by Rabbi Nosson Scherman
The Grand Assembly: Postponed -
The Chofetz Chaim was 75 years old in 1913, no youngster by any standard. But in that year he joined most of the Torah luminaries of his period in launching a new organization, issuing a proclamation calling for the First Knessia Gedolah (Great Congress) of the new-born Agudath Israel to be held the following summer in Kattowitz. But the conference never took place, for the world was otherwise involved - World War I broke out, bringing four years of strife, slaughter, and exile.
Even during his difficult war years, while leading the remnants of the Radin Yeshiva from town to town in Russia, the Chofetz Chaim never lost sight of his goal of unifying traditional Jewry under the banner of an international Torah organization. In 1917 he issued a public proclamation urging Russian Jews to join Agudath Israel. But with the success of the Bolshevik Revolution, that country became closed to all public religious activity. Nonetheless, the Chofetz Chaim continued to view Agudath Israel as an urgent stratagem in the battle for Torah life; the emergence of the new Leninist regime would merely shift Agudah's center of gravity from Russia to Poland.
Until 1923
It was not until 1923 that post-war Jewry had stabilized to the point where the first Knessia Gedolah, nine years postponed, could finally be called. It was to be held in Vienna. By then, the Chofetz Chaim was 85, but he resolved to demonstrate his own continuing allegiance to the Agudath Israel concept by making the long, uncomfortable trip from Radin to Vienna.
The Knessia Gedolah had all the markings of a great event. Its five hundred delegates included nearly all of the great rabbis, admorim, and roshei yeshiva of the day; thousands of spectators would attend to hear and see the greatest single assemblage of Torah leadership in many centuries; and millions of Jews would follow the proceedings with interest and allegiance, or dread and disdain, depending upon their political and religious orientation. No matter what part of the Jewish spectrum one occupied, the Knessia Gedolah was an important event.
As the most beloved and universally respected Jewish figure, the Chofetz Chaim's position toward Agudath Israel was the object of intense speculation. True, he had been one of its original and warmest supporters, but he was also "above politics." Perhaps, said many, he merely favored Agudath Israel in the abstract, as an expression of organized Jewish unity under the banner of Torah; but he probably would not join in the practical workings of an organization that would descend from the ascetic ivory tower and become involved in the sometimes unpleasant battle for souls. The Chofetz Chaim, after all, was one of those rare men who, in his lifetime, had won the adulation of all circles and was claimed by them all. The non-religious Jewish press, therefore, attempted to portray him as being less than enthusiastic about the goals and methods of Agudath Israel's more vocal partisans.
"The Chofetz Chaim Local"
For tens of thousands of Jews along the rail route through Lithuania and Poland, the center of interest was a train schedule. The train carrying many of the greatest Torah figures of the day would be passing through, and every railroad station was mobbed with Jews seeking to shake the hand or catch a glimpse of their revered leaders.
On the same train rode the Chofetz Chaim, the Gerrer Rebbe, the Sokolover Rebbe, Rabbi Meir Dan Plotzki of Sokolov, and many others, with their entourages. The Chofetz Chaim followed his usual practice of traveling third class. As an unusual token of deference to the venerable sage, Rabbi Plotzki accompanied the Chofetz Chaim on the journey.
At one of the stations in Poland, a large crowd stood and clamored for an appearance by the Chofetz Chaim, to no avail. A committee of local rabbis and lay leaders boarded the train to plead that he show himself. Still he refused. Reb Meir Dan, his traveling companion, asked why he was so adamant.
The Chofetz Chaim explained, "All my life I fled from honor. How can you ask me to seek it now? Glory is a risky undertaking. Rabbi Yehuda HaChassid said that a person's share in the World-to-Come is not diminished by material rewards in this world. But honor is different; it is a spiritual thing and when it is granted in this world, it is subtracted from his share of the World-to-Come."
Rabbi Plotzki replied, "First of all, I think it is worthwhile to give up a bit of Olam Haba to satisfy the request of so many Jews. Secondly, I doubt that this type of honor can cost you a portion of the next-"
The Chofetz Chaim interrupted, "Enough. Your first argument is sufficient." And the Chofetz Chaim rose and walked over to the coach window. When the crowd saw him, it began pushing and shoving to shake his hand. For the aged and frail sage, this represented considerable physical danger. He raised his hand, waving to them, motioning to them to stop: "Shalom Aleichem, fellow Jews. The pasuk says, 'Shalom, Shalom larachok v'lakarov - Peace, peace to far and near.' The verse seems to say that one can give Shalom from afar. It isn't necessary to shake hands."
When the train pulled into Chenstochav, he was exhausted and he decided that he would not greet the crowds. He asked that the door and windows be closed so that he could rest. Suddenly, the conductor rushed in and ordered that the coach be evacuated; an axle was on fire. To which the Chofetz Chaim characteristically remarked, "Such is the power of a tzibbur (multitude). Try as we might avoid it, we have no choice but to come out."
Vienna: "The Chofetz Chaim is Coming!"
Finally they arrived at Vienna and, despite the presence of many other foremost Torah personalities, the tiny, frail, old man from Radin was the center of attraction. Why? Self-deprecatingly he found his own answer when he reluctantly acceded to the request that he be the first speaker at the Knessia Gedolah - he was chosen not for his Torah or good deeds, he insisted; he had precious little of those. He was chosen because he was the oldest delegate and a Kohen. Priesthood and seniority are gifts of G-d, and by their virtue it would not be presumptuous of him to bless the assemblage.
That was his version. It is doubtful that anyone else agreed. The public pulse, both within and without the Knessia hall, was better tapped by Gedalia Bublik - distinguished editor of Tageblatt, a leading Yiddish daily in New York - who wrote that Agudath Israel's greatest triumph in arranging the Knessia Gedolah was in achieving the presence of the Chofetz Chaim.
"There is no person now living who has so hallowed himself and is so universally acknowledged as a holy person as the Chofetz Chaim. The public considers him the leading tzaddik of the generation, even more than it considers him a Torah genius . . . "When the call is heard, 'The Chofetz Chaim is coming!' - a panic breaks out in the hall. Everyone jumps from his seat and cranes his neck to see him ..."
(The general public may have considered the Chofetz Chaim, as Bublik reported, more tzaddik than gaon. One of the greatest Torah figures of the previous generation disagreed. When the Chofetz Chaim's classic halachah masterpiece, Mishnah Berurah, was published, Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Brisk said of its author, "His greatness as a tzaddik obscures his even greater statute as a Torah genius.")
Speeches: Frequent and Deceptively Simple
He spoke often at the Knessia in his deceptively simple manner. Like so many of his works, his brief speeches could be understood on many levels; the simplest layman and most learned scholar could feel that the delicate, indomitable saint from Radin was talking to him - talking not up, not down, but directly to him. And what is more, there was a total lack of affectation about him, a sincerity that made it possible for him to make demands upon the conscience of his listeners that would have been infuriating had they come from a lesser man. Thus, he could call upon the efforts of the leaders insisting that they dedicate themselves to spreading Torah, and not content themselves with personal achievement:
"Havu laHashem kavod va'oz - Ascribe to G-d glory and might. Give to the Master of the Universe the glory that is his due. When a mortal king visits a province, the custom is that the governor and all his retinue greet and honor the king. When he enters a town, the mayor greets him and assumes responsibility for his honor and safety. Wherever he goes, the leader of the district is ready to do his duty toward the monarch. The constable of the smallest side street is as responsible in his little realm as is the mighty governor in his.
"So it is with the King of Kings, the Holy One, Blessed be He. He first appeared to our ancestors Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob - and they honored Him. They revealed His glory to the whole world. Then, He revealed Himself to the prophets and they announced His glory and greatness to humanity. Then came the Tannaim, the Amoraim; later the gaonim, the rishonim, and tzaddikim of succeeding generations. Each in turn fulfilled the obligation of safeguarding and proclaiming His greatness and glory. We, in our generation, are like the simple constable compared to the great men of generations ago. Our duty to safeguard the Heavenly Glory, however, is no less an obligation than that of earlier, greater generations."
Not many people like being lectured to; most resent it. But, these words were spoken by the Chofetz Chaim, and they were natural, telling, irrefutable, and well-received.
A Secularist's-Eye-View
It is informative to see how journalists of the period described the Chofetz Chaim's impact on the Vienna Knessia. Religious journalists might well have had a prior point of view, so it will best serve our purpose to look to a secular correspondent (The Viennese German newspapers also wrote many enraptured articles about the Chofetz Chaim.) Following is a dispatch filed by H. Mauskopf in the September 23, 1923 edition of the New York Forward, a Yiddish daily noted for its socialist policies and its rabid anti-religious attitudes. It was the Daily Forward, in fact, that achieved notoriety early in the century as the sponsor of the infamous Yom Kippur Balls on the Lower East Side. Here is Mr. Mauskopf's report:
The Sokolover Rebbe, who is in the midst of speaking, is suddenly silent, his hand remaining outstretched as though frozen. The audience, the presidium, the journalists, and the guests in the galleries all stand up. Rabbis, tzaddikim, and religious Jews arise from their places. There is a silent, restrained movement, a rustle of awe and respect, stern outcries are heard from the ushers - Make room! Make an aisle! The crowd makes way. People push atop one another, with bated breath, with a shudder in their hearts. They step back momentarily and form two rows of people in the center of the hall: two rows of rabbinical delegates in shining satin coats with long white beards and, between the two rows, several rabbis escort - why do 1 say escort?- they virtually carry a tiny, frail, old man; a venerable, hunched little man with a small white beard and a simple, poor black coat, a plain black scarf around his neck ...
When you first see the little ninety-year old man, he makes a strange impression on you - you feel a shudder of awe and love, an enormous respect and regard which is boundless. When you look more closely, you see the face of an angel, of a servant of G-d. The Divine Presence rests on that face and you must close your eyes because of the brilliance that shines from the small, gray, wise eyes. When he stands at the rostrum and speaks, two rabbis flank him and support him by the arms. The entire assemblage listens standing. His voice is weak, but clear. He calls Jews to unity, to peace, to goodness, to piety, to love, and to action. His small, bent frame shakes as he speaks. His small white beard glows from the distance like freshly fallen snow. From the eyes, glows an entire world of wisdom and goodness ...
This is how I imagine Hillel the Elder must have appeared.
Out of the hall he goes between rows of standing rabbis. He walks quickly, energetically, with the white head bent toward the ground ...
And when he is lifted and helped into the car, the whole street is black with people. They push "head upon head" to see the Chofetz Chaim. Christians remove their hats out of respect. Jews clamber onto the automobile, on the wheels, on the hood. Everyone wants to see the Chofetz Chaim, to touch the hem of his poor long coat. Those closest extend trembling hands into the car. The Chofetz Chaim gives "Shalom," his frail, thin fingers ... touching the thick, trembling hand: Shalom. It is chaotic ... the police are powerless. They can't bring order. They, too, push and look captivated and respectfully at the strange, small old man with the satin cap on the white head ... the Chofetz Chaim.
House Guest: One Man and a Continent
During his stay in Vienna, the Chofetz Chaim was the guest of Rabbi Akiva Schreiber, a grandson of the Chasam Sofer. The honor did not come to Mr. Schreiber easily, however. Before his distinguished guest accepted the invitation, Mr. Schreiber had to agree to allow him to either eat his own food or pay for his meals and other expenses. As would be expected, the Schreiber home became public property during the stay of its distinguished guest. It seemed as though everyone in town wanted to visit, consult, or just feast his eyes on the tzaddik from the once unheard of little town that he had turned into a household word.
One of those who came to the Schreiber home failed to achieve his goal ... and yet he succeeded. He was Abraham Pinchas Landau of London and he needed the Chofetz Chaim's advice on a pressing personal problem. Mr. Landau was a businessman who was one of the most community-minded Orthodox Jews of London. He was gabbai of Machzikei Hadas, leader of a Talmud Torah and other institutions. His business, however, had suffered as of late and he had been hearing about it from his family. What right had he to spend so much time and energy ort his community work at the expense of his business? How dare he allow privation to overtake his family in a quixotic attempt to save the world? Mr. Landau sought the guidance of Torah leaders in Vienna, and one of those he attempted to consult was the Chofetz Chaim. Pushing his way into the Schreiber home, Landau looked around and gave up on any hopes of a private audience; the house was mobbed. Still, it was a rare privilege to spend some time in the same room as the Chofetz Chaim, in close enough proximity to hear him talk. It was an opportunity afforded few spectators at the Knessia Gedolah in the pre-microphone era when the old sage's remarks could never be heard beyond the first few rows. So Landau stood and waited.
His meal over, the Chofetz Chaim began talking, making the apparently random remarks and comments that always brought people flocking to him. He always concluded his meal with a Torah thought before Bircas Hamazon.
"Ach tov vochessed yirdefuni kol yemei chayai - Only goodness and kindness shall pursue me all the days of my life. A remarkable thing! People sometimes suffer for performing deeds of goodness and kindness. The truth is that every human being suffers some sort of tribulations in life. And if he must suffer, it is far better to suffer for good deeds than for evil ones. That is what King David meant: if I must be 'pursued' in my lifetime, then please, G-d, let it be for deeds of goodness and kindness!"
Abraham Pinchas Landau trembled. "How could he know what I wanted to ask him? He was talking to me!" Did the Chofetz Chaim know? Perhaps not. But he was talking to Abraham Pinchas Landau. And to hundreds of thousands of others. As he always did. As the whole world learned in Vienna.