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IN-DEPTH FEATURES
Part I
Red Square used to be a place for communist marches and for
the Red Army to show off its muscles, but today boys wearing
yarmulkes can be seen passing through on their way
home from cheder. Once upon a time such a scene could
only have been found in a caricature ridiculing Jewish life.
Now Torah life is thriving in Moscow. Lo bechayil velo
beko'ach ki im beRuchi omar Hashem (Zecharya 4:6). This
is real strength.
Russia is now a whole new land bearing little resemblance to
its recent past. But I did not come here to see the revival
of the Russian giant as it sends forth its economic tentacles
far and wide. Rather I came, at the height of the ice and
snow, to witness the dew of resurrection rising.
My goal was to see how Moscow fulfills the command of
vehigadeto levincho. The cheder is not based on
the principle of at p'sach lo but on the answers for
the chochom who asks, "Moh ho'eidus
vehamishpotim?" That is, it is no longer just
kiruv, but there is also an active, vibrant Torah
community. And this is just a stone's throw away from the
Kremlin.
Very little reminds me of what I saw on previous visits. The
splendid figures that left deep imprints in the Russian snow
have passed into the Next World. HaRav Moshe Soloveitchik and
his close friend HaRav Wolf Rosengarten are no longer here.
Those who laid the cornerstones for the real Russian
revolution, such as HaRav Yitzchok Zilber, whose spirit still
lingers here, are now enjoying their keren kayemes in
the Next World. And now the second generation of the fruits
of their labors is already ripening. The seeds they scattered
on the poor soil of Russia drove roots deep into the earth
and started to sprout.
Everything is new and different. Yeshivas Toras Chaim, which
used to be in the village of Malchovka next to an officers'
training school on the banks of the lake, has relocated to
the village of Charifan, a suburb of Moscow. Nothing remains
of the Communist pall once hanging over the railway station.
Domodeidovo ("The House of Grandfather"), the airport where
we landed, is also new.
The local Yiddishkeit I saw is making a comeback.
Father was under the heel of Communism. Whatever bore any
hint of Judaism was suppressed. Grandfather lived a full
Jewish life, but Father was severed from his tradition. Thus
local Judaism landed in Grandfather's house. A wide, sturdy
bridge has been erected across the generations.
No longer is Moscow the city of the son "she'eino yodei'a
lish'ol." Since my last visit here, the son has become
wiser. Not only does he know what to ask, but he also knows
what to answer, loud and clear.
The Jews of Moscow do not settle for the minimum. They were
not content with merely a Jewish day school so they started a
cheder. They wanted glatt kashrus and set up a kashrus
system able to meet their demands. They have cholov
Yisroel and pas Yisroel. They want the Chazon Ish
mikvo'os that bnei Torah insist on around the
world. They have a large Bais Yaakov school, to put girls on
the right track, and many of its graduates have already begun
Torah homes.
In the past, once they were brought to the light of Torah
they would rush to make aliyah, but today many are choosing
to stay. According to av beis din HaRav Pinchas
Goldschmidt, an organization called Fourth Generation even
tried to start a local newspaper for bnei Torah called
Yated Ne'eman. The leading newspaper here used to be
Pravda which means "truth," but today they are trying
to give expression to the truth of Torah.
A new spirit can be sensed in Moscow. The air is crisp and
clean. Temperatures are at the freezing point and a blanket
of clean, white snow covers the city. "The wealthier Moscow
becomes, the cleaner the return to Yiddishkeit
becomes," says Dovid Granovsky, who picked me up at the
airport. "In the past, there was no bread here. Some people
who came were motivated by their will to survive, by hunger.
But in many cases they took a peek and got hooked. Today the
local Jewish community enjoys economic prosperity. Those who
come are simply coming home, returning to their roots. They
are not looking for bread. They are not in need of economic
shelter. Thus, today the teshuvoh is cleaner."
As we drive down the freeway, the Moscow suburbs with their
large lackluster buildings come into view. They look like
dressers with hundreds of drawers each, faceless people
living their lives in every drawer. Real Communist
efficiency.
The river is frozen over. A ray of light shines through the
clouds, unable to melt the ice. It all began with a few
snowflakes. One snowflake and another snowflake until
everything became white. Like the spiritual revolution I saw
in the middle of the city. And it continues to gather until
one day, be'ezras Hashem, the whole city will turn
white as snow.
It doesn't take a mathematician to realize that a new formula
is being applied here: a chareidi kehilloh, like the
ones in Antwerp and London. Once every Jew whose heart began
to warm up to Yiddishkeit packed his bags and went
straight to Eretz Yisroel like a migrating bird
sensing the first signs of spring. "Today we are staying
here," they explain to me in Hebrew and English with thick
Russian accents. For them, Yiddishkeit has become a
part of daily life. Perhaps without even realizing it, they
are heroes in an important chapter in history.
Conducting conversations with representatives of the local
chareidi community provides a sense of what took place here,
and hindsight allows a clear vantage point. Communism is
dead. It was not murdered or toppled and did not commit
suicide. It merely died of old age. Of clogged arteries. It
ate and drank itself to death and nobody rose up to protect
it. Russian-style rule—"workers of the world
unite"—died childless. Russian capitalism, which eats
up every Western idea, emerged from the ruins. Communism died
alone. This is the fate of every false ideology, to die
alone.
Only the Jew is not alone. Torah returns to its former
dwelling place—"machzeres le'achsaniyoh sheloh."
Jews can be different from one another in their appearance,
culture, customs, clothing. But they have the same eyes: sad,
wise, learned through experience, with a flash of dogged hope
and a revolutionary enthusiasm and always trying to connect
and return. Jews of the world, unite (at the base of Sinai)!
And they are all responsible for one another. Shema
Yisroel Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echod.
Outside lies the snow and I still cannot see winter's end in
sight! On my way back to the airport I left the kollel
we have yet to discuss. Beyond it the street is dark and
there are a few people who look like shadows. I saw a
kehilloh that hopes to shine and hopes its current
light will reach all who still walk among the shadows . .
.
*
We came to Moscow because of the cheder. A
cheder founded on kedushoh and tohoroh.
So perhaps we should begin our visit by walking across the
snow-white courtyard inside the Eitz Chaim complex. Each step
leaves a new imprint. Even once the snow melts . . .
After 70 years of Communism, the local Jewish community was
almost beyond hope. An entire generation severed from its
roots. After the Iron Curtain rusted and split open, many
wanted to reconnect but found their roots were made of air.
The Eitz Chaim school was opened to provide a source of
spiritual nourishment to allow the young generation to grow
and thrive.
What the children here receive is not far from hashovas
aveidoh. Within the walls of the classrooms, the Eitz
Chaim staff was in a race against time to restore what had
been stolen from the children. But as more and more bnei
Torah joined the kehilloh, they began to demand
education al taharas hakodesh. Not just another
outreach school that could produce varying results. Bnei
Torah want their sons to study in a cheder.
The cheder is located in a separate wing of the school
complex. The melodious sound of the little boys learning the
mishnayos of maseches Yuma is heartwarming. The
rebbe, R' Alexander Zack, opens a volume marked Otzar
Seforim — Cheder Moscow to Chapter Seven and hands
it to me. "Kohen godol meshamesh beshmoneh keilim,"
begins Rav Zack with a booming voice and a glint in his
eyes.
"There are six melamdim here," explains Rav Elisha
Kaminesky, the life force behind the founding of the
cheder and its operation. "Two of them are locals.
Four came from Eretz Hakodesh. Today Russian Jews stay here.
Because of the spiritual level, we cannot send our children
to outreach schools. We need a genuine talmud Torah.
Amoleinu eilu habonim . . . "
"The idea of opening Talmud Torah of Moscow did not come from
the top down," says HaRav Moshe Lebel, rosh yeshiva of
Yeshivas Toras Chaim, as he walks the children across Red
Square not far from the Kremlin, the place where Big Brother
oversaw the spiritual suppression of the people until their
will eventually prevailed. This is the power of Torah. "We
built the city into a mokom Torah and the light brings
them back."
Toras Chaim
In the evening we traveled to Yeshivas Toras Chaim, now
located on the outskirts of Moscow in Charifan. The drive is
very long. Today's Moscow shows no trace of Communism.
Capitalism has taken over the country. Dazzling signs of
wealth appear everywhere. Stores are filled with an abundance
of merchandise, the downtown area is lovely and the Lada,
Cheka and Volga have been replaced with Lexus, Mercedes and
Audi.
But as we drive further away from downtown the opulence
dwindles and fades. The car trudges through the heavy snow
and by the time we reach the yeshiva the hour is late. But a
handful of bnei Torah still sit in a corner of the
beis medrash engaged in rischo deOraisa. And a
young man sitting in another corner did not even notice us
enter.
During the morning session dozens of bochurim fill the
beis medrash, their fingers stabbing into the air and
sevoros flying as they toil over the Rishonim and
Acharonim on the matter of "shtarcho beyodei mai
bo'i." These baalei trissim don't let the Rosh
Yeshiva relate his approach to the sugya without
putting their two cents in as well.
The bren of learning fires up the temperatures in this
smelting furnace. Only the thick Russian accents remind me I
am in Moscow and not at Ponovezh, Mir, Chevron or Slobodka.
The depth of the furrows on the foreheads reflect the depth
of the kushiyoh or sevoro being presented. The
Rosh Yeshiva and the maggid shiur, HaRav Tzvi Patlas,
step out into the snow-covered courtyard as a band of
students continues to engage them in the shaklo
vetaryo of the sugya, their fiery dialogue
breaking through the chill. And then the pshat becomes
clear and the light of understanding flickers in their
eyes.
*
Ariel Toledano of Bogota, Colombia is well aware of his
family roots. Like every Sephardi Jew of distinguished
lineage he studied in a traditional Jewish day school and
spoke Ladino at home. "The Yiddish of the Sephardim," I
remark offhand.
"No!" he replies with obvious pride. "Yiddish is the Ladino
of the Ashkenazim." In defeat I continue to ask questions and
hear about the holiday traditions preserved in his parents'
home, of course in keeping with the level of observance of a
faraway, severed Diaspora community.
As an intelligent, talented young man he was sent to a Madrid
university to study physics. Though Judaism was a very
peripheral concern of his, when Pesach approached he looked
for a place to spend the Seder Night. His knowledge of
Judaism did not extend much beyond that. Growing up, all he
really knew was that his family did not celebrate the
Christian holidays, because they were Jews.
In his final years in university he specialized in a field of
theoretical mathematics. Because of his high academic level
he received an offer that was hard to refuse. One of his
instructors suggested he do an internship at Moscow's VGM
University—the Harvard of Russian academia. There he
could study under a certain professor of worldwide renown who
was considered a groundbreaking figure in his field.
Thus he arrived in Moscow. Struck by a tinge of homesickness,
again he searched for a Seder to go to. He began to look for
a Sephardic beis knesses where he would find the
nusach he was familiar with from home. Eventually he
found his way to the Choral Synagogue on Archipova Street, a
large beis knesses for Jews from the Caucasus
Mountains. HaRav Zecharya Matityahu, today a rosh
kollel in Haifa, was teaching Torah there at the time. He
was also among the maggidei shiur at the
kollel, a Torah center that Yeshivas Toras Chaim runs
in the middle of Moscow.
During this period, perhaps the covering around Ariel's heart
opened a crack. Perhaps the lure of academia appeared less
glittering, or even dreary.
Ariel Toledano: I spent every holiday with him. For
the first time I understood what Shabbos is, what a
chag is, what the Torah is. I realized I was being
drawn to this. I thought about finishing my degree and going
on for a Master's degree. Along with my academic studies I
wanted to set times for Torah study. But one thought gave me
no rest: I couldn't let `the dough turn sour,'
choliloh. If I continued with my studies I might miss
my chance at learning Torah! This was something inside me. I
felt like Pharaoh was banishing me from Egypt, that the sea
was splitting open before me and that I was being led to Har
Sinai to receive the Torah. And if I continued with my
[university] studies I knew I would not merit learning Torah!
I dropped everything and devoted my whole life to Torah."
From that moment, there was no going back. Today Ariel
Toledano is at the top of his shiur at Yeshivas Toras
Chaim. He also happens to be the only Sephardic ben
Torah in the beis medrash who speaks Russian with
a South American accent. In fact he may be the world's only
ben yeshiva who fits this description.
We cannot recount the story behind every bochur, but
one of these stories is particularly hard to overlook. Dovid
Eliezer Reichman recently celebrated his bar mitzvah and is
already studying in a yeshiva gedoloh. He was born
near the Chinese border in the town of Havrosk. Later his
parents made aliyah. His father was a businessman and his
mother was studying at M.G.M., a college for diplomatic
training and international legal studies. And when his father
went to Moscow on business he remained with his mother in
Ashdod.
In Moscow, his father made the acquaintance of a local
baal teshuvoh who had a major influence on the family.
They began to keep a religious home, but Dovid Eliezer was
still enrolled at a secular school. When the parents moved to
Moscow they began to keep Shabbos and kashrus and rented an
apartment in close proximity to the beis knesses on
Rechov Archipova. The boy began learning Torah at the
kollel, hungrily gobbling down the taste of
life— "ta'amu ure'u ki tov Hashem" (Tehillim
34:9). He was just 11 and the flame in him started to burn
higher until it turned into a blaze.
Meanwhile, his parents also raised their level of observance.
Dovid Eliezer's bar mitzvah was held at the main beis
knesses but the seudah took place at the yeshiva.
Like other boys his age he studied at a Jewish school, but
periodically he would vanish for a few days until he was
found seeking refuge in the yeshiva. A voice calling inside
gave him no rest. At school his grades had been excellent,
but he felt imprisoned until he was back at the yeshiva
sitting and poring over the pages of ancient books like the
other bochurim.
"My parents agreed that whenever I succeed in my studies I
could spend a few days at the yeshiva. And that's not
counting Shabbos," he says. But as a permanent guest Dovid
Eliezer constantly wore a gloomy expression. Only when he
came to the yeshiva and delved into the gemora did
light come to his face.
Eventually he managed to persuade his parents. Now he only
goes back to school for tests. "When he learns gemora
he hits onto the kushiyos of the Rishonim," says
his maggid shiur, HaRav Tzvi Patlas. "When Dovid
Eliezer went to Eretz Yisroel for a short vacation he
spent two weeks at the yeshiva in Kiryat Malachi. This boy
has an internal spiritual magnet that draws him to the
shtender. Like a moth he is simply attracted to light.
And when he goes to his home in the center of Moscow, where
his father sets fixed times for Torah study and his mother
attends women's shiurim, he is the baal korei
at Beis Knesses Archipova, like at the yeshiva.
Dovid Eliezer's face reveals glimpses of the secrets of the
people who never surrendered and withstood all of the storms.
Shaped out of generations of suffering, its solid foundation
stones make the Jewish people into a building sturdy enough
to stand up to any weather.
The Kollel
The kollel operated by Yeshivas Toras Chaim is located
on Luchenikov Street, in the heart of the business district,
not far from the former KGB building. Not far from the bank.
The place where a statue of former KGB head Zhirinovsky once
stood is covered with drifts of snow. Once even his bronze
eyes made people tremble.
The cold chills to the bone until you step into the courtyard
where snow and ice pile high. Like the old courtyards of
Jerusalem surrounded by buildings on all sides, you turn to
the right and start up the stairs. On the third floor, HaRav
Alexander Eisenstat, one of the heads of Yeshivas Toras
Chaim, studies Torah with a group of businessmen.
This place was founded as a spiritual center and a magnet for
Muscovite Jews. This is where the first sparks are lit, where
they hesitantly take their very first, wobbly steps. Many
started learning Torah here and eventually made their way to
the yeshiva. In effect it served as a gathering point for
young men searching for Yiddishkeit but who could not go all
the way to the yeshiva on the edge of the metropolis.
With the start of the Chavrusas Project, in which
avreichim learn with baalei batim, the place is
brimming with life during every hour of the day. As we left,
the tranquility of night settled like a warm blanket. The
city turned over in bed drowsily but in the kollel the
lights were still burning and the sounds of Torah echoed in
the hallways.
Yeshivas Ohalei Yaakov
You rub your eyes but it's not a dream. Throughout the course
of history there have always been Jews who know how to spark
a revolution. All it takes is one person who is both flexible
and firm, sensitive and resolved, a dreamer and a doer. He
who was graced with this combination of traits and is not
being treated for a split personality is the right man for
the job. But in Moscow there are several men who meet this
description.
A sleepy ray of light cracks through the morning sky and a
light Russian snowfall pricks at the grayness as we set out
with HaRav Lebel to visit Yeshivas Ohalei Yaakov, located
near the familiar yellow building of the Uzbekistan Embassy.
Serving as rosh yeshiva is HaRav Akiva Yuscovitz, the son-in-
law of HaRav Aharon Shraga Lopiansky, who is himself
responsible for a spiritual revolution in Silver Spring and
Washington DC that was plain to see during HaRav Steinman's
tour of the US a few months ago. The Rosh Yeshiva's wife is
the granddaughter of HaRav Beinush Finkel, whose mesirus
nefesh for Torah courses through her veins.
The number of talmidim at the yeshiva, under the
spiritual guidance of HaRav Eliyoh Svei, has grown and a
group of avreichim is soon to join their ranks. The
man behind the upswing is HaRav Shmuel Kamenetsky, who has
stood by the yeshiva from the start.
In a long conversation with the Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Akiva
Yuscovitz explains that its location in the center of the
city has transformed it into a magnet for local Jews. "On
Shabbos, dozens come, seeing the yeshiva as their own home.
On Shabbos Night they come en masse to find refuge in a
mokom Torah." HaRav Yuscovitz, who has been a part of
the revolution from the start, notes that all of the chareidi
figures cooperate synergistically to bolster the yeshiva as
it grows and forms.
"The presence of the avreichim requires the
establishment of suitable educational institutions here. The
rebbe of the mechinoh is from the yeshiva.
Until now, we sent alumni to Lakewood or Eretz Yisroel. But
sometimes they find it hard to adapt and without Russian
seminary graduates they find it difficult to build Torah
homes. For all of these reasons it is essential that we
institute a kehilloh here and fortify it."
End of Part I
"Believe me my friends, I am speaking to you through tears.
One shouldn't envy others but I envy you . . ."
by Rabbi Yisroel Friedman
Moscow Airport looked dark to the two avreichim making
their way into the terminal one day in the 1980s. This was
not the first visit that Rav Eliyahu Meir Klugman and Rav
Ezra Hartmann were paying to the Soviet Union. They already
had several successful Torah teaching missions behind them.
They knew though, that they were under scrutiny and that
every step and every movement was being closely watched. The
game was set in advance so as to be mutually acceptable and
its rules had to be followed without the slightest deviation.
They, of course, knew everything already. Just don't
rock the boat.
The two arrivals parted, as though they were strangers, each
headed towards a different side of the terminal. When one of
them was about to leave by himself however, a policeman
frowned and said, "Wait a moment for your friend!"
There were a few nerve-racking minutes at customs. "What's
this cassette?" the officer wanted to know. He asked the two
visitors to wait until he'd inserted the tape into an old
Russian tape recorder and he pressed the "play" button.
Silence. He ran the tape forwards and backwards. Wherever he
listened, silence. A blank cassette?
The officer examined the facial expressions of the two. They
tried not to flinch so as not to betray their tension. He
turned the tape around and tried again. Silence. Forwards,
backwards — nothing!
The two avreichim let out sighs of relief after they'd
finally left the building. Had the officer landed on the
"strongly anti-Soviet" message that tape carried, their
experience would have ended differently. What was the
message? Who was the speaker whose words might have caused
the two American-passport-holding avreichim to undergo
extensive KGB. interrogation?
As mentioned, this wasn't the first time that the two had
traveled behind the Iron Curtain. They had been previously to
Russia, to teach Torah to the religious refuseniks, the first
bold but fragile buds of the Russian teshuvoh
movement. The group would meet on Tuesday nights in the
home of Mrs. P. Koronova, who had engaged in underground work
on behalf of Jewish family purity. In order to appear less
conspicuous, they learned individually on other days but
Tuesday was the night of what they called "the shiur
kloli."
Before setting out for Moscow, the two avreichim
traveled to Bnei Brak and went in to see HaRav Shach
zt'l, whom they used to consult for guidance about
their work in Russia. They placed a tape recorder on the
table, pressed "record" and the Rosh Yeshiva began to speak
to his "faraway friends," conveying a powerful message of
encouragement. We present that heartfelt message here, as it
was said, though obviously the written word cannot convey the
strong emotion in the Rosh Yeshiva's voice, much less his
tears.
Greetings to you, my faraway friends!
I address you and all members of the chareidi community who
are observant of Torah and mitzvos, in the Russian State. It
is hard for me to express myself briefly and I don't know
whether there is anyone in the world who can portray in words
the tremendous significance of what you are doing and the
great obligation that you carry to engage in this work.
You, who remain in this country that is desolate with regard
to the Jewish religion — you are few in numbers, the
only ones withstanding the trial. You have withstood trials
up to this point — and I understand that the trials
until now have been difficult ones — in order to
maintain Torah, to learn it and to fulfill it as we have been
commanded by Moshe Rabbenu. "Blessed is he who upholds the
words of this Torah!" (see Devorim 27:26) refers to
you!
We chareidi Jews, believers descended from believers, have
been told by Hakodosh Boruch Hu that without Torah the
world cannot go on existing. Without Torah in the world, the
world must destruct and whoever learns Torah sustains the
world. "The world stands upon three things: on Torah, on
avodoh and on practicing kindness" (Ovos 1:2).
And you are the only ones in this area who continue without
any assistance. (The Rosh Yeshiva's voice breaks and he
continues in choked tones, amid tears.)
Believe me my friends, I am speaking to you in tears. One
shouldn't envy others but I envy you. I have also been in
Russia. You are in a destitute place, where Torah is
uprooted, where faith is uprooted — and you remain the
only ones! Avrohom Ovinu is known as Avrohom Ho'Ivri.
The entire world stood on one side and Avrohom stood on
the other side. You are descendants of Avrohom Ovinu!
Be happy! Be glad! Who can compare with you?!
You must strengthen yourselves more and more. Fortify
yourselves as much as possible to increase your Torah study,
to convey it to your children, your neighbors, your families
and to whoever wants to receive it. The public's merit
depends upon you!
The truth will ultimately be revealed. Faith is [after all]
"faith" [i.e. it cannot be proven] yet it is the most
intellectual thing that can exist. Without faith a person is -
- "Man is born like a wild young ass" — a ferocious
animal. How many millions of people have been killed and
slaughtered in your country only because there was no faith
in Hashem.
You are fortunate. You are fortunate. May you merit long life
— may we see and may we merit the arrival of the
Redeemer and then we shall see the truth openly.
Greetings to you . . .
*
That Tuesday, the refuseniks sat around the table with a
camera recording the event. They listened carefully, their
hearts open to the Rosh Yeshiva's words. The "voice of
Yaakov," of the elder sage, the mentor of Yidden
everywhere, echoed through the distant Moscow apartment and
was absorbed by the "faraway friends" who now felt themselves
very close indeed.
Years have passed. The participants of that illegal gathering
have settled in Eretz Yisroel and established their own Torah
homes. Over the years, the Rosh Yeshiva's message continued
echoing in their hearts, while the original cassette was left
in some forgotten corner gathering dust.
On my visit to Russia I met Rav Klugman, who had come to
deliver shiurim in Yeshivas Ohalei Yaakov, where his
brother served for many years as Rosh Yeshiva. We spoke for a
while and in the course of our conversation he recalled this
episode and told me about it. All I needed to do then was
badger him and urge him to find it. He gave me the cassette
that he recorded eighteen years ago at the yeshiva with his
friend Rav Hartmann. I ran it forwards and backwards but like
the Russian customs official, all I could hear was silence. I
turned the tape over and ran it forwards and backwards. Then
I ran it forwards again and my heart skipped a beat:
Greetings to you my faraway friends . . .
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