Women and Matzah

One Erev Pesach, the wife of Reb Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, Apter Rebbe and author of Ohev Yisrael (the lover of fellow Jews), was busy in the kitchen taking care of last minute preparations for the impending seder. She was bustling and in the midst of great activity when she heard a knock at the door. Too engrossed in her work, she let someone else in the house welcome the visitor. Two town collectors of tzedakah (charity) were at the door, asking if there was any small change or Pesach goods in the house so that they can buy and distribute matzah and wine to the poor who had not yet been taken care of for the Yom Tov. Having no money on herself, and with the Rebbetzin astir in the kitchen, she spotted a few matzos tied up in a napkin on the table. She ran over, and handed them to the men.

When the Rebbetzin finally made her way from the kitchen into the dining room, she sensed that something was amiss. She surveyed the room, now aglow with Pesach utensils and wares. The room shined with a Yom Tov radiance, and the Rebbetzin contemplated the notion that she had gone to such measures in preparation for the Pesach holiday, that the shechina (divine presence) might even descend into the dining room itself, in this mikdash me'at (small sanctuary of the home), as if to validate her kavanah, namely, that everything was prepared leshaim shamayim (for the sake of heaven). Everything was perfectly prepared for the seder. Well, almost everything. The table was lacking. "The matzah!" she cried out. It was just that day that her husband had personally baked the matzos with the utmost, meticulous care and with the deepest of kavanahs (intentions) in order to fulfill the mitzvah of matzah with the utmost holiness. This was his shemura matzah for the seder (specially guarded matzos from the time that the wheat is cut). Shaken, she pondered the situation, and finally grabbed hold of herself. She reasoned that there was only one recourse. And that was to take three ordinary matzos, and tie them up into the same napkin that had been "guarding" the shemurah matzos.

Hours later, after the seder was complete, there was a knock at the door. A disgruntled man led his wife into the home of the Rebbe, and began to complain. Apparently, the man wanted a divorce, because his wife had refused to cook in separate utensils for Pesach without shruyah (today knows as gebrokhts. The extra pious do not want water to come in contact with the matzah even after it is baked, lest it get puffed or "cooked" and become chametz, leavened bread, which is forbidden on Pesach). The irate man argued that the Rebbe had to agree that this was grounds for divorce. The Apter Rebbe called his wife into the room. "What type of matzah was used for tonight's seder?" questioned the Rebbe. Too afraid to give over the truth and let her husband's anger flare, she stood paralyzed. "It's OK, said the Rebbe. Nothing will happen to you. Just tell me. What type of matzah was used for tonight's seder?" She began to tremble, but finally admitted that it was not shemurah matzah, but plain, ordinary matzah. And she told the entire story. The Rebbe turned his attention to the quarelling couple. "You see, I knew the whole time that it was not sheurah matzah that was being used for tonight's seder. But rather than get upset at my wife, and speak words that I might later regret, I sat in silence, and felt that I had fulfilled the mitzvah of matzah in its entirety. And I did this for the sake of shalom bayis (peace in the home). And now, you wanted to divorce your wife because she used gebrakhts!" The couple understood well, and after a few more minutes under the Rebbe's care, a peaceful reconciliation was forged.


Word had gotten out, and had reached Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, that the poor women in the matzah factories were being overworked, from early morning until late night, without even adequate break. Reb Levi Yitzchak got up in shul, and said the following, "for years we have suffered the crushing consequences of the blood libels thrown against us by the anti-semite gentiles. They accuse us of using Christian blood as the secret ingredient when we knead and bake our matzos. But I tell you today that it is not Christian blood that we use, but the blood of our own daughters of Israel, who are being overworked in our bakeries!"


The Rebbe Reb Elimelech was once asked what the biggest mitzvah of baking matzos was. He replied, "making sure that the almanos (widows) don't get yelled at in the bakeries."

Go'eil Yisrael Money (Shabbos Hagadol)

The Sadigura Rebbe had a minhag (custom) of telling the following story after bedikas chometz (the search for leavened bread before Passover). There was a poor Jew who lived on the outskirts of the city of Kolbanov. He ran an old, dilapidated tavern and inn, which had been on lease from the local squire. Business had always been slow and, month after month, year after year, he failed to make payments to the squire. The squire threatened the poor Jew repeatedly, but to no avail. He simply did not bring in enough money to pay his lease.

After months of the same old sob story from the Jew, the squire's anger began to rage. On the morning of shabbos hagadol (sabbath preceding Passover), he sent a band of Cossacks to rile up this Jew and his family, and to ransack his house and his belongings. The drunk mob threw the cholent pot through the window, overturned his table and chairs, and splashed the sewage bucket onto the poor man and his wife. The innkeeper was left wretched and miserable in his broken down home, and to make matters worse, there was no longer any cholent, their sole staple for shabbos, to eat.

Not knowing where to turn, the innkeeper rushed to the local shul, where he could hear, and perhaps gain consolation, from the shabbos hagadol drasha (sermon). The Rav of the town was Rav Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, later to become the Apter Rebbe. When the innkeeper arrived, Rav Heschel was in the midst of his grand drasha, as is the custom of shabbos hagadol. Those at the shul crowded around the Rav, basking in his profound and holy words. The innkeeper pushed his way into the crowded sanctuary, and found a tight spot in the back of the room. Standing at the back, he was unable to make out the Rav's exact words. But suddenly, the words came to life. And he heard the following: "In our tefillah (prayers) we find a beracha (blessing) that appears in two tenses. In the beracha following the shema and in the haggadah (prayer book for Passover) we find the words 'ga'al Yisrael - He who redeemed us' referring, of course, to G-d who redeemed us, but in the past tense. This beracha refers to the geulah (redemption) from our bondage in Egypt. But in the shemoneh esrei we say 'go'eil Yisrael - he who redeems us' in the present tense. This refers to the redemption that takes place from day to day. For example, if there is a poor Jew in some tiny village who can't afford to pay his lease, and the local squire sends his Cossacks to trash his house, and they overturn his tables and destroy everything in sight, then even this Jew will be redeemed from his state of misery and woe." The innkeeper was moved by these words, and ran onto the streets, singing, "go'eil Yisrael, go'eil Yisrael! The Rebbe said 'go'eil Yisrael!' He who 'redeems' Israel!"

The next day, the squire sent his gang yet again, this time expecting a payment. They found the Jew dancing and singing. Incredulous at the sight, they came to the conclusion that he buckled under the pressure of the financial burden, and went mad. Later that day, word came from the squire that he wanted to meet privately with the Jew. The Jew figured that he was in for a beating. On the way, he recalled the Rebbe's words, "He who 'redeems' Israel." He suddenly became confident, and there was a spring in his step. At the squire's residence he was questioned. "Tell me Moshele, why have you become such a happy-go-lucky? You live a pitiful existence, not able to eek out a penny to pay me or to survive yourself. Come here Moshele," said the squire reassuringly. "I'll give you a note with my seal to take down to the winery in town, and they'll give you wine on account for a certain sum. Sell the wine, and earn a little money. You'll then repeat the story over and over, and you will subsequently have enough money to both provide for your family and to pay off your debt to me."

The plan came off without a hitch. He bought and sold, and bought and sold, and soon had enough money all of the items required for the Pesach seder, and meat and fish and wine, as well. He was now able to pay off his debt to the squire. Before Pesach began, he tied together a bunch of coins into a cloth, and hurried over to the house of the Rav. He handed the gift to Rav Heschel, and exclaimed, "Rebbe, I've brought you some go'eil Yisrael money!"