Throughout the ages, Klal Yisrael was always zocheh to have gedolim as their leaders. Our gedolim aren’t selected based on their pedigree, wealth, or charisma. They aren’t the winners of popularity contests or elections. What determines our gedolim is one thing alone: their utter and absolute devotion to Torah and yiras Shamayim.

In honor of Shavous, the zman of Kabbalas HaTorah, The Voice spoke with three Lakewood families of gedolim who were privileged to witness their gadlus in Torah up close.

Rav Shneur Kotler (1918–1982)—the essential creator of Lakewood as it exists today—accomplished extraordinary things in his less than 20 years as rosh yeshivah of Bais Medrash Govoha. He uniquely drove the creation of today’s Olam HaTorah through his establishing of Lakewood yeshivah as one of the greatest yeshivos in Jewish history. Additionally, he created the Community Kollel movement, which has revitalized hundreds of cities with limud haTorah, and started Be’er HaGolah for Russian Jewry, all while standing at the helm of Chinuch Atzmai, Agudas Yisrael, Torah Umesorah, and far more. Despite bearing a crushing load of achrayus for Klal Yisrael and building our generation of great Torah leaders, his humility and the subtle way in which he carried himself concealed his unusual gadlus from the public.

In the following interview, Rav Shneur’s youngest son, R’ Aaron, shares reflections of his father’s life.

A life of Torah

My father knew everything. Kol haTorah kulah—including obscure midrashim, medieval piyutim (yotzros), derush, little-known teshuvos, every corner of Tanach, chassidus—there was nothing he didn’t know. He would quote a mechilta, a Rav Hai Gaon, or an impossible stanza of piyut with the same familiarity as a Gemara or a shiur from Rav Boruch Ber. Every moment he had was spent learning, though he was simultaneously carrying the burden of the generation.

He would travel to New York for communal matters, returning late at night—often at midnight—and immediately go to the beis medrash until three or four in the morning. There was no such thing as too tired for Torah.

Rav Moshe Faskowitz shared that while learning with my father after 2:00 a.m., the rosh yeshivah nodded off. He said, “Rosh yeshivah, it’s late.” My father responded, “Mir darf lernen (we need to learn).” Minutes later, my father nodded off again. Rav Moshe tried again. “Rosh yeshivah, it’s late,” he said. My father responded “Oy, I feel bad, you are tired. Go to sleep. I don’t mind learning on my own.” He had no clue that the bachur was speaking of his exhaustion. To him, that concept that he stop learning because of tiredness was unthinkable.

 

Brilliance in Torah 

His mind was rapid-fire, his memory impeccable. If someone told him something, he never forgot it.

The minhag was for new bachurim to share a shtickel Torah in the first weeks of a zman. R’ Ira Hirsch, then a new bachur, came in to share a shtickel, but my father told Ira that he’d already heard his shtickel. Ira was confused, until my father told him that he was referring to Ira’s bar mitzvah pshetl, which Rav Shneur attended years before. He then relayed to Ira the entire pshetl, which Ira had long forgotten, effusively praising him for such a gevaldig shtickel.

He didn’t always have time to write comprehensive notes for his shiurim and shmuessen. Instead, he would sometimes write eight to ten words on a piece of paper and remember the entire shiur based off that. Once, during bedikas chametz, my mother picked up his briefcase and turned it over to make sure there was no chametz inside. When she did that, a tiny note fluttered out. My father looked at it, and after he was done the bedikah, told us an entire shmuess based on the few words that were on that small scrap of paper. That was how remarkable his memory was.

Once, when he was in Slabodka Yeshivah for Shabbos, Rav Mordechai Shulman asked my father to speak at shalosh seudos. He demurred, saying that he didn’t have anything to say. Rav Shulman, however, was persistent. At shalosh seudos, Rav Shulman introduced my father to speak. My father gave a powerful drashah for nearly two hours, covering machshavah, derush, Gemara, and far more. It was off the cuff—he was always holding in learning.

When I was in yeshivah, my father asked me why I don’t go to shiur klali. I told him, “Abba, you’re too fast for me.” Even with preparing the marei mekomos, I couldn’t keep up with him. He said, “I’ll slow down.”

At the next shiur, everything was going well. I was following the shiur until he referenced a Rabbeinu Chananel. He began reading it and explaining it at what was to me a thousand miles an hour. His mind worked faster than any other person I ever met.

Rav Tzvi Rotberg has spent the last 40 years producing my father’s voluminous sefarim, in which you can see his vast scope and profound amkus in all areas of Torah. Reading through one of the thousands of haskamos he gave others, you are taken on a whirlwind tour through Tanach, midrashim, and even history, showcasing the enormity of his yedias haTorah.

 

Treasuring Torah and mitzvos

My father treasured every moment in time to the point that he knew, even without a watch or clock, exactly what time it was—to the minute. Even when waking up he knew what time it was. Living on this level of utter focus did not detract from his simchas hachaim. He lived with the utmost geshmak in every second of life, whether speaking to a distressed person, doing a mitzvah, or learning a difficult Rashba.

Watching him put s’chach on the sukkah, one would imagine that he had just made a billion dollars. His joy was so tangible—it was even greater than had he made a billion dollars! Sleeping in the sukkah, shaking lulav and esrog, eating matzah—he radiated happiness with every mitzvah that he performed. Growing up and seeing this at home, I thought this was normal. That this was how everyone was. Sadly, it’s not the norm.

My father never raised his voice, never displayed anger. As a child, it was a shock to me on the one occasion that I heard him raise his voice. Someone had published a sefer criticizing Rav Moshe Feinstein, and my father was ois mensch. He couldn’t rest or sleep and was doubly frustrated at the reluctance of others to stand up to the bizayon haTorah. He succeeded in rallying the entire olam haTorah to be mocheh the tragic afront.

When I was five years old, I told him a vort. He loved it so much that he would constantly say it over. Ten years later, he was still telling people, “I have to share a beautiful vort that my son said.” He had such a geshmak from it, and his enthusiasm was authentic, making me feel 10 feet tall.

Building Torah

When he took over as rosh yeshivah of Lakewood in 1962, the yeshivah had 200 talmidim. When he was niftar in 1982, it had quadrupled in size to 800 talmidim, which was exceptional in those days. He understood something that others didn’t when it came to building a yeshivah. He designed an environment where every ben Torah would feel comfortable. As long as someone wanted to learn, they were welcome. It didn’t matter which mehalech halimud they preferred. My father wasn’t looking to impose his idea of how to learn on anyone else.

His focus was not on his own mosad; instead, he focused on building Klal Yisrael. Along with the mashgiach, Rav Nosson Wachtfogel, he sent out 50 percent of his own yungerleit to open kollelim and build yeshivos throughout the world. It was never about his own life or mosad, only about Torah for Klal Yisrael.

Once, after being mesader kiddushin at a wedding, the ba’al simchah handed him a large check. My father thanked him, remarking that he could now make the yeshivah’s payroll that Friday. The ba’al simchah responded, “No, this check is my personal gift for the Rosh Yeshivah.” My father’s face lit up with a smile as he took out the envelope from one pocket and placed it in the other. “Even better,” he said. “Chinuch Atzmai has payroll coming up this week.” This was his sense of his own self.

He had the rare ability to shape a person, lift them up, and encourage them for an entire lifetime.

Rav Herschel Levenberg, one of BMG’s most senior yungerleit, is a tremendous talmid chacham. When he published his first sefer as a young man, his chaveirim gave him a very hard time, saying, “You’re a yungerman. Who do you think you are to put out a sefer?”

When he brought the sefer to my father, my father took the sefer, lovingly cherished it, looked through it, and said, “Herschel, this is so gevaldig—promise me that next year you will bring me another one.” When he heard that, Rav Herschel decided to ignore the criticism of his friends and write another sefer. How could he not? The rosh yeshivah had asked him to! The next year, he returned to my father with his second sefer. Again, my father reiterated how much he had enjoyed the previous sefer and asked him to come back the next year with yet another one. Today, 50 years later, Rav Herschel has written over 50 sefarim!

When Rav Meir Zlotowitz put out ArtScroll’s first project, a translation of Megillas Esther, he received a lot of blowback. One day his phone rang, and the voice said, “This is Shneur Kotler. Technezaknu yadeichem (may your hands be strengthened).” That was the entirety of the call. Rav Meir Zlotowitz had never spoken to my father before. He later told me that this 10 second call gave him the encouragement he needed to continue in the face of overwhelming critique.

He had this remarkable capacity to shape people, and with that, he shaped a generation of lomdei Torah.

 

Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky (1891–1986) was a gadol who stood at Klal Yisrael’s helm with compassion and love. After Rav Aharon Kotler’s passing, he shouldered the burden of leadership for American Jewry in the turbulent post-war years along with Rav Moshe Feinstein, helping rebuild Yiddishkeit on these shores. He served as a rav in Lithuania, Canada, and the USA, and was a rosh yeshivah of Torah Vodaas for 20 years. He was renowned for his unwavering sense of honesty as well as his sterling character and derech eretz. While he’s rightfully remembered for these traits, this focus can sometimes overshadow who he was as a tremendous gaon in Torah.

In the following interview, Rav Yaakov’s oldest grandson, Rav Yitzchok Knobel (a son-in-law of Rav Binyomin Kamenetsky), shares memories and observations of his grandfather’s life.

Toras emes

Rav Yaakov once told me that a talmid from California had asked him a she’eilah concerning lulavim. The question was if a lulav that comes from a palm tree that doesn’t bear fruit is kosher. Rav Yaakov said that he held it’s fine, because were it to pose a problem, lulavim would require a hashgachah that they come from the right type of palm tree, and that’s something that was never considered necessary.

Additionally, Rav Yaakov told me that he has a proof to this psak from the way that Chazal darshen the pasuk of lulav. We looked up the pasuk and saw that Rabbeinu Bacheye explains the pasuk in that manner. (See Rabbeinu Bacheye in Sefer Vayikra 23:40 on the word tamarim.)

At a later date, I was learning the Chasam Sofer on Sukkah (in the fourth perek) and saw that he discusses different kinds of lulavim and which ones are kosher. I was in Toronto at the time, and Rav Yaakov was in Florida. I made a copy of the Chasam Sofer and sent it to Rav Yaakov. The next time we were together, I asked him, “Zaida, did you see my letter?” He answered, “Yes,” and he seemed very excited about it.

The backstory was that when he received the letter, he observed that when writing about the kashrus of lulavim, the Chasam Sofer doesn’t quote the aforementioned Rabbeinu Bacheye who had said the same as Rav Yaakov. Rav Yaakov said, “The Chasam Sofer kol raz lo anus leih (he knew everything).” And he was worried that perhaps he had only understood the Rabbeinu Bacheye in the manner he did because he had a preconception that this is what it should say.

Rav Ruderman and another rav were there at the time. They looked over the Rabbeinu Bacheye and saw that it says exactly as Rav Yaakov held. They decided that the reason the Chasam Sofer doesn’t bring it is because Rabbeinu Bacheye generally discusses divrei aggadah and what the Chasam Sofer was writing about was halachah. Therefore, he didn’t associate Rabbeinu Bacheye with this topic.

You see Rav Yaakov’s tremendous middas haemes from this story. Most people are excited when they see a Rishon that says as they do, even if it’s not explicit in the Rishon. Here, Rav Yaakov had a Rabbeinu Bacheye that said exactly as he said, yet he was afraid that perhaps he wasn’t learning it correctly.

 

How to learn Torah

Rav Yaakov put an emphasis on learning pshat. He said that the Chazon Ish was correct in saying that when people stopped learning Maharsha they stopped learning pshat.

When he first began giving shiur in Torah Vodaas, pshat was what he focused on. This led some to erroneously say that he wasn’t a lamdan. One day, he came in and gave a pilpul that left everyone astounded. He had a lot to say but curtailed it so the audience would hear what they needed to hear. That’s why—notwithstanding his gaonus—he remained a nistar in his greatness in Torah. He wouldn’t flash his knowledge.

He was always learning Gemara with Rashi. He wasn’t simply reading it; he worked to understand it and to be medayek the Rashi properly. I remember how on one occasion he saw in three words of Rashi in Kiddushin an entirely new way of understanding the Gemara, based on a different sugya in Bava Basra. He was able to see things in Rashi that no one else did. His vast yedias haTorah and focus Rashi’s words was gaonus; he was trained to pick up on what Rashi really means.

Originally, he was opposed to bachurim learning Daf Yomi. He held that they didn’t have the time for it. He told me, though, that as he got older his view changed. He said, “Let bachurim see that learning Gemara with Rashi is also a limud. Let them understand how to be medayek a Rashi.”

When he retired, he began learning Daf Yomi. He would never skip or leave anything without understanding it properly. Most people skim over the simanim in the Gemara without really learning them. Rav Yaakov wouldn’t move on until he understood what each siman corresponded too.

 

Brilliance in Torah

Rav Yaakov was already considered to be from the gedolei Slabodka when he was a young man learning in the kollel. The Kovno Rav, the Dvar Avraham, held him in the highest esteem.

During his time in the kollel, he had a question on the Chafetz Chaim’s Likutei Halachos. At the time, the kollel included geonim such as the Mikdash Dovid and the Divrei Yechezkel, and no one had an answer to the question. Rav Yaakov questioned why the Chafetz Chaim didn’t apply the methodology of the Rif in writing Likutei Halachos. To ask such a question, Rav Yaakov had to have been proficient in the entire Rif and Likutei Halachos! (Most masechtos in Shas have the Rif in the back of the Gemara. He paskens the halachah based on the Gemara. In Seder Kodshim, where there is no Rif, the Chafetz Chaim wrote Likutei Halachos as a substitution.)

Rav Yaakov wrote a letter to the Chafetz Chaim with his question, but the border was closed at the time, and it was never delivered. Later in life, he told me that he had come up with an answer (which was a gaonus in its own right).

When he was in Europe, he wrote a sefer that attributed sources to the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah. (The Rambam wrote all the halachos that come out of the Gemara but didn’t cite the sources.) It wasn’t published and was unfortunately lost in the mail when he moved to Canada.

It was said about Rav Yaakov that he knew the entire Mordechai (one of the Rishonim in the back of the Gemara) baal peh.

Rav Nissan Wolpin quoted Rav Yaakov as saying, “An eitzah you can ask me for. A psak halachah I can only give if I remember every Tosafos in Shas ba’al peh.” And he did pasken. I served as a pipeline for piskei halachah from Rav Yaakov, asking him what he held and telling his opinion to others privately. However, he wouldn’t let me publicize what he held. In his great humility, he would tell me, “Ich bin nisht ah posek far Klal Yisrael (I’m not a posek for Klal Yisrael).”

At one point in his life, while he was going through a very difficult time, I went to visit him and he was very excited. He had been mechadesh a shtickel Torah in Parshas Vayeishev regarding the story of Yehuda and Tamar, and it was a real gaonus. Rav Yaakov was visibly excited about this vort. When I returned to Lakewood, I told it over to Rav Shneur Kotler. Rav Shneur said,

“Ah, Rav Yaakov is gevorn nuch amul vu ah yunger ilui (Rav Yaakov is once again like a young ilui)!”

Rav Yaakov suffered tremendously throughout his life. There were times when he didn’t know whether he would have bread to eat or how he would feed his family. Despite everything and through all of his travails, he never stopped learning Torah. His connection to the Source of it all through another blatt Gemara, another page of Shulchan Aruch was what kept him going.  

 

 

Rav Shaul Brus (1919–2008) influenced generations of bnei Torah in his capacity as a maggid shiur at Yeshivas Beis HaTalmud. Over the course of his life, Rav Brus delivered over 33,000 shiurim, teaching thousands of talmidim. Many of today’s most prominent roshei yeshivah and talmidei chachamim—including Rav Malkiel Kotler, Rav Elya Chaim Swerldoff, and Rav Mottel Dick, among many others—flourished as young bachurim under the tutelage of Rav Brus. It was he who first introduced legions of impressionable youngsters to the passion and joy of learning Torah, furnishing them with aspirations of gadlus baTorah. Appropriately for someone whose entire being revolved around Torah, he was niftar on the second day of Shavuos, after having been mekabel the Torah one last time.

In the following interview, family members of Rav Brus share memories and observations of his life.

A life of Torah

In the 1990s, a fierce blizzard slammed into New York City, and the city was completely shut down. A state of emergency was in effect, with only emergency vehicles allowed out on the streets. The city was at a total standstill.

The bachurim in Beis Hatalmud had no doubt that shiur was canceled for the day. There was no way Rav Brus was going to be able to make it to Bensonhurst from his home in Boro Park in this weather, they thought. As they were settling in to enjoy their day off, however, a Hatzolah ambulance pulled up outside the yeshivah, and Rav Brus stepped out. The snowstorm may have shut down the city of New York, but it wouldn’t stop Rav Brus from giving shiur.

While this story is well known, there’s another aspect most people are unaware of. Rav Brus had suffered a stroke some time before the blizzard, making it extremely difficult for him to get out in those conditions. He even had a difficult time walking in good weather. Yet, for him, there was no choice but to make the trek to yeshivah. As his son-in-law Rav Berel Kanarek puts it, “It really was pikuach nefesh.” For him, giving shiur was a true emergency.

He would constantly get sick over bein hazmanim. Especially in his later years, this was a phenomenon that would repeat itself over and over, with hospitalizations and illness being the norm during that time. He believed that it was the zechus haTorah that kept him alive and that during the zman he had special siyata d’Shmaya that kept him healthy.

That’s not to say that he wasn’t learning bein hazmanim. Even when the yeshivah was closed for its regular sedarim, Rav Brus would continue to give shiur. It didn’t matter if it was two days before Pesach, Isru Chag, or Erev Rosh Hashanah—his shiur would go on.

When he did get away for a little respite, his learning continued with its usual intensity. When he arrived in the country to visit his children’s bungalow, even before putting away his suitcase, Rav Brus would dash off to sit down with a Gemara. There was no such thing as a vacation from learning.

Before using the bathroom, Rav Brus would pace up and down the hallway several times. He was so engrossed in Torah that he needed this time to prepare himself so he would be able to enter the bathroom where it’s assur to think in learning.

Wherever he went, he would bring along a sefer. He explained this hanhagah by saying, “Azoivi ah soldat geit mit ah biks, geit ah ben Torah  mit ah sefer—Just like a soldier always carries his gun, a ben Torah should always carry a sefer.” He was always mumbling to himself, learning or saying Tehillim. Every moment was accounted for so that there wouldn’t be even a second of bitul Torah.

When his daughter got engaged to Rav Berel Kanarek, he didn’t make a vort. Other than on Shabbos, he didn’t attend any of their sheva brachos. There simply was no time for it. Torah came first.

While Rav Brus lived on a higher plane, completely immersed in learning Torah, he managed to balance that with an awareness of what was going on around him. He didn’t notice the food he ate, but he noticed if a talmid was missing a coat. As his daughter Mrs. Kanarek says, “He had the unique ability to be kulo Torah while at the same time remaining normal. He took me shopping; he was a normal father. He knew how to relate to everyone.”

 

Transmitter of Torah  

When Rav Brus arrived in the USA after World War II, he was determined not only to teach Torah but also to create bnei Torah. He sought to transplant the model of a European ben Torah—the idea of total ameilus b’Torah, the dignity and grandeur with which a yeshivah bachur would carry himself in the old world—to American shores. He served as a link in the chain of mesorah, connecting his talmidim with the previous generation; perhaps most crucially, imparting the Torah and hashkafah of his rebbi, the rosh yeshivah of Kaminetz, Rav Baruch Ber Leibowitz.

Rav Brus learned in Kaminetz for a year and a half. That time spent learning from Rav Baruch Ber made a lifelong impression. The image of Rav Baruch Ber never left Rav Brus, and the awe which he held him in never waned.

In November of 1939, shortly after WWII broke out, Rav Baruch Ber was niftar. Many talmidim threw kvittelach into his kever, asking that their rebbi serve as meiletz yosher for them to survive the war. Rav Brus also wrote a kvittel, but his was different than the others. With the Nazis on the march and his future uncertain, the young bachur had only one wish. That he should be zocheh to understand his rebbi’s Torah.

Rabbi Kanarek is named after Rav Baruch Ber. When he was in his father-in-law’s shiur, Rav Brus wouldn’t call him by name. The reverence he held Rav Baruch Ber in was so great that he simply couldn’t let his name cross his lips.

The original shiur that Rav Brus gave at Beis Hatalmud was for boys aged 12–14 years old. It was a very advanced shiur, and most talmidim weren’t able to follow it. However, they gained something else from the shiur. As Rabbi Kanarek says, “You could see the ki heim chayeinu in the way he said the shiur. It made you want to be like that.” When he finished the shiur, Rav Brus would be full of perspiration from the effort that he put into delivering it.

It wasn’t only young bachurim that Rav Brus made an impression on. Each night, he would deliver a shiur to ba’alei batim in the Kopyczynitzer Beis Medrash on the Lower East Side. Despite the fact that the only thing that interested him was Torah, he made sure to keep himself abreast of current events. This way, the attendees of the shiur would find him relatable and be interested in coming to listen.

Once a month, he would give a shiur for professionals, mainly doctors and lawyers. Before giving the shiur, he would don his Shabbos clothing to ensure that he looked presentable. “It was important to him that he should exemplify for them that this is what Torah is,” Mrs. Kanarek says.

Mesiras nefesh for Torah

At the age of 11, a young Shaul Brus left his parents and hometown for yeshivah. He would never see them again. His bar mitzvah consisted of his receiving a pair of tefillin and a small cake that his mother sent for him.

Rav Brus survived the war years in Siberia. During that most difficult time, amid bone-chilling cold and deprivation, he never stopped learning Torah. He somehow managed to procure a copy of Birchas Shmuel and would stay up throughout the night learning his rebbi’s Torah. Due to the intense hunger that existed in Siberia, mice would gnaw at the sefer. In later years, Rav Brus would comment lightheartedly that even mice have a geshmak from a shtickel Birchas Shmuel.

Notwithstanding the communist ban on teaching Torah, at great personal risk, Rav Brus attempted to teach Torah to others who were with him in Siberia.

Rav Brus suffered a tremendous loss with the passing of his first wife when he was only 33 years old. During the duration of his wife’s illness, which lasted for five years, Rav Brus wouldn’t come home. He traveled from the yeshivah to the hospital and back.

Of all the chiddushei Torah he wrote during his lifetime, the ones he treasured most were the chiddushim authored during this time period. Writing these pages under these extenuating circumstances was the greatest mesiras nefesh. He felt so connected to these notes that he requested that they be buried with him after his petirah.

When he was niftar, these notes, as well as the shtender he had made such good use of over the years, accompanied him to kevurah. It was only fitting that they be buried with him. After all, Torah defined who Rav Brus was. As Mrs. Kanarek puts it, “He was Torah, Torah, and Torah. It was the only thing that mattered to him.”