prayer, meant to stir the Heavens, is not for the yahrtzeit
of a distant relative or childless follower. It is for his father, whose
saintly soul departed this world only hours before.
Two days ago, when Reb Naftali, as he was then known, and I were discussing a
private matter, he was the rebbe's son --- a kind and wise man. "Let me ponder
this and get back to you," he said as we concluded our unresolved meeting.
Shortly afterwards,
his father was rushed to the hospital.
His father, Rabbi Shlomo Halberstam, was the only Bobover Rebbe any of us born after
World War II ever knew. Now, my world -- our world -- has permanently
changed.
THE FIRST TIME I visited with the Rebbe, ZT'L, was over 20 years ago. It was the evening and I met him in his office. For an extended period of time we sat and
discussed tradition and the ways of our ancestors.
Behind the rebbe's chair was a chart of his ancestry drawn by one of his
followers in Europe. The rebbe pointed out the different sages and holy rabbis
from the past and explained how he, and Bobov, were part of this tradition and, perhaps more importantly, were continuing in its ways. The rebbe then invited me to come to the Passover
Seder he would lead in a few days. He also asked if I would be interested in studying in his
yeshiva.
An orphan, the rebbe offered kindly, and in Yiddish on another occasion, that if I so wished, I
could look to him as a "father." The words and offer were not empty.
Having attended many Seders in my youth, I thought I knew what the
annual event was about. I was to quickly learn that was hardly the case.
It is easy enough to describe the hours-long rite that re-enacts Jewry's exodus
from Egyptian bondage. But that would not fully capture the experience.
Per custom, the attendees did everything ordinarily done at a Seder. But
one could feel that you were experiencing something unusual. It was as if there was a palpable aura of holiness with an "other-worldly" quality in the room.
A passage in the Talmud describes the great banquet that
will occur following the Messiah's arrival. Great and holy people will
take part, it is said. This was my first introduction to the holiness of the
Rebbe, ZT'L, but certainly not the last. I was to experience that sense for many years to come.
It is difficult to describe a man whose very presence made it obvious that
he was unlike other men. Chassidim like to tell miracle stories of their
Rebbes, and I have heard many and eyewitnessed others.
Not long after I was married, we were expecting our first child. Since
my father had died when I was young, I hoped -- and prayed -- that my first child would be a
boy so I could name him in my father's honor.
When I went to the rebbe in search of a blessing to help along our prayer, the rebbe refused. My wife was having a difficult pregnancy, and instead the rebbe offered some fatherly advice and assurance. He confided about how his wife, the
rebbetzin, also had a difficult pregnancy and everything turned out
fine. "Don't worry," he advised.
A few months later, on Purim, I went to the rebbe with a kvitel, or
prayer petition. The rebbe stared and examined the hand-written note. Placing my hand into his palm, he said kindly in Yiddish: "Dyn Yingle vet kimmen en a gittah shue." (Your son, will come in the proper
time.)
Two months later my eldest son was born healthy.
But make no mistake about it, the miracles were not what made the rebbe, ZT"L
special among the various Chassidic sages of our time. It was his holiness
intermixed with his humanity.
I once called the rebbe's secretary to ask if he was going to meet privately with community members that evening. I was politely asked to wait a moment while the rebbe was questioned about his schedule.
A few moments later, I was surprised to hear a familiar
voice on the other end of the receiver that said: "Hello, Moshe. This is the Bobover Rov."
This occurred a number of times.
As a single, I lived in the yeshiva's dormitory, in the shadow of the rebbe's
house. On Shabbes mornings, the Rebbetzen would prepare tea and
coffee for us in her home to have in the morning before prayers, which last a
few hours. Every Shabbes I
would go and then, with the other students, escort the rebbe to the synagogue
for services.
One Sabbath, the rebbe's baby granddaughter was visiting. As he
was walking out, the infant crawled near the rebbe's leg. No doubt, the rebbe
was already
in the elevated mindset to begin prayers. But that did not stop him from
putting being a
rebbe on hold, and make a clucking sound to his granddaughter's delight.
On Purim, there was a custom in Bobov that the rebbe would visit the
houses of his sons and other community members. When my oldest son was 3 or 4,
I took
him with me, and we went and joined in the festivities. When the rebbe entered
the
room, people immediately started pushing one against the other to make room.
Just as the rebbe approached, my son's yarmulke and cap fell off and rolled
away. The rebbe stopped everything
until they could find his yarmulke and cap. Only then would he proceed.
Publicly, the rebbe would always teach us that we should show true love for each
other. Privately, he was always there to help, advise and guide anyone who
wanted to serve the Creator. I cannot count the hours that the rebbe spent instructing me in how to live my life as a better Jew.
Every problem, no matter how big or small, was treated as if it were the
rebbe's own. When we were expecting our second child, we had a
specific problem that I needed to discuss with the rebbe. When I did, he
assured me that he would look into the situation. A few hours later, following
morning prayers, the rebbe called me to his side. He told me I should speak
to a certain individual who would be of assistance.
Incidents like these, perhaps, are but one reason approximately 40,000
people from all walks of life, according to the New York Times, attended the rebbe's funeral last week in the blazing summer heat.
AFTER THE REBBE'S BURIAL, I was waiting near the caretaker's house for my ride
home. I soon spotted the car carrying the new Bobover rebbe. It approached
the area where people were washing their hands, per Jewish custom.
I quickly alerted those at the sink to make room so that the new rebbe could
wash. Then,
out of the car sprang the rebbe's son-in-law. He called to me in Yiddish,
"Moshe Der Shver vil redden mit dir." (Moshe, my father-in-law wants to
talk to you.)
Even in a time like that, our new rebbe still had in mind other people. He
remembered that the issue we discussed during our last conversation was not yet
resolved.
The Rebbe ZT'L is no longer with us, but he has left us in good hands with a
son who is just like he
By Moshe Shulman
Rabbi Moshe Shulman is a computer consultant in Brooklyn, New York and a pioneer of the Jewish Internet. He moderates and teaches two online study classes about Chassidic thought. Comment by clicking here.