Episode 277 - Zalman Shtcherbina's Shmurah Matzah.

00:00 We now turn to other aspects of chassidim’s lives—in this case, the harvesting of wheat for shemurah matzah for Pesach, a significant matter in its own right. Preparations for Pesach began in Lubavitch back in midsummer. About thirty kilometers from Lubavitch, on the road to Dubrovna, stood a noble estate called Shcherbina. It was the regular source of wheat for shemurah matzah. A Jewish chossid lived there, a learned man of high standing in his thinking and in his fine character. Chassidim are not particular about honorific titles: although this Jew, whose name was Zalman Shcherbina, was well versed in the Babylonian Talmud, knowledgeable in the Jerusalem Talmud and the Arba’ah Turim, and familiar with the Zohar, the writings of the Arizal, and the books of Chassidus published at the time—and was also renowned for his charity—they did not call him “the gaon,” “the sage,” or “the scholar.” They called him Zalman Shcherbina. Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak, the son of the Rebbe Rashab, relates that when he met Reb Zalman Shcherbina, Reb Zalman was already about seventy. His appearance and the dignity of his countenance cannot be put into words. His face bore the marks of intellectual greatness, kindness of heart, and integrity of spirit. “He is among the most distinguished figures recorded in the memoirs of my childhood,” writes Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak. Besides being a true example of the learned Jews who had lived in the villages in earlier generations—genuine scholars and men of fine character—Zalman Shcherbina had been one of the prominent young men in the circle of the Tzemach Tzedek, the Rebbe Rashab’s grandfather, and one of those most deeply attached to the Rebbe Maharash, the Rebbe Rashab’s father. “I heard dozens of stories from him,” Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak relates, “reflecting the lives of many kinds of chassidim and the ways of Chassidus in the fourth and fifth generations of Chabad Chassidus.” When Reb Zalman told a story, he was careful to tell the story itself precisely, without additions or explanations,

03:00 giving only the facts. But he would first describe the place, the time, and the circumstances of the event, so that the listener came away with a complete picture of everything that had happened. Those who heard Reb Zalman’s stories felt as though they were there, among the chassidim he spoke of, and could see the Tzemach Tzedek or the Rebbe Maharash with their own eyes, whichever of them the story concerned. Everyone has things engraved in their heart and memory that remain unforgettable throughout life. Wherever a person may be, wherever Divine Providence leads them in the course of life, in whatever country or surroundings, the memory of such an event can return, detach them from everyday life, and place them back in the innocent, illuminated days of childhood. Later, amid the noise and turmoil of life, they relive those beautiful, bright days. For chassidim, “Remember the days of old; consider the years of generation after generation” took on an entirely different form. Every chassidic home was suffused with fine character, with love of Hashem, love of Torah, and Ahavas Yisroel. Every chossid’s home, rich or poor, was a gathering place for sages. Among chassidim in earlier times, there was no need to “Ask your father, and he will tell you.” They told the stories of their own accord, and a story was never just a tale; it was a matter of life. They told things from within themselves, with a part of their lives contained in them. Such a story was certain to be engraved forever. How beautiful it was among chassidim: “Your elders, and they will tell you.” It has been said many times that the elder chassidim of earlier days felt duty-bound to give life to the younger men. And in those days, young chassidim did have a listening ear, a longing and a yearning to hear a saying from an elderly chossid—a yearning that cannot be put into words. They would devote days and nights to it, and when they heard something

05:35 from an elderly chossid, they would repeat it dozens of times. The young men understood the standing of an elderly chossid, and beneath the elder chassidim’s open rebukes and stern words of guidance, they could sense the older chossid’s hidden love for the younger one. The wheat for shemurah matzah was harvested in Zalman Shcherbina’s fields, according to a set procedure. There was a procedure for choosing the field that produced the finest wheat, and another for choosing a suitable day to harvest it. The conditions were these: the day had to be clear and bright, the sun had to be shining at full strength, and there could have been no rain for at least the preceding three days. The set hours for harvesting were from noon until two or two-thirty in the afternoon. As harvest time approached, Reb Zalman would come to Lubavitch to make the arrangements. Because no one could know in advance when conditions would permit the harvest, he would bring several of his own carriages to Lubavitch to take the people who customarily harvested the wheat to Shcherbina, so they would be ready when the time came. This was despite the fact that Reb Zalman, his household, and the Jewish residents of the estate did most of the harvesting. Several scholars from Lubavitch, as well as visitors who happened to be there at the time, would join them, because it was a special experience. Sometimes they waited a whole week for a clear day that met the requirements for harvesting wheat for shemurah matzah. For Reb Zalman, it was a task filled with joy—doubly and triply so. First, he was harvesting wheat for the Rebbe’s shemurah matzah. Second, he was hosting guests for several days, something he dearly loved and had a special gift for. And third, my grandfather, the Rebbe Maharash, and later my father, the Rebbe Rashab, would come to the harvest in person. That gave Reb Zalman vitality for years. From

08:20 the day Reb Zalman traveled there with those engaged in the mitzvah until the clear day on which the wheat for shemurah matzah was harvested, every day’s conversation revolved around the weather. People watched the sky, checking whether the wind was dry and whether there was any moisture in the air. Dozens of predictions about the next day’s weather were offered daily, and every day they awaited the arrival of the special messenger from Shcherbina with news that the harvest would take place that day. The journey to Shcherbina took about two hours. Everything surrounding it made a great impression on me as a child. At that age, I found in my mind a story from Tanach or the teachings of our Sages that resembled each event, and these associations are recorded, more or less, in my childhood memoirs. The harvesting and threshing took place with great joy, together with a seriousness visible on every face. Everyone wore a gartel, a tall hat, and a yarmulke. The heat was intense, and they worked so quickly that it seemed as though they had long been accustomed to fieldwork. The elderly chossid Zalman, with his broad, dignified beard and bright, cheerful face, held a sickle in his hand and moved with the speed and agility of a very young man. You could plainly see that joy was making him spring into motion. His sandals and white socks seemed to float, like Naftali’s feet on a Divine mission—something possible only for a person who serves Hashem, whose very heels feel the great delight in his mind and the innermost desire, born of the heart’s yearning, in this work. Some of the people harvested, while others sang. The singing poured into the air with a special sweetness and echoed far into the distance. A sacred dignity rested over the whole area. The women and children of the families living in Shcherbina stood at a distance, watching the great joy. Everyone was dressed in Shabbos clothes, and every face showed that something extraordinary was taking place that day. As soon as the harvesting and threshing were finished, some of the group, including Reb Zalman, went to bathe. On returning from the bathhouse, Reb

10:52 Reb Zalman would put on Shabbos clothes and begin Minchah. Reb Zalman himself would lead the prayers, specifically to a Simchas Torah tune. They would not say Tachanun. Reb Zalman would chant Aleinu in a special, cheerful melody. At the Oseh Shalom of the Kaddishes, Reb Zalman would wait for all the young men to roll him around, as was the well-known custom. If they refused out of respect for him, he would call out, “Nu, nu,” and pause during the three steps of Oseh Shalom Bimromav until they had no choice but to roll him around. Then Reb Zalman would begin dancing with everyone. As he danced, he would sing the verses recited after Aleinu, loudly and to an engaging melody that matched the rhythm of the tune. When he reached the end of the verse, “But the righteous will give thanks to Your name; the upright will dwell in Your presence,” he would leap and roll back and forth three times. Then everyone would sit down to the festive meal laid out in the fruit orchard. A large table was generously laden with all kinds of dairy foods. During the meal, my father, the Rebbe Rashab, would deliver a maamar of Chassidus and farbreng, speaking with those gathered. Afterward, they would daven Maariv. My father, the Rebbe, would go to rest in a special room prepared for him, while everyone else would continue the farbrengen all night. The next day, they would daven together, and at ten o’clock they would travel home to Lubavitch. Reb Zalman and the group would come only in the evening, bringing with them the sack of wheat that was hung up for shmura matzah in a special room.