Rav Boruch Asheknazi of Mezhibuzh

Who Says You Have to Attend Every Fair

It is told that there was a long-standing dispute between two great leaders of Chassidus. One was Rav Boruch of Mezhibuzh, the grandson and heir of the Baal Shem Tov by blood. The other was Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of Chabad and author of the Tanya, who considered himself a spiritual grandson and heir of the Baal Shem Tov as a talmid of the Maggid of Mezritch, the Baal Shem Tov’s successor. Their disagreement was holy and ran deeper than we can understand. Who can claim to know the true reasons behind their machlokes?

Rav Shneur Zalman once travelled to Mezhibuzh, davened at the tziun (resting place) of the Baal Shem Tov, and then went to visit Rav Boruch. Their dispute was well known, and Rav Boruch openly challenged some of the practices of the founder of Chabad, among them the custom not to recite Veshomru in the Friday night davening before Maariv.

“Why do you not recite Veshomru in the Maariv of Shabbos?” asked Rav Boruch. “And where does it state that one must recite Veshomru?” replied Rav Shneur Zalman. (Neither the Shulchan Aruch nor the Rema rules that one recites it.)

Rav Yosef of Yampola, who was present, stepped in to defend his mechutan, Rav Boruch. “Surely your honor knows that in Heaven there is a great gathering, like a festive fair, when Bnei Yisroel recite Veshomru. How can you ask where it says that one must recite it?”

Rav Shneur Zalman was not shaken. “And who says that you have to attend every fair? Some you attend, and others not.”

The Only Way to Cancel the Decree

Rav Yosef of Yampola and Rav Boruch of Mezhibuzh were mechutanim. Rav Yosef’s son Yitzchok had married Rav Boruch’s daughter Chana Chaya. The two were on excellent terms, with great love and friendship between them. It was Rav Yosef’s custom to visit Rav Boruch at least twice a year, on Parshas Bechukosai and Parshas Ki Savo, when the rebukes of the tochachah are read. When Rav Yosef took his leave after Shabbos, Rav Boruch often accompanied him well past the town’s border to escort him with honor.

It is told that during one of these visits Rav Boruch asked Rav Yosef to meet him secretly in the forest. “I must speak with you urgently about an important matter, in total secrecy. No one else should be around, no family and no gabbaim, only you and me. Make sure that even the coachman is a gentile.”

Rav Yosef did as he was asked. But his son Yitzchok, Rav Boruch’s son-in-law, noticed them leave and secretly followed. When he saw the two of them hidden in the forest, he crept close to hear what urgent matter had made them act in so secret and strange a manner. He stood rooted to the spot in shock at what he heard.

“Mechutan, dear friend,” began Rav Boruch, “surely you saw what I saw written in the Heavens this year, on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.” “Yes,” said Rav Yosef sadly, shaking his head. “I saw a grave prosecution against Am Yisroel, a heavy and dark decree.” “What did you do about it?” asked Rav Boruch. “Everything I tried failed. Nothing I did could cancel the decree,” Rav Yosef answered.

“What do you propose that we do?” asked Rav Yosef. “There is no other way,” said Rav Boruch. “Two tzaddikim, heads and leaders of the generation, must accept upon themselves to leave this world, and through their passing atone for the generation and cancel the decree. I see no greater tzaddikim in this generation than you and me. I am ready. Will you join me now? We must save the generation.” Rav Yosef hesitated. “Is there no other way? I need time to think.” Rav Boruch answered, “There is no time and there is no other way. Klal Yisroel is in mortal danger, and you ask for time?” Seeing that there was no other way, Rav Yosef agreed.

On hearing this and seeing that his father had agreed, Yitzchok could no longer hold back. At the thought of losing his father and his father-in-law together, he sighed and sobbed, and the sound reached the two tzaddikim. Rav Boruch’s anger flared. “This meeting was secret. If you reveal anything that you saw or heard, nothing will be left of you but a pile of bones and your family will be a barren hillside. Promise that you will never reveal our plan so long as we live.” Yitzchok promised.

By Cheshvan of that year Rav Boruch grew weaker and weaker, until on Chai Kislev his holy soul departed. Before he left this world, he said of himself, using words from the berachah before Pesukei DeZimra: “Boruch she’omar vehayah ha’olam. Whenever Boruch speaks, all the worlds rejoice, because vehayah is an expression of joy. Boruch gozer umekayem. Boruch cancels harsh decrees from Am Yisroel and fulfills the good ones. Boruch omer ve’oseh. Boruch says, and the Holy One fulfills. I have never lied. The only falsehoods I speak are the words of my confession.” Then he recited the viduy and was niftar. He asked that his Rabbeinu Tam tefillin, his bed and some silver articles be given to his beloved mechutan, Rav Yosef, so that Rav Yosef would say Kaddish for him.

Rav Yosef set out to see Rav Boruch one last time, but he was too late. When he reached Tsherni-Ostra, night fell, and he realized that Rav Boruch had passed away. After the shivah he received the inheritance and said Kaddish that Shabbos night. Then he himself grew weaker, until he passed away on 24 Teves.

The Big Fish

One Shabbos, while Rav Boruch was in a certain town, a very large fish was brought to him on Erev Shabbos. He asked that it be prepared in honor of Shabbos, and at his tisch he divided it among the chassidim. As he gave out the portions, he told them a story.

There was once an upstanding yungerman who spent his days learning Torah while his wife ran a small store to earn a modest living. The Soton envied his success and decided to test the couple by sending the shop an abundance of customers. His wife became overworked and overwhelmed, and she asked her husband to help her. He cut an hour from his learning, then another, until he had left his studies completely and spent the whole day on the business. This is the way of the evil one. Today he asks for one sin, tomorrow another, until our pure and innocent yungerman had shaken off the yoke of Torah and mitzvos and become a complete rebel.

Once, while traveling, he reached a crossroads and was weighing a certain transgression when he heard weeping in the distance. The townspeople told him that it came from a prisoner of the poritz, a wealthy Polish landowner. The poritz said to him, “This wretched Jew is late with his rent, so I have jailed him until someone ransoms him or until he dies and rots.” The spark that is never extinguished in any Jew was kindled again. “I will redeem him,” said the yungerman, and on the spot he took out his purse and paid the ransom.

As Chazal say, one mitzvah leads to another. The Jewish spark within him was now awake and aflame. He felt remorse over his empty life, and he remembered the days when he sat and learned in purity and innocence. He resolved to do teshuvah, but then fear gripped him. What if he was not strong enough to withstand temptation again? What if his resolve faded and he went back to his old ways? As he passed a river his decision became final. He threw himself into the raging water, sure that only so could he remain pure of heart.

As his body sank into the depths, his soul rose to Heaven, and the heavenly court convened to judge his case. The arguments between prosecution and defense flew back and forth. On one side, he had once lived a holy life of Torah and mitzvos, and then turned to a life without observance. On the other, he had just fulfilled the great mitzvos of pidyon shevuyim and saving a Jewish life, using up all his money. Yet he had also just committed a grave sin by taking his own life, though he did it to escape temptation and keep his newfound faith. In the end the Bais Din Shel Maalah ruled that he must return to this world, as a gilgul in a fish. If a Jew would eat it, that would be a tikkun for his neshamah.

Rav Boruch concluded that his soul had returned in the very fish they were eating. He hired a minyan to say Kaddish and learn Torah as a tikkun for his neshamah, until it could return to its source. And so it was.

The Vanished Chanukah Flame

It is told that on the first night of Chanukah a snowstorm raged outside, but inside the beis medrash it was warm and still. Rav Boruch stood before the menorah, surrounded by his chassidim. With deep devotion he made the berachos, lit the single flame, set the shamash in its place and began to sing HaNeiros Halalu. His face shone with holiness and joy, and the chassidim gazed at him in awe. Then, as Rebbe and chassidim sat singing Maoz Tzur and other songs, the flame began to flicker and leap, though there was no draft in the room. It seemed to dance, or to struggle, and then it was gone. There was no smoke. It simply was no longer there, as if it had flown elsewhere.

The Rebbe seemed lost in thought. When his attendant came to light the wick again, the Rebbe waved him off and signaled the chassidim to keep singing. Between songs he spoke words of Torah several times, and the evening passed pleasantly, until the missing flame was nearly forgotten.

Close to midnight, carriage wheels grated on the ice outside, and the door burst open. A chassid from a faraway village came in. His clothes were torn and filthy, and his face was swollen and bleeding, yet his eyes sparkled and his face shone with joy. Seated at the table, with every eye on him, he told his story.

He knew the forest road to Mezhibuzh well, he said, but a heavy snowstorm had slowed him badly, and he feared he would miss the first night of Chanukah with the Rebbe. So he pushed on through day and night. A gang of bandits stopped him and, assuming that a man travelling alone in such weather must be a wealthy merchant, demanded his money. Though he pleaded that he had none, they would not believe him. They took the reins, drove him off to meet their chief, and for hours beat and questioned him. Then they bound him and threw him into a dark cellar.

That evening the chief came to speak with him. The chassid told him how much it meant to be with the Rebbe at the start of the holiday, enough to risk his life. Whether the chief was moved by this or by the man’s firmness under torture, he freed him. “I sense that your faith is strong and your longing for your Rebbe is real,” he said. “I will let you go, but the forest is deadly, especially at night and in a storm. If you pass through it unharmed, I will disband my gang and change my ways. When you reach the edge of the city, throw your handkerchief into the ditch behind the signpost. A man of mine will be standing there, and that is how I will learn that you got through.”

The chassid was terrified, but when he thought of the menorah lighting with the Rebbe, he set out. In the pitch darkness he heard animals crying close by. His horse would not move, however hard he lashed it. Then a small light flickered ahead of the carriage. The horse stepped toward it, the light moved on, and the horse followed, while the wild beasts fled. “That flame led us the whole way to this door,” he finished. “I threw my handkerchief by the signpost as I had promised. Who knows? Perhaps those bandits will change their ways, in the merit of that little light.”

Only then did the chassidim notice that the Rebbe’s light was burning again in the menorah, steady and clear, like a flame freshly kindled.

The Patient Heals the Herb

A teaching on the words about a healer’s duty, “and he shall surely heal,” was told in the name of Rav Boruch. The herb will cure the sick man, and the sick man will cure the herb. Rav Sholom Yosef explained that when Hashem decrees suffering for a person, the pain is commanded to begin at a set time and to end at a set time, through a particular person and a particular remedy, as the Gemara teaches in Avodah Zarah 55a. Why? For the sake of the herb. After Adam’s fall many sparks fell into lower places, and every act of eating or drinking helps return them to where they belong. A bitter, poisonous herb can find its tikkun only when it is the right cure for a particular ill person and he takes it with proper intentions. So the sick man heals the herb.

Told in the name of Rav Boruch; explained by Rav Sholom Yosef (citing Avodah Zarah 55a)