Episode 137: The Emissary of Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem Surprises Everyone

00:01 We continue with the tena’im celebration for Binyamin, the son of Rabbi Baruch Batlan, and the daughter of the teacher Rabbi Aharon. The guests honored the representative of Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem of Zamość, who had sent a special emissary to the celebration, by inviting him to lead the zimun for bentching. The two fathers of the couple handed the cup to the Baal Shem’s emissary. All eyes turned to the visiting Jew, whose name was Rabbi Yehuda Zusha. He looked embarrassed. “I’m not used to leading bentching before a large crowd,” he said. “And I’m used to davening from a siddur.” He asked them to bring him one. That alone was enough to make the distinguished scholars at the celebration exchange astonished glances. Their astonishment grew when Yehuda Zusha began reading from the siddur. The way he pronounced the words made him sound like an ignoramus who did not even know their meaning, and his voice was coarse and rough. The learned guests, especially Rabbi Moishe, lowered their heads in embarrassment. Rabbi Moishe felt he should comfort and encourage his new relative, Rabbi Baruch Batlan, in this awkward situation. So immediately after bentching, he hurried to whisper in his ear, in a friendly tone, that he shared his distress over the humiliation his teacher had caused him by sending an ignorant blockhead to his celebration. “Couldn’t your teacher have found an emissary who wouldn’t spoil the joy?” he asked. But it was clear that Rabbi Baruch had no need of his distinguished relative’s comfort or encouragement. “Don’t worry, my dear friend,” he told him. “If our teacher sent this Jew here, he is certainly the most suitable person for the mission. It hasn’t occurred to me for even a moment that his emissary has caused me any humiliation, and he certainly hasn’t spoiled our joy.” Baruch continued, “If our teacher, the holy Baal

02:40 Shem, had instructed me to choose anyone’s daughter for my son, no matter whose, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment to follow his instruction. My wife, my son and I all feel that way. Now that the Baal Shem has chosen Rabbi Aharon’s wonderful daughter for my son, we are truly happy. The bride is talented and very good. Aharon is a Jew who has devoted himself with self-sacrifice to teaching Torah. I consider it a great privilege that my son will become Rabbi Aharon’s son-in-law.” Moishe listened in amazement. He had no words with which to respond to what he was hearing. Yet while Rabbi Baruch Batlan had gladly accepted the choice of emissary for the celebration, Rabbi Moishe was not the only one who found it surprising. Even among the followers of Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem of Zamość, some thought Rabbi Yehuda Zusha was not the right person to represent the Baal Shem at such an important occasion. His speech, gestures, appearance and manner of walking were all as coarse and rough as those of an ignorant commoner. Had he not brought a letter from the Baal Shem, no one would have believed he really was his emissary. Rabbi Moishe could not stop thinking about it. Despite Rabbi Baruch’s reassuring answer, he wondered to himself whether Baruch was blinded by his devotion or had been deceived. On the other hand, he could not say too much: after all, the embarrassment was partly his as well, since he too was related to Reb Baruch through the marriage. Meanwhile, preparations for the wedding began. Naturally, the wedding, like the tena’im celebration, would have to be paid for by Reb Baruch, because Reb Aharon was desperately poor and could not, of course, pay for it himself. And if the tena’im celebration had been splendid, the wedding certainly

04:45 had to be as well. Indeed, it was a wedding that the whole city of Poznań talked about for a long time afterward. Never before had so many great Torah scholars and distinguished figures gathered in Poznań for a wedding. Once again, Reb Moishe was among the honored guests. Although he well remembered the embarrassment caused at the tena’im celebration by the Baal Shem’s strange emissary, he said nothing and came to the wedding. Deep down, he wondered who the Baal Shem would send this time: that same ignoramus, Reb Yehuda Zusha, or someone more learned. To Reb Moishe’s astonishment, and that of many of the guests, the person who arrived at the wedding as the Baal Shem’s emissary was none other than that same Reb Yehuda Zusha. Would Reb Baruch at least be more careful this time and avoid honoring him with leading bentching, so that he would not display his ignorance before everyone again? Strangely enough, Yehuda Zusha did not arrive in the ordinary clothes he had worn the previous time. This time he wore what is called the garb of the rabbis: a rabbinic silk coat, with a shtreimel on his head like one of the rabbis. Moishe thought to himself that if only the man had worn his shabby clothes, he would not have drawn so much attention. As it was, all eyes at the wedding of Binyamin, Rabbi Baruch’s son, and the daughter of Aharon the teacher turned toward Yehuda Zusha, the Baal Shem’s emissary. Among the guests were Poznań’s most distinguished figures. At the tena’im celebration, as we recall, he had come dressed like an ignoramus, and had indeed seemed simple, coarse and ignorant. It had been surprising enough that such a man had been chosen to represent the Baal Shem at so important an occasion. Now, at the wedding celebration, the surprise was that the same emissary had appeared wearing a shtreimel and silken garments, like

07:02 those of a distinguished Torah scholar. Everyone remembered how he had recited bentching with broken words, struggling to read from the siddur. Rabbi Baruch Batlan behaved as though nothing unusual had happened. This time too, he received Rabbi Yehuda Zusha, his teacher’s emissary, with great respect and seated him to the groom’s right. All the city’s scholars gathered at the wedding tables discussed Torah, but Yehuda Zusha did not open his mouth. At the end of the wedding meal, the groom delivered a highly sophisticated Torah discourse, demonstrating his great scholarship. As usual, the scholars present were preparing to discuss his arguments after he finished. Then something unexpected happened. As soon as the groom finished speaking, Yehuda Zusha turned to the two fathers, Rabbi Baruch Batlan and Rabbi Aharon, and asked permission to say something. With their permission, he began, to everyone’s surprise, to present a series of questions about the groom’s discourse, displaying wide knowledge and sharp insight. Once he had laid out all the questions, he answered every one of them with extraordinary brilliance. The questions were powerful and impressive; the answers were masterful and astonished those present with their originality and surprising insights. So Yehuda Zusha was no ignoramus at all, as he had first appeared. “The rabbinic clothes he’s wearing suit him perfectly,” the guests said, looking at one another in astonishment, hardly believing their ears. His clear, fluent speech was especially surprising, unlike at the tena’im celebration, when he had pronounced even the words of the prayers like a wagon driver. All the learned guests, led by Rabbi Moishe, Rabbi Baruch Batlan’s relative through the marriage, discussed the words of the groom and Yehuda Zusha. All the while, they could not stop wondering at what was happening before their eyes. Rabbi Moishe turned to Rabbi Baruch Batlan and asked his forgiveness for what, at the tena’im celebration,

09:41 He spoke disparagingly of the Baal Shem’s emissary, because at the time he felt that the Baal Shem had humiliated Rabbi Baruch by sending such a character to represent him at his celebration. “Now,” said Moshe, “I have come to realize that Rabbi Yoel Baal Shem’s students have a way of their own. They do not reveal their Torah knowledge at every opportunity.” Reb Moshe and many others like him, who until then had opposed the Baal Shem and his students, began to treat them with greater respect. The Jews of Poznań and the surrounding area spoke for a long time about the surprising discovery of Yehudah Zusha’s Torah greatness. Binyamin and his wife, the daughter of Rabbi Aharon the teacher, ate at his father’s table for two years, during which Binyamin studied Torah with great diligence. Afterward, the young Binyamin was appointed rabbi of Grodno, a community renowned for its scholars. Rabbi Binyamin’s name became celebrated in the communities of Poland and Lithuania, and beyond. Some time later, the family ties between Rabbi Moshe and Rabbi Baruch grew even closer: Rabbi Moshe’s younger son, Schneur Zalman, married Rachel, Rabbi Baruch’s learned daughter, while Freida, Rabbi Moshe’s daughter, married Kaddish, Rabbi Baruch’s nephew, who, as we recall, was famous for his great scholarship. As for Kaddish himself, Rabbi Baruch’s nephew who married Freida, Rabbi Moshe’s daughter, a great tragedy befell him years later. At the age of thirty-five, he contracted a dangerous illness and remained unconscious for a long time. Fervent prayers were offered for his recovery, and many segulos were performed on his behalf. After a few months he was out of danger, but he had lost the power of speech. When he finally got out of bed and began walking, it became clear that his memory had been severely weakened—so much so that he had forgotten everything he had learned. Even blessings and prayers he had to recite with great effort from the

12:30 siddur. At first, because of his condition, the doctors forbade Kaddish even to look into a book. Only a year later was he permitted to read books, and Kaddish slowly began to study and make progress in his learning. But he never managed to regain his former level of scholarship. By then Kaddish’s mother was no longer alive, and he often said sadly that he had to thank Hashem that she had not lived to see him forget his Torah learning. There is no doubt that Tzvia, for whom her son Kaddish had been a comfort in life, would have been utterly broken by it. But although Kaddish had no mother to grieve over his condition, he did have a father-in-law and mother-in-law, a wife, and his uncle Rabbi Baruch. All of them felt great pain. The material burden of supporting Rabbi Kaddish and Freida naturally fell on the shoulders of his father-in-law, Rabbi Moshe, but that was no hardship for the wealthy head of Poznań’s community. What Rabbi Moshe could not accept calmly, however, was that the same Kaddish who had been so famous for his scholarship had become an am ha’aretz in the literal sense. It pained everyone deeply to see this scholar, once renowned throughout the Torah world for both his vast knowledge and his sharp reasoning, struggle over a verse in Chumash or a passage in Mishnah. Studying Gemara was out of the question. Rabbi Moshe did not derive much satisfaction from his son Schneur Zalman, Rabbi Baruch’s son-in-law, either. His scholarship, to be sure, gave him much satisfaction: by all accounts, Schneur Zalman was a great Torah scholar and surpassed both his brothers. But Rabbi Moshe had expected his son to be like him, combining Torah greatness with worldly standing, and wanted him to devote part of his time to business. He even set aside a very substantial sum for him to start a business, so that he could attain financial security and stand on his own feet. But Schneur

14:48 Zalman informed his father that he had no intention of engaging in commerce, or of having much to do with worldly affairs at all. What Schneur Zalman wanted, no less, was to be a teacher of young children. Rabbi Moshe was stunned. “You’ll be poor and short of bread all your life,” he said. Schneur Zalman replied, “I would rather be an impoverished teacher than a wealthy merchant.” His father, Rabbi Moshe, asked him, “And what does your wife Rachel think? She comes from a wealthy home and is used to having all her needs met. Does she realize that one day she may not have enough bread to eat?” Rabbi Moshe was sure this question would corner his son and put an end to the strange idea. But Schneur Zalman said, “Rachel, as a devoted wife, gladly agreed to her husband’s wishes. I didn’t have to persuade her.” Hearing this, Rabbi Moshe understood that he would not be able to change his son’s mind. Moreover, Moshe assumed that if Schneur Zalman did enter the business world, he would not succeed. Rabbi Moshe wondered sorrowfully to himself what would become of his son after he passed away. As long as he was alive, he could support his son and his family—but what would happen afterward? In truth, though, this was not only a question of what would happen after his hundred and twenty years. What assurance did anyone have, even the wealthiest person, that he would not one day lose his fortune? Indeed, Reb Moshe already sensed that difficult days were approaching for Poznań. He had a feeling that the day was coming when Jews would be forced to leave the city. Under the circumstances of that time, even a wealthy Jew could not be certain of retaining his wealth. Dangers lurked on every side. And indeed, various troubles befell the Poznań community. For a long time, Reb Moshe, as its leader, managed to avert decrees that threatened it. But the time came when even Reb

17:03 Moshe was forced to ask, “From where will my help come?” Here is what happened. We recall how Reb Moshe managed to silence the mustachioed[?] priests at the gathering where the Jews were accused of throwing the statue of that man into the trash. Reb Moshe, as head of the Jewish delegation, firmly and proudly rejected the accusation and managed to avert the great disaster that threatened the Jews. The head priest at the time began investigating what Reb Moshe had said and accused one of the priests of having done the deed. When it emerged that this was indeed the case, the priests could not forgive the young priest. They approved of his intention, which they saw as a clever plot against the Jews, but in their eyes, smashing the statue with his own hands and throwing it into the trash was an unforgivable act. Even the young priests, his peers, distanced themselves from him. The young priest, [unclear][?], rebuked by the elders and shunned by the younger priests, decided to leave Poznań and traveled to the Christian center in Rome. His fortunes improved at the Vatican. He spent eleven years there, trained in the art of preaching, and successfully carried out various assignments. Later, when news of the death of Poznań’s bishop reached the pope, none other than that young priest, a native of Poznań, was chosen for the post. When the Jews of Poznań learned the identity of the new bishop, fear for the future spread among them. They assumed that this enemy of the Jews would do everything he could to harm them. To everyone’s surprise, however, the new bishop began preaching in favor of the Jews and urging non-Jews to draw closer to them. In his speeches, the bishop went so far as to call on non-Jewish youth to mingle with the Jews so that they would become one people. A brilliant speaker, the new bishop had great influence over the masses, and within a year friendships had already developed between Jewish young people

19:21 between Jewish and non-Jewish youth, to the great dismay of the rabbis, the community leaders, and all faithful Jews. Before long, a young non-Jew came to the beis din of Poznań asking to convert. The beis din rejected his request in accordance with halachah, which determines when a person may be converted and when not. Word of the incident spread quickly and caused an uproar among the clergy and Christian leadership. What audacity, to reject a request to join the Jewish people! The Jews of Poznań were bewildered. Nothing like this had ever happened before: Christian youths wanted to convert, and the priests insisted that the Jews accept them. Reb Moishe, the head of the community, was especially perplexed. As someone familiar with the world in general and the Christian world in particular, he knew well how eager the Church was to win Jewish souls. Yet suddenly the Church wanted its own young people to become Jews, and when they were turned away, it raised an outcry. Reb Moishe was particularly puzzled because he knew that all this was coming from that bishop. He remembered well the bishop’s hatred of Jews in years past, and how he had nearly brought disaster upon the community. It was clear to Reb Moishe that the bishop had not suddenly become a friend of the Jews. Something must lie behind his newfound affection for them and his preaching of friendship between Jews and Christians. Reb Moishe could surmise that the real aim was to get Jews to convert to Christianity, not the other way around, but he could not get to the bottom of what was happening. The whole affair seemed mysterious to him.