Elegy for the Departed Tzadik

Introduction

The following poem was composed, annotated, and published by Eliezer Tzvi Zweifel (1815-1888) as a tribute to Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn of Lubavitch soon after his passing on the 13th of Nissan, 1866.

Rabbi Menachem Mendel, known as the Tzemach Tzedek, was raised by his grandfather, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, who was the first rebbe of the Chabad stream of Chassidism. Eventually, in 1829, he reluctantly agreed to become Chabad’s third Rebbe. By this time, his reputation as an immense scholar of the classical rabbinic canon was very well established, and he was widely esteemed for his piety and virtue. Over the course of the next three decades he would become famous for his leadership in Jewish communal affairs, his authoritative Jewish legal responsa, and for innovatively developing Chabad philosophy through illuminating contextualization and synthesis.1

The Tzemach Tzedek was the preeminent Chassidic leader in the Russian Empire when the Haskalah began making inroads from the West. Chassidism stood for fervent religious renaissance, while the Haskalah pressed for processes of acculturation and rationalization that would weaken the spiritual and halachic dimensions of traditional Jewish life.2 In 1843, when called to St. Petersburg by the Tsar’s Minister of National Enlightenment, the Tzemach Tzedek famously resisted the pressure to endorse reforms, fighting instead for the preservation of traditional models of Jewish education and community.3

Eliezer Tzvi Zweifel, by contrast, has been described as a “moderate maskil,” and in 1847 took up the post of Talmud instructor at the flagship Haskalah institution, the Zhitomir Rabbinical Seminary. By the time he wrote this elegy, he was well known for his eclectic essays and books on education, ethics, linguistics, Jewish literature and Jewish history.4

Zweifel’s elegy for the Tzemach Tzedek was discovered through the intrepid research of my brother and colleague, Mordechai Rubin, and I am grateful to him for bringing it to my notice and allowing me to share it with the wider public.5 Below you will find the original Hebrew poem alongside my attempt to replicate it in English. Following that is my translation of the notations published by Zweifel as a sort of commentary to his poem, including a fascinating account of his own personal encounter and conversation with the Tzemach Tzedek. (Unfortunately, however, Zweiful seems somewhat more eager to share what he said to the Tzemach Tzedek than what the Tzemach Tzedek said to him.)

In the original Hebrew, the poem consists of two parts. The first contains eight stanzas, each of which is composed of six lines in an AACBBC rhyming sequence. Most of the lines have only six words each. In the second part, the lines are half as long, and are composed as straightforward rhyming couplets. This part has three stanzas, the first and last contain four lines each, while the middle stanza contains twelve lines.

In addition to his detailed account of a personal dialogue between the Tzemach Tzedek and himself, Zweifel’s annotations are of particular interest for at least two reasons:

First, they provide near contemporaneous corroboration for various details concerning the Tzemach Tzedek’s life and activities, which till recently were only known by tradition and one or two documentary sources. One example is his active encouragement of agricultural work as an ideal path for Jews to combine physical labor with spiritual faith. Another is his ennoblement as a Hereditary Honored Citizen by the Tsarist government, a title passed on in perpetuity to his descendents.6

Second, these annotations provide a unique window into a specific permutation of the great ideological clash between the Chassidic Movement and the Haskalah Movement. In his annotations, Zweifel’s moderation comes through very clearly.

He presents the Tzemach Tzedek as more nuanced and sophisticated than more strident maskilim would ever have wanted to admit. Indeed, he goes so far as to claim that the Tzemach Tzedek gave him a verbal endorsement of the works of Naftali Hirtz Vizel (Wessley, 1725-1805), who hailed from Western Europe and was a sometime colleague of Moses Mendelson. This claim is not completely preposterous, but given the context it would be prudent not to give it too much weight. Zweifel also takes the side of the Chassidim in their approach to prayer, offering a lengthy and elaborate parable to illustrate the hypocrisy of reformers who excel in ceremonial displays of respect to the Torah, while ignoring the Torah’s precepts in their personal lives.

A later annotation informs readers that Zweifel will soon publish a tract titled Shalom Al Yisroel, which he ultimately published in several installments between 1868 and 1873. This tract defended Chassidism and called for peace in the place of quarrelsome factionalism, thus inciting the wrath of the maskilim against Zweifel himself. This trajectory is heralded in the very first annotation to the elegy below, where Zweifel seeks to fend off the mockers who will attack him for waxing poetic over the memory of a Chassidic tzaddik.

We also find a tantalizing clue that might go some way towards explaining Zweifel’s growing disenchantment with Haskalah during the 20-year period he spent in Zhitomir. Of course, this has something to do with his position at the Rabbinical Seminary, which would have given him direct insight into the caliber of the “modern” rabbis it was producing. But it might also have something to do with his personal relationship with Zhitomer’s Chassidic rabbi, who he refers to with the endearing term of friendship “yedidi.”

Rabbi Mordechai Shneur Zalman Schneersohn of Zhitomir (1840-1866) was the Tzemach Tzedek’s grandson, and on his mother’s side he was a descendent of the Chernobyl dynasty of tzadikim.7 While one might assume that a Chassidic rabbi such as he would never have anything to do with a teacher at the foremost academic institution of the Russian Haskalah movement, Zweiful testifies that Rabbi Mordechai Zalman showed him “many halachic responsa authored by his grandfather … and they are soon to be published.”

Above all, however, this elegy stands as a powerful testament to the Tzemach Tzedek’s towering stature as a scholar and saint, who led all the Jews of the Russian Empire with grace, sagacity—and humor. As Zweifel tells us in the poem’s concluding lines, his virtues were such that he inspired everyone who saw him to strive to raise themselves from the aimlessness that so often seems to overtake our lives:

When aimless living I abate
May it be he who I emulate

***

The Tzadik Has Departed

Lamentations, dirges, and woes over the death of the lofty and exalted man, a counselor greatly admired, doyen of the revealed Torah and doyen of the concealed Torah, saintly in life and sacred in death, master of all the Chabad Chassidim, the famous genius, the divine kabbalist, his honored holiness, our mentor and teacher, Rabbi Menachem Mendel—the tzadik’s name is mentioned for blessing—of Lubavitch. ^I)

Footnotes

I) I know, and I hear, what will be whispered about me by the whisperers, and what satirical songs the mockers will send my way. “Look,” they will exclaim, “isn’t this fellow colorful? First he asks us to shed tears upon the death of Shadal (Samuel David Luzzatto, 1800-1865). Then, when we come to the death of the rabbi of the Chabad faithful, his eyes well up again! For him the book and the sword are bound up in a single cloth …” I know that a single band of mockers can bring an entire world to ruin. But the world that is ruined is immediately resurrected and automatically rebuilt. The mockery dissipates like a dream, it disappears like an ethereal shadow, whereas that which is substantive remains upright, it endures for many generations.

Everyone admits that this individual, whose elegy I write, achieved greatness in Torah and worship, that he attained sanctity through piety and asceticism. This great master merited to conduct even the most mundane aspects of his life with the purity of the holy of holies. For this great master, the axis of all his actions and the center of all his thoughts was to divest himself of materiality and vest himself in spirituality. This great master was extremely careful not to waste a single moment of his lifespan on vacuousness or idleness; he dedicated all his activities and all his thoughts to advancing the cause of Heaven.

Is it not fitting for one who merited to acquaint himself with this great master, and who merited to observe an iota of his holy conduct, to momentarily forget the specific issues that divide the Chassidim and their opponents, and divide the maskilim from both of the above, and instead stand up and publicly announce the great loss suffered by the holy nation with the death of this holy man?

In my heart I have seen the world of Haskalah ruined and rebuilt and ruined, or rebuilt and ruined and rebuilt. And so I have learned to judge things not according to what should happen, but according to what must happen. I have also learned to err all the more on the side of finding merit in all people, and have recognized many distant influences that have great effect through means that are hidden from the eyes of many.

Man’s intellect is clear, yet people make it murky. Some do so with the smoke of bitter leaves, others through inebriating beverages, some with dice and card games, others through their love of mockery and triumphalism, some with degenerate beliefs and vanities, others through forgetting the fundamentals and embracing heresy, and so on with similar habits and activities. Ultimately everyone makes mistakes, yet the mistake made by one cannot be compared to the mistake made by another, and the world is judged in accord with majority and in accord with what is most achieved in practice. These points are as ancient as they are profound.

II) The additional annotations to this elegy will be published in the following issue, because they are many and they are long, and we were hence unable to print them here, in their proper place.

II) I was immature then and had the audacity to speak assertively before this distinguished personage, entering into what I thought was a sharp argument against the fact that Chassidim zealously forbid the study of all the books by wise Jewish philosophers and ethical masters—to the point that they even belittle those who study Sefer Hayashar by Rabbeinu Tam [Rabbi Yaakov ben Meir, 1100-1171] or Shaarei Teshuvah by Rabbeinu Yonah [Rabbi Yona ben Avrohom Gerondi, 1200-1263] and the like—as if every measure of Jewish wisdom was gifted only in those few books that were authored by the Kabbalists of later generations. I wanted to ascertain whether it is indeed the holy inclination of our master, that is spoken from the throats of the Chabad faithful in this matter, or whether they adjudicate this issue independently as they see it from their own perspectives.

Said the Rabbi to me: All the books of these philosophers are holy books, and it is forbidden to doubt their piety. Anyone who belittles them will ultimately be called to give a moral accounting. Yet the advice I give to anyone who seeks my opinion is to draw back their hand from philosophy and instead to toil (after first studying a great deal of the Talmud and Halachic codes, which is the first and foremost field of learning for all who study in holiness) in the books of the scholars of truth [i.e. the Kabbalists], for the path of Kabbalah is better secured against harmful elements, and against any concern of danger, than is the path of philosophy. This is because Kabbalah absorbed the cream of philosophy and ejected the dregs, and ate its fruit while discarding its peel.

Said I to him: According to what you say, even the book Menorat Hamaor [a popular work by the 14th-century kabbalist Rabbi Yitzchok Abuhav] might harm those who read it properly.

As if surprised, the Rabbi looked at me and said: I have no idea what you mean to ask; what’s the connection between Menorat Hamaor and philosophy?

I responded in a subdued voice: Anyone who reads this book with careful attention sees and knows that Rabbi Yitzchok Abuhav belonged to the philosopher’s camp, following in the footsteps of Rabbi Avrohom ibn Ezra and Maimonides, of blessed memory.

“Yes,” he replied, “but I say to you that it is better to study the books Reishit Chochmah [a pietistic work by Rabbi Eliyahu de Vidas, 1518-1587, which draws deeply on the Zohar] and Sefer Chareidim [by the Safadian kabbalist, Rabbi Elazar Azikri, 1533-1600] and Shaar Hakedushah by Rav Chaim Vital [the foremost disciple of the great Arizal, 1543-1620], and above all the book known as Tanya or Beinonim [by Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Laidi, the founder of Chabad].”

“I read that work,” said I, “and likewise Reishit Chochmah and the book Shelah [by Rabbi Yeshayahu Horowitz, d. 1630] and the book Avodat Hakodesh by the Gabbai [Rabbi Meir ibn Gabbai, 1480-1540], as well as most other kabbalistic works. Yet, in them I did not find satisfaction for my spirit as I did when I read the works of the Rashba [Rabbi Shlomo ben Avraham ibn Aderet, 1235-1310], the Ikrim [Rabbi Yosef Albo, 1380-1444], the Akedah [Rabbi Yitzchok ben Moshe Arama, 1420-1494], the Abarbanel [Rabbi Yitzchok ben Yehudah Abarbanel, 1437-1508], and the like. It’s as if my soul is unsuited to absorb anything other than such things that can be rationally assimilated.”

“But please tell me, my son,” said he, “what is the central intention and the ultimate end to which you use these books? If the purpose is simply for the sense of satisfaction in your heart alone, is it not as if you were merely learning the art of music or sitting and listening to pleasant melodies, produced by singers or instruments?”

This was a great question that the rabbi had put to me. I hesitated for a moment and considered it thoughtfully. Then I said to him: This axiom itself is not yet clear to me, and I need to investigate whether it is indeed true that any learning that is pleasurable should be abstained from, since it is forbidden to derive personal benefit from the Torah. If this were true, we would have to conclude that all the sharp and erudite scholars never experienced any pleasure or benefit in all that they studied and in all their scholarly novella, which is all but impossible. But let us suppose that when they experienced joy and pleasure, their pleasure was spiritual in nature and their joy was the joy of the mitzvah (such joy not only being permitted, but indeed being something we are enjoined upon). Nevertheless, for me there is indeed one particular purpose and intention in philosophy, and that is to use it to understand various statements of the Talmudic sages in many of their bewildering and strange tales, and this is precisely the primary desire that motivates my study of the aforementioned books that comment on the Talmudic narratives.

Said the Rabbi: There is no explanation that is more true or more sufficient than the explanation of Rashi [Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, 1040-1105], of blessed memory.

“Is it not the case,” said I, “that Rashi merely explains the words and their meaning in the sentence, nothing more? And what more is to be gained from this commentary?”

“If there is nothing to be gained,” said the Rabbi, “at least it won’t cause harm.”

(If I had merited to know and understand at that time what I know and understand now, I would not have dismissed the master’s words so casually … )

This brought our discussion about reading extrinsic books to a close.

Afterwards I began to speak with him about a particular issue that related to my situation in life, and I told him that I can find no escape or refuge except by very distant means, because all the proximate paths are liable to be damaging.

The Rabbi laughed and said: If you already know everything yourself, why do you come to pose your question to me and to seek my advice? After you have already filled your belly with works of philosophy you come and seek my approbation, and after you have already decided to regard all the proximate paths as dangerous, and that you have no alternative but to follow a distant route, then you come to ask my advice as to what you should do.?

I, too, loosened my lips a little, and I said to him: Your sage honor, you are correct. But what should I do? Is this not the way of most people when they come to consult with others … ? They hope for what they hope, and what they desire to hear from the one who gives them counsel is what they have already determined and chosen in their own minds. This is because they have reason to be sure of themselves; being that this is something that is important to them and they are fluent in all the different facets of the issue, the pros and the cons, and they have considered and reconsidered which is the best and most correct path before them, in order to better distinguish it from all the other possibilities. Whereas one who hears the issue “on one foot” doesn’t have the ability to comprehensively grasp, all in one go, and in just a few moments, all that there is to consider about the issue. So there is certainly substance in whatever they already determined.

Afterwards he asked after the welfare of my erudite father, of blessed memory, for he knew of him by reputation. He asked me if I had also read the books of Naftali Hirtz Vizel [1725-1805], and he said that they exhibit awe of heaven, and with this I took my leave with peace and with blessing.

III) It is known that the Baal Shem Tov restored the crown of prayer to its former glory, as it was known by the earlier pietists; since prayer stands at the apex of the cosmos they would lengthily linger in anticipation of prayer and following prayer, and all the more so would they linger in prayer itself, with seriousness and with contemplation [Talmud, Berachot, 32b]. Thus prayer would never become routine, but would rather be supplication and elicitation of mercy before the Omnipresent one [Mishnah, Avot 2:13].

In later generations people treated prayer disrespectfully, and this disrespect carried on for a very long while. Even some of the great figures among the Jewish nation erred and supposed that the essence of prayer is simply to rise early, prior to sunrise, to lengthily enunciate the letter chet in the word echad [in the opening verse of the Shema], to buzz the zayin in the worditizkeru in the paragraph of tzitzit (and likewise the samech in chasdo), and also to correctly align the feet, place the hands, bend and bow, nod to the right and left when saying oseh shalom, and the paces to and fro following the Shema, as if it is these things that might truly impede prayer. The superficial dimensions of prayer were accepted as integral, the secondary as primary, until the Baal Shem Tov came.

The Baal Shem Tov introduced certain intentions and various secrets into prayer, and taught that one should bind oneself with the holiness of the letters etc. Ultimately, he returned prayer to its original state (essentially) and the intentions to their original potency (generally). After him, the holy and divine master, Rabbi DovBer of Mezritch, conducted himself in the same manner, as did all his disciples and the disciples of his disciples, especially the Chabad faithful, may G‑d preserve us from them.

In the wake of the Baal Shem Tov and his associates there were some philosophical scholars among the Jewish nation who [likewise] discerned the great violation that had been wrought to prayer, and they sought either to return to the old ways or to establish new measures and intentions that are truly good, illuminating, and desirable. That is, to arouse the attention through decorous music, both choral and instrumental, and through appointing a scholar to preach to the people sermonically, conquering the haughtiness of man, humbling, ennobling and exalting him to an elevated state, and doing several other new things to rectify what had deteriorated with the passage of time.

To what degree do these two divergent sorts of rectifications [of Chassidim and the maskilim, respectively] achieve their desired purpose? This will be determined by each wise and understanding person according to their own wisdom, understanding, and knowledge. But, so as not to let the beautiful pearl in my hand be wasted (and because I know how cherished the parables of the Dubno Maggid are to the ears of listeners), I shan’t withhold myself from relaying a wonderful parable concerning this that is passed from mouth to ear, and hopefully the readers will enjoy it.

[Translator’s note: The parable is rendered here in abridged form, rather than translated in full.]

Once the Maggid met a maskil from Germany who described to him the great decorum and carefully orchestrated pomp with which they honored the Torah scrolls in their synagogues, disfavorably contrasting this with the unceremonious manner in which the Torah is brought out to be read in Chassidic synagogues.

In response, the Maggid told a story about two sisters, one of whom, Bat-Sheva, married the rabbi who assumed their father’s pulpit in an East-European Shtetl. There, she was materially impoverished but led a happy life filled with love, faith, and family. The younger sister, Shifrah, traveled away to live with relatives in France, ultimately marrying a wealthy and acculturated Frenchman, such that “in the land of Poland no one would imagine him to be a Jew.” After ten years of marriage she is still childless and travels back to her hometown to pray at the graves of her saintly parents. When she arrives with her husband, the whole town watches in astonishment as the Jewish “lord” from France helps his wife down from their carriage, courteously giving her his arm and escorting her attentively into their lodgings. But when she is reconciled with her sister, who is now the Shtetl’s rebbetzin, Shifra reveals that her husband only treats her gallantly in public, as French society expects a husband to behave towards his wife. But in private he is cantankerous, chicanerous and spiteful.

Similarly, the Maggid concluded, we “old fashioned Jews” say to you, the decorous maskilim: “True, you are careful to bring out the Torah scroll and return it to the ark with great honor; those of great stature walk forward to greet the Torah and the singers welcome her with song and melody. But when we look closely at the way you treat her at home, which is the integral honor that the holy Torah demands of us, it seems as if everything you do is designed to provoke her and to deceive her …”

Let’s now return to the topic at hand: Prior to the Baal Shem Tov, the practice of prayer deteriorated and its pathways became corrupted. He, of blessed memory, arose and set prayer back on its pedestal. He would often say that the one who prays must bring the illumination of intentionality into each and every word (teivah) of the prayer liturgy, and this is hinted at in the verse, “make a luminary for the ark (teivah)” [Genesis 6:16]. Likewise, it is written “you and all your household shall enter into the ark (teivah)” [Genesis 7:1] (meaning that all the powers of your soul should be invested in the words of payer). Therefore I chose to accentuate and laud the prayers of the Rabbi, more than any of his other praiseworthy virtues, because prayer is the primary devotion in which the Chassidim excel and to which they dedicate their very lives.

IV) All who knew the Rabbi, and who observed him at prayer, know that there were moments during his prayer when all the limbs of his body would shudder mightily. In him was fulfilled the most literally meaning of the verse: “All my bones shall say, ‘G‑d, Who is like you?’” [Psalms 35:10]

V) The Rabbi greatly encouraged people to work the land with faith, and someone has already written a long and expansive article in the Hakarmel Journal [⁨⁨Year 2, No. 31, 14 February 1862, page 5] testifying to the tremendous alacrity of his Chassidic agriculturists. And I, too, truly testify that I saw a letter by the great rabbi and kabbalist, Rabbi DovBer of Lubavitch (the father-in-law of the rabbi and genius, Rabbi Mendel, who I write of here), who effusively lauded the merit of agricultural labor, happy are those who merit this. [Translator’s note: See here for more details on the Tzemach Tzedek’s agricultural project.]

VI) In the possession of the grandson of this rabbi and genius (my friend, the rabbi of Zihtomer, Rabbi Mordechai Zalman, of blessed memory), I saw many halachic responsa authored by his grandfather, in which he responded both succinctly and clearly to those who sought ruling and adjudication, and they are soon to be published.

[Translator’s note: The author is doubtless referring to Rabbi Mordechai Shneur Zalman Schneersohn (1840-1866). Tragically, he died at the young age of twenty-six, less than two weeks after the passing of his renowned grandfather, the Tzemach Tzedek. He was the oldest son of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn of Ovruch, and his younger sister, Shterna Sarah (1859-1942), would later marry the Rebbe Rashab and serve as the fifth rebbetzin of Chabad-Lubavitch. It is noteworthy that Zweifel, who taught Talmud in the leading maskilic institution, Zhitomer’s Rabbinical Seminary, refers to the town’s Chassidic rabbi with a term of endearment (yedidi harav).]

VII) It’s known that the tzadikim chart a path for those who knock upon their doors seeking expiation for the sins of youth [a euphemism for masturbation], and that they are more exacting in this than they are concerning other sins because the Zohar is very strict about this, close to the point of determining that it has no expiation.

VIII) This too stems from the doctrine of the Baal Shem Tov, who taught that whatever a person sees or hears, even mundane or insignificant matters, and even things that are not fit to be listened to, such as worthless chatter, should be raise up to their sacred root because there is nothing that is mere happenstance. And a word that issues from the mouth of anyone (whomsoever it might be) carries a particular intention from the Master of All Events, blessed be He, for He divines the precise minute and second that the speaker and the listener should come together, and therein is secreted some ethical instruction from above. And in the tract Shalom Al Yisroel, which I intend to publish soon, if G‑d so desires, these concepts will be explained with due elaboration. I trust that the readers aren’t too disappointed that they will be delayed and have to wait upon me, and that they won’t rush to take issue with these words.

IX) The Holy Rabbi, of sainted and blessed memory, merited what was not merited by any other of the tzadikim, who were disciples of the Baal Shem Tov: That is, he acquired for himself and for his children, and for his grandchildren after him forever, the title of Hereditary Honored Citizen [Translator’s note: See here for more background on the award of this hereditary status]. And it is to this honor that I alluded with the words, “every noble thing.”

X) The words “satiated” and “quenched” are close in their connotation, for people eat till satiated and drink till their thirst is quenched. Now, the same is true of wisdom (of which we say ‘long life is in its right hand, wealth and honor in its left). Wisdom satiates a person with long life and quenches a person’s thirst with wealth and honor. And this is precisely the intention inscribed in these two lines: This rabbinic genius lived a very long life, well above the age of might [“gevurot” i.e. into his eighties - in this Zweifel appears to be mistaken; however, the Tzemach Tzedek had certainly reached his late seventies], and also received wealth and honor.