The Roots of the Greatness of Rabbi Elazar Menachem Man Shach
His Share in Torah, His Dedication to Truth

by Rabbi Yisroel Friedman,translated and prepared for publication by Yonoson Rosenblum

Rabbi Friedman is editor of the Friday edition of the Hebrew-language Yated Ne’eman, published in Jerusalem by the Degel HaTorah Party.

Rabbi Rosenblum, who lives in Jerusalem, is a contributing editor to The Jewish Observer. He is also director of the Israeli division of Am Echad, the Agudath Israel-inspired educational outreach effort and media resource.

For nearly three decades, Maran HaRav Elazar Menachem Man Shach exercised an authority in the world of the yeshivos that has few parallels over the last 200 years. When significant parts of Klal Yisroel, acting as an organic whole, turn to an individual as their leader, their judgment is unerring. The Klal intuitively knows who embodies Torah to the greatest extent, whose opinion is daas Torah.

Rabbi Shach himself described this elusive quality of daas Torah in his sefer Avi Ezri on Nezikin:

“Only after one has toiled in Torah as much as possible, without any negia (bias) or netia (leaning) of any sort, with a pure intellect, does his intellect become sechel mufshat (objective wisdom) so that he can be considered to have shed his gashmius (physicality), and then his opinion becomes actual daas Torah. All this is included in the words of Shlomo HaMelech: ‘If you seek it like silver and search for it like hidden treasures, then you will understand yiras Hashem, and daas Elokim you will find.’”

Rabbi Aharon Leib Steinman (Rosh Hayeshiva of Gaon Yaakov in Bnei Brak, a venerable leader of the yeshiva world) expanded on this point, quoting Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin: If a person seeks guidance from the Torah, he should learn with intensity until the Torah becomes Torah lishma. He should then think about the matter he is deliberating, and whatever comes to his mind at that moment, he should do, for that is the advice of the Torah. If so, the opinion of one like Rabbi Shach, whose every moment was spent in the study of Torah, is certainly daas Torah. And that is how Rabbi Shach led Klal Yisroel.

Indeed, the daas Torah in every generation belongs to its gadol hador. And in every generation there is one such figure. So it was with Reb Chaim (Soloveitchik) of Brisk. There were those who could pose challenging questions to Reb Chaim’s chiddushim (original interpretations). But did anyone imagine that he was greater than Reb Chaim? The same held true of the Chazon Ish. And in our generation, it was so with Rabbi Shach; every individual recognized that he was not Rabbi Shach’s peer.

Rabbi Shach viewed everything from the vantage point of the Torah. Once a Yemenite Jew, who worked for the chevra kadisha in Binyamina, came to see him. A terrible tragedy had taken place in his home, and now the authorities sought to take away one of his children on the grounds of parental incompetence. Rabbi Shach told a group of askanim (community activists) who were present as the desperate father poured out his woe that this would not be the last such case in the northern part of Israel.

“Take note,” he said, “that almost every such case arises in the North. The South is full of yeshivos; almost every town has a yeshiva. But from Ponevezh north to Kfar Chassidim, there is scarcely a single yeshiva. Where there is no Torah, there the Satan will be found. If you want to annul the adoption law [, which allows children to be taken forcibly out of their homes], then establish another yeshiva, and another yeshiva. Fill the North with yeshivos, and the Satan will flee from before you.”

“To Know Him, One Must Be Him”

We are totally inadequate to describe the Rosh Yeshiva. To fully comprehend him, one would have had to be him. Yet to confine ourselves to a few pieces of the mosaic would constitute a gross distortion. Therefore we shall limit ourselves to Maran’s share in Torah, the root from which all else grew.

From an early age, the Rosh Yeshiva made a binding commitment to divest himself of everything that was not Torah. During World War I, the borders of Eastern Europe became impassable, and sovereignty over vast areas switched rapidly from one country to another. During that entire time, Rabbi Shach had no contact with any member of his family. They knew nothing of his fate, and he knew nothing of theirs.

Only after the War did the family reestablish contact, although they now found themselves divided from one another by a border. After appropriate arrangements with the authorities, the family prepared to meet at a specially designated area on the border. Shortly before the time for that meeting, Rabbi Shach learned that his father had passed away.

On the day of the eagerly anticipated meeting, Rabbi Shach’s mother and sister stood at the appointed spot on the border. But he did not come. In his place he sent a friend, who carried a letter that read: “I know that particularly at a time like this, after Father’s passing, my obligation to come is even greater. But davka for that reason I held myself back. I fear that I will be overcome with missing him, and that will cause me bittul Torah. For that reason I chose not to come. I hope you will understand me.”

But his younger sister did not understand at that time. It would be more than half a century later, when she witnessed her brother as the leader of the Torah world, before she could fully comprehend that letter, as she pointed out when she related this story.

Total Immersion in Torah

The Rosh Yeshiva’s total immersion in Torah was legendary. Whenever he was thinking about a topic in Gemora, the world around him ceased to exist. Any time that his mind was free for even a fraction of a second – the time between putting on the tefillin shel yad and the tefillin shel rosh, for instance – his thoughts automatically returned to the Gemora.

One morning, the great Ponevezh Mashgiach, Rabbi Yechezkel Levenstein, called over a bachur and asked him to hand Rabbi Shach his tefillin shel rosh the next morning, as soon as he had finished putting on the tefillin shel yad. Otherwise, the Mashgiach pointed out, he was prone to start talking in learning as soon as he had wrapped the tefillin shel yad on his arm, creating a hefsek (interruption). (Rabbi Shach himself would occasionally ask bachurim to remind him to put on the tefillin shel rosh.)

The bachur asked the Mashgiach why he did not hand the Rosh Yeshiva the tefillin himself. Rabbi Levenstein replied, “I’m frightened of him!” The talmid’s natural reply was, “Shouldn’t I also be scared?” The Mashgiach told him, “Reb Moshe [today, Rabbi Moshe Kaplan], you don’t comprehend what there is to be scared of.”

***

A former Ponevezh talmid remembers a visit to the Rosh Yeshiva’s house. As soon as he entered, he smelled a fire somewhere in the house. He assumed the Rosh Yeshiva was resting and raced to the bedroom to rouse him, but no one was there. Then he peeked into the kitchen. The Rosh Yeshiva was absent-mindedly stirring a pot of cereal with one hand and reading from a Gemora held in the other hand. The contents of the pot were already burned to a crisp, and the pot black. “If I hadn’t come in,” the man recalls, “his hand would have soon been on fire, too.”

***

Decades ago, the Rosh Yeshiva required surgery. In the days immediately prior to the surgery, he was learning the sugya of a kohein who performs the avoda (service) in the Beis Hamikdash while tameh (impure). After the surgery, while he was still under the effects of the anesthesia, his fingers started cutting through the air as if he were giving a Talmudic discourse. He could be heard muttering: “What’s the p’shat in maftzifin es mocho (his skull is cracked open)? What is the source for this halacha?”

Even Rabbi Dovid Povarsky, his fellow Rosh Yeshiva in Ponevezh, was astounded. “I knew that his entire being was absorbed in learning,” Reb Dovid commented, “but I never imagined that even when under anesthesia he would continue to plumb the depths of the topic he was learning.”

Neither the need for sleep nor pain could deter him when he was involved in a difficulty in learning. Ponevezh talmidim who posed difficult questions to the Rosh Yeshiva might find themselves awakened in the middle of the night when the Rosh Yeshiva found the solution to their questions. Once he was discussing a complicated sugya (topic) with a group of bachurim late at night. The next morning, the Rosh Yeshiva called them over and asked them whether they had been able to sleep that night. Told that they had, he expressed amazement that they had been able to go to bed as long as the sugya was still not clear in their minds. (This tenacity was borne out in an incident involving the Brisker Rav, which is recounted in another article in this issue.1)

***

In anticipation of the long Pesach break one year, Rabbi Shach prepared to review Temura, a particularly difficult tractate. He began his review on Rosh Chodesh Adar. At the time, he had a severe attack of kidney stones, a most painful affliction. As he learned in his room, those outside would hear his Gemora niggun punctuated by broken cries and gasps of agony. After each interruption, the same sweet niggun returned.

Eventually the kidney stones became too much to bear, and the Rosh Yeshiva had to be hospitalized. Even in the hospital, the Rosh Yeshiva’s face shone as he spoke in learning. Surgery was scheduled for just after Pesach, and the Rosh Yeshiva was released for Pesach. Over Pesach, the house was filled with the sound of Temura.

On the Shabbos after Pesach, one of the bachurim from Ponevezh came to visit the Rosh Yeshiva. He found the Rosh Yeshiva moaning from pain. A metal strip had been inserted in his body as part of his medical treatment, and every time he moved, the pain was unbearable. Even he could not remain indifferent to the waves of pain that washed over his body. Between those waves, he groaned, “Ribbono Shel Olam! Yessurim (suffering) are a good thing, but give me seichel (intelligence) to deal with my yessurim.” He learned and moaned, learned and moaned. After each bout of pain, he returned to in-depth learning, until he completed the entire tractate.

Then, amazingly, the Rosh Yeshiva’s health began improving rapidly, without any medical explanation. His doctors decided that an operation was unnecessary, and by the summer he had once again returned to giving shiurim in the yeshiva.

***

For the Rosh Yeshiva, an inability to learn with clarity was Gehinnom. One Shabbos, he approached a bachur sitting opposite him after davening and asked him, “Tell me, what is Gehinnom?”

When the bachur did not reply, Rabbi Shach answered his own question. “Gehinnom is when you think you have a p’shat in a Rambam. Before you can be sure, however, you must check out the exact wording in the Rambam. But the light in the room is very dim, and no matter where you place the Rambam, you still cannot make out the words. In desperation, you start jumping with the Rambam hoping to be able to read. You jump and jump, but you still can’t make out the words. That’s Gehinnom.”

When the talmid to whom the Rosh Yeshiva had described Gehinnom walked out of the beis midrash, he was approached by one of the Rosh Yeshiva’s grandsons, who remarked in all innocence, “I don’t know what happened to Sabba this Shabbos. He woke up in the middle of the night and took out the big Rambam. He sat on the chair and put the Rambam on the table, but the light overhead was very dim. Then he started jumping with the Rambam hoping to see.”

***

If the inability to learn Torah constituted Gehinnom for the Rosh Yeshiva, so did the ability to learn equip him to overcome every adversity. From his earliest youth, he learned Torah in the most abject poverty without being distracted in the slightest.

While in Vilna, just after the outbreak of World War II, his 14-year-old daughter, Mir’ele, passed away. That tragedy was never forgotten. Next to his bed until his last day was a picture of Mir’ele. He once said that whenever he moved, the only items that he took personally were his tallis and tefillin and the picture of Mir’ele.

One year, on Mir’ele’s yahrzeit, Rabbi Shach described to two visitors in the house how the gadol hador, Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzenski, who was very near the end of his life, had been menachem (consoled) him when he sat shiva in Vilna for his daughter:

“Reb Chaim Ozer sat quietly for a few moments. Then he told me, ‘Rabbi Shach! You know that a few months ago I experienced the same tragedy. [Reb Chaim Ozer, lost his only child, a daughter, shortly after her engagement, when she was bitten by a mad dog.] You should know, “If Your Torah had not been my delight, I would have perished in my affliction’” (Tehillim 119, 92) Then he got up and left.”

The Rosh Yeshiva went on to explain to his visitors what Reb Chaim Ozer meant with those words. “Imagine,” he said, “two prisoners in jail, both unshaven, in prisoner’s garb, eating scraps of food. On one’s face is written the hope of a speedy death that will free him of his suffering. The other prisoner, however, is smiling and even telling a few jokes. What explains the difference between the two? It turns out that the first prisoner has been sentenced to life in prison. He has neither hope nor purpose. He knows that he will never see his home again. A small cell to sleep in at night and backbreaking labor, humiliation, and degradation during the day are the future to which he can look forward. Only death will free him from the present situation. No wonder he looks forward to his death. The other prisoner, however, is due to be released in another three months. Though their day-to-day routine may be the same, the second prisoner does not suffer nearly so intensely because he knows it will not be forever.

“Many people suffer hardships that accompany them their entire life. But for a ben Torah that is never the case. ‘If not for Your Torah…’ (Tehillim 119). The ben Torah always knows that he is not a prisoner for life. He will return home to his regular appointment with a daf Gemora. ‘The commandments of Hashem are straight, gladdening the heart…’ (Tehillim 19). ‘There is no free person except one who busies himself with Torah.’ I live in a daf Gemora, inside an ocean of joy. There are periods that are slightly harder that one must pass through. But you can always return home to the ‘commandments of Hashem that cause the heart to rejoice.’”

Dedicated to Revealing Truth

His life was dedicated to revealing Truth to the maximum possible, and that Truth had only one source, the Torah. In a speech at Ponevezh Yeshiva, he defined his mission:

“There is nothing simpler than Truth. It should be self-evident, requiring no explanation. Truth is eternal; falsehood, fleeting. Yet the external glitter of falsehood can, at times, obscure the Truth. Sometimes Truth is covered, and our task is to pull away the veil of falsehood and reveal the Truth behind the veil. We must know that although falsehood can darken the world, it cannot push Truth aside, because falsehood does not endure. Our obligation is to remove the veil of falsehood to reveal the Truth. We must look at things from the proper perspective – the deep one, not the shallow. When we examine the world deeply, we understand everything differently. All of life takes on a new perspective. Our purpose is to elevate ourselves, and with ourselves the entire world, by increasing K’vod Shamayim.”

That revelation of the Torah’s Truth was the holiest of tasks. The door to his room was closed from Monday afternoon when he prepared for his Tuesday shiur. On the day of the shiur, he immersed in the mikva. Body and soul went into the shiur. When the shiur was over, his clothes were completely drenched and had to be changed immediately.

***

He would not compromise on Truth. He once told some talmidim that he had been unable to sleep for weeks because of a certain problem in the Rambam. When the talmidim looked into the Rambam, they were surprised to find that the Kessef Mishneh had asked the same question in his commentary. More, the Kessef Mishneh had resolved the issue.

Sensing their surprise, the Rosh Yeshiva told them, “Yes, the Kessef Mishneh gives an answer, but I still want to understand why the Rambam did not learn the Gemora according to its simplest and most obvious understanding.” A lack of clarity plagued him to the point of not sleeping, even with a solution of so illustrious a predecessor as the Kessef Mishneh.

In Control of Good Impulses

My rebbe, Rabbi Aharon Leib Steinman offers a powerful insight into Rabbi Shach’s middas ha’emes. Over a period of close to nine decades, Reb Aharon Leib has known many Torah giants. Each one could be described as having conquered his yeitzer hara (evil impulse). But Rabbi Shach did something else: He conquered his middos hatov (positive traits), as well.

Everyone who knew him was struck by his gutskeit and feinkeit – his generosity and sensitivity. Stories of how far he would extend himself for a child or a bachur, even when in his nineties, are legion. Reb Aharon Leib relates that when discussing the tzaros of Klal Yisroel, the Rosh Yeshiva would take the matters so to heart that he had trouble speaking. “When Klal Yisroel has problems, there are those who are pained. But to become sick from them, to faint for Klal Yisroel, only Maran HaRav Shach did.”

Yet, when he felt that there was the slightest threat to the Mesora (the sacred tradition) with which he had been entrusted, be it ever so imperceptible, he stood in the breach and became a roaring lion. The ish ha’emes overcame all the warmth and kindness, the yeitzer hatov that was naturally his.

Again Reb Aharon Leib put the matter best: “He feared no one. He trembled before no man, and acted even against his own good middos, when he felt that he had to stand up for religious principles. Once he said that he was sure that they would throw stones at him in a certain place. But he went nevertheless. He was prepared to sacrifice himself to that extent. Personal honor meant nothing to him.”

The ferocity with which Rabbi Shach guarded the Mesora was the other side of the coin to the gentleness and warm smile that he showed to one and all. Both were expressions of his overwhelming love for Klal Yisroel and every member of it. Nothing was clearer to him than the conviction that only the purity of the Mesora, and a strong nucleus of bnei Torah, could ensure the future and wellbeing of the Jewish people and every single Jew.

With his passing, we have truly lost “the one who leaves you with love.”

.

Back to Homepage