Episode 116: Rochel Tells Her Daughter Devorah About Her Upbringing

00:01 Rachel, the daughter of Baruch Batlan and wife of Shneur Zalman, the son of Rabbi Moshe, continues telling her daughter about the family’s history. Rachel is remarkable for her steadfast loyalty to the path of her father, Rabbi Baruch Batlan. He was a disciple of the baal shem Rabbi Yoel of Zamosc, and was therefore connected with the hidden tzaddikim and the kabbalists of that time. As she began telling her daughter Devorah’le about him, she also shared experiences and memories from her childhood. Rachel’s mother, the wife of Rabbi Baruch Batlan, was an exceptional woman, learned and deeply righteous. She played a significant part, of course, in shaping and educating her daughter Rachel. She instilled a love of Judaism in her children from birth, and her influence on Rachel was very great. She took particular care with washing hands upon waking. Even before a baby was a month old, she would wash the baby’s hands whenever it woke, by night or by day. At night, the mother naturally kept a vessel of water beside her bed. When she needed to nurse the baby, she washed her own hands alternately, then the baby’s hands, and only then nursed the baby. This special care in washing hands after sleep followed the instruction of the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel, the baal shem of Zamosc, who said that it affected not only the observance of halachah but also the child’s health. Twice a day, both father and mother would bring the child to the mezuzah to kiss it, from the earliest age: once in the morning upon waking and once in the evening before going to sleep. Rabbi Baruch Batlan’s family name was Portugali, because he was descended from the Jews expelled from Portugal. “Batlan” was an honorific nickname given to him, and for a long time his daughter Rachel thought it was their family name. Rachel continues telling her daughter Devorah’le: “When I began to speak, Mother taught us to say Modeh Ani, Shema Yisroel, Baruch Shem, and Torah Tzivah every morning. And by the time I turned

02:53 three, I already knew the blessings recited over food. I would wash my hands for a meal, say the blessing over washing, say Hamotzi over the bread, and at the end of the meal say the Birich Rachamana blessing. When I was four and my brother was not yet three, I taught him the blessings too, and taught him to read the letters of the alef-beis with their vowel marks: kometz alef, ‘o,’ and so on. My father,” Rachel says, “was endowed with many virtues: an outstanding scholar, a very wise man, patient and good-natured, and above all, modest and humble beyond compare. No one ever found Father studying, because he would shut himself in his room and spend whole nights there learning Torah. But when someone knocked on his door, he would close the book, put it on the bookshelf, and then open the door and welcome everyone warmly. I never saw Father argue with anyone over a point of learning to show that he knew better. Father loved hearing other people’s Torah insights, but he did not reveal his own—even though he left behind hundreds of written pages of them—except on rare occasions, and then only very briefly. Father used to quote a saying of an ancient sage: ‘It is good to be set apart while among others, and to be alone while among people.’ This means that an upright person should strengthen himself to follow the middle path, the golden mean. He should not withdraw from people and live in isolation, but neither should he be boisterous and waste his time in idle talk. While among others, he should take an interest in everything necessary, yet at the same time remain set apart and inwardly alone. This saying about being set apart while among others and alone while among people was a foundation of Father’s way of life,” Rachel says. “As a young child, and even as a girl, I did not understand it. But when I grew older, I understood it and saw that Father’s very expression and manner showed

05:42 that even when he was among others, among people, he remained set apart and inwardly alone. His radiant face, the compassion that rested upon it, the natural hint of a smile on his lips, and his deep black eyes gave him a special grace that also captivated everyone who saw him. Father related that when he was ten, he was already engaged in gemilus chassadim: his parents gave him a sum of money, and he lent it to poor merchants. When he returned from yeshivah and became engaged, he set aside a tenth of the dowry he was given. He allocated a certain portion to a gemilus chassadim fund, and after marrying my mother, he established a private loan fund of his own, lending to merchants without receiving any benefit. When I was old enough to understand, Father explained to me fully the mitzvah of doing kindness with one’s own effort, in addition to giving money, by taking trouble for another person’s good. Father was loved by everyone, regardless of standing or circumstances. Torah scholars and ordinary people, rich and poor alike, all loved Father and treated him with great respect. Even those who opposed the wisdom of Kabbalah and the path of the hidden tzaddikim—as you know from the earlier stories, Father was a devoted disciple of the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel, the baal shem of Zamosc, studied Kabbalah, cherished the hidden tzaddikim, and supported them financially—even those opponents held Father in great respect. The townspeople called him Rabbi Baruch Batlan. As a child, I heard people call Father Rabbi Baruch Batlan. They called me Rachel, Rabbi Baruch Batlan’s daughter, and my brother Binyamin, Rabbi Baruch Batlan’s son. So I innocently thought Batlan was our family name, just as my childhood friends were called Brandeis, Klover, and Schper. A distant relative on my mother’s side was a jovial man who also liked to tease me. Sometimes he would call me Rachel’le, the little girl. Other times he would address me grandly and respectfully as ‘Madam

08:19 Rachel Portugali,’ and I would run away from him. Once he made me very upset, calling me Rachel Portugali again and again. I cried my heart out. When Father heard me crying, he came out of his room and asked why I was crying. I told him that Shimon Aryeh was teasing me by calling me Rachel Portugali. ‘But Batlan is our family name! Why does he call me by another name? I’m your daughter. If your name is Rabbi Baruch Batlan, then my name is Rachel Batlan too.’ Father calmed me and said nothing; only a faint smile crossed his lips. When I grew a little older, I learned that our family name really was Portugali. Batlan was the name the townspeople had given Father. It was a mark of honor for him: because of his extraordinary qualities, all the scholars and wealthy men deferred to him. Father,” Rachel said, “did nothing—whether in his business, his way of life, or the running of his home—without seeking the advice of his teacher, the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel, the baal shem of Zamosc.” “Mother,” Devorah Leah asked, “you told me that if I didn’t understand something you said, I should ask you right away and not put it off. You’ve mentioned the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel, the baal shem of Zamosc, several times in your stories. What does the title ‘baal shem’ mean? Is it a general title, like a family name, or a personal title given only to him?” “Baal shem,” Rachel replied, “is a title with two meanings, both general and particular. Anything exceptional among things of its kind can be described as having a name. We see this in an explicit Mishnah in Tractate Peah: ‘Any olive tree that has a name among the olive trees in the field’—meaning that the tree stands out from the other trees. It may produce more olives than the others, or its olives may contain more oil, or it may stand in a particularly choice location.”

11:02 For these and similar reasons, this tree has a well-known name. The same is true of anything in the four categories—the inanimate, plants, animals, and people—that has some advantage over its surroundings. That advantage makes it known, and it is called a baal shem, one that has a name. This is a general designation for anything in the four categories. But the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel was called a Baal Shem for another reason as well. Besides being known for his distinction among other people, he was versed in Kabbalah, and through his knowledge he performed wonders, such as the expulsion of harmful forces and the healing of the sick that I told you about. That is why he was called a Baal Shem. Hakadosh Boruch Hu, Master of the world, has many names. Seven of them are known to us, and we mention them in our prayers and requests. At times we call our Father in Heaven by one name, and at times by another, as the Men of the Great Assembly established for us. Through Kabbalah, they knew the meanings of the names. Each name brings about a particular effect in the world, and one must know what each name does and how to pronounce it in the permitted way. The tzaddik Rabbi Yoel knows the meanings of the names, how to pronounce them, and what they accomplish. That is why he is called a Baal Shem. He knows how to direct his thoughts when using the names of Hakadosh Boruch Hu and thereby perform wonders. “Did your father, Rabbi Baruch Batlan, also perform wonders?” Devorah Leah asked. “Since he was a longtime student of Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem, surely he, too, knew the names and could perform wonders like him.” “Certainly,” Rachel replied. “Father also knew some of the names as they are written in the books of Kabbalah. But he certainly did not use them to perform wonders, because the use of Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s names is permitted only to someone who has been granted permission or commanded by the great heavenly court. And even

13:38 someone who has been granted permission by the great heavenly court may not use them for his private needs, but only for the good of the public and to sanctify Hashem’s name.” This explanation of what a Baal Shem is and of the names of Hakadosh Boruch Hu made a deep impression on Devorah Leah, who had never heard of these things. Although she had been praying for several years and mentioned Hakadosh Boruch Hu by different names in her prayers, she had never noticed it. She had also heard several times about the great heavenly court, but until now the matter had not been entirely clear to her. Some things still remained unclear, and she left them for another time. But there was one question she did not want to put off, and she asked her mother: “You told me, Mother, that Hakadosh Boruch Hu brings things about through the recitation of His names, and that only certain people know how to pronounce them. If so, why does everyone pray and say the names of Hakadosh Boruch Hu when they do not know how to direct their thoughts when saying them?” “You have asked an important question, my daughter,” said the Rebbetzin. “It shows me that you understand what I am explaining to you and that you are doing as I instructed: asking about anything you do not understand. Know, my daughter, that nothing is greater than simple faith in the blessed Creator, and nothing is finer than sincerity of heart. To believe simply and wholeheartedly that He is the Creator, that He guides His world with kindness and His creatures with mercy—this is central to every Jew’s life. When a Jew prays wholeheartedly to our Father in Heaven, his prayer is heard even if he does not know how to direct his thoughts when saying a name. His prayer is enough to bring him what he needs to sustain his body and nourish his soul. Only things beyond the ordinary come about

15:59 through tzaddikim reciting a name with the proper intention. I’ll tell you a parable that will explain it. A father gives his children food; a child does not need to ask, ‘Father, provide for me,’ or ‘Father, feed me.’ But when a child has a special request, he needs to appeal to his father, calling him by different names and pleading until his father grants his request. Sometimes, for one reason or another, the father does not grant his child’s request. My father, who was a longtime student of the tzaddik Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem, was very fond of simple people who feared Hashem with wholehearted simplicity and fulfilled mitzvos eagerly and beautifully. They did not know the deeper meaning or reasons for the mitzvos; they did them simply because Hakadosh Boruch Hu had commanded them. Father said he felt more reverent awe before the simplicity of Leibel Shaul the wagon driver than before the remarkable Torah insights of Shlomo Leib, the prodigy from Prague. And this truly is the way of those who study Kabbalah and follow the ways of the hidden tzaddikim,” Rebbetzin Rachel told her daughter. “They cherish an act done with a sincere heart, regardless of whether the person doing it is a man or a woman. For in the inner mystery of souls, we all have one Father. My own father, in his great wisdom, understood what was happening within me and realized that he needed to teach me Torah. He hired a teacher who taught me in an orderly fashion, taking care only that the matter not become public.” Rachel continued telling her daughter: “Over five years, I acquired a good knowledge of Tanach with its commentaries, and of the Mishnah’s Seder Zeraim with the commentaries of the Rash and the Rambam. When I was twelve, I began studying Gemara in depth. At the same time, Father placed the household work on my shoulders—cooking, baking, and laundry. I continued this way until I married your father at nineteen; he is four years older than I am.” Rachel also told her daughter that she had devoted herself especially to studying halachah and had gained extensive knowledge of it.