Rav Nochum Zev Dessler – The Man and His Legacy: A Tribute On His Third Yahrzeit – 18 Shevat

By Rabbi A. Leib Scheinbaum

In Megillas Eichah, the Navi Yirmiyahu laments the sorrowful state of the Jewish People:  Yesomim ha’yinu v’ein av, “We were orphans left bereft of our father.”  The text is enigmatic.  Is it not obvious that if we are orphans we no longer have our father?  We may suggest a practical insight:  When one loses a parent or mentor, the immediate reaction is to focus on one’s personal loss.  Yesomim ha’yinu, we became orphans.  It is all about “us,” the change in our lives.  We are no longer the same.  We have been orphaned.  After some time this sets in and we realize that there is a void in our family– our father is gone, our mentor is no longer with us.  We have been left bereft of our guide, our inspiration, our source of encouragement.  We now lament v’ein av, there is no father.

With the passing of Rav Nochum Zev Dessler three years ago, we became orphaned.  Our immediate reaction was about us.  We were no longer the same.  Time went by and we settled into the reality of our situation.  Presently, we can accept the reality that everywhere we go, everywhere we turn, every decision that we make, every milestone that we celebrate, v’ein av, our father is no longer here.  We can now look at the panorama, the wider picture.  It is no longer only about us personally.  It is now time to focus on the legacy of our mentor, on what he taught us, on what he meant to us, so that we may infuse our lives with his example.

In order to understand the loss that we sustained, it is necessary to look back and appreciate what we had.  To appreciate his legacy it is inherent that we understand the man himself.  Rav Dessler’s greatest legacy is the school which today carries his name, and the thousands of lives he nurtured.  Indeed, to him there was no division between the school and the community – the teacher and the student.  They were all one entity – and he was responsible for both.  He left a legacy that we can enjoy for generations to come.

It was not always easy.  Establishing a Jewish day school in the 1940’s meant contending with apathy, breaking down the walls of indifference, teaching people the importance of a Jewish education and infusing them with a passion for its meaningful results.  To build a school seventy-five years ago required prescient leadership, vision that was uncompromising, fortitude that was unstinting, and commitment that was unwavering.  He did all of this with quiet dignity and consummate perfection.  He changed people’s outlook and taught them by example the beauty and dignity of Torah.  He was an academic giant, an icon in so many ways.

He is gone, but his memory lingers on in our minds; his example stands before us, constantly at every turn.  His principles of moral courage, honesty, and integrity are the very underpinnings of the school which he built.  This is because he established the school upon the foundations of the Mussar, Ethical Movement of which he was a scion and a living example.  Founded by Rav Dessler’s great-grandfather, Rav Yisrael Salanter, the Mussar Movement, stressed human moral conduct based upon ethical discipline.  Its central idea was the perfection of one’s personal character.  The Mussar Movement took root and germinated successfully in the rationalist, somewhat somber environment of Lithuanian Judaism.  It did for the Lithuanian community what the emotive Chassidus did for Eastern European Jewry.  It fended off the rising tide of the secular Haskalah, Enlightenment movement, which threatened the very core of Torah Judaism.

Rav Salanter had a primary group of students who applied his teachings from their own perspective, each developing his own unique branch of Mussar.  His greatest pupil was Rav Simcha Zissel Broide, who is reverently referred to as the Alter m’Kelm, named after the distinguished yeshiva he founded in Kelm, Lithuania.  The Kelm Talmud Torah was noted for its focus on striving for personal perfection, sheleimus ha’adam, and its stress on empathy with another’s suffering.  This means caring about and assisting our fellow Jew physically, spiritually and emotionally.

Rav Dessler personified the teachings of Kelm, embodying its qualities and living the lessons expounded by his saintly grandfather. Indeed, every decision, every question, was analyzed from the perspective of, “What would my grandfather do?” He also constantly envisioned before him the lessons imparted by his father, the venerable Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, zl, one of the previous generation’s premier Baalei Mussar, and author of his magnum opus, the universally acclaimed mussar treatise, Michtav M’Eliyahu.  Rav Dessler’s empathy for all human beings was underscored by an original dvar Torah he once shared with me:

Yosef HaTzaddik was incarcerated in an Egyptian dungeon on trumped­-up charges.  Separated from his father and family for twenty years, he had every reason to be depressed, to feel sorry for himself.  Yet, we find a completely different “Yosef” than what we would expect.  Adding to the squalor in the Egyptian prison was the type of people with whom one shared his “living quarters.”  The refined Yosef, scion of the noble Patriarchal heritage of Klal Yisrael, was ensconced in a dungeon with thieves, murderers and other specimens of base human dereliction.  Among those imprisoned with him were Pharaoh’s royal baker and royal cupbearer.  A prison is not a happy place, and it would take an astute, knowing and caring person to notice a change in someone’s countenance.  One day, Yosef looked at his two fellow prisoners and noticed a transformation in their facial expressions, a minor alteration – but a change, nonetheless.  “Yosef came to them in the morning.  He saw them and behold! They were aggrieved” (Bereishis 40:6).  V’hinam zo’afim, They appeared aggrieved, pouting, more depressed than usual.  As it turned out, they had each dreamt something unusual the previous night and Yosef was able to interpret the nocturnal messages.  This ultimately led to his liberation and “the rest is history.”  It was all because Yosef noticed a change in their facial expression.  Only a caring, empathetic person would act this way.  Only Rav Dessler would sense the message of this episode, because this was Kelmer Mussar, it was the Weltenshauung that he embodied.

This perspective was reflected in the manner in which he led the Hebrew Academy of Cleveland.  He was especially gracious with parents who were themselves non-observant Jews, but to whom the value of a Torah education for their children was of critical significance.  One incident which one such parent remembered took place during their initial registration.  Although respectful of Orthodoxy and committed to sending their children to a Torah day school, they were concerned about some of the mixed messages they were imparting to their children.  Rav Dessler’s response to them was memorable and so characteristic of the man that he was: “Give me your children and you will see what happens.  I only ask of you two things: First, if you drive to shul on Shabbos, never make the children get into the car; let them walk.  Second, when they come home from school, learn from them and with them, and do not contradict or argue with them.”  Ultimately, the parents became shomrei Shabbos and today, those children are themselves parents and grandparents of Torah observant, participating members of their respective Jewish communities.

Kelm was the training ground for a small group of individuals exceptional in their spiritual potential.  The Alter’s motto was based on a comment of the Chovas HaLevavos:
“A little bit of purity is a great deal.”  Rav Dessler was able to discern that “little bit of purity” in each and every student.  He nurtured it and gave it the ability to grow.  Each child was given the encouragement to believe in themselves and the tools to ascend and achieve their own great heights.

A mother who had recently arrived in this country, an ember from the flames of the Holocaust that had decimated her family, walked into Rav Dessler’s office with her young son and a picture.  It was a picture of her father, a distinguished looking man with a full beard and payos.  “I have no money, but I want my son to have a Jewish education.  I want him to one day look like my father!  I will do anything, wash dishes, clean floors –anything – as long as my son learns Torah.”  The family’s background of commitment was, at best, minimal, but they understood that their Jewish survival was contingent upon a vibrant Torah education.  Today, that young student is himself a rosh yeshivah, and spiritual mentor to thousands of bnei Torah.  Rav Dessler saw that “little bit of purity” within him.

The Alter looked for a specific quality in his students, for without it, everything else would have little impact:  “Those who will bear the yoke together with friends without any thought of personal benefit or honor.”  Kelm was a family unit with each student caring for one another, and the Alter serving as the paradigm of such self-effacing sentiment.  Rav Dessler considered the Hebrew Academy of Cleveland faculty his family.  Their concerns were his concerns, their joy was his joy, their pain was his pain.

This relationship went further.  Whenever a member of the Academy family made a simchah, Rav Dessler was sure to participate by providing financial consideration.  There were families whom he helped bring to the chuppah in very much the same way that he married off his own children.  He understood the responsibility that comes with leadership, but, above all, he cared for everyone.

As mentioned earlier, everything was done with quiet dignity and with a minimum of rhetoric.  This was also in keeping with Kelm principles.  Rav Tzvi Hirsch Braude, son-in-law and heir apparent of the Alter once gave the following analogy to describe the kind of students for which Kelm was built:  When he was a young boy, a train carrying the Czar passed through and made a stopover in the small town where he lived.  Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, a large contingent of peasants came to pay their  respects –howling, whooping and cheering loudly, as only peasants do.  Accustomed to this raucous behavior, one of the Czar’s ministers came off the train and thanked the populace for their “warm greetings.”  However, since it was late at night and the Czar was sleeping, it would be appreciated that they disperse and go home.  The calm lasted until the minister reentered the train.  Then the whooping and cheering began anew with even greater fervor.  After a few minutes the minister once again came out and calmly – but firmly – asked the peasants to refrain from their enthusiastic welcome.  Once again, being peasants, they were unable to comprehend the meaning of “no more.”

This time, the commander of the Czar’s personal guard came out to speak to the crowd.  His message was simple, but stern: “Any more noise and you will be shot on sight.”  The crowd dispersed. They had finally understood the message.

In Kelm, Rav Tzvi Hirsch concluded, the goal was to seek students who understood refined speech, who responded immediately without having to be spoken to as if they were rough peasants.  Rav Dessler was like that.  He never raised his voice – regardless of the situation.  He spoke and acted with complete control, with consummate calm.  His message was conveyed and his request was carried out.  When Rav Dessler spoke, one felt it a privilege to carry out his request.  The dignity and noble demeanor in which he carried himself was not pretense – it was his essence, carefully refined over the years of having imbibed the teachings and qualities of Kelm within himself.

His refinement of speech was the result of menuchas ha’nefesh, calmness of spirit, which the Alter considered to be one of man’s most prized spiritual attainments.  Every action and every word was first preceded by forethought.  Always remain calm, unhurried and reflective so that one’s thoughts do not become confused.  Pause before acting; do nothing without a clearly defined purpose in mind.  When asked for advice – think before responding; never answer immediately.  If I may add, this is also a way of demonstrating to the questioner that his question is important.

His ability to empathize with others by identifying with their plight was part of his family heritage, and honed over a lifetime of experience.  When his grandfather saw a chain gang of prisoners repairing the roads and building new ones, he remarked, “I wonder how anyone can walk casually on these roads, which were built at such a cost in the suffering of others.”  Indeed, even on his deathbed, his thoughts extended to the welfare of others.  One of his last instructions to his family was that they be sure to wash all of his clothing before distributing them to the poor following his passing.

This author remembers being visited in the hospital by Rav Dessler.  He was no longer a young man, and by no means healthy and up to the long walk from the parking lot to my room.  He entered the room and sat there, speaking very little, because he knew I was not up to responding.  He did not stay very long, but the difference his visit made was incredible.  He sat there and internalized my pain – and then he left.  He had accomplished what he came for.

Perfection was the goal of Kelm chinuch.  Rav Dessler was a product of that legacy and attempted to infuse those around him with this spirit.  The Alter had a clear vision of an adam ha’shaleim, a harmonious whole, a perfected man, and each Kelm “graduate” bore that unmistakable stamp.  I would like to think that the same is true of a Hebrew Academy of Cleveland alumnus.  “The whole world is a house of Mussar and every human being is a book of Mussar,” the Alter would remark.   A Jew must function in the wider society, yet be above it.  He must, at all times, reflect the honor of Torah and the glory of Hashem.  He should understand which situations to avoid and which principles to espouse.  The world is the arena in which Hashem’s mitzvos are executed and each individual person must know how to interact with the world-at-large in his mitzvah performance.  Knowing what will benefit him and what will hurt his ability to develop as a Torah Jew should also be part of the chinuch he receives.  This is Rav Dessler’s legacy.

In closing, while I believe Rav Dessler was a true scion of his illustrious forebears, I posit that there is one area in which he innovated.  Rav Yisrael Salanter writes that one who becomes involved in communal endeavors should be conscious of three things:  Never  become angry; never become tired; never expect to win.  A shaliach tzibur, agent of the community, as well as every Jew, should endeavor to do what he can.  His hishtadlus, effort, is what matters.  The end result, the tachlis, is up to Hashem.  If He so deems that it should succeed – it will.  Otherwise, one will be left with his hishtadlus.  This is what counts.

Rav Dessler not only followed his Zayde’s advice; he supplemented it.  He never became angry.  This does not mean that circumstances did not arise in which a lesser person would have “lost it.”  Not Rav Dessler.  He was a man in complete control.  He never tired.  He was on a mission:  a mission which ended only with his last mortal breath.  There was no time to rest.  Life was short and there was so much to do.  Concerning Rav Yisrael’s third bit of advice, Rav Dessler added to it.  A lack of success was not acceptable.  A lack of success meant a Yiddishe neshama would be lost.  This could not be tolerated!  He was here to reach out to as many Jewish children as possible.  He never said no.  He worked a singular goal in mind: to win.  He did…and we are the fortunate beneficiaries of his endeavors.

Yehi Zichro Baruch

May his Name be a blessing.

Rav Dessler’s legacy continues in his mishpacha, in generations of talmidim and their families, and in the mosdos that now carry his name: Bais Chinuch Horav Dessler (The Hebrew Academy of Cleveland), Kollel Ateres Nochum Zev in Cleveland, and Kollel Minchas Zev in Kiryat Sefer.