There is a sign in Sinai Hospital, above the elevators, that quotes the Talmudic passage, “He who saves one life has saved an entire world.” The escape of the Belzer Rebbe and his brother the Bilgoreyer Rebbe from the clutches of Hitler and their journey to Eretz Yisrael in the middle of World War II is evidence of the truth of that statement.
Recently, there was major fanfare in the world of Belz. The current Rebbe celebrated the bar mitzva of his only son’s oldest son. Thousands of chasidim came from all over the world for this simcha, which was held in the palatial Belzer shul in Yerushalayim. Built to resemble the one that once stood in Belz, it is a massive structure, a site visited by tour groups, who gape in amazement at its dimensions. No mere empty building, it is the active center of a strong, growing movement led by a dynamic Rebbe. That it exists at all is a miracle. Nearly wiped out, Belz’s survival and rebirth is an important lesson for us all – a story of miracles and of the real meaning of leadership.
The story is told in the book, Rescuing the Rebbe of Belz: Belzer Chassidus – History, Rescue, and Rebirth by Yosef Israel (Art Scroll History Series)/ I will not attempt to give a synopsis of a lengthy book, but rather give snippets of the story, with the hope that you will read the book in its entirety.
Belz, in Galicia, was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire before World War I and
part of Poland thereafter. Rabbi Aharon Rokeach, known as Reb Aharele, who became Rebbe 10 years after the World War I, was a beloved figure, who maintained an ascetic lifestyle. He ate next to nothing, except on Shabbos, and was able to be heavenly and reclusive while also being intimately involved with the concerns of thousands of chasidim. Reluctantly accepting the yoke of leadership at age 47, he led his flock for 30 years.
Belz, in its most glorious days, was a big center of chasidus. Hundreds of married and single men, called yoshvim, learned there full time, leaving the comforts of home for intensive Torah study. Venturing home only during the Rebbe’s annual break, they demonstrated total fidelity to their Rebbe’s every wish. Interestingly, though he learned constantly, the Rebbe refrained from displaying his scholarly prowess and carefully hid his mastery of the texts.
Thousands of Jews came from all over Galicia to be with the Rebbe for the Yamim Noraim. The shul had a capacity of several thousand, and there were two annexes that had room for more. One can just imagine the malchus, the majesty, of Belz in that era before the destruction.
Between the wars, Poland was subject to major upheaval and challenges, both physical and spiritual. The Rebbe was an uncompromising traditionalist. In 1929, groups associated with the socialist-secular Bund persuaded the Polish government to issue a four-point modernization program for the Jewish community, which included requiring all rabbis and cheder teachers to have a secular education. The Chofetz Chaim, already over 90 years old, made the arduous journey from Radin to Warsaw for a meeting of all the leading gedolim. At the Chofetz Chaim’s insistence, the Belzer Rebbe traveled the 200 miles to Warsaw to personally attend.
At the meeting’s opening – on February 3, 1930 – it was suggested that a rav fluent in Polish lead a delegation to the Minister of Culture. The relatively young Belzer Rebbe rebutted the suggestion: “No, no, we cannot allow this. We are arguing that a rabbi must be learned in Torah alone, not secular knowledge or languages. We cannot choose such a one as our representative.”
Rav Elchanan Wasserman and Rav Aharon Kotler of Lithuania were impressed at the Rebbe’s courage to state his radical opinion so forcefully in the presence of more
experienced gedolim. The Chofetz Chaim immediately concurred, saying, “We do not believe differently than the tzadik from Belz.”
The Chofetz Chaim was chosen to be the delegation’s leader. Listen to his words, spoken in Yiddish, to the Polish minister, Professor Bartel: “Sixty-four years ago, I watched Polish prisoners in chains being tormented by the Tsar’s policemen on their way to Siberia.… With tears in my eyes, I cried out, Ribono Shel Olam! These Poles are in the right! All they want is to live freely and independently. Why do they deserve such torment? Since I wept at the collapse of the Polish revolt, I merited to see Poland win independence! Do not forget, honored Minister, that the time will come when the Jewish Nation will also be liberated, and the Almighty will free us from the yoke of our oppressors. The Poles, recently liberated from tyranny, ought to know how to treat us – they should not prevent us from living our lives unfettered.”
During his speech, the Chofetz Chaim, burst into tears. Even the Poles were crying. Professor Bartel waved aside the translation, saying, “Enough! There is no need to translate; I understand the language of the heart!” He promised to rescind the edict.
The Outbreak of War
Belz’s geographic position in the east of Poland held little strategic significance. Consequently, it was spared the fierce, bloody land battles when German tank divisions destroyed the Polish cavalry. However, in reaction to the aerial bombing of Belz’s railroad depot, the Polish army put anti-aircraft guns on the roof of the synagogue. In the end, the Polish army retreated, hardly firing a shot.
Despite the dangers, the Rebbe resolved to remain in Belz and calmly continued his saintly avodas hakodesh. On September 19, when the first German soldiers arrived,
communal leaders urged him to flee. Engaged in prayer, he signaled that he would not leave during davening. Given the extreme danger, this reply made little sense; still, none of his chasidim dared question it. Though they felt it was pikuach nefesh (a matter of life and death) to leave, they were convinced of the Rebbe’s prescience and had no doubt he knew what he was doing.
Near midnight on September 25, Russian army trucks appeared in the square before the Rebbe’s palatial house. Through a Russian-speaking bachur, some of the high-ranking officers disclosed their kinship with the Rebbe through the Chernobyl-Twersky dynasty. They insisted on assuring the Rebbe that he was safe under their protection. During Chol Hamoed Sukkos, however, rumors flew that the Russians had conceded all areas east of Lublin. Belz thus fell within the German border. This sparked enormous panic.
On October 4, 1939, after Maariv and hakafos on Shemini Atzeres, the Rebbe changed into weekday clothes and boarded the last train out of Belz. That marked the end of Belz as a center of Jewish life. The train traveled only to Sokal, in the area of Russian control. On the train the Rebbe calmly ate his Yom Tov meal, handing out sherayim (leftovers) to the accompanying yoshvim as if conducting his tisch in conventional surroundings.
Though Pesach began peacefully on April 23, 1940, the following day all refugees were required to choose or refuse Soviet citizenship. The Rebbe mostly advised his
chasidim to refuse. However, the Rebbe and his extended family accepted Soviet citizenship. Those who refused citizenship were sent to Siberia. Only after the
war did they understand that their arduous exile had saved them.
Meanwhile, the Belzer Rebbe, now a citizen, traveled deeper into Russian-held territory. Badly weakened after years of self-mortification, and susceptible to cold,
expulsion to Siberia would have meant a death sentence for him. He settled in Premishlan and scattered his extended family in the surrounding villages. He was reunited with his much younger brother, Reb Mottele of Bilgoray.
This relative safety ended with the massive German invasion on 27 Sivan. June 22, 1941. (Chasidim point out that this is the exact date Napoleon chose, 129 years earlier, for his ill-starred thrust on Moscow.) The Russian army was caught completely unaware.
The chasidim knew that the Nazis were looking for the “wonder rabbi.” Several chapters of the book describe his miraculous escapes. He was hidden in many places; trusted individuals risked their lives to save his. Even his closest gabbaim did not know his location. However, he was able to send a handwritten note by messenger to his brother to join him. Rabbi Mordechai Rokeach was 22 years younger than Reb Ahare’le. They alone of their large extended family survived the war. (Remarried after the war, Reb Mottele had one child before his untimely death. That boy became, while very young, the present Belzer Rebbe, whose son was recently bar mitzva.)
Some chasidim felt that the Rebbe would be safer in Western Poland, near Krakow. His closest chasidim rejected the idea as ridiculous. They felt the Rebbe would not leave his extended family in the Premislan area. In addition, to travel across Poland was dangerous for any Jew, especially for a “wonder rabbi” high on the Nazi’s wanted list. Gestapo spies were everywhere. They nevertheless forwarded the proposal to the Rebbe, and he accepted. His only condition was that his brother Reb Mottele travel with him.
The chasidim in Krakow found a Polish prince employed as a “commercial inspector” who visited farms to check on the produce. For 10,000 zlotys he agreed to convey the Belzer Rav in his official car. Raising such a large sum upfront, especially when most Jews were destitute and secrecy was crucial, was extremely hard. Read the book and learn of the miraculous times the official car was allowed to pass unchecked. However, the prince drank too much and wrecked his car in the middle of the night. Leaving the Jews to their own devises, he went into town. The Rebbe was injured and
bleeding. They got him to an inn run by a Jew, who let them sleep in a shed. In the morning, the innkeeper’s sister recognized him as the Belzer Tzadik.
Word spread, and a rich chasid, Mr. Goldfarb, and Dr. Joshua Hendler slipped out of the ghetto with medical supplies. Though not religious, Dr. Hendler agreed to
risk his life by removing the yellow patch and smuggling himself out of the ghetto without a pass. He bandaged the deep gash in the Rebbe’s leg. Dr. Hendler refused the Rebbe’s offer of payment. At that, the Belzer Rav stood to bless him that Hashem
should protect him and his family from all danger. He gave him a 20 zloty coin, which he blessed as a segula, with the warning to guard it carefully so that its merit would always protect him.
As they left, Mr. Goldfarb begged Dr. Hendler to sell him the coin for 2,000 zloty. “You don’t believe in wonder rabbis,” he said. But the doctor refused to sell at any price. “To me the coin is priceless; it is worth mein gantze leben, my whole life!” Dr. Hendler survived the war.
The book notes the unity of klal Yisrael, as Belzer, Lubavitcher, and Gerrer chasidim worked together with Chief Rabbi Herzog and leaders of the Mizrachi and Agudah to free the Rebbe with life-saving travel documents from Poland to Eretz Yisrael. Had he been permitted to enter Switzerland, the Rebbe could have picked up three certificates set aside for “veteran Zionists” by the Jewish Agency.
Surrounded By Danger
By August 1942, with deportations and mass executions all around, the Rebbe was secretly moved to Krakow. However, a Gestapo collaborator, Simon Spitz, dutifully
informed his Gestapo overseer. The next day, the Rebbe was visited by the Chief of the Jewish Police, a Nazi collaborator named Simchah Schapiro. All in the household were full of fear except for the Belzer Rebbe, who treated them as honored guests. Their
whole demeanor changed, and they spoke to the Rebbe with the greatest respect. Leaving, Schapiro vowed to do everything in his power to safeguard the Rebbe. “Only one viper is likely to cause the Rebbe trouble – Simon Spitz.”
The Rav asked his chasidim to call Simon Spitz for a meeting. They were horrified; Spitz was infamous for his heartless treachery. Spitz refused but showed up the next day. The Rebbe’s brother asked Spitz courteously, “Have you ever heard of the Belzer Rav?”
“Of course, I have. I was born in east Galicia,” Spitz responded scornfully. “What do you expect from me? Has anybody heard of me doing a favor for a fellow Jew?”
Reb Mottel did not desist but spoke kindly to him of his unique position to help them. Spitz left, but returned the next day with two signed, life-saving work permits. Wondrously, the next day, Spitz brought the Gestapo Chief and two deputies to meet the “wunder rabbiner.” These men, who supervised “actions” and murdered thousands, sat respectfully at the Rebbe’s table and left. Spitz moved the Rebbe to an apartment with
a large balcony: a luxury in the ghetto.
How can we judge a man like Spitz? Clearly he became a changed man when he visited the Rebbe every evening after a day of evildoing. He told the Rebbe’s gabbai, “As soon as I set eyes on the Wonder Rabbi, something stirred within me. His glowing eyes haunted my innermost soul.” While he continued to be present at actions, he also helped to get papers for Jews to live in the ghetto. Spitz helped whoever asked him when he was in the Rebbe’s apartment. He joined in tefilos and presented a kvitel. He realized full well that the Gestapo, which he served loyally, was planning to get rid of him, too.
The pace of deportations quickened, and fewer Jews were left alive in Krakow. Spitz disappeared, probably murdered by his German bosses, which the chasidim saw as a sign that his teshuva was accepted.
Avenues of Escape
The situation grew grimmer, and the schemes to save the Rebbe came to naught. The plan that finally worked was getting the Rebbe out of Poland and into Hungary. Clean-shaven and dressed in military uniforms, the Rebbe and his brother were driven out of Poland in the official car of a Hungarian officer. But how could they keep the Germans from discovering his disappearance?
The chasidim devised a daring act of deception. A bachur, Reuven Walkin, disguised himself as the Belzer Tzadik. He donned the Rebbe’s distinctive silk kapota,
white socks and half-shoes, tefilin and tallis, and imitated his voice to perfection. The door to the inner room was deliberately left open for all to see “the Rebbe” praying and studying as usual.
When the Judenrat and Jewish Police found out and informed their German masters, the Gestapo leaders came to check on the “Rebbe” themselves. Warned, Walkin tore off the garments and made his escape.
Reb Aharele later remarked, “The nissim and nisei nissim that occurred en route to Budapest are impossible to describe.” After having spent years in danger, the Rebbe finally recuperated somewhat in Hungary. However, the Germans began demanding his return and putting pressure on the Hungarians. Using false names, he secured the papers to go to Turkey on the Orient Express.
En route in Romania, the Rebbe and his brother stayed with their cousin, the Pultishaner Rebbe. Masses of chasidim came to a tisch, where the talk switched to the past glory of Belz. Someone muttered sadly, “Ah those were the days…the glorious malchus of Belz…. That time is gone and we’ll never see its like again….”
Suddenly the Rebbe sprang up, his frailty forgotten, his face aflame. “Chas veshalom! We are assured from grandfather’s household (the Sar Shalom) that Belz will remain a niche where they will serve Hashem Yisborach until the coming of Mashiach!”
It was this prophecy and dream that enabled the Rebbe to overcome the loss of his entire family. They gave him the strength to not only survive but rebuild. He did not live for himself, but because his survival and that of his brother meant the survival of Belz. The Rebbe’s taxi from Beirut, Lebanon, crossed into Mandatory Palestine at 5 p.m., Thursday, February 3, 1944 (9 Shevat). He decided to settle in Tel Aviv. Perhaps he felt there were already enough rebbes in Jerusalem, and he wanted to be closer to the people.
Despite the severe conditions throughout the war and in Eretz Yisrael, the Rebbe did not forego a single custom or tradition. All of his life, he ate very little, except on Shabbos and Yom Tov. He was careful with every stringency of kashrus even in the direst of situations. Thus, the Belzer Rav was a very physically weak individual, extremely emaciated his entire life, before and after the War.
In 1943, the Nazi paper Der Sturmer published photographs of “Talmudists.” Under a photo of the Belzer Rav – in Marienbad, surrounded by admiring Chasidim – the caption read, “Such pictures the world will no longer see.”
When I saw the pictures of the 10,000 chasidim who came from all over the world to share in the simcha of the bar mitzva, my feeling was “Netzach Yisrael lo yishaker – The Eternal does not lie.”
The Bilgoray Rav remarried, and his only child, the future Rebbe, Yissocher Dov, was born in 1948. Barely a year later, Rav Mottele died, leaving his son an orphan at age one. His uncle, the aged Rebbe Aharon, raised his nephew until he too passed away when the boy was seven. Yissocher Dov was then raised by his mother and groomed to be the next rebbe by the chasidim, who waited anxiously for him to grow up. He married the daughter of the Viznitzer Rebbe but was childless for 10 years. One son was born to him, who is Aharon Mordechai. Recently, the Rebbe’s first grandson, Yissocher Dov, celebrated his bar mitzva in the palatial, rebuilt Belz in Jerusalem.
That is what it means when we say that he who saves one life saves an entire world.
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