Chapter 182 - Shimon the Heretic Writes About His Encounters with the Chassidim and with the Alter Rebbe

00:01 The story of Shimon the heretic continues. Shimon the heretic writes a letter to Yosef Pesles [unclear], another of the maskilim and one of their leaders—or perhaps their leader at that time. At the same time, he is supposedly also the leader of those opposed to Chassidus. The community and the Gaon Rabbi Eliyahu of Vilna know him as a religious man, but in fact he is a maskil. In other words, he has really cast off the yoke entirely. He is not religious at all; that is only his outward appearance. He receives the letter from Shimon the heretic, and this is the continuation of the letter. Shimon the heretic tells him about his visit to various places where the chassidim lived. “When they finished singing,” writes Shimon the heretic, “Rabbi Nachman turned to one of those seated there and said, ‘Peretz, give me your yarmulke.’ Peretz lifted his hat, took the yarmulke off his head, and placed it on the table with its opening facing upward. Rabbi Nachman turned to those present and said, ‘Betzalel Chaim, you will write the list.’ He turned to one of the young men and said, ‘Eliyahu Moshe, bring paper, a pen, and ink.’ Rabbi Nachman again turned to Betzalel Chaim and said, ‘Take care to write neatly, without extraneous thoughts, because the list you are writing will enter the innermost sanctum, the Holy of Holies—before the Alter Rebbe.’ When the young man Eliyahu Moshe brought the paper and writing implements, Betzalel Chaim rose from the table, went to the washbasin, washed his hands, rubbed them together, dried them, adjusted his belt and hat, and sat down again. After preparing himself, he wrote about two lines.” “I did not see what he wrote,” writes Shimon the heretic. “I only saw that his face was very serious. He turned pale, then red, then pale again, and looked at Rabbi Nachman’s face. Rabbi Nachman took a piece of cloth from his garment pocket, took out a written sheet, and read from it the names of people, the sums of money, and the donations they had given. There were more than a thousand rubles there in gold coins. He placed the coins in the yarmulke, and Betzalel Chaim wrote down the donors’ names.

02:28 When Rabbi Nachman finished reading his list, another four or five people did the same: they read out the lists of donors and the amounts they had contributed, and put the coins in the yarmulke. Betzalel Chaim wrote it all down, filling four or five sheets. When they finished reading the lists, Rabbi Nachman took out a gold coin and put it in the yarmulke. Betzalel Chaim wrote down his name. The others present then did the same. Most gave no fewer than three coins, and some gave five or nine gold coins. “One man especially astonished me,” writes Shimon the heretic, “because when his turn came, he took out a cloth bundle containing many gold coins and handed it to Rabbi Nachman. Rabbi Nachman counted them twice and said to Betzalel Chaim, ‘Chaim Zundel, son of Beila, son of Yochanan Ze’ev: seventy-two gold rendlech coins.’ I looked,” writes Shimon the heretic, “at Chaim Zundel. He wore simple clothes and patched shoes. Would such a poor man donate such a large sum? When they finished collecting the donations, they emptied the yarmulke, put the coins in a cloth sack, and handed it to one of those present, Shlomo Eliezer. They drew lots to decide who would have the privilege of carrying the donation. The winners were Chaim Zundel and one of the older men, Nachum Moshe.” Shimon the heretic continues: “When I arrived in Liozna, it was Monday, about two hours after midday. I entered the synagogue in the Alter Rebbe’s courtyard, and there, in the second room, I found men still wrapped in their tallis and wearing tefillin, praying aloud in song. One was saying Pesukei Dezimra, another was saying the blessings of Shema, and all were chanting melodiously and snapping their fingers. It took about three hours before they finished praying. Afterward, some recited chapters of Tehillim, some studied Mishnah and Gemara, and some reviewed chapters of Nevi’im and Kesuvim by heart. When they were done, some left and others stayed. They washed their hands, ate dark bread with salt, drank water, recited bentching, and lay down on the benches for their afternoon

05:15 nap. In the second room—that is, there are three rooms in the synagogue in the Rebbe’s courtyard—I found a group of young men seated and studying Gemara in depth. Moreinu [unclear] Rabbi Yehuda Leib, the Rebbe’s brother—that is, the Alter Rebbe’s brother—sat at the head of the table, clarifying and explaining the sugya to them with remarkable breadth of knowledge in Gemara. He was well versed in the Rambam, the Rashba, and many works of later authorities. There were about thirty young men in the group. In the third room sat a group of twenty-three young men studying the same booklets I had seen being studied in the synagogues of Vitebsk. When I entered, a young man with a radiant, very serious face was sitting at the head of the table, and everyone seated or standing listened to him with particular attention. He was speaking about the subject they were studying in the eighth chapter of the Rebbe’s book: a person who unwittingly ate forbidden food for the sake of Heaven, intending to serve Hashem with the strength gained from that food through Torah study and prayer. The vitality of that food cannot be absorbed into the letters of Torah and prayer, and the evil inclination that craves forbidden things is a demon of alien demons. In his lengthy explanation, the young man described the difference between the impurity brought about by frivolity and mockery, arrogance, and idle talk, which coarsen the heart, and the impurity brought about by studying the wisdom of the nations, which defiles the mind. He went on to speak favorably of the Rambam and the Ramban, who engaged in those fields of knowledge and knew how to use them in the service of the Creator. The young scholar, writes Shimon the heretic, spoke in a way that could influence his listeners, for his explanations were, for the most part, logical. I later learned that this young man was the Rebbe’s eldest son—that is, the Alter Rebbe’s son—and that he had a regular class twice a week with two groups, each consisting of twenty-five people. Shimon the heretic continues: On that day I bought the first three booklets, beginning with the first chapter and ending on page twelve, at the start of the tenth chapter. Over the next three days or so, I went through them

08:07 very carefully, to the best of my understanding. Some of the older men also helped me understand them. Although their subject matter was beyond me, and inwardly I laughed at some of the matters concerning the descriptions of the supernal sefiros, the unifications effected through Torah and prayer, and the punishments of Gehinnom by fire and snow, the rich imagery, clear language, varied style, and sharp, concise wording made a powerful impression on me. Over those three days or so, I also came to know the Rebbe’s other sons as they sat in the beis midrash, each studying on his own. Occasionally, one of the older men or young men would approach them where they sat. The middle son, Rabbi Chaim Avraham, apparently loves solitude, and while studying he would spend more time absorbed in thought than speaking aloud. His younger brother, Rabbi Moshe, a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, is cheerful, with beautiful eyes and a face that radiates intelligence and self-awareness. He likes to talk and debate. They say that he is already well versed in the entire Talmud and excels in philosophical inquiry, and that he already knows the Guide for the Perplexed, the Kuzari, and Sefer HaIkkarim by heart, for he has an unparalleled grasp and memory. When I asked him whether he had studied grammar, he replied, “It is a field of Torah. How could one not study it? Without it, one does not know the meaning of the words of Tanach and cannot have proper intent in prayer.” “The chassidim have various customs and distinctive terms,” writes Shimon the heretic. “Anyone who comes to be received by their Rebbe must prepare for no fewer than three days, and some prepare for a week or more. The preparation consists mainly of taking stock of one’s soul and purifying one’s thoughts. On the day they enter to see the Rebbe, they gather for several hours in one of the synagogue rooms and engage in Torah study, and especially in reciting Tikkun Chatzos with great bitterness. They pray with concentration and recite chapters of Tehillim with tears and sighs from the depths of their hearts. The chassidim have a special custom: when someone who has merited to be received by the Rebbe emerges from what they call yechidus, they begin a dance called

10:48 Among them, there is the yechidus dance, or the dance of purification. They have a special niggun for this dance. Those who have had yechidus begin to dance, while the others sing and clap their hands. Chassidim love music and sing special niggunim for different occasions: niggunim for prayer, for study, for meals, and for farbrengens. Most of the niggunim suit their occasions and leave an impression on the listener. Three in particular made a tremendous impression on me: the song of confession, which they call the niggun of brotherly love; the song of contemplation, called the niggun of teshuvah; and the song of yechidus, called the niggun of the sanctuary. I first heard the niggun of brotherly love in Vitebsk. It has five sections, all of which seem to embrace, kiss, and caress with a joyful melody. From one section to the next, the joy rises, and with it the soul’s feeling. The niggun of teshuvah has three sections. The first has a sound that stirs one to rise above the physical and concentrate one’s thoughts. The second stirs pangs of conscience and deep bitterness. The third stirs regret, pleas for mercy, and a heartfelt longing for comfort and closeness. The niggun of yechidus has five sections. The first two, in a measured, sustained tone, stir contemplation and deep thought. The third and fourth express gratitude and hope in a gentle, confident tone. The fifth expresses an uplifted spirit in a joyful, stirring tone that moves the feet and raises the hands in time with the niggun. It is customary among the chassidim to stay awake two nights a week, the night before Friday and the night after Shabbos. They study Torah, usually learning Gemara and the halachic authorities until midnight. Sometimes they hold a gathering of friends, wish one another l’chaim over a glass of liquor, and have a little pastry, cheese, or watermelon. After reciting Tikkun Chatzos, they study their teachings of Chassidus until it is time to daven. When I entered the synagogue in the courtyard of the nasi at six o’clock on Thursday afternoon, writes Shimon the heretic, I found a group of people standing in a circle, with the clear voice of a child ringing out excitedly as he led the discussion.

13:34 I, too, listened and heard the child explaining how much greater a square is than a circle: by one quarter. Tosafos agrees with Rashi regarding both the circumference and the area, but for every cubit along the side of a square there is a cubit and two-fifths along the diagonal. Tosafos disagrees with Rashi’s explanation of the passage about a round sukkah, in the first chapter of Sukkah. There it says that for every cubit along a square’s side, one adds two-fifths, yet it also says that the calculation is not exact. The child continued: “His honored holiness, my grandfather, teacher, and Rebbe”—meaning the Alter Rebbe—“when he studied with me, defended Rashi against Tosafos’s challenge. He said that Tosafos based their words on the rules of measurement according to mathematics, as the diagram shows, whereas Rashi based his words on the estimates made by the Sages, which we are commanded not to depart from.” When he finished his discussion, I saw that he was a small child of average height for his age. He was Rabbi Menachem Mendel, the nasi’s grandson. One of the young men had promised to take him for a walk in the fields, for he loved the fields, especially those of the estate near the town where his grandfather, the nasi, was born. But the young man had made it a condition that he first review in public the last passage he had studied that week. So he reviewed the passage on measuring the boundaries of towns in Eruvin, in the chapter Keitzad Me’aberin. Shimon the heretic continues: The “heichal” is what the chassidim call the Rebbe’s residence. It stands in a large, spacious courtyard containing a garden with rows of trees, a vegetable garden, and various buildings. The heichal is a house about twenty-five cubits long and twelve cubits wide, with an upper floor about twenty cubits long and as wide as the house. The entrance hall divides the house into two parts. On the right are the nasi’s private rooms; on the left is the small synagogue, which the chassidim call the lower Gan Eden. There, people wait to enter yechidus. Upstairs are two rooms separated by an anteroom. One is

16:14 the nasi’s room for seclusion; the other is the room where he receives people for yechidus, which the chassidim call the upper Gan Eden. During the weekdays, writes Shimon the heretic, I did not manage to see the nasi. As I learned, one could see him only during the Torah reading—he usually read from the Torah himself—when he delivered a Torah teaching in the lower Gan Eden, and on Friday, when he went to the mikveh. So I waited for Friday. But when I woke on Friday morning, I was seized by a fever and lay sick in bed for three days and three nights. Thanks to the efforts of my host, who gave me various medicines, rubbed my body with vinegar, and covered me with clothing and blankets to make me sweat, I got up on the fourth day of my illness, which was Monday. But I was too weak to stand. On Wednesday, my turn came to be received by the Rebbe in the upper Gan Eden. When I entered the Rebbe’s room, the sight of his face filled me with awe and fear, as did his strong, penetrating gaze and his powerful, drawn-out voice as he asked, “What do you want?” But I immediately gathered myself, calmed down, and said, “I teach young children in my town, but I do not teach my pupils according to the rules of grammar. My fellow teachers oppose me and speak ill of me because I do not also teach the children the structure of the language. When I cited the new version of His Holiness the Rebbe’s siddur as proof, since it is precise according to the rules of grammar, they gave no answer. For the benefit of the community, I would ask you to give me a letter of recommendation, to attest that it is good to teach according to the rules of grammar, train children to read correctly, and have them study Tanach.” Shimon the heretic continues: The nasi rested on his arms for about five moments. Then he raised his head, opened his eyes, and said, “It is true that the prayers and psalms, and especially Shema and Shemoneh Esreh, must be recited with great care according to the rules of grammar.

18:39 “But when it comes to studying grammar and the structure of language, one must take great care in how one goes about it. There are separate chambers for each field of study. Between the chamber of grammar and the chamber of language stands the chamber of those who interpret the Torah contrary to halachah. Whatever a person studies by day, his soul ascends at night to its chamber to draw down life for itself from above. Sometimes the soul loses its way and, instead of entering the chamber of grammar or the chamber of language, enters the chamber of those who interpret the Torah contrary to halachah. Therefore, one must be careful when studying grammar and language.” When he finished speaking, he again rested on his arms as he had at first. Then he raised his head, opened his eyes, and asked me, “How do you explain to your pupils the verse, ‘And Yitzchak trembled with an exceedingly great trembling’?” I answered, writes Shimon the heretic, by giving the verse Rashi’s first interpretation: that it expresses astonishment. “And why,” he asked me, “do you not explain to your pupils Rashi’s interpretation in the name of the Midrash, that Gehinnom opened beneath him?” “In my opinion,” I replied, “one should not burden young children’s tender minds with aggadic teachings in general, especially frightening matters such as Gehinnom and the like. All the more so with something a child cannot even imagine. He would find it difficult to understand how the vast Gehinnom, with its blazing fire that has burned constantly for more than five thousand five hundred and fifty-five years, could enter Yitzchak’s room, while Esav and his father remained alive and the fire did not even scorch their clothes.” “And how,” he asked me again, “does the Midrash know that he saw Gehinnom open beneath him?” “I fell silent,” writes Shimon the heretic, “and answered nothing, for of course I could not say, ‘Is this the first fanciful statement among the sayings and maxims of the Midrash and Talmud?’” Seeing that I was silent, he said, “Pay attention. When Esav entered Yitzchak’s room and Yitzchak asked him who he was—‘Who are you?’—Esav answered his father, ‘I am your son, your firstborn, Esav.’ But he was lying,

21:26 For after all, he had already sold the birthright to Yaakov in a complete and legally binding sale, and Yitzchak knew about it. So “Yitzchak trembled a very great trembling” over Esav’s lie and his violation of Torah law. He trembled with deep remorse, for Esav was a liar, and Gehinnom lay open beneath him.” When he finished speaking, he rested his head on his arms again as he had at first. Then he raised his head, opened his eyes, and picked up one of the two candles standing on the table. For that was his custom when receiving people: even during the day, two candles burned, and a Chumash and a Zohar lay on the table. He raised the candle, looked at me, and said: “When a man is a Vilnaite[unclear] and says he is a mazmut[unclear], when he passes children through the Molech of the Enlightenment and says he is a teacher, Gehinnom lies open beneath him. How many souls have you destroyed, and still you persist in your rebellion. Yes, you have fallen into heresy, and none who enter it return.” “I hurried,” writes Shimon the heretic, “to leave the room they called the upper Gan Eden, and hurried to the inn to leave town, for I saw that I had fallen into a trap. I feared they would do to me what they had done to several of our emissaries: stretch them out on a table, pull down their trousers, and beat them as a teacher beats his pupil. But as soon as I passed through the small synagogue—the lower Gan Eden, as they called it—some five or six young men seized me and dragged me to the synagogue in the courtyard to join the yechidus dance. Needless to say, I was frightened and distressed, and I was still weak from the fever. Two or three times I wanted to leave the circle, but those beside me held me tightly, and one of them struck me on the back of the neck, affectionately, in time with the niggun. When the dance ended, I made my way to my inn almost on all fours, and waited, weeping and trembling, for dawn. I left a few coins on the table for the innkeeper, although I had already paid the bill. I took my

23:45 belongings, walked about a parasang to the nearby village, hired a wagon, and blessed the Creator”—yes—“for having escaped with all my limbs intact.”