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IN-DEPTH FEATURES
HaRav Zilber was niftar on erev Tisha B'Av this
year. In a life focused on talmud Torah and
shemiras mitzvos he accomplished quite a bit, even
though more than half of his life was spent in Communist
Russia -- the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
Earlier this year, before he passed away, we published
several feature articles describing various aspects of his
life in the Russia of Stalin. It did not make any difference
to him whether he was working in Soviet Russia, or living in
the Soviet Gulag prison system. Stubborn for Torah and
determined to keep everything, Rav Zilber saw extraordinary
hashgochoh several times.
In his later years, in response to an illness he suffered,
he and his students set up Toldos Yeshurun to minister to the
spiritual needs of the Russian community.
The following passages are his account of some of the
trials he underwent in his life.
To Jail
After they arrested me in my home they conducted another
search. They came in the night, waking up the children with
their noise. My daughter Soroh and my son Bentzion were still
small. Alarmed by the strange people and the melee, the
children broke into tears. My wife predicted there would be
more searches and after the first incident she burned
everything that seemed suspicious to her. This led to the
loss of many pictures and letters that were valuable to us,
and perhaps to others as well.
The investigation began. Before every interrogation they kept
me in a poorly-ventilated room the size of a phone booth.
After a few moments I already felt like I was suffocating and
would die at any time. (Later I read about such torture
techniques in works by Solzhenitzin.) At the last moment,
they would take me out and lead me to an interrogator. I
still remember his name: Satarover.
The interrogations included torture. Not for naught did those
arrested always claim half an hour with an interrogator was
like a year in the lager. When I was brought for
interrogation for the first time, five people were sitting
there.
"You know what? For now, we are not investigators. Just
regular people, friends sitting here and talking. We don't
intend to report anything to anyone. Prove to us that Hashem
exists!"
I was absorbed in thought. Should I talk or no? I sensed
there a trap had been laid for me. What if they suddenly use
my remarks against me? I could be accused of "religious
propaganda."
One of the investigators, a Jew, asked no questions and sat
in silence. But somehow he appeared uncomfortable. From the
expression on his face I could tell it was difficult for him
to watch this game. Suddenly he began to take part.
"You know, comrades, we will not succeed in changing him and
he does not want to change us. Let's get to the point," he
said, cutting short the "friendly conversation."
Only then did I realize how dangerous the game had been.
Time went by. Once, I was summoned for an interrogation with
this investigator, whose name was Pindrus. He spoke with me
kindly and asked how he could help me. "My wife doesn't have
any money," I said, "and I should be receiving my salary from
the school. Order them to pay the money sooner." He honored
my request.
Then came the trial. It was 1951, a difficult time under
Stalin, who was brimming with antisemitic propaganda. So I
had to pay the price. In the end I was in prison for just two
years before receiving clemency.
My father was arrested on the second day of Shavuos and he
left the lager on the 30th of Nisan. On this day he always
wears his father's tallis and blesses us.
Prison
During the interrogations, I was held in prison. The
conditions there were unbearable. Forty-three men in a
crowded cell, hot, stifling and two open buckets for
relieving oneself. I was embarrassed to use them in front of
the other men and I would only use them at night while
everybody was asleep. Everybody was taken to the lavatory
together twice a day, at 6:00 in the morning and at 6:00 in
the evening, and for just 10-15 minutes.
The prisoners noticed I couldn't use the open buckets and
when we were taken to the bathroom they would occupy them
intentionally and sit there until the last moment so I
wouldn't have time to go in. Relieving myself turned into a
great torment for me and I felt my end was drawing near.
I soon contracted dysentery. In 1951 on my daughter's
birthday, the 10th of Tammuz, which fell on a Shabbos, I
washed my hands to eat a piece of bread in honor of Shabbos
Kodesh, but in spite of my efforts I was unable to swallow
even a single crumb. I didn't have the strength to go out to
the yard, but when I asked to be left in the cell they would
not grant me permission. I went out and after taking two
steps, fell to the ground.
I regained consciousness in the prison hospital. There I
recovered somewhat and then I was told that my chances of
recuperation were about the same as my chances of contracting
another more dangerous disease. The diagnoses of the other
patients in my room were as bad as could be . . . I hurried
back to the prison ward.
Sleeping was also a problem. I was given a blanket but I
didn't know whether it contained shatnez or not so I
couldn't cover myself with it. My cell mate had a cotton
blanket. I proposed we swap.
"What for?" he wanted to know.
I explained the problem to him and he started fuming. "You
people should be shot! Because of people like you we cannot
build socialism!" He was totally infuriated.
Three days later he was transferred to another cell. He came
up to me on his own initiative and said, "Here, take it." Why
the sudden change of heart? I really don't know, but I was
very grateful.
What about tefilloh and Bircas Hamozone? In the
prison cell the stench from the open buckets made prayer
prohibited. There was not enough room for me to move four
amos away, so I was left with no choice other than to
cover one bucket with a jacket and the other with a coat.
My cell mates may have thought their pranks were funny, but I
was not amused in the least.
Once packages sent from home were brought to the cell and a
pencil was handed around so everybody could sign for receipt
of their parcels. After everyone had signed the overseer
asked for his pencil back, but it was nowhere to be found. We
searched everywhere but somehow it had disappeared. All of
the criminals there pointed at me. The overseer said he would
wait five minutes. If the pencil was not returned nobody in
the cell would receive packages for one month.
Despite his threats, under no circumstances was he allowed to
leave without the pencil. A thorough search of the entire
cell was conducted and the pencil was found in my bed! How
they hid it there I can't say, but this is why they are known
as experts in their "profession." Miraculously the prison
authorities didn't punish me.
Holy Days
Rosh Hashanah arrived one week after I first came to the
lager. I knew the tefillos by heart, of course, but
still I yearned for a machzor to show other Jews.
Believe it or not it was the secretary of the Communist Party
in the lager, a Jew named Vishnev, who brought me the
machzor.
How could it be that I was unafraid to approach him with such
a request? I happened to know that despite his Communist
education he was a decent and honest person. When nobody else
was listening I argued with him about Stalin and proved he
did not have prophetic powers, despite the lofty traits
attribute to him, including ruach hakodesh. To say
such things was extremely dangerous.
I don't know whether Vishnev really believed his own words,
but to explain Stalin's poor treatment of the Jews he said,
"Imagine a father who has two sons. One works and does
everything he's supposed to do while the other avoids works
and remains idle. A holiday arrives. Who should he seat at
the head of the table? The son who is idle and does nothing
or the son who works hard? The Russian people are building
socialism while the Jews shirk the call of duty. They are
involved in either commerce or science."
Nevertheless I could see he was a decent man so I asked him,
"If I give you an address and ask you to bring me a book,
would you bring it?"
"I'll bring it," he replied.
In addition to the machzor he brought me Mishnayos,
a Tanach and even a pocket-sized Haggadah.
While handing me the books, Vishnev warned me not to say
who brought them even if I were to get torn to shreds.
Years later, I happened to run into Vishnev's son. In 1992 I
held a Pesach seder at a yeshiva in Moscow and at the
end I started to recount how I conducted the seder in
the lager. I also mentioned Vishnev. I don't think it was a
coincidence, but rather yad Hashem, that among those
present was a couple from Kazan.
They returned to Kazan, found Vishnev's son's address
(Vishnev himself had passed away by then) and told him the
account. Vishnev immediately traveled to Moscow to meet me.
He hugged me and kissed me and then began to tell his
story.
"I was five but I remember how Father would recount the story
of the Jew in the lager who wouldn't work on Shabbos. He
spoke with respect and admiration."
I read a bit of Tanach with him and he sat and
listened intently. I taught him how to read Kaddish
and he recited it for his mother and father.
So bringing the machzor to the lager did have an
effect in Olom Habo! Just that one Kaddish made
it worthwhile!
Years later, Yosef Vishnev called me in Jerusalem and asked
me to pray for him. He was about to undergo a dangerous
operation. Thus even the lager had a purpose. If I had to
stay in the lager, maybe it was so that Vishnev's son would
call me with such a request.
So I had a machzor and on the first day of Rosh
Hashanah I prayed together with several other Jews, quietly
so that nobody would see or hear.
As soon as we finished the prayers a fire broke out in the
lager. Pandemonium set it in right away. The whole lager went
up in smoke and flames. Prisoners and guards ran around in a
state of chaos and panic, shouting and giving orders. The
guards devoted their attention to the prisoners more than the
fire, in order to prevent escapes. They brought us into a
smoke-filled room and locked us in.
It was very frightening. A short time earlier we had recited
the words, " . . . Unesaneh tokef kedushas hayom ki hu
noro ve'oyom . . . " and "BeRosh Hashonoh yikoseivu .
. . kamoh ya'avrun vekamoh yivorei'un, mi yichyeh umi yomus,
mi bekitzo umi lo bekitzo, mi bamayim umi bo'eish . . . "
Less than an hour had gone by and the whole lager was going
up in flames! The outer wall burned down along with some of
the bungalows and administrative buildings.
How many people died, I don't know. Boruch Hashem I
lived through it. At first my wife was notified that I was
among the victims. Oh, what she must have gone through!
Yom Kippur
On Yom Kippur, again, I tried to arrange for a few Jews to
pray with me. We planned to start working half an hour later
than usual -- to pray all day in the lager would not have
been possible. We waited until everybody left and the
bungalow was empty. Whenever someone stepped inside for a few
moments, we would stop praying.
I persuaded all of the Jewish prisoners that on Yom Kippur it
was obligatory to fast and not to work. Nevertheless, if
someone was pressed to work, he at least had to postpone
whatever he could to the next day. On Erev Yom Kippur, I
performed the traditional kapporos with each of them
in turn.
The evening after Yom Kippur, I visited one of the prisoners.
"Listen, Yitzchok, I have a question." he said. "You said
working was forbidden. But what about smoking?"
I thought for a moment and decided not to tell him. These
people knew nothing. Before his imprisonment this man was a
known Workers' Organization man (that is, a Communist).
I managed to organize a group prayer, but I only succeed in
gathering together a full minyan on one occasion
during the entire period of my imprisonment -- on my father's
yahrtzeit. Not everybody prayed, but at least there
were no informers among the Jews.
Succos
Whatever I could I tried to observe strictly. But on Succos I
was unable to build a succah or obtain daled minim. If
someone has no possible way of observing a certain mitzvah,
he is exempt from it, but it has to be truly impossible
despite his efforts. Presumably, this leniency applied to me
under the circumstances.
I always prayed at the set times before going to work. If the
supervisor appeared and noticed me, I would stop praying and
continue hauling water.
I remember once I was summoned by the head of the lager while
I was in the middle of Shemoneh Esrei. Obviously, I
didn't budge. They came up to me again and began to shout. I
kept standing in place. One of the prisoners said, "If he's
standing like that there's nothing to do about it even if you
kill him." They had no choice other than to wait until I
finished praying.
Laying Tefillin
I asked my wife to obtain the smallest tefillin
available in Kazan. She came to visit me together with
the children. I was given two-year-old Soroh to hold in my
arms. Three guards were watching us carefully. I knew the
tefillin shel rosh was hidden in one of her shoes and
the tefillin shel yad in the other. I sat her down on
my knees and crossed my legs. I was wearing wide shoes.
Holding the girl I removed her shoe and turned it upside-down
directly over my shoe. Then I laboriously pressed it under my
foot. I repeated this procedure with the other shoe. Presto!
The visit was over. I was searched and nothing was found on
me.
My next mission was to find a safe place to hide the
tefillin. I combed the whole lager, but couldn't find
a suitable place until finally I came across a bungalow with
a pile of tattered shoes. A narrow space about a foot wide
was covered by a curtain. "Hashem specially prepared this
bungalow as a hiding place for my tefillin," I said to
myself.
I went to the person in charge of the bungalow, Michoel
Avanovitz. "I want to live in your bungalow," I said. He gave
the traditional reply. "And what will I get out of it?"
This time it was simple. "You have to wash the floor and
bring six buckets of boiling water in the morning and six in
the evening. I'll bring the boiling water for you and I'll
help you wash the floor." He agreed.
Now I could hide the seforim under the shoes behind
the curtain, but I didn't dare leave the tefillin
there all day. What if somebody decided to clean up in
the middle of the day? So every day I would put on the
tefillin there and then hide them in my coat pocket.
Then I would bring the coat to the prisoners' deposit room
where valuables--watches, money, etc.--were kept. Anything
that was not deposited would be taken away from you by force
right away. The jacket would remain there overnight.
At 5:30 in the morning, I would collect the coat, lay
tefillin, pray and then deposit the jacket again. What
those who manned the deposits room thought of my routine
didn't matter to me.
This was the reason why throughout the two years I was in the
lager I always worked in the street wearing only a jacket.
Winter in Tatria is very cold--minus 20-25 degrees [minus 5-
10 degrees Fahrenheit]. My hands and ears froze but I never
caught a cold.
An Unexpected Proposal
As you can tell, the lager was not a place of friendship and
camaraderie. But there was a criminal named Ovrov who made my
life unbearable. Sometimes his vicious pranks brought me to
the point of despair.
He was about forty and this was not his first time in the
lager. I know nothing else about his past or why he was so
eager to make my life bitter. Nor does it matter.
When he noticed the area beyond the curtain was important to
me and that I would pray there, he broke the rod that held
the curtain. This was the most painful place for him to
strike at me. It was terrible. I no longer had a place to
learn and daven.
In the lager, his job was to fix tools. When he was given
tools he would bring them to the management. "This was given
to Zilber. He broke it and threw it away." Or he would break
my broom and dustpan, throw the pieces on the roof and place
the blame on me. In short, he sought every opportunity to
cause me trouble.
Suddenly, Ovrov came to me one Friday with an unexpected
proposal. "Listen, you're looking for people to haul water
for you on Shabbos. Look no further. I'll bring it for you
every Shabbos. Just hang the key to the bathhouse and I'll
open it and take care of everything.
One of the Jews heard this exchange and started to laugh. "He
must think the key is muktzeh."
Ovrov fulfilled his promise. Until he left the lager I never
had to ask for anything. He always brought water and washed
the floor well. I would pay him for his work, of course.
What made Ovrov change so drastically I didn't ask. But the
people around him were very curious and asked him. It turned
out he had been warned in a dream that if he didn't want to
cause himself trouble he had better treat me well rather than
maliciously.
This dream made such a strong impression on Ovrov that once
he risked his life. The prisoners were given a vaccination.
As an experienced prisoner Ovrov assumed the shot was liable
to endanger his health so he adamantly refused to receive it.
They tried persuading him, cursing him, threatened to put him
in solitary confinement, but he wouldn't comply. When the
vaccinations were about to end suddenly he came and said,
"OK, do it."
"What did you think at first," the prisoners asked him, "and
why did you capitulate in the end?"
"I remembered that tomorrow is Shabbos!" he explained. He
didn't want to spend Shabbos in solitary confinement because
then there would be nobody to wash the floor and bring water.
He didn't want to break his promise. Is this not mesirus
nefesh?
Everybody called Ovrov "Pakdah" though he was already in his
forties. It was his seventh time in prison. He had tremendous
insight and an amazing mind. He was an extremely bright
person. He understood everything, including human nature,
interpersonal relations and life in general.
On Pesach I sold the chometz to him. We gave him all
of our bits of fried bread. "We're not allowed to use bread
for eight days," I explained to him. "We're selling you
whatever remains in our possession until the holiday begins.
Give me a deposit."
He didn't have any money. I gave him half a ruble and he
handed it to me as a deposit and everything was sold
properly. Ovrov also received all of the bread rations for 15
people for eight days. He must have been very happy. He
helped me for a year, until his release.
by Yated Ne'eman Staff
On Rosh Chodesh Elul 5764 (August 18, 2004), a new study
program -- a kollel for halachic studies -- dedicated
to the memory of Rav Yitzchok Zilber zt"l was opened
by Toldos Yeshurun for the leaders of its evening learning
centers. This program was organized at the advice and with
the blessing of gedolei Yisroel in Israel and in the
United States.
Russian-speaking avreichim who themselves have founded
and are running evening learning programs for Russian-
speakers are invited to learn in the new kollel, with
the aim of obtaining smicha at the end of the
program.
HaRav Ben Tzion Zilber, the spiritual leader of Toldos
Yeshurun, told the students that they should study halacha
deeply and learn to figure out the law in every particular
case in accordance with the Torah.
Rabbi Yosef Schwinger, HaRav Yitzchok Zilber's son-in-law,
said a few warm words and congratulated the avreichim
on the beginning of studies.
The kollel's five year program is based on daily
studies, nine hours a day. The program includes the main
rabbinical areas of Jewish Law -- the laws of Shabbos and
Niddah. These two topics will be studied in depth. One
hour to an hour-and-a-half per day is dedicated to Mishna
Berurah (at the pace of one page a day) or gemora
(at the pace of 4 folios a week).
The Kollel is led by a well known halachic authority, HaRav
Moshe Petrower. Many of the kollel's students wanted
to learn from him even before they heard about the Kollel. As
one of them put it, "My dream came true."
HaRav Moshe Petrower says, "In previous generations there
were a lot of generals and few soldiers. That is to say,
there were many outstanding rabbis while relatively few
people learned in yeshivas and kollelim. Today, there
are, boruch Hashem, a lot of yeshivas and kollelim
but not so many rabbis.
"The main reason people do not become talmidei chachomim
after many years of learning is that they were not taught
thoroughness and depth in their approach to learning. A rabbi
must be formed by another rabbi. For example, I learned from
HaRav Elefant, and from HaRav Michel Zilber and finally, from
HaRav Shmuel Auerbach. And I continue consulting with HaRav
Shmuel afterwards. I was built by the communication with
these people, by their advice, by learning from them.
"My task, as I see it, is to nourish talmidei chachomim --
may it be G-d's will that they will become such."
Avraham Cohen, the director of Toldos Yeshurun, stressed in
his speech that this kollel is in essence the final
missing link in building a viable Russian-speaking religious
community in Israel. "Indeed, there have appeared a lot of
places for Torah learning for Russian-speakers as well as
hundreds of new Russian-speaking bnei Torah families.
We keep opening new yeshivas, kollelim, seminary
programs . . . But leaders, rabbis, real authorities and
talmidei chachomim are still missing in the Russian
street. May it be G-d's will that this kollel will
produce them," he said.
At present, the Kollel is located at HaRav Yitzchok Zilber's
former apartment. The home of the Russian rabbi, which always
welcomed talmidim, has filled up with Torah again.
The kollel's students include: Moshe Gekraiter,
director of the support fund for Russian-speaking bnei
Torah and their families; Moshe Weisburd, head of an
evening kollel for Russian-speakers in Brachfeld;
Yosef Zrudinski, community leader and head of an evening
kollel for Russian-speakers in Modiin, maggid shiur
for a group of Russian-speaking students in Kollel HaRan;
Uri Superfin, head of a kollel for halacha studies in
Beitar Illit; David Grosman, head of an evening kollel
for Russian-speakers in the Sanhedria Murchevet neighborhood
in Jerusalem; Yaakov Shub, community leader and head of an
evening kollel for Russian-speakers in the Ramot
neighborhood in Jerusalem; Naftali Panarovski, community
leader and head of an evening kollel for Russian-
speakers in Tel-Tzion; Shalom Kaplan, community leader and
head of an evening kollel for Russian-speakers in the
Neve Yaakov neighborhood in Jerusalem; Chaim Shaul, Russian-
speaking community leader in Kiryat-Gat, maggid shiur
in the Shuvu yeshiva; Daniel Gink, program coordinator in
Rishon Letzion and Lod; Eliakim Zalkind, maggid shiur
in an evening kollel; Mendl Agranovich, head of an
evening program for Russian-speakers in the Bayit Vegan
neighborhood in Jerusalem; Eliyahu Erenburg, head of an
evening program for Russian-speaking young men at the Mirrer
Yeshiva; Alexander Nurenberg, community leader in Petach
Tikva; Uri Geller, head of an evening kollel for
Russian-speakers in the Gilo neighborhood in Jerusalem; Leib
Nachman Zlotnik, mashgiach for the group of Russian-
speaking young men at the Mirrer Yeshiva; Eliyahu Levin,
community leader and head of an evening kollel for
Russian-speakers in Netivot.
For more information, contact Toldos Yeshurun at P.O.B.
50566, Jerusalem 91505, Israel. Tel: (972)-25-400-005; Fax:
(972)-25-400-946; Email: info@toldot.ru
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