When I moved to Brookline, Massachusetts, in the late 1960s, Rav Levi
Yitzchok Horowitz, better known as the Bostoner Rebbe of Boston,* had a shtiebel-type shul on Beacon Street, right near the
border of Brookline (which is a separate municipality) and the Brighton
neighborhood of the city of Boston. At that time, the Rebbe himself no longer lived in the shul building but in an adjacent house, but the building still
contained the room where the Rebbe
held his seudos (today they would be called tishin), had his sukkah, baked matza (using a firewood
oven in the basement), and had numerous hachnasas orchim rooms upstairs.
The shul part of the building
on the main floor still had all the appearances of a somewhat converted house.
The Rebbe
himself was the attraction of the shul.
There was no community to speak of at that stage. The shul had a few gabbayim to make sure that the daily minyan
was somewhat organized. There wasn’t much of what we would call an
organization. All of that would happen later.
The Rebbe
was an incredibly warm and caring individual. And he was also very, very
astute. He understood people, understood what they were concerned about and
afraid of, where they needed their confidence bolstered, when and how you could
push them to accomplish more, and when (and for whom) it was best to say
nothing. He was very accepting of who you were and what you were doing. It was
never his role to judge, to indoctrinate or to demand. And it made no
difference whether you were looking for a chasidishe approach to Yiddishkeit, were a stubborn baal
habayis, or a classic misnageid. He was there to help and share with
you his vast understanding and erudition.
And he was extremely honest in his evaluations. He
never whitewashed a situation to pretend that a problem did not exist. On the
contrary, he amplified it. He made sure that you knew full well what you were
up against. He was not going to convince you that everything would be easy and
rosy. He explained to you what problems you were going to face and told you how
to navigate around them. And he gave you very straight answers – answers that
were built on the love he had for everyone.
Although the shul
was officially a rebbe’s shtiebel,
the “chasidus,” as such, was hardly existent. There was a hodgepodge of
various frum baalei batim with a wide range of minhagim, personal
observance levels, dress styles, and Torah knowledge. Some were Holocaust survivors
from Europe; most were American. Some were professionals, some were manual
laborers. There was also a handful of students (most of them graduate students
at Harvard or MIT) who enjoyed the Rebbe.
This latter group probably became the most famous of the Rebbe’s later chasidim.
At this time, aside from the Rebbe,
I do not remember a single shtreimel – but perhaps there was one or two.
Later, the Rebbe’s
various chesed projects would grow into different
organizations. Perhaps the best known was a large medical referral service (now
called ROFEH), but at this time, that “organization” was the Rebbe, his persona, and his contacts.
Because of the incredible warmth and caring that he exhibited for everyone,
when the Rebbe asked a
physician he knew for a favor, the doctor was hard pressed to turn him down.
This would be in the rare instance that he would want to turn the Rebbe
down. By the nature of who was calling (and the Rebbe always found the time to take care of everything himself –
no one to this day knows how), these doctors were all eager to help –
regardless of whether they professed any religious beliefs or interest in
Judaism, and regardless of their ethnic origin.
We might say that the Rebbe was charismatic – but most charismatic people I have met
are artificial. Although charisma can create a vast following – think of
Napoleon – charisma is largely self-interest, whose purpose is to create power
for its possessor. The Rebbe
had no interest in himself on any level. His single job was to serve Hashem,
and his interest in loving people and helping them was one manifestation of
this. When he called to ask for assistance in any matter, it was clear to
whomever he called that he was offering them the opportunity to help someone. And
it was clear that he had no other motivation: no vested interest and no
personal agenda. This came across so clearly that it was virtually axiomatic
that they would help the Rebbe
– meaning they would help the person on whose behalf the Rebbe had called.
With time, the Rebbe’s
programs, communities, and shuls
expanded. They now included large communities on both sides of the Atlantic,
numerous organizations, shuls,
activities, and programs.
Once, when we still lived in Baltimore, my wife and I
were visiting Israel when a personal matter needed immediate attention. Someone
aware of our predicament recommended we go discuss the matter with the Rebbe. I was not aware that the Rebbe was in Eretz Yisrael at the time, nor did I have the slightest idea how
one could possibly gain an audience with him. I knew that innumerable
individuals clamored for a few seconds of the Rebbe’s precious time and that the Rebbe was no youngster anymore. My friend arranged that my wife
and I could go talk to the Rebbe
together. Yes, you read that correctly: An admor who sat on both moatzos
gedolei Hatorah of Agudas Yisrael – the American one, which
predominantly reflects the Litvishe yeshiva world, and the one in Eretz Yisrael, which is exclusively Rebbes of very large chasidiyus
– was willing and available to meet with a married couple of American Litvaks
who happened to be visiting and represented no political group and were not
noted askanim in anything.
The Rebbe
met with us, gave us all the time in the world to hear us out, and explained to
us how to deal with the issue involved, and why it was nothing that we should
be shaken up over or afraid of. He did not whitewash any problems, but
explained, presented, and encouraged. For this I will always be grateful. Yehi
zichro baruch.
* His brother was the Bostoner
Rebbe of New York.
