The Dnieper River sat frozen and still, flanking a city with a hole in its heart. It was the 1st of January, 1908, and one block from the frozen banks of the Dnieper, the Jewish community of Ekaterinaslav was in mourning. Their leader, Rabbi Dov Ze’ev Kozevnikov, had just passed away.1

Since its founding in the late 18th century, the Jewish community had chosen followers of the Chabad rebbes to be their leaders, and Rabbi Dov Ze’ev was no exception. He had presided over a bustling city, one of the largest in Ukraine, with a massive Jewish population. By the turn of the century, Ekaterinaslav’s population of over 200,000 was one-third Jewish. The 70,000 Jews formed 41 synagogues, 30 schools, and a yeshivah.2 It was the Jewish capital of Ukraine.3

It was also a city undergoing dramatic change. The 20th century brought with it a spirit of change throughout the Russian Empire. Religious “reforms,” Socialism, and Zionism all found traction among Russian Jewry, and some of Ekaterinaslav’s Jews slowly shifted away from the religious devotion that had defined them in decades past. For many of the city’s Jews, the passing of Rabbi Dov Ze’ev offered an opportunity to replace him with someone more modern, more aligned with their outlook on life.

Then, a letter arrived from the Fifth Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Shalom DovBer, known as the Rebbe Rashab, recommending Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, the grandson of his cousin, for the job.

This was not the Rebbe’s first attempt at matching up the promising young scholar with a community.

He had previously advocated for him to be appointed rabbi of Rostov-on-Don and other communities, without success. In the Rebbe Rashab’s eyes, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was a perfect candidate to become a rav. He was erudite, strong, and friendly—“one whom the crown of rabbinate fits well.”4

At one point, a community had been close to hiring him but they required all clergy to have a diploma. He spent a few months studying, covering years of material in only a short time. Then, when he came to the test, he found that he was required to study Old Church Slavonic and have a knowledge of the Christian scriptures as well. He turned on his heel, refusing to even take the examinations.5

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had already made a name for himself as one of the foremost scholars of the time. In addition to his proficiency in Jewish law, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was well-known for his mastery of Kabbalah. His talks were full of references to the Zohar and other works of Jewish mysticism. When he traveled to Brisk to receive rabbinic ordination from the famed Rabbi Chaim of Brisk, he was subjected to many difficult tests, all of which he passed. Seeing this, Rabbi Chaim remarked, “You have such a good head, but look where you put it!”

Known for his exactitude in Jewish law and his absolute faith in G‑d, by the age of 18, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had been dispatched by the Fifth Rebbe to travel throughout Germany, inspecting and repairing mikvahs. Wherever he went, he left a trail of impressed rabbis, deeply moved by his mastery of Jewish law and Kabbalah.6

He was also an experienced organizer and leader. During the Russo-Japanese War of 1905, he had been in charge of distributing matzahs to Jewish soldiers in the Far East.7

It was clear: With the Jews of Ekaterinaslav searching for a new rav, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson was the man for the job.

Pushback

Not everyone thought so. Ekaterinaslav was home to one of the most powerful and organized Zionist communities. They took exception to the prospective appointment of another Chabad rabbi, let alone a Schneerson. Earlier that year, the Fifth Rebbe had published a vehement letter denouncing secular Zionism and its attempt to replace religion with nationalism. Thus when Ekaterinaslav’s Zionists heard that the Rebbe was advocating for one of his followers to be the next rabbinic leader of the community, they tried to block his appointment.

They approached Sergei Paley, one of the most respected elder members of the Zionist Party. Sergei was an engineer of great repute, who managed to overcome anti-Jewish prejudice and excel at university. He had designed the bridge over the Dnieper River and held great power in the city. They asked him to nix the appointment of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.

While Sergei shared their misgivings about having a Chassidic rabbi, he understood that Ekaterinaslav had a diverse and eclectic community, and the rabbi they chose needed to be able to serve everyone. He also came from a Chabad family and had studied in a Chabad yeshivah as a youth. Additionally, the Fifth Rebbe had written to Sergei’s father directly to ask his son to help get Rabbi Levi Yitzchak the position. So, he decided that he had to meet with Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, to judge personally whether he was the man for the job.

The meeting began at 9 pm. Sergei sat across from Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and began grilling him, asking him about Kabbalah, Chassidism, and communal issues. The meeting, which originally had been scheduled for only an hour or so, ended at 4 am. By the end of it, Sergei Paley had become an ardent admirer of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. He called an impromptu meeting of the city’s Zionists and told them that they had to support Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s bid for the position. “Such greatness should not be allowed to slip out of our hands.”8

Sergei had been convinced, but the rest of the city’s Zionist and secular Jews weren’t. They knew that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was meticulously G‑d fearing and would fight tooth and nail for Torah and Jewish law. They tried their best to block the appointment.9

Eventually, a compromise was struck, and the Jewish community appointed two rabbis. Before the High Holidays of 1908, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak moved to Ekaterinaslav with his wife and three sons to take his position as Chief Rabbi of the city. He would hold the position for 31 years.10

Solidifying His Leadership

Even after his appointment, many of the city’s Jews resented Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and fought his authority. He quickly made a name for himself as an exacting leader who worked to ensure that Jewish law was kept to the tee. At one of his first meetings, he pushed the community to repair the aging mikvah, overriding claims that the funds were not available.11

A community member once reflected that “when we read through the protocols at community meetings, three-quarters of them center on Schneerson’s proposals, which are of no concern to the rest of us. Yet he assimilates them into our community’s social life.”12

His powerful stance on Judaism initially angered many, and the city split into two groups: those who supported Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and those who opposed him. The group that opposed him was passionately against him. In a local newspaper, an opinion piece about him read, “[We] must do everything possible to ensure that Schneerson should have no influence in the city. He represents a danger to progress.”13

Rebbetzin Chana, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s wife, recalls how the division tore the city apart. “Parties and families who had previously lived amicably with each other became divided from one another, with varying opinions on this issue: for or against the rabbi.”14

The opposition was powerful, but they were no match for the force of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s personality. You could only oppose him from afar. Anyone who met him, anyone who spoke to him, felt their reservations melt away. His wisdom, openness, and kindness broke through all barriers. Within a year, the opposition to his appointment had vanished. The schism in the community had been mended without a scar. Indeed, when the city’s second chief rabbi passed away in 1921, no one was appointed to replace him.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had quickly gone from being the target of suspicion of the city’s less-observant Jews to their trusted leader. He would guide them through the many rough decades ahead.

The Beilis Trial

Three years into his leadership, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak took part in the defense of Mendel Beilis. The body of Andrei Yuschinsky, a non-Jewish 13-year-old boy, had been found in a cave on the outskirts of Kiev, and the Jews were blamed. The ancient myth of Jews using blood in the creation of matzahs was reawakened, and Mendel Beilis—a Jew from a Chassidic family—was accused of murder.

The prosecution tried to link the murder not just with Mendel Beilis in particular, but with the Chassidic movement in general. The Fifth Rebbe was very involved in the case and set up a team to assist the defense with research. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak played a leading role in collecting materials that were instrumental in Beilis eventually being exonerated.15

Under Communist Rule

In 1914, following the outbreak of World War I, the Czarist government deemed its Jewish subjects untrustworthy, and ordered them away from its western borderlands, causing a massive Jewish refugee crisis. Thousands of refugees flooded into Ekaterinaslav.

“The home of the Yekaterinoslaver Rav, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, was the point of respite for the suffering Jews of Poland, Lithuania and the Baltic States … ” recalled the journalist Aharon Friedenthal. “During those stormy days, the rabbi’s residence gave off the impression of a beehive. Jews were continuously streaming in and out. Some were searching for help and support, for bread and clothing for their families, while others came looking for medicine and help for sick and exhausted refugees. Still others sought legal assistance for arrested family members—fathers, brothers, uncles … The rabbi and rebbetzin, during those horrible days, knew nothing of their own lives. Everything was committed, dedicated to the rescue effort.”

Then, in October of 1917, came the Communist Revolution. The Communists were virulently anti-religious, and as soon as they had consolidated their power in 1920, they began to persecute religion in earnest, closing Jewish schools, mikvahs, and shuls. During the next decade, news spread across the world that the Soviet Union was attempting to stamp out religion.

The Soviet leadership urgently wanted to counteract the negative press. They called together 32 rabbis in Russia and forced them to sign a document that extolled the “widespread freedom of religion in Communist Russia.” Under threat of exile and death, the rabbis capitulated, signing the document. The Communists decided to do the same in Ukraine. They presumed that it would go over without a hitch, just as it had in Russia. They hadn’t contended with the indomitable spirit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.

As Chief Rabbi of one of the largest cities in Ukraine, in late 1932 Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was invited to Kharkov to join a conference. Before he left, he received a visit from the Secret Police. The officer informed Rabbi Levi Yitzchak in no uncertain terms that signing the letter was imperative for the good of the country, and that a refusal to do so would be an act of treason.

When Rabbi Levi Yitzchak arrived at the conference, he found a group of rabbis cowed into submission by threats to their lives. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, however, would not be intimidated. “It is forbidden to sign this fabrication!” he stated. “This entire declaration is built upon complete lies and falsehood. Shall we lend a hand to this deception? I say no, and no!”16

No amount of pressure would move him. Eventually, after days of cajoling and threatening, the Communists gave up on obtaining signatures from the rabbis of Ukraine. They realized that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was a man who could not be intimidated. It was a realization that would resurface again and again in the years to come.

For 18 years, from 1920 until 1939, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak fought the Communists at each turn, battling to preserve Judaism in Ekaterinaslav, which was renamed Dnepropetrovsk in 1926.

The Wedding

The community’s appreciation for their rabbi became apparent when they celebrated the wedding of his eldest son, Rabbi Menachem Mendel, who would later become the Seventh Chabad Rebbe. The wedding took place in Warsaw in 1929, but the Schneersons couldn’t get permission to leave the country to join the festivities. They planned to celebrate in Dnepropetrovsk, but it was impossible to secure a venue. The city had many synagogues, but they had all been closed down. At that point, their home was small, just a few rooms. They didn’t know what to do. Their next-door neighbor heard of their search for a hall and decided to help. He took a sledgehammer and broke down the wall that separated his house from Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s, creating a large open space.

On the day of the wedding, the Schneersons expected perhaps 30 guests, but the people of Dnepropetrovsk would not let the chance to celebrate with their rav pass. Throughout the night, three hundred people showed up, and telegrams poured in congratulating them. The festivities went on all night, with many only leaving at daybreak to their jobs. Rebbetzin Chana remarked that two prominent community figures approached her that morning and said, “What a night! Unforgettable! We will never forget this unique experience or the spirituality of your husband.”17

The wedding without a bride or groom had been one of the most joyous celebrations in years.

Growing Pressure

Over time, the government's pressure on religious clerics worsened. They levied a special tax on rabbis that amounted to 500 rubles a month. The price was so exorbitant that it forced many religious leaders out of their positions. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak also could not afford the tax, so he officially retired from the rabbinate, dropping his tax bill down to 20 rubles per month.

Officially, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was no longer a rabbi. In practice, though, he continued to lead as he always had, directly in conflict with the Soviet laws. His house always had a flood of visitors seeking his advice and guidance. The stream of comings and goings, however, drew the ire of Soviet authorities.

He was summoned to the government building where he was charged with continuing to be a community leader even though he had officially retired. This would reinstate the original tax of 500 rubles and a punishment for defrauding the state.

At the proceedings, multiple members of the community came to testify. One by one, they told the court that they lived right next to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, and they knew that no one entered or exited his house. Person after person marched into the room and lied to the court to protect their rabbi. Many of them had been those who had opposed his leadership all those years before. The community that had tried to reject him now worked to protect him.18

And though the government had forced Rabbi Levi Yitzchak to formally relinquish his rabbinic position, when it came to gaining kosher supervision for their government-run matzah production, it was to him they would turn.

When the Communists Baked Matzah

Already prior to the Bolshevik Revolution, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had gained repute as a meticulous overseer of matzah preparation. If any bakery refused to comply with any of his stipulations, he would refuse to certify their matzahs. In one instance, he found out that a drop of water had fallen onto a sack of flour in a matzah bakery but they had continued to bake. He personally traveled to the factory and began slitting open sacks of flour, spilling their contents on the floor, and stopping the bakery from operating.19 Everyone knew that if Rabbi Levi Yitzchak wanted the matzahs prepared a certain way, nothing could alter his position.

His exactitude made his seal of approval widely sought after. All throughout Ukraine, communities would exclusively use matzahs overseen by Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.

When the Communists took over, they wanted to take advantage of this. They saw the production of matzah as a lucrative opportunity. Matzah consumption was widespread among the Jews of the Soviet Union, even among those who were otherwise not observant, and they were willing to pay much-needed hard currency for their yearly supply. Since all of the bakeries had been nationalized by the government, if they produced matzah, it could be an economic boon for the government. So, they approached Rabbi Levi Yitzchak with an offer: They would bake matzahs and he would put his seal on them.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak agreed. It would mean that Jews throughout the Soviet Union would have matzah that Passover. Of course, obtaining his seal meant meeting his exacting specifications. The Soviet-run bakeries would have to buy new sifters and kosher all their existing ovens. They would need to ensure that the dough was baked within 18 minutes. They would need to deliver the flour in new sacks. It would require a lot of work—work that the authorities had not been counting on.

They were furious with his demands. “If you withhold your seal of approval, that will constitute an illegal act of aggression against the government!” they warned him. But Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was unfazed. “It is far worse to authorize unwatched flour for matzah than any punishment meted out by the government … As I said, I will notify one and all that these matzahs were produced under false pretenses.”20

Prior to Passover of 1939, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak decided to take his demands to the top. He traveled to Moscow and met with Mikhail Kalinin, who was then the chairman of the Central Executive Committee of the U.S.S.R. In a shocking turn, Kalinin agreed, issuing an order that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak be granted complete authority to oversee matzah production.

Somehow, at a time when teaching Torah could lead to exile, imprisonment or even execution; when shuls were locked and people only kept Shabbat fearfully behind closed doors, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak ensured that government-run factories produced matzahs of the highest religious standard.

Arrest and Exile

But that year, he would not partake in the matzah he’d fought so hard to properly oversee. Days before Passover, on the 9th of Nissan, 1939, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was finally arrested for his religious activities. He would spend months and months behind bars. The Soviet method was to extract confessions through torture. They presumed that the 61-year-old rabbi would quickly give them what they were looking for. They were sorely mistaken. The first interrogation went cordially, with Rabbi Levi Yitzchak providing many details about his life. But as soon as they turned to his communal activities, he suddenly couldn’t remember anything.

From then on, they began to torture him in earnest, subjecting him to violent beatings. Simultaneously, they meted out the same punishments to other chassidim who had been arrested with him. Months of torture later, someone finally broke, signing an incriminating document that claimed, among other things, that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had been spying on the government and was trying to bring down the country.

Yet even after obtaining that confession, they could not break Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. Despite frequent beatings, lack of food and sleep, and endless interrogations—some of which lasted 16 hours—Rabbi Levi Yitzchak refused to sign a confession.

On the 23rd of November, 1939, a Soviet Committee concluded that while there were some confessions, there wasn’t enough hard evidence to bring Rabbi Levi Yitzchak to trial. They decreed that he would be banished to a remote location, far away from other Jews, unable to exert any religious influence.21

In January of 1940, the train carrying Rabbi Levi Yitzchak arrived in Chi’ili, a tiny village in western Kazakhstan, where his wife, Rebbetzin Chana, voluntarily joined him in exile. For the next few years, the two would live in squalor and destitution in the “malaria-filled swamps”22 of the barren Kazakh steppe. Rebbetzin Chana traveled to Moscow to try and get her husband’s sentence commuted but to no avail.

They spent nearly five years in Chi’ili. At one point, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak remarked that the hardest part of the exile was his inability to share his Torah thoughts. He had so much wisdom inside and no way to communicate it. Rebbetzin Chana took it upon herself to change that. She collected berries and made ink out of them, which Rabbi Levi Yitzchak used to write commentaries in the margins of his books.

Freedom and Illness

Finally, in 1944, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was allowed to move to Alma-Ata, Kazakhstan, a larger city with a sizable Jewish population, arriving just after Passover. They were greeted by a crowd at the train station and a warm welcome in the house of one of the community leaders. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was once again in a Jewish community. But by then, the beatings he had endured and the hardships of exile had severely deteriorated his health.

He was already ill and his situation was worsening. On Tuesday evening, the 20th of Menachem Av, he lay in bed with his eyes closed, his lips moving soundlessly. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he asked for some water to wash his hands. “It is time to prepare for the journey to the Other World,” he said. Those were the last audible words he uttered.23

He passed away the next morning, never returning to the city where he had served as rabbi for three decades. But by then, the city he knew barely existed. The Nazis had killed most of the city's Jews when they seized control in 1940.

Yet, his impact is still felt around the world, and notably in the city to which he devoted much of his life. Now called Dnipro, it is host to the largest Jewish community center in the world, the Menorah Center, which stands a few blocks from the home of the rabbi who led the city through its darkest days.