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."

Sukkos Stories

dIt was the first morning of Sukkos in Lizhensk, and something was bothering Reb Elimelech. There was something in the air; something that just didn't seem right. He paused in the middle of hallel, and began to walk around the shul with his nose in the air, trying desperately to find the source of his disturbance. After davening he made his way, once again, around the shul, but before he walked out the door, his olfactory senses directed him to the esrog in the hand of the last man, in the last row, in the last seat. Reb Elimelech rushed over: "What is it about your esrog that emits the scent of Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden)?" he asked after taking in a long steady whiff. "Where did you acquire this esrog?" The man said that it was a long and not-so-exciting story, but if the Rebbe wished, he would tell it over.

"I live in Strelisk. I'm not a wealthy man, but I make a living. Every year before Sukkos I save money, even months in advance, so that I could buy a fancy and pleasing esrog. I save up 50 gulden, and make my way to Lemberg for the purchase. When I stopped this year at an inn on the way to Lemberg, I was woken in the night by screams and shouts outside of the inn. I made my way downstairs to see what the commotion was all about. Apparently, a ba'al agalah (wagon driver) needed to buy a new horse. His trusty horse had broken its leg, and the driver would lose his livelihood without a new horse by the next day. He begged the innkeeper to sell him a horse, which the innkeeper tried his best to do, but the price was way beyond the ba'al agalah's budget. The horse cost a total of 50 gulden. The driver begged the innkeeper to lower the price, but to no avail.

"And so I asked the innkeeper if he would give the driver the horse if I would pay him 45 gulden in cash. He agreed, and the ba'al agalah, astonished, thanked me profusely, and offered a free ride to any destination at any time.

"When I arrived in Lemberg I bought the best esrog I could find with only five gulden: Small and unattractive. When I got home, my wife and I agreed that we would be laughed out of Strelisk with such a tiny, ugly thing. And so we set out to Lizhensk to be in the company of the Rebbe, where we knew we would be accepted no matter how displeasing our esrog was."

"This is truly an amazing story," said Reb Elimelech. "Now I understand why the scent of Gan Eden has been wafting through the shul all through davening. You are really a lucky man, and you truly deserve this esrog. I'd like to hold it for a few minutes before you go home."


Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev was once so excited and so anxious about making the bracha (blessing) over the lulav and esrog on the first day of Sukkos, that he broke the glass esrog case because his hands were shaking so intensely. It was only after he made the bracha that he realized that his hand was bleeding.

The Rizhiner's youngest son, Reb Mordechai Feivish, would spend several hours concentrating on shaking the lulav and esrog. He shook so intensely at times that it looked as though he was going to faint. Once, he coughed up blood out of exhaustion, not realizing that he had stained his esrog with his blood. 

And this recalls the story of the second Skverer Rebbe, Reb Dovid, who while slicing a piece of bread, sliced into his finger, and did not take notice of it right away. When his wife saw blood dripping from the counter she ran for the doctor. While the doctor sat at the table stitching up Reb Dovid's hand, Reb Dovid sat immersed looking into a sefer. Such was his prishus (separation from earthly happenings).

And this, of course, recalls the story of the "Ezkara Gedolah" of the first Modzitzer Rebbe. Read Inspiration Under the Surgeon's knife by clicking "Modzitzer Rebbe" on the right side column.


A few days before Sukkos one year, the Chassam Sofer was interviewing two prospective students for his illustrious yeshiva in Pressburg. There was only one slot left open for the new zman (session). One turned out to be a young man of extraordinary learning, while the other turned out to be quite average. The Chasam Sofer's mind was made up. He accompanied the bachurim off the grounds of the yeshiva and, on their way out into the yard, they saw the sukkah being erected. One bochur, the talmid chochom, stepped onto the schach (bamboo used for the top of the sukkah) on the ground, and the other walked around the schach. Said the Chasam Sofer later, "for someone to trample on a mitzvah?" And now his mind was made up for sure.


According to Abudraham, the reason that the lulav is waved several times during davening is because it signifies a gesture of triumph. Just as kings wave their flags over territories they have won from their enemies, so too do we wave the lulav to proclaim victory over the accusers on Yom Kippur.

No Esrog in Berditchev

All of Berditchev was in a panic just before Sukkos, because there was no esrog to be found in the vicinity. Reb Levi Yitzchak had one last hope, and that was to send a few of his chassidim to the crossroads in the hope of finding a passer-by who owned an esrog for Yom Tov. And, indeed, the chassidim came across a Jew who was carrying a big, beautiful esrog, but he lived in a far-off town, and was in quite a hurry to return before the start of the holiday. The chassidim begged him to come into town, and when the man continually refused, they told him that he was summoned by Reb Levi Yitzchak himself to appear with his esrog in hand.

Reb Levi Yitzchak immediately entreated the man to spend the Yom Tov in Berditchev, so that the Rebbe himself, in addition to as many townsfolk as possible, could pronounce a bracha on the lulav and esrog. But the man had a wife and children waiting back home. He couldn't possibly have them spend Sukkos alone. Reb Levi Yitzchak offered him brachos for children and wealth, but he already had seven children, and he was a wealthy man. Finally, Reb Levi Yitzchak made him an offer: "If you stay in Berditchev for Sukkos, I can promise you part of my portion in the world to come." And at this the man agreed, and the people of Berditcheve were overjoyed.

Following this news, Reb Levi Yitzchak issued an unusual order saying that no townsman is allowed to receive this man into his sukkoh. The people were baffled, but, after all, this was an order from the Rebbe. Upon coming home from shul, the man entered his rented room, and found wine for kiddush, two challahs, candles, and a complete Yom Tov meal. He exited the house only to hear singing and general jubilation coming from his temporary landlords sukkah. When he entered, he was told that he was not allowed in. Dumbfounded by this decline, he took a walk around town, listening to and watching complete families exult in the simcha of the festival. But whenever he poked his head into a sukkah he was denied entry. Finally, he learned that this was by order of the Rebbe. "What is all of this? What have I done to deserve it?" he asked of Reb Levi Yitzchak. "If you will waive your claim to the promise I made to you earlier (to receive part of the Rebbe's portion in the world to come), then I will rescind my order, and you will then be allowed to enter the sukkah of your choice," said Reb Levi Yitzchak.

"What to do now?" wondered the man. It was a choice between receiving a portion of the Rebbe's lot in the world to come vs. fulfilling the mitvah of eating in the sukkah this year. The sukkah had won out. "All my life I've been sitting and eating in the sukkah each year, and now, this year, would I simply eat like a goy, indoors?" The two shook hands. The promise of the Rebbe was taken back, and the man found a nice family with a nice sukkah for the evening meal.

As Sukkos came to an end, Reb Levi Yitzchak called for the man. "I hereby return my promise to you," said the Rebbe. "Naturally, I wanted you to have part of my portion in the world to come. But I didn't want you to gain your extra portion in the world to come cheaply through a small matter of bargaining. I wanted you to earn it, through your deeds. And so that is why I put you through the test with the matter of the sukkah. And now, since you've withstood the test, and demonstrated the self-sacrifice of mesirus nefesh so that you could fulfill that mitzvah, now you really do deserve a portion of my lot in the world to come."

More to come...

Reb Elimelech, Reb Zusya and Teshuva

A story of teshuva (repentance) for Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), which may be a little bit difficult to interpret.

It was the custom in Berditchev that when someone in the town passed away, his tefillin would go to the chevra kaddisha (burial society), which would then sell off the tefillin to raise funds. Reb Levi Yitchak once visited the chevra kaddisha looking to purchase a new pair of tefillin. He looked over the many pairs, and finally picked one out. The head of the chevra kaddisha, with eyes opened wide, said, "surely Reb Levi Yitzchak is not looking to buy an ordinary, used pair of tefillin! Why this particular pair? There has to be a very good reason for this." Reb Levi Yitzchak stood in silence. After further cajoling, he decided to tell him why, in fact, he chose this particular pair of tefillin to buy.

"As is well known," said Reb Levi Yitzchak, "the brothers Reb Elimelech of Lizhensk and Reb Zusya of Hanipoli would travel the countryside in order to make ba'alei teshuva (returnees to Judaism). While spending the night with a host, it was their custom to play a little game. But this was no ordinary game, but rather a holy game. It had the intention of awakening a fire in dormant souls. One would play Rebbe, while the other would play a Jew coming to him to confess an imagined sin, and he would then take upon himself a penance proscribed by the Rebbe. The host would hear the wail of the sinner, and come to the realization that he too had committed that selfsame transgression, whereby he would come to seek repentance for his sin.

"On this particular occasion, Reb Elimelech played Rebbe. Reb Zusya cried out, 'I must confess! I have gone my entire life without checking my tefillin. I finally went to a sofer (scribe), and discovered that there were no scrolls inside the tefillin whatsoever!' The host, listening by the door, began to tremble. He himself had gone his entire life without getting his tefillin checked. When Reb Elimelech explained to his brother what a serious offense this was, their host swung open the door, and cried out, 'I too am guilty of the same offense!' He ran to fetch his tefillin, and brought them in to the brothers. Reb Elimelech opened them up, only to discover that there were no scrolls inside. Upon the sight of two empty casings, their host cried out, once again. 'Please Rebbe, tell me what to do to repent for this sin!' Reb Elimelech now told his brother to take out a pen, ink, and parchment, and write out a set of scrolls for their host. 'And as you write, make it your solemn objective to draw down into their words the kind of radiance from above that will be of the intensity appropriate to a man who has never fulfilled the mitzvah of tefillin his entire life.' The intensity of this awesome light ended up being so potent and forceful that it was too much for the man to bear. Soon after he received the new parchments he moved to Berditchev, and died shortly thereafter.

"And these are the tefillin that have made their way into the hands of the chevra kaddisha of our city," concluded Reb Levi Yitzchak.


So besides for the awesome connection above that Reb Levi Yitzchok had forged, in this case manifesting itself through his detecting the tefillin in Berditchev with the intense radiance emanating therefrom, and besides for Reb Elimelech's and Reb Zusya's connection and deep insight into their hosts' lives in the countryside, what else is this story telling us? Is it that Reb Zusya's power in bringing down the light or his any other act wrapped in holiness for that matter, was beyond the power that any human could endure? Surely there are other stories of Reb Zusya making ba'alei teshuva that endured. Could it be that there is actually no recourse and no teshuva suitable for the sin of not donning tefillin for the majority of one's life? That's very frightening if that is the case.



Speaking of secondhand items, there is the story of a tzaddik who spent the night at an inn. In the morning he came down to the innkeeper, and remarked, "there was something about the clock in my room last night. My entire life, when I hear a clock strike the hour, I think that I have one less hour to live. But upon hearing that clock strike the hour I continually thought that I am one hour closer to the coming of Meshiach. What is it about that clock?? I must have it." The innkeeper decided to sell it to him, but the clock came with a story. "It had actually belonged to the Chozeh of Lublin. Somewhere down the line, his grandchildren fell into debt, and sold it to me. It has been hanging in that room ever since."

Cryptic words of the Maggid

For the Yahretzeit of the Maggid of Mezeritch, yud tes Kislev, a most unusual story.

It was shabbos, and disciples of the Maggid sat around the table, while followers stood forming a small crowd to the end of the room. It was leil shabbos, and the Maggid was giving over words of Torah. When he completed his thoughts he paused. He then stated, "if there is anyone here in the this room who could give over lashon harah (evil speech, gossip) about Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, I could promise him a cheilek in olam habah (a share in the world to come)." The room was completely silent, presumably out of astonishment and shock. Nobody budged. The Maggid stated one more time, "if there is someone here who could give over a good piece of lashon harah about Rebe Levi Yitzchak, come forward. I could promise him a cheilek in olam habah." There was no response. People didn't know what to make of his words, but some suspected that he was talking in code. The third time he asked there was a bit of a rumble toward the back of the room. A young man in his 30's, a man who had recently become successful in business, had stood up. As he took a step forward the chassidim grabbed hold of him. "No," they said. "You don't understand what he's saying. He's not talking on a level that you and I can understand. He doesn't really mean what he's saying." And so the man sat back down.

During the shabbos day meal the Maggid, once again, gave over his statement to those assembled in the room. He asked three times, as he did the night before, but not a sound was to be heard in the room. During shalous sheudis (the third meal), after he had finished speaking Torah, he stated in a particularly heavy tone, "if there is anyone here who could give me a good, juicy bit of lashon harah against Reb Levi Yitzchok of Berditchev, I could promise him a cheilek in olam habah." Upon his third utterance the young man stood in the back of the room stood up, and there was no stopping him this time. He had been holding back all of shabbos, but not any longer. He walked toward the Maggid, looked down at him, and could barely contain himself. "I have a piece of lashon harah against Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev," he said. "It happened last week. I was in Berditchev on business, and I thought I would pay a visit to this man that everyone says is a great tzaddik (righteous person). I asked around one morning, and people directed me toward his shul. As I was about to open the door of the shul Reb Levi Yitzchak threw the door open from the inside and, garbed in tallis and tefillin, and a crazed look in his eye, he said to me, 'WHAT WOULD GAVRIEL SAY? WHAT WOULD MICHAEL SAY?' Then he charged back into the shul. Could you believe this?" said the young man. "Reb Levi Yitzchak talks in the middle of davening!!! Even worse, he leaves the shul, and says crazy things!" The Maggid looked into the young man's eyes deeply, and said, "you have made a very, very grave mistake my friend. You may not know it, but Reb Levi Yitzchak is the advocate in shamayim (heaven) for all Yidden! When a Jew's case comes to the court above Reb Levi Yitzchak stands against the prosecuting angels, and picks out the merits of that particular Jew that will save him from punishment, or even worse, gehinom. When you were in Berditchev last week you were staying at an inn. On the morning that you had gone to meet Reb Levi Yitzchak you had breakfast at the inn, and as you were leaving the dining room you noticed a silver spoon lying on a table. As you walked by the table you discreetly put the spoon into your pocket. When you reached Reb Leve Yitzchak's shul he was exactly at the point of his davening when he intercedes on behalf of klal Yisroel (the Jewish nation). When they got to your case in shamayim Reb Levi Yitzchak, for the first time in his life, had no defense! He couldn't think of a single word to say on your behalf. You live comfortably, you've done well in business. You didn't need that spoon! But you took it. And as you approached he asked you what the malachim (angels) Gavriel and Michael would say about this completely unnecessary act of thievery. Now," said the Maggid, "you are to go immediately back to Reb Levi Yitzchak in Berditchev, and tell him all that has transpired here this shabbos. You will then ask his forgiveness for speaking lashon harah about him, and you will accept upon yourself whatever teshuva (repentance) he puts upon you for speaking the lashon hara and stealing the spoon.

The young man set out for Berditchev the next day, and the story goes that the extensive process of teshuva which Reb Levi Yitzchak designed for the young man, replete with renewed passion for Torah and for mitzvos, was of the type to assure him a place in the world to come.