In Every Place, We Learned Torah

"Before my father became the rabbi of Ramat HaSharon, he served as a rabbi in Russia, in the town where I was born. Before Stalin’s cruel rule destroyed the world of Torah learning, there was a thriving Talmud Torah (Jewish school) with 400 children.

But by the time I was old enough to begin learning Sefer Bereishit (the Book of Genesis), my father sent me to the only remaining melamed (Torah teacher) in town and there were just seven of us. The communists, led by Lenin and Stalin, crushed Torah life. Tragically, some non religious Jews also helped the regime.

There was a strict law requiring every child to attend the government-run shkole (Communist school). Parents who disobeyed were harshly punished. You can imagine the impossible position we were in.

I still remember we had reached the pasuk (verse), “And Hashem remembered Noach” in Parshat Noach, when our teacher told us we couldn’t continue. The danger was too high. Government agents had warned him: “No more!”

Only a year later, I saw one of the boys I had learned Bereishit with, walking down the street eating a pork sandwich! The change had come so fast...

Torah-observant Jews were in despair. It truly seemed that the next generation would abandon Torah and mitzvot (commandments). Russia controlled a sixth of the world, Ukraine, Georgia, Bukhara and millions of Jews lived under its iron fist.

Still, my father gave strength to others. In his drashot (sermons), he would speak with conviction about the need to hold on and never lose hope.

After great effort and many miracles, my father finally received permission to leave Russia. We were to sail from the large port in Odessa.

“Wherever we were, Father would open a Gemara and learn with us”

The journey by ship took almost two weeks. When we arrived in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), we had nowhere to live. Our family was scattered among relatives. My grandmother stayed with one, my sister with someone else. But Father didn’t separate my brother Reb Gershon and me. No matter where we were, Kfar Hasidim, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, he made sure we didn't stop learning Torah.

Even when we boarded the ship from Odessa, all our belongings were in the cargo hold. But in our small carry-on suitcases, what did we pack?

A Gemara Bava Kamma for all three of us to learn from and a Chumash Vayikra (Book of Leviticus) for the weekly Torah portion. So we wouldn't miss even a single day of learning. Wherever we were, Father would immediately open the Gemara and sit down to learn with us.

There were, of course, days we couldn't learn especially when Father was busy dealing with immigration issues. But when we eventually settled in Ramat HaSharon at the end of 1934, even though our apartment had no furniture, no tables, chairs, or even beds, learning Torah still came first.

An elderly man who had immigrated from America gave us two old beds, one for Father, one for Grandma, and my brother and I slept on the floor. But the very first thing Father did was go to the shul (synagogue), speak to the gabbaim (synagogue caretakers), and borrow two more copies of Bava Kamma so we could each have one to learn from, before we even had a chair to sit on.

The landlord had a five-dunam (roughly 1.25-acre) orange grove on Ussishkin Street. He let us take the wooden boxes used for packing oranges, and we sat on them to study. That’s how we lived and from this, we learned what really comes first in life.

Before worrying about what to eat or where to sleep, we made sure we had a Gemara to study from.

Father was deeply happy to be breathing the air of Eretz Yisrael. When we arrived, he said: “Just imagine we’re in the holy air of the Land of Israel, like being inside a sukkah (temporary hut used during the festival of Sukkot), where the entire body is surrounded by holiness!”

Sometimes in the winter, on a crisp, clear day, he would say with a smile: “Are there skies like this anywhere else in the world? Look how bright the sky is after the first rain, what joy!”

“We left Russia because we couldn’t teach Torah”

When our ship reached the port of Jaffa, relatives who were already in Eretz Yisrael came to greet us. Many rabbanim (rabbis) were waiting there too. We arrived at the disembarkation building and sat down, and I heard my father explaining to my uncles:

“We didn’t flee Russia just because of the terrible economic conditions. The real reason we left is because it was simply impossible to teach Torah to children there. It was dangerous and life-threatening. That’s why we made every effort to leave, and we were helped by many miracles along the way.”

One of our cousins helped us secure the permits to emigrate, and we will always be grateful for that.

My father added, “If it had been possible to travel from Russia to Poland, I would have gone there! My Rebbe, Rabbi Baruch Ber, was there. The yeshivot (Torah academies) in Poland, Kamenitz and Mir were extraordinary. I dreamed that my children would grow up learning Torah there, with diligence and focus. The same Rebbe I learned from was still the Rosh Yeshiva (head of the yeshiva), and I longed for my sons to learn from him too.”

But the political situation between Russia and Poland made it absolutely impossible. Nothing could pass between the two countries. So instead, we went to Eretz Yisrael, where we could still teach Torah.

And from this, we learned something so important: wherever we can learn Torah, that’s where we belong.