Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Photo: Family archives

Rav Ahron Soloveichik taught in institutions spanning the frum spectrum, but that wasn’t the only dichotomic aspect of this gadol b’Torah, who was at once sensitive, compassionate, and humble, yet uncompromising in his halachic standards and undeterred by pain and disability. Ahead of his 25th yahrtzeit on 18 Tishrei, Mishpacha presents a portrait of Rav Ahron Soloveichik

One morning in the late 1980s, not long after my family had made aliyah, my father a”h told us that Rav Ahron Soloveichik had come to Yerushalayim, and he’d be taking us boys to hear him speak. At the time, the gadol’s name was new to me; while we were all familiar with the brother 14 years his senior, Rav Yosef Dov, the legendary rav in Boston and rosh yeshivah of RIETS, I hadn’t yet heard about Rav Ahron.

We arrived at the newly built Ramada Hotel, where Rav Ahron was scheduled to speak. We listened intently to his fiery critique of the idea of surrendering land to the Arabs in return for peace, which he felt contravened halachah. But more than the speech, which was delivered in impeccable English, interspersed with a heavily litvish-accented Lashon Kodesh, what made an everlasting impression was Rav Ahron himself.

When he was wheeled into the convention hall in a wheelchair, what the audience saw was a frail, aged rav who had suffered a massive stroke and had lost control of his left hand and the ability to walk unassisted. However, once he began speaking, you heard the roar of a lion. He spoke forcefully but deliberately. His thoughts were articulated in erudite vocabulary, and the comprehensive forethought that had gone into his delivery was apparent. That day, I saw how sheer willpower could triumph over physical difficulty.

Now, as we approach Rav Ahron’s 25th yahrtzeit on 18 Tishrei, I find myself returning to that encounter. And speaking to talmidim and family members only strengthened that initial impression: Rav Ahron Soloveichik, scion of the Brisker dynasty, brought together ironclad devotion to halachah with exquisite sensitivity to the feelings of others, and a burning ahavas haTorah with the capacity to enjoy the simplest pleasures of life. Those who knew him viewed him as one of the great gedolim of his era.

Always Young

The inner strength needed not to capitulate to the limitations life may have introduced was something embedded in Rav Ahron’s chinuch from his youngest years. Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik, Rav Ahron’s youngest son and the rav of Kehillat Ohr Shalom in Ramat Beit Shemesh, recounts a story he heard from his father.

Rav Ahron was just a young boy when his father Rav Moshe left his home to spend some time in another town in Europe for health reasons and Ahreleh, as he was called back then, accompanied him. They were still there over Chodesh Tishrei, and on Yom Kippur night, Rav Ahron davened fervently alongside his father.

When davening was over, Rav Moshe turned to his son. “Ahreleh, I don’t understand,” he said. “You said the whole davening b’kol ram, but when the chazzan said “Al tashlicheinu l’eis ziknah,” you didn’t even say it quietly. Why not?”

Rav Ahron replied, “I should worry about old age now? I’m a little boy. Why would I even say that sentence?”

Rav Moshe turned to him and said, “You’re mistaken. There are two types of old age. There is actual old age, and there is emotional old age. Actual old age is when a person reaches his seventies, his eighties, his nineties, and yes, you are very far from actual old age. But emotional old age can happen to anyone, at any age.

“When a person is trying to accomplish something and finds himself frustrated [easily] and wanting to give up, that is called emotional old age. And what you’re asking from Hashem is that when you begin to feel frustration, [because] you can’t accomplish, give me the strength that I will be able to go ahead and persevere and accomplish.

“A person can feel emotionally old at a very young age and emotionally young at a very old age, but you always need to ask Hashem for help.”

“This is a lesson that he always taught us,” recounts Reb Chayim. “Be a gibor, feel young, and don’t give up.”

Rav Ahron was a sought-after marbitz Torah in yeshivos across the spectrum. While still unmarried, he was offered his first position by Rav Moshe Feinstein as a rebbi in Mesivta Tiferes Yerushalayim (MTJ); Rav Moshe once commented that “no one can explain a Rambam like Reb Ahron.” He was subsequently offered the position of teaching the highest shiur in Chaim Berlin by Rav Hutner, who knew him from childhood.

After Rav Ahron married Rebbetzin Ella, the couple settled down in Manhattan. The Rebbetzin, the daughter of Rav Moshe Shurin, a prominent rav from Lita and later a rav in the US, was an educated woman who was fluent in Tanach and composed her own poems. For the rest of their lives, she was a full partner of Rav Ahron’s in all his endeavors. Rav Ahron continued teaching in Chaim Berlin, commuting daily by subway, though he’d often miss his stop due to his total immersion in learning.

During this time, Rav Ahron’s older brother, Rav Yosef Dov, asked him to substitute for him in RIETS. He agreed and began teaching two shiurim daily, one in RIETS and another in Chaim Berlin, aside from additional weekly shiurim.

Rav Ahron was teaching in RIETS when he was offered a position as rosh yeshivah in the Midwest, which he accepted, serving in this post for a period of time before he opened Yeshivas Brisk in Chicago.

Rabbi Moshe Kletenik, av beis din of the Vaad HaRabanim of Greater Seattle and rosh beis din of the Pacific Northwest Regional Beis Din under the auspices of the RCA and Beth Din of America, was a close talmid of Rav Ahron, as well as a chavrusa and friend of his son Reb Moshe.

He points out the dichotomy of Rav Ahron’s personality. “We are taught, ‘L’olam yehei adam rach kakaneh — a person should be as pliable as a reed.’ On the other hand, ‘Kol talmid chacham she’eino kasheh kebarzel eino talmid chacham — A talmid chacham must be stiff as iron.’ In general, Rav Ahron interacted with people rach kakaneh, with compassion and chesed. But when it came to a matter of principle, he was kasheh kebarzel.”

Rav Ahron’s humility never stifled his integrity and fortitude: The gevurah of his father and grandfathersran like a vein of rock through every difficult choice in his life.

Before making the decision to take the job in the Midwest, Rav Ahron consulted Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky. He told him he thought the move would perhaps be a challenging one for Rav Ahron personally, but would be significant for Klal Yisrael insomuch that it would strengthen Torah and religiosity in that part of America. That was all Rav Ahron needed to hear.

He moved, and as Rav Yaakov had predicted, he indeed suffered setback after setback. After assuming his position, he instituted a policy that required his musmachim to sign a contract that they would not accept a position in a shul that did not have a proper mechitzah. His firm stance caused friction within the community. But he never wavered in the face of opposition, and no deterrent was sufficient to make him back down on matters of principle.

When the sale of a shul to a proselytizing Asian sect was about to go forward in flagrant violation of halachah, Rav Ahron made his opposition abundantly clear. In return, he received a letter warning him that consequences would ensue if he didn’t back down from his public opposition to the sale. The letter arrived while he was giving shiur — and achieved nothing. Rav Aharon not only redoubled his own efforts, but turned to his talmidim and urged them to continue to do all in their power to protest and stop this violation of halachah from occurring. He refused to give in; how could he?

“As a descendant of the Beis HaRav and Shevet Levi,” he once wrote, “I am not one of those who will agree under pressure to kneel to the Golden Calf.”

Scion of a Dynasty

A brief look at the Brisker dynasty highlights Rav Ahron’s illustrious lineage. The founder of the dynasty, the Beis HaLevi, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, had several children, the most famous of whom was the renowned Reb Chaim Brisker, who succeeded his father both as rosh yeshivah of Volozhin and later as rav of Brisk.

Reb Chaim had three sons and one daughter. The second-to-oldest son, Rav Moshe, was recognized early on as a Talmudic prodigy. In 1929, Rav Moshe immigrated to New York, accepting Rabbi Dr. Bernard Revel’s offer to fill the position of the Meitscheter Illui, Rav Shlomo Polachek, as the head of Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchak Elchanan (RIETS).

Rav Moshe and his wife Pessia had five children, three boys and two girls. Rav Yosef Dov of Boston, their oldest son, would later fill his father’s position in RIETS. Reb Shmuel, their next son, later became a chemist who taught at Yeshiva College. Rav Yosef Dov would talk about Reb Shmuel’s gadlus baTorah in glowing terms. The youngest of the brothers was Rav Ahron, who was born in 1917.

When Rav Moshe left for America, his family initially stayed behind in Europe. Before leaving, Rav Moshe arranged for a young Torah scholar to learn with Ahron while his father would be away. This Torah scholar would later become famous as Rav Yitzchak Hutner. Decades later, Rav Feivel Cohen, author of Badei Hashulchan and a talmid of Rav Ahron in Chaim Berlin, related that Rav Hutner told him that if he wanted to know what it meant to have real ahavas haTorah, he should look at Rav Ahron Soloveichik. He added that he had known Rav Ahron as a young child and that his love for Torah then was already something extraordinary.

After studying almost all of Bava Kamma and the entirety of Rambam’s Hilchos Nizkei Mammon with his charge, Rav Hutner told the young Rav Ahron to write his own bar mitzvah pshetl. During a family trip to visit his uncle in Brisk, the discussion centered around the 13-year-old’s independently crafted speech. The Brisker Rav was deeply captivated by his nephew’s scholarship, and spent hours analyzing Bava Kamma with him.

Eventually Rav Moshe sent for his family to join him in America, where Rav Ahron studied under his father in his shiur in RIETS for over ten years. After his father’s passing, he continued in his older brother Rav Yosef Dov’s shiur for one year.

For the Love of Torah

Rav Ahron’s son Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik recalls his father’s learning as an integral part of his childhood. “No matter how late I went to bed, my father was learning, and no matter how early I got up, he was already learning.”

One particular Shavuos morning, when Reb Chayim was a teenager, it was impressed on him just who his father was. He was 17, and after learning through the night and then davening Shacharis, he and his father walked home together. Exhausted, the teenaged Chayim went straight to sleep. He left the window in his room open and at about 11:00 in the morning, he woke up to the sound of his father learning on the front porch.

Reb Chayim recalls his surprise. My father went to rest after 9:00, and he’s already up at 11:00?

“I quickly got dressed, went downstairs, and asked my father, ‘Abba, what are you doing?’

“‘I’m learning,’ he responded.

“‘I know you’re learning, but aren’t you tired?’ I said.

“I will never forget his answer. He looked at me and said, ‘What do you think? I learned a whole night to sleep a whole day? I slept a bit and I’ll sleep tonight, but now I’m going to learn more.’ ”

Reb Chayim recalls how his father’s love for Torah overrode his physical distress. “After the stroke, my father was in a lot of pain,” he says. “You could see it on his face; you could hear it. But when he was learning Gemara, especially when he was giving shiur, you could see his face relax. And then, as soon as he would close the Gemara — obviously you can’t teach forever — the pain would come back.”

Reb Chayim shares an idea his father used to say over, citing the Rambam in Hilchos Talmud Torah (1:8), where he says that every Jew has to learn Torah. He could be poor or rich, healthy or in pain, old or lacking strength, but everyone needs to learn Torah.

Rav Ahron would point out that the Rambam doesn’t usually delineate the personal situation a Jew may find himself in when discussing other mitzvos. And he explained why: “Because Torah is different. When a person learns Torah, it helps him overcome these problems. He forgets that he’s poor; he forgets his pain.”

“And that was my father,” says Reb Chayim. “When he learned, the pain left, and you could see it on his face. My father didn’t just learn Torah; he lived it, and everything he learned became part of his personality.”

Teaching by Example

Rav Ahron’s son Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik says his father always taught by example. One of his favorite divrei Torah came from parshas Vayera: “Ki yedativ lema’an asher yetzaveh es banav v’es beiso acharav veshamru derech Hashem la’asos tzedakah u’mishpat — For I have known him because he commands his sons and his household after him, that they will keep the way of the L-rd to perform righteousness and justice.”

Rav Ahron would frequently cite this pasuk, asking, “What does it mean, ‘He commanded his household and then they will keep the ways of the L-rd?’ How does that work? Because he commands them, they will keep the derech Hashem?”

And Rav Ahron would answer that Avraham Avinu led his household by example, and his personal example would inspire them to continue on the derech Hashem.

It wasn’t only self-discipline that Rav Ahron modeled for his family. He taught them the significance of precision in halachah, the importance he attributed to family, and the joy that could be found in the simplest elements of life.

“Being the baby of the family, I had the privilege of walking with my father to shul every Shabbos morning until he had his stroke,” Reb Chayim remembers. “He would speak about everything — Torah, other things that were going on — and then, at some point, usually around the time we passed the bank and he saw the time, he would say to me, ‘Chayimke, did you say Shema yet?’

“The answer was usually no. And he would say, ‘Oy, you must say Shema right now, as the zeman of the Magen Avraham is approaching. Please stop for the first parshah and I will wait for you. Then you can continue with the other two parshiyos and walk while you are saying the rest of Shema.’

“This happened almost on a weekly basis, and it taught me, number one, the importance of saying Shema at the right time; number two, that even though most of the world would stop just for the first pasuk, since there are Rishonim who hold you should stop for the first parshah, why not try to fulfill that shitah also; and number three, the importance he gave to walking with his children. He stressed the fact that he would wait for me until I was ready to continue walking again.”

While Rav Ahron suffered from significant pain and limitations at the end of his life, none of that overshadowed his inner happiness.

“My father was always b’simchah,” Reb Chayim says, “and he would try to make other people happy as well. What made him happy? All the simple things in life. In the last years of my father’s life, he would travel every week to New York to give shiur, and he always insisted on taking a house key with him, even though my mother was always home. He loved coming home. When he came home on Thursday night, he wouldn’t ring the bell; he would open the door with his key. He would tell my mother that he was home with the biggest smile on his face. He loved being at home. It made him so happy.

“I think he taught me, in many ways, to be happy with the simple things in life. This is actually one of the ideas that he mentioned regarding the Simchas Beis Hashoeivah: Why was water such a central part of the celebration? Because water is simple, and we have to be happy and recognize the simple things in life that HaKadosh Baruch Hu gives us.

“This personified him. He was so happy with his family — his wife, my mother, who was always there, they did everything together; his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, students, and friends. I remember my father as always being happy.”

On Guard

Rav Ahron’s talmidim remember his care and unpretentious manner as well. Rav Avishai David, today a prominent rav in Ramat Beit Shemesh, recalls his first encounter with Rav Ahron.

“I was 13, and I’d often arrive early to Yeshiva University High School to daven and play basketball before classes. One morning, needing a safe place for my briefcase, I found a Torah scholar with a fiery red beard learning Gemara in the library. Not knowing who he was, I asked if he could watch my things.

“Instead of simply agreeing, he asked me, ‘What is my status? Am I a shomer chinam, a shomer sachar, a socher, or a sho’el?’ Seeing that I had no idea what he meant, he invited me to sit down and proceeded to teach me the laws of shomrim. After discussing the various categories and opinions of the Rishonim, he concluded that he would be a shomer chinam.

“Throughout the day, I noticed that the rabbi carried his Gemara in one hand and my briefcase in the other wherever he went. This went on for several days, and he continued guarding my briefcase with extraordinary care.

“One day, Rav Dovid Lifschitz saw me taking a book from the briefcase and asked what was happening. When I explained, he was shocked. He told me that my ‘shomer’ was none other than Rav Ahron Halevi Soloveichik, one of the gedolei hador and leading roshei yeshivah, and that it was inappropriate for me to have such a great Torah scholar carrying my briefcase. Embarrassed, I immediately took it back.

“The following day, Rav Ahron noticed that I had not given him my briefcase and asked why not. He assured me that he had properly fulfilled his responsibilities as a shomer chinam and had not been negligent in any way.

“I was astonished. This great Torah scholar had no concern for his own dignity; instead, he worried that perhaps I had taken back my briefcase because he had failed in the responsibility he had accepted.”

Rabbi Yaakov Borow, another talmid, shares a story that happened after Rav Ahron had suffered the massive stroke that left him paralyzed on his left side.

“In 1984, my brother Ephraim got married and Rav Ahron came to St. Louis for the wedding to be mesader kiddushin. This was when he had already suffered a stroke, and moving around was a tremendous strain for him. My maternal grandfather had passed away three days beforehand, and Rav Ahron paskened what my mother could do at the wedding — she could only attend the chuppah.

“I remember clearly Rav Ahron dragging himself up to the chuppah and the scraping of his walker as he did so. He left the wedding shortly afterward, and I was sure he had gone to rest from the trip and the strain of officiating. I was shocked to discover later that he and one of his sons traveled to my home in order to be menachem avel my mother and her brothers after the wedding.”

Rav Ahron’s talmidim often got married out of town, and they would arrange a ticket for Rav Ahron so he could join their simchah. Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik remembers asking his father, “Let’s say the boy couldn’t buy you a ticket. Would you go to the wedding?”

“Of course,” Rav Ahron replied. “How could I miss a wedding of a talmid?”

Rabbi Kletenik recalls how Rav Ahron came to be menachem avel him and his brother when they sat shivah for their father. It was Erev Shabbos in the afternoon, and the brothers mentioned that they had a problem, as all their Shabbos shirts had just been laundered in the past few days. Without hesitation, Rav Ahron said, “Give me the shirts, and I will put them on.”

“Rebbi, no,” they pleaded, to no avail. He marched to the bedroom and said, “Give me the shirts.” Removing his jacket and shirt, he put on one shirt and then the other so that they were no longer freshly laundered, and said, “Now you have shirts for Shabbos.”

And Rav Ahron’s care for others wasn’t limited to his talmidim or even only to Jews. He was once standing on the subway platform near a middle-aged Roman Catholic priest. Suddenly a homeless man sitting on a bench attacked Reb Ahron. He pushed him onto the subway tracks, but the force of the push caused the attacker to fall down as well. Reb Ahron climbed back onto the platform and saw the attacker lying on the tracks. Realizing that an approaching train could kill him, he immediately returned and struggled to pull the man to safety. He succeeded, and the man unsteadily walked away.

When the train arrived and Reb Ahron prepared to board, the priest, who had witnessed the entire incident, stopped him and asked, “Who are you?” He then expressed his astonishment. “I have never in my life seen anyone like you!”

The Brisker Derech

“Once, when I was still a teenager,” recalls Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik, “I asked my father what exactly is the Brisker derech. He told me I should learn a few more years and then I would understand. After a few years, I opened up the conversation again, and he didn’t say two dinim or cheftza-gavra. He said the Brisker derech is that after you learn a sugya well, with all the Rishonim, you look at the Shulchan Aruch and you make sure how, through the Gemara, you come to every point in the halachah. He taught us all that when we learn Tanach, Gemara, or Torah, the point is lilmod v’la’asos.

“Whether it’s mussar, Chumash, Gemara, it all has to become part of you. And we saw him as a walking Shulchan Aruch.”

Rav Ahron’s halachic precision had particularly dramatic influence when it came to the observance of the laws of yashan in America today. The basic idea of this halachah is that grains that took root prior to Pesach are yashan and permitted to be consumed, but if they did not take root prior to Pesach, they are chadash (new crops) and may not be consumed until the following Pesach.

In the 1950s, the Streit’s company asked Rav Ahron to give hashgachah to their products. As part of his prior research before agreeing, he carefully examined where the flour came from. His investigation revealed that American wheat was no longer routinely being stored for long periods of time, and therefore, flour available commercially could no longer automatically be regarded as yashan.

Rav Ahron made his supervision of Streit’s conditional upon the company using only yashan flour for all of their products, and they agreed. His personal commitment was equally strong: Because yashan bread was difficult to obtain, he relied on matzah instead, until he acquired a freezer that allowed him to keep a supply of appropriate products.

Rav Ahron continued promoting the observance of yashan after relocating to Chicago. He persuaded one local bakery to meet yashan standards, and in time additional bakeries followed suit.

The Wordless Shiur

In 1984, at the age of 67, Rav Ahron suffered a massive stroke that initially left him unable to walk, in addition to losing the use of his left arm. The neurologists offered little hope, predicting that he would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Rav Ahron, however, would not accept the prognosis. Drawing on extraordinary determination and force of will, he laboriously taught himself to walk once more. One step at a time, he achieved what the doctors had regarded as beyond medical possibility.

Nor did he merely regain enough mobility to live quietly at home. Rav Ahron returned to teaching Torah in Chicago, and even assumed further responsibilities that demanded tremendous effort. In his final years, he would travel by plane from Chicago to New York, where he gave shiurim three days each week. With a cane in hand, he made the painfully slow journey from his house to the airport, from the airport to the car, and finally from the car to the yeshivah, every step requiring enormous exertion.

On one particular morning, as Rav Ahron was making his way toward the staircase — the beginning of his long and difficult trip to the yeshivah — he fell. His devoted rebbetzin urged him to seek medical care, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He had a shiur to give that day, and he was determined to deliver it. Only after the shiur was finished did he consent to be taken to the emergency room, where to the doctors’ incredulity, they saw he had been walking with a broken bone.

The doctors may have found this difficult to comprehend, but those who knew Rav Ahron were far less surprised. He didn’t view physical hardship simply as an obstacle, but rather another means through which he could devote every part of himself to serving Hashem.

On another occasion, Rav Ahron’s son-in-law was speaking with a deeply broken young man who desperately needed encouragement, but nothing he said seemed to penetrate. Finally, having exhausted his ideas, he asked Rav Ahron to speak with the young man himself.

Rav Ahron took the phone and began describing, in his European-accented English, the physical suffering that he personally endured. He then told him, “If I can do it, then you definitely can. Don’t give up! Hachalash yomar gibor ani. [Let the weak one say, “I am strong.” (Yoel 4:10)].” By the time the conversation ended, the young man on the other side of the line had gained a renewed determination to continue with life.

Rabbi Chayim Soloveichik remembers how after his father’s stroke, his mother took the night shifts in the hospital and he took the day shifts, intending to help his father put on his tefillin. The first morning, he arrived a little late, and found his mother had already helped his father. The second morning, when he again came a little late, his father told him, “I figured it out by myself.”

“For many years my father would put on tefillin by himself,” Reb Chayim says. “His left hand would shake, and he had to concentrate deeply and strongly… It took so much energy. After he put on his tefillin, his jacket would be drenched from the effort.

“I remember someone who was a student in Yeshiva University once told me, ‘If my children would only see and understand the effort your father put into that mitzvah, they would never need any more chizuk in doing mitzvos.’ ”

He wasn’t the only one to express this sentiment. Many of Rav Ahron’s talmidim felt the most important shiur they learned from their rebbi was the one he delivered by virtue of his very being in those last 17 years. Each morning, while descending the stairs in intense pain, he would hold tightly to the railing and count his steps with the words used by the Kohein Gadol on Yom Kippur: “Achas, achas v’achas…” What others would have experienced only as torment, Rav Ahron regarded as avodah — a sacred opportunity to accept with love the service that had been assigned to him by the One Above.

The writer wishes to thank Reb Baruch Kelman and many other talmidim of Rav Ahron for their assistance in preparing this article for print.

Wednesday, September 16, 2026

Rabbis of LA | Rabbi Sochet Was Born to Be a Rabbi By Ari L. Noonan at the Jewish Journal

All credit goes to the author and the Jewish Journal

(Photo Credit:kahalchasidim.com)

The Stoliner dynasty is about 250 years old, and one of the oldest Chassidic dynasties.

Rabbi Dovid Yehoshua Sochet is a serious and learned man and a member of one of the oldest Chasidic dynasties but he’s as accessible as the village grocer.

“My father is the Stoliner Rebbe in Eretz Israel,” Rabbi Sochet explained. “He didn’t always live there. He has been there for the last 35 years. He lives in Givat Ze’ev. Before that, he lived in Jerusalem and before that in Brooklyn.”

The Stoliner dynasty is about 250 years old, and one of the oldest Chassidic dynasties. “That is something I knew practically my entire life. I am descended from the Baal Shem Tov through my great-grandmother. My great-grandfather was a descendant of the Baal Shem Tov. This I knew practically my entire childhood. My wife is a descendant of the Baal Shem Tov, but from a different line, about an eighth cousin.

There never was a doubt how Dovid Sochet would spend his life, professionally and personally. He was born in Brooklyn, and until he was about 7, he lived in Los Angeles. He moved to the Rockaway Beach neighborhood of New York, and grew up there and in Brooklyn.

He started to say “I am the oldest of …” but he wanted to clarify that. “My parents are divorced,” he said. “My father had 15 children, aside from me, and my mother had five aside from me. I was a baby when my parents divorced. I knew my father. We visited him and he visited me.”

Growing up, who was the primary influence on Rabbi Sochet? “It’s really a bit of everyone,” he said. “Everyone had his or her influence at some point. Also my grandfather – on my mother’s side – actually both of my grandfathers – my mother and father happened to be first cousins, their fathers were brothers – so it’s all in the family.

“Both of my grandfathers were born in Los Angeles in the 1920s and ‘30s. When they reached bar mitzvah ages, they went to the East Coast to yeshiva. They ended up staying there and later married there. About 1969, my mother’s father moved back to Los Angeles. Therefore my mother, when she was about 10, moved to Los Angeles.”

But there were times when the rabbinate was not central to his career thoughts. “As a child, I enjoyed not architecture as an art, but I thought about anthropology – and I still say that because I find humans the most interesting of all things possible.”

Although he lived in New York for many years, he regularly visited LA until his mother’s father passed away in 2001. “For about 10 years after he passed away, I was not in California. Then I started coming back here because I had a lot of acquaintances here, especially in Hancock Park, which used to be called West Hollywood, but it’s more prestigious to be known as Hancock Park.”

Rabbi Sochet explained how he came to settle in Pico-Robertson. “I had a few close friends in La Brea who suggested that there was need for something Chassidish in the Pico-Robertson community,” he said. “There was nothing of that sort here for many years. This is about 2011, 2012. I was introduced to certain people – both from La Brea and also with an acquaintance, a follower of my father’s in Eretz Israel – he introduced me to a man who now is a close friend, Mr. Harry Nelson. I spent a few Shabossim in this area, got to know a few people, and — this is all with the vision of trying to start something here. But you can’t just want to start something and it happens.”

He started making preliminary plans for Kahal Chasidim She’aris Yaako in 2010. “There’s a lot of competition in Pico from other shuls,” the rabbi said, “but really there is no shul doing what we are. No two shuls are the same. You might have similarities, but there is no shul similar to this in various different aspects. I am not saying that as a selling pitch but as a fact.”

Rabbi Sochet insisted he is “not a very good recruiter because I am not good at PR. I try to be nice to people, hospitable, to greet people nicely. I don’t enjoy bothering people to come although – this is normal — here and there I have done it.”

There is a natural shyness about Rabbi Sochet that Pico residents of a certain stripe have found appealing. “I very much don’t enjoy recruiting,” he said, “and I don’t want to bother people. God-willing, most of the time, Shabbos never has been a problem. Weekdays, though, that’s a whole different beast.”

His biography identifies him as a mohel, and he explained why it doesn’t keep him busy. “In Los Angeles, I have not had many calls,” he said – for an intriguing reason. “I don’t advertise so much, and there is a lot of competition. I am not really interested in taking away anyone’s business.”

Distinctions between New York and Los Angeles are very Dovid Sochet. “In New York, I have a lot of relatives, and they use me. I have a few relatives here who use me. Some of them never knew I was a mohel.”

Modest to the end.

Fast Takes with Rabbi Sochet

Jewish Journal: Your favorite moment of the week?

Rabbi Sochet: Walking on the Coney Island Boardwalk with my father.

J.J.: Your favorite daily moment?

RS: Currently, when we have a shiur (learning) by night and get to learn with other people. During the day, I study by myself, which is important. When I learn with others, I gain much more than I give.

J.J.: Do you have any unmet goals?

RS: I would like to purchase an old motel and help older people who are unfortunately homeless.

Wednesday, September 9, 2026

the Vizhnitzer Rebbe shlita, Rav Yisrael Hager

LONG READSIssue 410 · September 22, 2014

New Beginnings in Vizhnitz

When the Vizhnitzer Rebbe shlita, Rav Yisrael Hager, agreed to take on the mantle of leadership in Vizhnitz, it was with one stipulation: the honorific “kvod kedushas” — the way a rebbe is usually addressed — would not be added to his title. Yet his extreme humility has not inhibited his massive following.

By Aryeh Ehrlich all credit goes to him and Mishpacha

5 min readSeptember 22, 2014

Photos: Shuki Lehrer, M. Goldstein, Mishpacha Archives

Photos: Shuki Lehrer, M. Goldstein, Mishpacha Archives

When the Vizhnitzer Rebbe shlita, Rav Yisrael Hager, agreed to take on the mantle of leadership in Vizhnitz, it was with one stipulation: the honorific “kvod kedushas” — the way a rebbe is usually addressed — would not be added to his title. Yet his extreme humility has not inhibited his massive following. In the short months since his appointment, he has emerged as a leader of note. As Reb Yankele of Pshevorsk predicted, long before anyone envisioned him at the helm of Vizhnitz, “Thousands of chassidim will yet flock to him”

4:55 a.m., Rechov Toras Chaim 4, Bnei Brak

It’s time for the changing of the guard in Bnei Brak’s Shikun Vizhnitz. The last of the nocturnal Torah scholars have gone to bed, and the first of the early risers have yet to leave their homes. At this predawn hour, not quite night but not yet day, the sound of an alarm clock echoes from the window at Toras Chaim 4. It isn’t just the night guard that’s changing; the regime has changed as well. Even before the sun set on the previous Rebbe, Rav Moshe Yehoshua Hager ztz”l, it began to dawn on his eldest son, Rav Yisrael, who lived with joy despite years of humiliation, and accepted Hashem’s decrees with love. Sure enough, the time came for Rav Yisrael Hager to receive the honor due him, just as Reb Yankele of Pshevorsk ztz”l predicted when Vizhnitz’s eventual successor was a shunned, exiled avreich: “Thousands of chassidim will yet flock to him.”

Rav Yisrael ben Rav Moshe Yehoshua has indeed become great — a modern-day David HaMelech, distanced from his own family, yet ultimately emerging as a king. Together with his brother, the Rebbe Rav Menachem Mendel, he is reigniting the glory of Vizhnitz after the chassidus endured nine years of darkness due to the previous Rebbe’s illness.

Rumor has it that in the new Vizhnitzer Rebbe’s home, there are six alarm clocks, each one set at half-hour intervals. The Rebbe makes sure never to sleep more than a half hour straight, so every half hour, the Rebbe gets up, walks around the house murmuring some holy words, and goes back to sleep until the next alarm rings. This has been his habit since he was a boy.

One street over, on Rechov Ahavas Shalom, an assortment of mourning notices, all of them black, half of them torn, remain as a mute reminder of the day in Adar when the previous Rebbe, Rav Moshe Yehoshua Hager — the Yeshuos Moshe — left his chassidim for the Next World. He lived at Number 15. The house on the left, Number 13, was the house of his father, the Imrei Chaim, who passed away 40 years ago.

The Rebbe shlita enters the building at Ahavas Shalom 15, to use the same mikveh his father used to purify himself. Before he succeeded his father, the Rebbe used to immerse himself at the private mikveh in the home of Rav Aharon Eliyahu Feldman, the son of Rav Chaim Moshe Feldman. Now, having moved into his father’s position, the Rebbe has permitted himself for the first time to make use of his father’s mikveh.

Immersion in a mikveh is an essential part of the Vizhnitzer avodah. The previous Rebbe would sometimes perform three immersions a day. During the shivah for his father, the current Rebbe observed the halachah prohibiting a mourner from immersion, but on Friday night, after the packed Maariv, he slipped quietly into his father’s mikveh before reciting the first Kiddush since the petirah.

5:20 a.m.

The early risers are already in the streets. Some even have the privilege of being blessed by their Rebbe to have a “good morning.”

5:25 a.m.

The Rebbe disappears into his home, where he will spend the coming hours ensconced in his private room with the thousands of seforim he has amassed over the past years with great effort and financial outlay, sometimes even skimping on his own food. The contents of these seforim, he has told his confidants, have always been a consolation to him at times of suffering.

At the first Seudah Shlishis after the Rebbe shlita’s coronation — with the lights off according to Vizhnitz tradition — the crowd held their breath as the Rebbe began to speak. “What is there for me to say?” he began tearfully. “How can I speak? My great, holy father has left us for his eternal rest, and we are left behind in sorrow.” The Rebbe began to sob unchecked tears, and then continued, “My holy ancestors, beginning with the Ahavas Shalom, led this congregation and they were worthy of it. The years of their youth were years of greatness. For me, unfortunately, it is not the same.

“It is very hard for me to be called the Rebbe. That is the way things are done; it is the way of the world, and I have no choice. But I ask that the accompanying title of kvod kedushas not be added at all, neither in private nor in public, for there is no truth to it.”

The Rebbe went on to declare that his task would be only to succeed his father and to bring the kvittlach that would be presented to him at the resting place of his forebears. Then Shabbos was over and the fluorescents went on, leaving over 5,000 men squinting in the light, watching as their new Rebbe hid his own face in his hands.

An elderly chassid, Reb Avraham Mordechai Malik, passed by and whispered to him, “You are my fourth Rebbe. I had a relationship with the Ahavas Yisrael, with the Imrei Chaim, with your father, the Yeshuos Moshe, and now with you. I do not accept your statement that you are not worthy.”

Over nine years have passed since the Yeshuos Moshe became ill. During that time Rav Yisrael Hager took it upon himself to serve as the leader of the flock until his father would recover, always believing and teaching others to hope that his father would lead the Chassidus until the coming of Mashiach. On that night when the lights went out at Ahavas Shalom 15 and all of Vizhnitz—and the Jewish world in general — was cast into mourning, the bereaved sons Rav Yisrael and Rav Menachem Mendel looked like men whose entire world had been destroyed — despite the Rebbe’s frailty, despite the ambulance that had been parked outside his home for years already, despite the knowledge that his end was near.

Yet the chassidim have embraced the new Rebbe. His leadership is founded on his exhaustive Torah study, his incredible humility, his tremendous value for the tiniest fragment of time, his joyous prayers, his broken heart, his striving for truth and perfection, his good middos, his love for his fellow Jews, and his incredible simplicity. These were his traits when he was simply an anonymous tzaddik serving Hashem in his own corner, and they remain his attributes now. For Rav Yisrael, there is no difference between the avodah of an outcast in the corner of an empty beis medrash and the holy avodah observed by tens of thousands of pairs of eyes.

New Beginnings

7 p.m., Rechov Ahavas Shalom 13

This is where the light of the Imrei Chaim came forth, and this is where the sun of Vizhnitz continued to shine under the leadership of the Yeshuos Moshe. This is where the previous Rebbes received kvittlach, and the present Rebbe is continuing that tradition.

Still, the title “Rebbe” is like a stab to his innate humility. When he first entered the beis medrash as Rebbe and found his shtender covered with a cloth on which was embroidered “lichvod kvod kedushas maran ha’admor shlita,” the Rebbe ordered the cover removed and gave instructions for it not to be returned until the offending title had been removed. The Rebbe also refuses the customary niggun and escort on the way to and from the beis medrash.

It’s been nearly a decade since kvittlach were accepted in Vizhnitz.Now Rav Yisrael sits in the room where his father and grandfather received supplicants, in the same position familiar to followers of the Imrei Chaim, accepting kvittlach from the multitude of visitors. At the front of the room, near the main door, is a large bookshelf where the seforim of the Imrei Chaim are kept. The volumes are very old and mostly moth-eaten. Their ink has faded, but their sanctity remains.

When the Shomrei Emunim Rebbe came here for nichum aveilim, he asserted that prayers offered in this room are more effective than those recited at the gravesite itself. “The nefesh is there, but the ruach is here,” the Rebbe said. This place is known as the prava shtiebel.

Outside sits the Rebbe’s new attendant, Rav Shaul Greenberger. Rav Greenberger was a rebbi in Yeshivas Vizhnitz until the Rebbe appointed him as his personal shamash who’d write the notes on behalf of thousands of visitors.

Once during the shivah, the Rebbe was brought a drink in a silver cup. To the surprise of the gabbaim, the Rebbe refused to accept the cup. “As long as my brother [Rav Menachem Mendel], the Admor shlita, is not served in a cup like this, I will not drink from it,” he whispered to the gabbai. An additional cup was brought, identical to the first, and only then did the Rebbe agree to drink from it.

During the shivah, the Rebbe equipped himself with a wad of twenty-shekel bills to distribute to the paupers who would visit. The gabbaim decided on the twenty-shekel strategy, hoping to prevent the Rebbe from giving out excessive amounts of money. The Rebbe, however, not one to be restrained in chesed, added 200 shekels from his own pocket to every twenty-shekel bill he dispensed.

Those who’d known him as a youngster weren’t surprised. Yisrael Hager was still a young avreich when he began following the precedent of his forebear, the Tzemach Tzaddik, who never kept a coin in his own possession and distributed limitless amounts of tzedakah. Such vast sums did he distribute that his great-grandson the Imrei Chaim was still paying off his debts in the period prior to World War II.

The older members of the Chassidus remember how, when Reb Yisrael was younger, anyone who came to him in financial distress was granted generous assistance, and if the Rebbe himself lacked funds, he would raise the money or borrow from others.

Yearnings of the Heart

Rav Yisrael Hager was born in Tel Aviv in Iyar 1945, a year after his father, the Yeshuos Moshe, arrived to the safety of Eretz Yisrael from the valley of death.

Vizhnitz, like most of the chassidishe courts, had been shattered by the Holocaust. Some had already predicted the end of the dynasty. They thought that Torah study and Chassidus had left the world along with the souls of the murdered Jews. The celebration of this first bris in Eretz Yisrael proved that all was not lost; the kingdom of Vizhnitz would continue.

The Imrei Chaim — Rav Chaim Meir Hager — had not yet arrived in Eretz Yisrael, so the Yeshuos Moshe honored his father’s brother, the Damesek Eliezer, with the position of sandak. The Damesek Eliezer passed the honor on to his own uncle, Reb Yisrael of Husyatin, the eldest tzaddik of Ruzhin, who lived in Tel Aviv at the time. Rav Baruch Rabinowitz of Munkacz served as the mohel.

Rav Yisrael’s childhood memories are inextricably intertwined with the venerated image of his recently departed father. He recalls his father’s packed daily schedule, his incredible hasmadah, his great care to guard his eyes from forbidden sights, and, in general, the spiritual life that he managed to live even under the conditions that prevailed in Tel Aviv at the time. The Rebbe shlita recounts these memories often, to transmit them to the young chassidim. He remembers how his father would take him to his Tel Aviv cheder with his eyes closed. After a short time, Rav Moshe Yehoshua removed his young son from the school and instead selected private tutors for him.

When Rav Yisrael was six years old, Yeshivas Vizhnitz moved from Tel Aviv to the new Vizhnitzer neighborhood under construction in Bnei Brak. Reb Moshe Yehoshua continued to disseminate Torah in Tel Aviv, taking little Yisrael with him every morning. The bus driver always reserved the two front seats for them, for reasons of modesty and kedushah.

In 1963, Rav Yisrael became engaged to the daughter of the Chernobyler Rebbe ztz”l. At the engagement celebration, the Chernobyler Rebbe asked the chassan’s grandfather, the Imrei Chaim, what gift he was giving to the chassan. The Imrei Chaim replied that he was giving young Yisrael a famous letter written to the Ahavas Shalom, the founder of the Vizhnitz dynasty, by Rav Velvel miTscharan-Ostra. Rav Velvel, before departing Europe for Eretz Yisrael, had advised his chassidim to visit the Ahavas Shalom in his stead. He later penned a letter promising that the Ahavas Shalom’s sovereignty over the Chassidus would remain in his family forever. By presenting the young chassan with the letter, the Imrei Chaim made it clear that he considered his young grandson to be the next link in the family chain. Almost 50 years have passed since then, entire worlds have been destroyed and built, and the Imrei Chaim’s prophetic promise has been fulfilled. His grandson, the then-chassan, has become the next link in the chain of the Vizhnitzer dynasty.

As an avreich, Rav Yisrael received rabbinical ordination from Rav Moshe Aryeh Freund ztz”l, the gaavad of Yerushalayim, and Rav Yehoshua Mendel Ehrenberg ztz”l of Tel Aviv, in addition to other well-known rabbanim. He was already giving shiurim in Yeshivas Vizhnitz when he began to serve in rabbanus after the Imrei Chaim’s passing on the 9th of Nissan, 1972. His father, the Yeshuos Moshe, then ascended to the position of Rebbe. Rav Yisrael’s position was established when, during the shivah for the Imrei Chaim, both the chassidim and local rabbanim came to him to sell their chometz. Among them was the Steipler Gaon ztz”l, who until then had always come to the Yeshuos Moshe to sell his chometz.

The previous Rebbe, the Yeshuos Moshe, often expressed love and admiration for his son, the current Rebbe. He would quote the words of Chazal, “Yisrael alah b’machshavah l’fanav,” to allude to the fact that his own son Yisrael was constantly in his thoughts. Once, a chassid was in the Imrei Chaim’s room with a note in his hand when Rav Yisrael, who was then a young boy, entered the room to borrow a sefer. The Imrei Chaim directed a loving gaze at his grandson and remarked to the other man, “This grandson of mine has three attributes of greatness. He has a broken heart, but his heart is large enough to have room for his own burdens and those of every Jew, and his soul is pure and free of stains.”

The Yeshuos Moshe once told his chassidim, “You should know that my son, Rav Yisrael, has feared sin since his youth. He is named after my grandfather, the Ahavas Yisrael, who shared that same trait.”

When the Imrei Chaim passed away, his beloved grandson was 28 years old. Rav Yisrael’s years with the Imrei Chaim left an indelible imprint on him — for the Imrei Chaim loved him like his own son. “I know all of them,” his aunt, Rebbetzin Tzipporah Friedman, the sister of the Yeshuos Moshe, remarked. “The eldest son was on a high level since he was small. As an avreich, he reminded us of our grandfather.”

Secret Meetings

From the time he was a young man, Rav Yisrael cultivated strong connections with his uncles, Reb Yudale of Dzhikov ztz”l and the Vizhnitzer Rebbe of Monsey shlita. The Vizhnitz-Monsey Rebbe says that his nephew possesses the power of prayer and the power to dispense blessings, and he has encouraged him to accept kvittlach. Rav Yisrael also maintains strong connections with the elderly admorim of Tosh and Skulen.

Just two weeks ago, Rav Shmuel Wosner of Bnei Brak expressed his approval of a relative’s decision to daven Minchah in Rav Yisrael’s minyan, saying, “to him, it’s worthwhile to go, for he is a chashuveh Yid.”

The Rebbe also has a strong connection to Rav Aharon Leib Steinman shlita, who calls him “the tzaddik of Bnei Brak.”

But the most notable of Rav Yisrael’s relationships was the mysterious close connection he formed with the Lubavicher Rebbe ztz”l. Rav Yisrael was the only individual granted a private audience at the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s home on President Street during the period when the Rebbe had ceased holding private audiences, when the only direct contact he had with the public was the distribution of dollar bills on Sundays. Their conversation was long and shrouded in secrecy, and until today Rav Yisrael refuses to divulge the details of that meeting. Just two weeks ago, Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky visited Rav Yisrael and mentioned that he’d also been present at that rare meeting. Behind closed doors, he recounted, the Lubavitcher Rebbe had blessed Rav Yisrael “l’maan yaarich yamim al mamlachto,” an enigmatic blessing at the time. When Rav Yisrael left the room, the Rebbe told his inner circle, “Keep an eye on this one,” implying that he’d have a distinguished future.

Rav Yisrael still makes public note of the date of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s passing, 3 Tammuz, and he often leads his chassidim in Chabad niggunim. It seemed only fitting, then, that Rabbi Leibel Groner flew in to Bnei Brak to perform nichum aveilim when Rav Yisrael was sitting shivah for the previous rebbe.

The Rebbe shlita also maintained a relationship with Rav Yankele of Pshevorsk in Antwerp, who remarked about him, “You will yet see thousands of people crowding in the shade of the Vizhnitzer Rebbe’s son and flocking to receive brachos from his mouth.” Reb Yankele uttered these words during the time of Rav Yisrael’s banishment; at the time, it seemed like nothing more than a far-off fantasy.

His son Reb Leibish, the current Rebbe of Pshevorsk, was visited by a British Jew stricken with a deadly disease. Reb Leibish told him to appeal to the new Vizhnitzer Rebbe, since he is a “poel yeshuos.”

The Sweet Years

For 18 years, from 1984 until 2002, Rav Yisrael Hager privately mourned an event that no one understood, something that no one could even question. Inexplicably, he’d been banished from his father’s court. Rav Yisrael accepted the decree in silence, serving Hashem in his own corner, in solitude.

For nearly two decades, the distanced son waited for a message that his father had summoned him to return. The chassidim understood that the entire matter was beyond their comprehension. Rav Yisrael himself warned them not to become involved in the affair, for it would be playing with a dangerous fire. He calls those years “the sweet years,” for it was then that his soul was purified in the crucible of suffering.

A chassid relates: “Around 1995, Rav Yisrael went alone every day to visit the burial place of his beloved grandfather, the Imrei Chaim, Rav Chaim Meir Hager. There was a Yemenite guard at the Vizhnitz cemetery in those days, and he related that he would see the Vizhnitzer Rebbe’s oldest son spending hours at the grave in tearful supplication.”

During those years, Rav Yisrael wrote dozens of letters to the Vizhnitzer Rebbe, expressing an outpouring of love from a son to a father. One year, the Rebbe broke the silence and called his son to wish him mazel tov on his birthday. At the end of the conversation, the Rebbe wished his son many long, healthy years. Rav Yisrael responded, “With you, Father, we will have happiness together.”

“Amen,” said the Yeshuos Moshe, and Rav Yisrael’s joy knew no bounds.

“During his most trying periods, we did not see him broken,” one of his disciples relates. “There were times when he would cry, but he never despaired.

“At the wedding of his son Reb Yitzchak Yeshaya, a small reception was held at his beis medrash on Rechov Rashi,” the chassid continues. “His sister, the Belzer Rebbetzin, came to join in the festivities. The Belzer Rebbetzin always remained close to him. In the middle of the simchah, the Rebbetzin approached her brother, wished him mazel tov, and burst into tears over his forced isolation. No one who was present could refrain from weeping along with her — except for one person. We looked at the Rebbe’s face, and we saw that not a muscle was moving. He thanked the Rebbetzin and told her, ‘We should meet at simchahs.’ And with that, the discussion ended.”

During those years, Reb Yisrael made frequent trips abroad in order to provide for his family. When he returned and his children asked him if he was successful, he would invariably say, “Baruch Hashem, I was matzliach.” But they often learned afterward that that particular trip had ended in bitter disappointment.

“I’ll Never Be a Rebbe”

It was the week before Purim in 2000. Rav Yisrael was returning to Bnei Brak from the forsphiel — the pre-wedding celebration — of the children of the Toldos Aharon and Tosher Rebbes. It began to rain, making the Jerusalem–Tel Aviv highway slick and perilous, when a 17-year-old driver rammed into the car in which Rav Yisrael and his son were traveling. Rav Yisrael was severely injured; three of his ribs were broken, and he was a hairsbreadth away from suffering irreversible lung damage.

Soon Rav Yisrael’s condition took a turn for the worse; in Vizhnitz, everyone shuddered when they learned about the accident. His father, the Yeshuos Moshe — who had not seen him in 16 years — cried bitterly as he recited Tehillim. Later, he went to pay his son a visit.

When the Yeshuos Moshe entered the ICU at Hadassah, he asked that no one else be present when he came to see his son.

Rav Yisrael’s excitement knew no bounds. His ability to speak was limited, since he was hooked up to an array of medical machinery. But he straightened up slightly, out of respect for his father, looked at him longingly, and murmured a single sentence that would be remembered forever — “See my poverty and my toil.” In those words, he encapsulated the depths of his anguish. The Yeshuos Moshe cried with him.

Rav Yisrael returned home for Purim, yet he was still immobilized. On Purim afternoon, his chassidim brought in a keyboard and an amplifier to liven up the seudah, placing the amplifier on a high shelf. Rav Yisrael was sitting in a special chair with his feet up, directly underneath, when someone tripped over the cord as the heavy amplifier fell directly onto his injured leg. His son, Reb Yitzchak Yeshaya, who had also been injured in the accident, was sitting in a wheelchair beside the Rebbe with a wounded pelvic bone. As the amplifier came crashing down, he looked on in shock and horror.

“We looked at the Rebbe’s face, but we didn’t see the slightest flinch. Not a muscle moved, not a sound was heard. This was a man whose intellect reigns over his emotions with absolute power,” one of his talmidim reported.

Reb Nechemiah Zaideh, one of the elder chassidim, is a master of the Torah of Vizhnitz. He recently told the young chassidim that such levels of emunah, bitachon, and good middos were rare even in previous generations.

“The Rebbe always conducts himself in the same manner regardless of the circumstances,” he says of the Rebbe shlita’s extreme personal discipline even in the face of pain and tragedy. “Whether he is in the presence of a tiny minyan or surrounded by thousands of admirers, he serves Hashem exactly the same way. No one can detect the slightest deviation.”

People often asked Rav Yisrael why he did not despair of receiving Divine mercy. After so much time had passed, and his personal redemption still had not come, perhaps it was time to establish a clearer future for himself? Rav Yisrael replied, “Every night as I lie in bed, my heart cries bitterly that the words of David HaMelech — ‘At night I go to sleep weeping, but in the morning there is song’ — should be fulfilled for me.”

Those close to Rav Yisrael Hager say that despair is just not in his lexicon. It never has been. In 1972, Rav Yisrael traveled to Meron to daven for the refuah of the Imrei Chaim. But when he got a message that the situation was critical, he detoured to Assuta Hospital to be with his beloved grandfather in his last minutes.

“When the Rebbe arrived at Assuta, he saw that no one was saying Tehillim,” reports an elder chassid who was with him that day. “They were all standing around and crying, because they knew that there were only a few hours left. Rav Yisrael stood in the corridor and began to shout, ‘Why aren’t you saying Tehillim?’ People looked at him in disbelief; the Imrei Chaim was close to death already.

“But he had no concept of despair. He was always hopeful, believing and trusting in Hashem. He’s had this intense emunah since he was a child. Even when his father’s health had so declined in the last years, it was impossible to discuss with him what would happen after 120.”

A chassid who remained close to Rav Yisrael during his years of isolation remembers one Hoshana Rabbah. “After the beating of the aravos, a few of his loyal chassidim grabbed pieces of the loose aravos that fell. After davening, Rav Yisrael asked them, ‘Why did you grab that from me?’ They said, ‘It’s a segulah for protection.’

“The Rebbe said, ‘I know that it’s a segulah for protection, but every person has to take his own aravah.’

“I said to him, ‘But the Rav is a gutter Yid [a chassidish expression for a rebbe].’ The Rebbe replied, ‘I am not a gutter Yid. I will never be a rebbe, and my father will bring us toward Mashiach.’

9 p.m., the Imrei Chaim’s waiting room

There is a brief recess in the kabbalas kahal, which will continue past midnight. The Rebbe wishes to daven Maariv. A large crowd pushes its way inside; the people want to daven together with their Rebbe. A small number of chassidim actually succeed.

The Rebbe washes his hands and moves toward his shtender with measured steps. The chassidim relate that since he assumed the mantle of leadership, even his movements have changed. They have become more regal — “rebbishe movements,” as the chassidim say.

The Rebbe begins Kaddish. The white cloth covers his shtender; the honorific has been removed per his request, while the donor’s name remains so the Rebbe can mention him in his prayers.

After davening has concluded, the Rebbe quickly returns to the prava shtiebel. Sixty scheduled visitors have yet to enter his chamber. Among them are newly minted chassanim celebrating their engagements tonight, three-year-old boys on the occasion of their first haircuts, and bar mitzvah boys. Much has changed, but the Rebbe’s rule for his chassidim still stands: Even from across the ocean, even at the most inconvenient time — “If someone needs me urgently, Heaven forbid that I should turn him away.”

1 a.m., the Imrei Chaim’s waiting room

Midnight has long passed, and about 20 men are still waiting to see the Rebbe. The Rebbe won’t leave until all 60 of the people scheduled to present kvittlach tonight have left their burdens of troubles behind in this room.

This is the man who would make his way to a mental institution every week, to sing and dance with a tortured bochur.

This is the man who comforted a young Vizhnitzer chassid whose newborn baby required surgery in New York to correct a serious health issue. “I have no money, no passport, I’m barely 20 years old,” the distraught father had cried. The Rebbe asked Eli Yishai to expedite the passports, Meir Porush the visas, Yaakov Litzman the financing from the health fund — and then told the young man, “Make sure to come say goodbye before you leave.” His goodbye present: several thousand dollars’ pocket money, to help the frightened young couple navigate a foreign country.

This is the man who phoned a Satmar activist in London, offering to help raise money for a Jewish couple facing a prison sentence. To the activist’s questions of “Do you know him? Do you know the family?” he answered “No, I just know that they’re Yidden and they need help.”

This is the man who hoped and believed throughout years of loneliness, who understands the pain and suffering of the thousands who now see him as their leader.

The clock now strikes 2 a.m. Soon the last visitor will leave, and the Rebbe will return to his home, where he will conduct conversations with his chassidim in America until three o’clock, snatch a few half-hour intervals, and then be up again at five.

In Vizhnitz today, there is time for it all.

Utter Simplicity

Rav Yisrael Hager, heir to the Vizhnitz dynasty, always refused the trappings of pomp. For years he traveled in an old-model Citroën — instructing his gabbai that anyone needing a ride should be picked up. One of the chassidim finally told him it was time for a new car, more appropriate for his status. Rav Yisrael couldn’t understand why.

“It’s not a nice car,” the chassid explained.

“Nu, so put flowers on it,” Rav Yisrael replied.

The situation remained that way until the car died. At that point, he allowed a new car to be purchased, but with two stipulations: it had to be secondhand, and it could not be a German make.

“The concept of simplicity takes on a new dimension when you are with him,” says one chassid. “I used to go to him for Shabbos meals. If I asked a bochur next to me to pass me a drink, the Rebbe would look hurt and say, ‘Why don’t you ask me?’$$$SEPARATE QUOTES$$$”

“Throughout his life, the Rebbe has fought any trappings of honor,” another chassid relates. “One Lag B’Omer, I met him in Meron. I watched him dance in the courtyard of the tziyun, and when someone placed his hand on the Rebbe’s shoulder, I couldn’t tolerate the affront and told the dancer to remove his hand. The Rebbe heard and reproached me: ‘I want to dance with Jews! If you can’t accept that, then go somewhere else.’

“He hated anyone making a fuss over him, and would go to any length to avoid it. At the Shabbos sheva brachos of one of his sons, the chassan’s friends tried to escort the future Rebbe to his home, but he insisted that they leave him alone. A few of them persisted in following him anyway, until he slipped into a building. The bochurim thought he would emerge shortly, but he actually left the building through a back entrance and climbed over a fence to get back to the street, in order to make his way home by himself, without an escort.”

When Rav Yisrael visited the Catskills, he was hosted by a family of Bobover chassidim. One summer his hosts were blessed with a new grandchild. He watched them planning a trip to the city, noting their indecision and correctly surmising that they weren’t comfortable leaving their teenaged son in the mountains by himself. “Don’t worry,” he offered, “leave him here, I’ll babysit.”

That night the boy fell asleep on the couch. Rav Yisrael gently awakened him at 8:15 the next morning so he wouldn’t miss the zman Kriyas Shema, even bringing the fifteen-year-old water for negel vasser.

Two years ago, a Vizhnitzer bochur who had completely abandoned Yiddishkeit and his family heard a knock on the door of his lonely lodgings. To his shock, Rav Yisrael was standing there. “I hear you’re all alone,” he said with warmth and concern, “and I wanted to make sure you have some money in your pocket.”

“I had been sure no one was thinking about me anymore,” the boy told his illustrious visitor. “But since you care, I’m going to put on my tefillin” — gesturing toward a dusty bag packed high on a shelf. That visit set the youngster on a slow but steady path back to observance.