Rav Chaim Halberstam

A Fair Trade

The Divrei Chaim of Sanz was once conducting a siyum to celebrate finishing all of Shas when he found himself stuck on the meaning of a particular Tosfos. He traveled to the author of Be’er Moshe, the Rebbe of Kozhnitz, and asked for his help in understanding the difficult Tosfos.

In his great humility, Rav Moshe claimed that he did not understand it either. “You have already concluded all of Shas,” he said, “whereas I have just finished saying all of Sefer Tehillim.”

The Sanzer Rav was not put off. “Perhaps you would agree to an exchange?” he said. “I will trade you my learning and my siyum on all of Shas for your siyum on Sefer Tehillim.”

“No,” said the Be’er Moshe, shaking his head, “I will not trade.” In the end he agreed to help, and the two sat down to learn the Tosfos together. Halfway through, thanks to the Kozhnitzer, the Sanzer Rav understood.

Jewels of Longing

The beis medrash was packed. Every seat was taken by someone deeply absorbed in learning, reciting Tehillim with feeling, or lost in fervent prayer. It was Elul, and the air itself seemed to carry the teshuvah of the approaching Yomim Noraim.

Into this atmosphere came the Uhjler Rav, Rav Moshe Yosef Teitelbaum. To his great distress, he felt cold and unmoved by the fire of Elul. He was bitterly disappointed in himself, and instead of passing, the feeling grew worse through all the days of selichos and the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah.

“What is wrong with me?” he sighed. Elul went by without a flicker of passion in his heart. “Why do I feel nothing on these days of rachamim and ratzon, mercy and favor?” he cried.

His answer came from his zeide, the holy Sanzer Rav, the Divrei Chaim. Right after the Yomim Noraim the Uhjler Rav traveled to Sanz.

That Shabbos, at the Friday night tisch, the Divrei Chaim recited the words of the Arizal’s hymn for Shabbos, “Na’avid lehon kisrin bemilin yakirin,” “We shall make crowns for Him from precious words.” Then he paused and said: “When Klal Yisroel serve Hashem with prayer and devotion, their avodah makes jewels for Hashem’s crown. Each jewel shines according to the quality of each person’s service. Some shine brightly and some are duller, and some jewels,” and here he paused for emphasis, “some jewels glow most brilliantly from those who agonize over their apparent lack of feeling, who cannot muster enthusiasm though they long to be close to Hashem. That is why we say ‘yakirin,’ precious. Those words are weighty and costly, because they were spoken with a heavy heart that longs for Hashem.”

Rav Moshe Yosef had his answer, and the Uhjler Rav rejoiced.

The Oil of the Ropshitzer

The Shinover Rav, author of Divrei Yechezkel, did not omit Tachanun on the yahrzeits of tzaddikim, and he was not accustomed to visit their gravesites. He made one exception. He observed the yahrzeit of the holy Ropshitzer Rav, author of Zera Kodesh, and visited his tziyun, because he felt he owed his very life to him.

This is the story. When Rav Yechezkel Shraga was seven years old, his life was nearly cut short by a terrible accident. His uncle, Rav Avigdor of Dukla, was visiting his brother, Rav Chaim of Sanz, in Rudnik. As Rav Avigdor was leaving and had already entered his carriage, he realized he had forgotten something in the house and sent young Yechezkel Shraga to fetch it.

In his eagerness to help his uncle, the boy dashed across the street. A wagon carrying a heavy load of lumber came racing down the road and ran him over. The heavy wheels crushed his body. The doctors who rushed to examine him shook their heads in despair, for the wheel had cut his liver in half.

Hearing the diagnosis, Rav Avigdor raised his hands to Heaven and cried, “Ribbono Shel Olam, if I am destined to have a son, I would gladly give him up in exchange, so that this boy may live.” It is told that Rav Avigdor never did have any sons, only daughters.

The holy Divrei Chaim examined his son’s broken body, and, according to the tradition, under each limb he touched the bones knit together and straightened. Even in his old age, people, especially physicians, would remark on how straight and stately the Shinover Rav’s stature was.

Still, the Divrei Chaim feared for his child’s life, since the internal organs had been damaged beyond natural repair. He sent word with one of the chassidim to his own Rebbe, the great tzaddik Rav Naftali of Ropshitz, to daven for his son. The Ropshitzer did that and more. He sent back a flask of pure olive oil with instructions to anoint and massage the child’s body. In a short time, miraculously, the boy was well again.

In his old age, in a weakened state, the Shinover Rav would retell his miraculous rescue. He remembered how, as he was massaged with the oil sent by the Ropshitzer, he could feel his bones mending and his organs restoring themselves until he was healed and whole. Then he would sigh and say longingly, “Where could we get such pure, holy oil today if we needed it?”

Rock Solid Faith

On Erev Pesach, about half an hour before Mincha, after the matzos had been baked, Reb Shimon approached the Divrei Chaim of Sanz with the traditional wish, “LeShanah Haba’ah BiYerushalayim,” next year may we eat the matzos in Yerushalayim.

“Why next year?” the tzaddik called out in a voice like thunder. “I have not yet given up hope of eating the kezayis of matzah in Yerushalayim this very night.” Such was the unshakable emunah of the Divrei Chaim.

Simple Faith

The Divrei Chaim once told of watching a simple Jew recite the blessing of Ga’al Yisroel in the Haggadah. When he reached it, the man rose to his feet, stood tall and straight, and began to bow and prostrate himself silently, swaying with feeling. After saying Ga’al Yisroel, he went on to daven just as he did every morning at Shacharis.

The Divrei Chaim took great pleasure in the simplicity of such faithful Jews.

The Divrei Chaim Defines a Chilul Hashem

One of the admirers of Rav Yisroel of Rizhin was the tzaddik Rav Chaim of Sanz. The Rizhiner had been imprisoned for twenty-two months, sixteen of them in the dungeons of Kiev and then six months in Kamenetz, although no charges were ever brought and he was never put on trial. He continued to lead his chassidim even in prison. On Shushan Purim, March 20, 1840, he was released. He later fled to Sadigora, where the Austrian government granted him citizenship and refuge, and he lived there for the rest of his life.

In his later years Rav Chaim was Rav of Sanz and head of its Bais Din. When he retired, his son Rav Aharon took over the position.

Once, when Rav Aharon was presiding over the Bais Din, he gave a ruling that displeased the litigant who lost. The man refused to accept it and demanded a reversal, insisting that he would not take no for an answer. Rav Aharon would not be swayed and declared the case closed.

Desperate, the litigant threatened that if the Rav would not reverse the ruling, he would report him to the authorities on a false charge that carried the risk of prison. Rav Aharon again refused, and the man carried out his threat. The authorities came promptly to Rav Aharon’s home, arrested him and put him in prison without any investigation.

His family and talmidim ran to his father, Rav Chaim, with the news, but to their astonishment he was calm and unconcerned. “If my son were sitting in jail because of some crime or lapse of his own, that would surely trouble me,” he told them. “But he was put there because he gave an honest and fair judgment that upheld the sanctity of the Torah. It should only be so.”

When the family saw they were getting nowhere, they went to Rav Chaim’s mechutan (the father of a child’s spouse), Rav Yehoshua of Belz, and asked him to speak to Rav Chaim and persuade him to use his influence to free his son. Rav Yehoshua agreed. He went to Rav Chaim and told him everything, from the case that came before the Bais Din to the sad outcome. He spoke of how hard it must be for a refined person like Rav Aharon to sit in a Hungarian jail, and of how much his family and the community needed him back. And, he added, there was a chilul Hashem, a desecration of Hashem’s name, in all of this.

At that, Rav Chaim blazed up and turned fully to Rav Yehoshua. “Do you really think that when a man is put in prison for upholding the holiness of the Torah by giving an honest and true judgment, that is a chilul Hashem? Would you call Yosef HaTzaddik’s time in Pharaoh’s prison a chilul Hashem? Were the twenty-two months that Rav Yisroel’tche spent in prison a chilul Hashem? No. Just the opposite. It was a kiddush Hashem. Yosef HaTzaddik and Rav Yisroel’tche both sanctified Hashem’s name to the highest heights. My dear mechutan, listen to me. Anyone who calls himself a Jew and is not attached body and soul to his Creator every hour of the day, that is a chilul Hashem.”

The Bitter Taste of Sin

Rav Chuna Halberstam of Kolshitz once related that on Hoshana Rabbah the Sanzer Rav used to tell the following parable, which he had received from his Rebbe, the holy Ropshitzer.

There was once a priest who often rebuked his parishioners and warned them against drinking vodka and other strong liquor. One day, passing through the marketplace, he saw one of his parishioners lying on the sidewalk in a drunken stupor. When the man’s head had cleared, he came to the priest to await punishment for his public disgrace.

The priest rebuked him to his face. “I am sorry,” said the parishioner, “but nothing can make me give up my drinking. I am hooked on it, and that is that.”

Hearing this, the priest asked one of his attendants to bring him some brandy so that he could taste it himself. “I must see why this drink is so addictive,” he thought. “It must be so delicious and tempting that he cannot give it up.” The attendant brought a glass of strong brandy. The priest took a sip and immediately spat it out, wrinkling his nose and coughing and gagging violently.

“This is revolting,” he declared. “How can you drink such a strong, bitter liquid?” Then he waved his hand. “You can go. You need no punishment at all. Drinking such horrible stuff is punishment enough.”

When the Sanzer Rav finished the story, he explained the parable. People sin because they think of the pleasure and enjoyment they will have. But anyone who had never tasted sin would taste in it the bitter and vile poison that it truly is. With this we can plead on behalf of Klal Yisroel and say: Ribbono Shel Olam, there is no need to punish the Yidden further for their sins. The bitter taste of sin is itself punishment enough.

The Divrei Chaim Casts His Bread Upon the Waters

The Divrei Chaim was approaching a busy train station in Vienna, surrounded by his chassidim, when he suddenly stopped. He said he could hear someone crying and asked his chassidim to find the source. One of them walked in the direction the Rav indicated and found a well-dressed young girl whose eyes were red from crying. It was clear she had been crying for a long time.

The chassid asked what was wrong. The girl, the daughter of a non-Jewish minister, said she had been going to travel home by train, but her money had been stolen and she was stranded. She had been sitting there crying for a long time, and no one had paid any attention. “What will I do now?” she said, beginning to cry again. “How will I get home?”

The chassid returned to Rav Chaim and told him why she was crying. At once the Rav took money from his pocket and said, “Go back to the girl with this money and tell her that Rabbiner Halberstam sent it.” The chassid did so, and the girl gratefully accepted the money and wiped away her tears.

Years later, a Sanzer chassid, Reb Shmuel, came to Rav Chaim in great distress. Reb Shmuel owned a thriving boot factory, and the Hungarian army was one of his customers. The army had recently ordered a large supply of boots for the coming winter. A jealous non-Jewish competitor took matters into his own hands and told the army general that Reb Shmuel’s boots were made of inferior materials and that he was a liar and a thief, like all Jews. The general readily accepted the false charges and informed the Hungarian government. Now Reb Shmuel faced serious charges and possible imprisonment.

Rav Chaim listened and said, “Do not worry at all. Go to the justice minister in Lemberg and tell him that Rabbiner Halberstam said you are not guilty and these accusations are false.”

Reb Shmuel traveled to Lemberg, but the justice minister was not in his office. Remembering Rav Chaim’s assurance, he went to the minister’s home. To his surprise, the minister invited him in right away and let him tell his story. Reb Shmuel ended with the words, “Rabbiner Halberstam told me to come to you and say in his name that I am not guilty and that these are false accusations.”

The minister said nothing, but his wife, who had been listening, turned to Reb Shmuel and asked with great interest, “Who told you to come here?” “Rabbiner Halberstam,” answered Reb Shmuel, surprised by her interest. “Rabbiner Halberstam of Sanz?” she asked excitedly. “Yes,” he said, now even more curious why this woman was so interested in his Rebbe.

She turned to her husband. “Do you know who that is? When I was a girl, I was stuck in the Vienna train station after all my money was stolen. I sat there crying for a whole hour, and not one person in that crowded station paid attention to me except that Rav, Rabbiner Halberstam. He heard me crying and gave me enough money to buy a ticket home. He is an angel of G-d, this Rabbiner Halberstam, and I will remember him as long as I live. If such an angel is supporting this man, he surely is not guilty.”

After Reb Shmuel was cleared of the charges, he went straight to Sanz and told Rav Chaim what had happened. Rav Chaim smiled and said, “This is what the verse means: ‘Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it.’ When you treat every person, created in the image of Hashem, as he deserves, you will only gain. And this is not only about important people.”

The Whitewash Before Pesach

A young man with severe tuberculosis was staying with a poor householder in Sanz. Before Pesach the householder wanted to whitewash his house, as he did every year. But the doctor had warned him that the young man, whose lungs were badly eaten away, had little time to live in any case, and the smell of the whitewash would hasten his end.

The landlord ran to the Divrei Chaim of Sanz and told him in anguished tones that he could not skip whitewashing for Pesach and so he saw no choice but to turn the sick young man out.

The Rebbe was shaken by the story. After a short pause he asked the man to wait a little while, until the illness passed, and then he would be able to whitewash his house without worry.

The doctor heard what the Rebbe had said and laughed scornfully. But after a few days he had to admit that the patient had improved, and soon after, the young man was found to be fully cured.

The Divrei Chaim waved aside the talk of miracles that was on everyone’s lips. But his grandson Rav Shlomo, the future Bobover Rebbe, went after the doctor and asked, “Nu, what do you have to say now?”

“It seems I was mistaken when I said his lungs were eaten away and had fallen apart,” the doctor replied.

“Why not admit instead that you were wrong to mock the words of my grandfather, the Rebbe of Sanz?” the Bobover pressed.

“If your grandfather can create new lungs, why doesn’t he make the blind see and the mute speak?” the doctor shot back.

“If my grandfather gave sight to the blind, you would have no choice but to repent,” said the Bobover. “But Hashem wants man to have free choice and to choose the good of his own will. That is why a tzaddik performs only the kind of miracle that lets the doctor say, ‘I was mistaken in my diagnosis.’”

Are You Holier Than a Neshamah?

The Sanzer Rav, the Divrei Chaim, once asked a guest who had come to spend an uplifting Shabbos in Sanz where he was staying and what he was eating. “Is that what I came to Sanz for?” the chassid retorted in disbelief. “To sleep, eat and drink?”

The Divrei Chaim replied, “Are you any better than the neshamah? Do you think you are greater than your soul? The soul comes down to this world for one purpose only, to serve her Creator. And still, if she is not given the food, drink and sleep she needs to live, she will leave the body and go.”

How Can They Sleep at Night?

The Divrei Chaim was famous for his charity. He gave away thousands for tzedakah, and he could not sleep if any money was left in his home.

When he first heard of safes that people kept in their homes to protect their money from thieves, he asked his family, “Can’t the thieves steal the keys to the safe?” His family explained that people slept with the keys under their pillows. The Divrei Chaim cried out in disbelief, “How can a person sleep at night if he has not already given out all his money for tzedakah?”

What If She Had Been Your Wife?

The Sanzer Rav’s gabbai, Moshe Yehoshua, stood at the Rav’s doorway looking in with wonder. Since when did the Divrei Chaim sit and learn without his housecoat? “Where is the Rav’s chalatel?” the gabbai asked.

The Divrei Chaim patiently explained that a poor widow had just come to ask for a donation. “What should I have done?” he said. “I had no money left, so I gave her my chalatel to pawn for some cash.”

“But Rebbe,” the gabbai persisted, “why did you have to give your own chalatel off your back?”

“You would not ask me that,” the Divrei Chaim answered sternly, “if that poor widow had been your wife.”

The Sanzer Rav’s Son

When the time came for the Divrei Chaim’s son, Rav Boruch of Gorlice, to marry off one of his daughters, he asked his father for money. The Sanzer Rav replied, “At this time I have none.”

A few days later some wealthy Jews visited the Divrei Chaim and left a sizeable donation. Rav Boruch was overjoyed. Surely now, since he had already asked, he would receive the funds he needed for his daughter’s wedding. But it was not to be. As soon as the visitors left, the Sanzer Rav sent for a local pauper and gave him all the money he had just received, so that he could marry off his own daughters.

When Rav Boruch came in and again asked for money for his daughter’s chasuna, the Divrei Chaim explained, “I have already given it all to a poor Jew to marry off his daughters.”

Hearing this, Rav Boruch burst into bitter tears of disappointment. “Why am I any worse than he is?” he cried. “Don’t I also need money to marry off my daughter?”

The holy Sanzer Rav explained how he saw it. “You are my son. You can go to any town or city, and people will recognize you and give you money to help marry off your daughter, simply because you are the son of the Sanzer Rav. But this poor Jew has no one. If I do not give him this money, who will?”

Who Needs Seforim?

A pauper once came to the Divrei Chaim and said he had to marry off his daughter but lacked the money. The Divrei Chaim did not hesitate. “Look, I have no cash left,” he said, “but I have a house full of seforim. Surely you can sell them or pawn them for what you need. I have no real need of seforim when I can learn in the beis medrash.”

The pauper did not need to be told twice, and he did not wait for the Sanzer Rav to change his mind. He quickly hired a wagon and loaded the Divrei Chaim’s entire library onto it. He drove the cartload of seforim into town, sold them all for a large sum, and married off his daughter.

From then on the Sanzer Rav simply went to the beis medrash to learn. “Who needs seforim when there are plenty in the beis medrash?” he explained to his astonished gabbai and family.

Sukkah Decorations

The Bobover Rav once told how, on Erev Sukkos, the Divrei Chaim explained to them that there is an especially great mitzvah of tzedakah on Erev Sukkos, and that tzedakah is the most beautiful decoration a sukkah can have. The ushpiz (heavenly guest) of the first night is Avrohom Avinu, whose attribute is chesed, and so we give extra tzedakah in order to merit having Avrohom, the pillar of chesed, as a guest in our sukkah.

The Bobover went on to say that on that Erev Sukkos the Divrei Chaim had already given away all his money. Yet the Sanzer Rav felt he had not yet fulfilled the mitzvah of tzedakah to its full extent. What did he do? He noticed all the esrog merchants packing up to go home, went to them and begged them to lend him their money. “Surely you have money from selling esrogim,” he said. “Lend me some for Noy Sukkah, for decorations to light up my sukkah.” They did, and the Sanzer Rav immediately set about buying the most exquisite sukkah decorations he could think of, by distributing all that money to the poor as tzedakah.

The Re’em’s Feathers

The chassidim in Sanz were once sitting around the table telling stories of tzaddikim when the Divrei Chaim himself came in and said to them, “There is a bird called the re’em whose feet are covered in ugly boils. This embarrasses him so much that he hates his life and feels like ending it. But the Creator gave him a gift, a wondrous, beautiful plumage covering the whole upper half of his body. When he sees his own dazzling feathers, he is comforted and filled with simchah.

“So it is with the body of Klal Yisroel. When we look at ourselves and see how low and unworthy we are, we are filled with sadness and despair. But when we look at the holy tzaddikim and Gedolim, we find comfort and are filled with joy.”

The Bird at the Cage Door

Another time, the chassidim in Sanz sat discussing Chassidus well into the night, past chatzos. The Divrei Chaim himself came in and remarked, “When hunters catch a bird and put her in a cage, she goes up to the bars and to the locked door. She pecks at it again and again, coming back over and over. All her earlier efforts were in vain, yet she does not give up. Maybe this time she will succeed.

“So too with chassidim. They try every kind of trick and strategy to overcome the yetzer hara and free themselves from his grip, and they never give up. Even when it feels as if they have already tried and failed, they try again and again, until they escape his clutches and run free from darkness into light.”

Time Left for Yiras Shomayim

The Divrei Chaim used to say that the Rambam’s heart burned with a devotional fire for Hashem, and that he was always aware of how a Jew should behave. The Rambam saw that most people would never have time to set aside for learning how to acquire yiras shomayim, since first they would have to study the whole Torah. Understanding this difficulty, he set out to write his fourteen-volume masterwork, the Mishneh Torah, also known as Yad HaChazakah. He wrote it so that halacha could be learned in a straightforward way. With a sefer from which to learn more easily how to act, people would now have time left to study how to acquire yiras shomayim and dveykus.

Attributed to the Divrei Chaim of Sanz