By Yisroel Besser
ArtScroll Mesorah Publications
New Jersey, 2024
389 pages
Reviewed by Yehuda Geberer
The strength of Yisroel Besser’s new book, Kotzk: The Rebbe, The Message, The Legacy lies in its ability to navigate in a creative fashion the tumultuous waters of those who researched and wrote about Kotzk over the centuries—thus making it compatible for the book’s intended audience. In the introduction, the author clearly states his goal. “In this book, we sought to . . . allow reverence, rather than poetic license, to guide us, and to use the Torah and stories of Kotzk, as transmitted by members of that sacred chaburah, as puzzle pieces to create a full story.”
Nowhere does the author claim that this is a biography of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Morgenstern of Kotzk, nor is the term “biography” ever used (except on the dust jacket, but it seems that that doesn’t originate from the author). The essence of Kotzk is not developed in a historical, philosophical or theological fashion in this book. Instead, it is experienced through interactions with the Kotzker’s teachers, friends and followers and through anecdotes from his life and leadership. This is a book that conveys the teachings, sayings and legacy of the Kotzker Rebbe. And it does so in an engaging and powerful way.
Reading the book and hearing the Kotzker’s homiletical interpretations of various Biblical and Talmudic passages as educational messages that he demanded from his followers, one transcends the confines of our temporal existence and is transported to the fiery environment of those who were in the proximity of the Kotzker. With his brilliant writing ability, Besser achieves the optimal balance between lively stories and timeless teachings. Indeed, there were several times while reading it—and I read it cover to cover twice!—that I felt myself present within the firmament of nineteenth-century Kotzk.
The first five chapters contain some biographical information, but even there the facts of external time and place play a secondary role, while the primary focus is devoted to a description of the Kotzker’s spiritual development and intense inner world. That the biographical section is secondary is ultimately a good thing because it contains some factual errors, which I choose not to focus on as they make for relatively minor quibbles.
The bulk of the work is devoted to the Kotzker’s teachings on a wide array of subjects, almost like a Kotzk guide to the service of G-d. Individual chapters explore the Kotzk approach to Torah, truth, humility, growth, faith, prayer, purity, repentance and fear of Heaven, to mention a few. Each topic is illustrated with anecdotes, together with the Kotzker Rebbe’s succinct sayings, sharp remarks and incisive insights, accompanied by the author’s running commentary.
The last three chapters return to brief descriptions of the Kotzker’s court, with the final chapter containing a short summary of the Kotzker’s later years and passing.
The Kotzker was cognizant of the fact that his approach was certainly more extreme than others . . . .”The middle of the road,” the Rebbe would say, “is for horses.”
Had the book laid claim to presenting a full historical profile of the world of Kotzk, then one could gripe about the lack of focus on the historical narrative, especially of the Kotzker’s years of seclusion and the well-known dispute with Izhbitz. But this book does not claim to be what it is not. Instead of rehashing the familiar story of his later years of seclusion, which features in most other works on this charismatic yet enigmatic figure, this book engages the audience with the richness and fire of Kotzk. Although it seemingly deliberately minimizes a discussion of the more perplexing aspects of the Kotzker’s character that so piqued the interest of writers and researchers over the past two centuries, some of his rather antinomian beliefs are alluded to through an exploration of his pithy, sometimes provocative, sayings and teachings.
This gem captures the essence of the Kotzker’s credo for a life worth living:
If a bed is like a grave, then the grave will be like a bed. But if the bed is like a bed, then the grave will be as a grave. If a person views sleep as necessary, but nothing more—the bed like a grave, which a person prefers to avoid—choosing to remain awake and accomplish, then his life will be productive and rich. In that case, his eternal rest will be peaceful, the grave like a bed. But if during his time in this world the person viewed the bed as a destination, enjoying and luxuriating in the comfort of sleep, then he will have little to show, and the grave will indeed be a grave! (156)
The Kotzker often used provocative language to encourage his followers to pause and reflect, as this anecdote illustrates:
One morning, the Rebbe noticed a chassid preparing for Shacharis, but the chassid appeared weary and dispirited. The Rebbe suggested that he skip davening Shacharis and go eat breakfast. The chassid, baffled by the Rebbe’s advice, said that he could not eat because he had not yet davened Shacharis, and halacha dictated that a person has to daven before eating. “Why do you care what the halacha says?” asked the Rebbe. “Because Hakadosh Baruch Hu made the heaven and earth, it is His world and He sustains us at each moment. The reason we are here is to fulfill His will,” the chassid answered. The Rebbe nodded. “Ah, perhaps now you are ready to daven,” he said. (178)
In an even more controversial declaration, the Kotzker spoke admirably of a character whom most would hesitate to praise whatsoever:
“And Pharaoh arose at night (Shemos 12:30).” Rashi offers a single word of elaboration: “mimitaso—[Pharaoh got up] from his bed.” Why is this necessary? . . . “Pharaoh,” the Rebbe said, “was a real apikores, with the strength and conviction to follow through!” Moshe Rabbeinu had accurately predicted the first nine makkos, each happening precisely as he had foretold. Now they were facing the tenth makkah, with the prospect of every firstborn in Mitzrayim dying. Pharaoh himself was a bechor, and he should have been trembling with fright, pleading and begging for a reprieve. But what did he do? Rashi tells us exactly what he did. He went to sleep. When Moshe came, Pharaoh got up—from his bed! “It is worth learning,” the Rebbe concluded, “from that sort of conviction.” (221)
Perhaps the most well-known character trait in Kotzk was the pursuit of honesty to an extreme. This is portrayed through a teaching of the Kotzker:
I have written other books, but none were as difficult to write as this one. I knew, going in, that the topic was beyond me, a story more complex and nuanced than almost any other.
After Adam HaRishon ate from the Eitz HaDaas, Hashem confronted him, asking him if he had eaten from the tree of which he had been commanded not to eat. And the man said, “The woman whom You gave to be with me—she gave me of the tree, and I ate” (Bereishis 3:12). Instead of using the past tense of ate, v’achalti, Adam used the word va’ochel, which means “I will eat.” The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 19:12) explains: Adam said: “I ate, and will eat again.” How are we to understand this? . . . The Kotzker Rebbe explained what the Midrash is saying—not in censure, but in praise of Adam HaRishon. . . . Adam’s answer was honest, and sad. “I have eaten, and I would again,” he said, telling the Ribbono shel Olam that unfortunately, he did not feel like he had been freed from the influence of the yetzer hara. (114–115)
On that same theme of pure honesty, the Kotzker didn’t view disparagingly any behavior that he saw as an expression of authenticity, as illustrated with an amusing tale:
At the Pesach Seder, one of the guests was unusually thirsty. The Kos Shel Eliyahu was poured, the purple wine glistening in the large silver becher. Unable to restrain himself, the guest rudely grabbed the large cup and swallowed its contents. He was quite embarrassed, but the Rebbe appreciated a gesture he saw as perfectly genuine. “Look, Eliyahu Hanavi is a guest here, and you are a guest here too. If he did not drink it, then why shouldn’t you enjoy it?” (124)
The Kotzker didn’t hesitate to criticize the approach or leadership styles of other rabbinical and Chassidic leaders of his age. One of the reasons for the opposition to Kotzk during his time was his tendency to bluntly speak his mind, even when it contained implied criticism of others. One example:
The pasuk states that Yehoshua ben Nun and Calev ben Yefuneh tore their garments (Bamidbar 14:6). Why was this the way they showed their distress? Because, the Kotzker Rebbe explained, the other Meraglim were leaders of the people and they certainly dressed the part, wearing high shtreimlach and veisse yubitzes (white silk Shabbos garb). Now, Yehoshua and Calev recognized how meaningless these garments were. How can one dress like a tzaddik, but act in a way that does not reflect tzidkus? “In that case,” they said, “what’s the point in wearing the Rebbishe begadim?” (127)
His disregard for distinguished lineage also made the Kotzker an anomaly among other rabbinical and Chassidic leaders of his era. He articulated his lack of regard for yichus:
A distinguished Jew came to Kotzk, and when the Rebbe asked his name, he introduced himself as a grandson of the Yid Hakadosh, who had been a Rebbe of the Kotzker Rebbe. “Another son of someone’s son,” the Rebbe sighed. “I asked who you are, not who your grandfather was!” (117)
Finally, it’s worth mentioning the overarching philosophy that permeated the entire atmosphere of Kotzk. The Kotzker was cognizant of the fact that his approach was certainly more extreme than others: “The chaburah adhered to a very defined path. ‘The middle of the road,’ the Rebbe would say, ‘is for horses’” (77).
Much has been written about Kotzk. In the introduction to the current work, Besser cites a list of works he consulted, and it’s obviously far from exhaustive. As a result of the contentiousness of the subject matter, any author would have had to make choices on how to navigate this historical narrative. Indeed, Besser opened the book with these words: “I have written other books, b’chasdei Hashem, but none were as difficult to write as this one. I knew, going in, that the topic was beyond me, a story more complex and nuanced than almost any other.”
Exemplifying some of the greatest ideals of Kotzk—integrity, striving for greatness, doing what’s right and not being concerned with how it could be misjudged by others—the author chose his sources well, weaving together some of the most interesting, meaningful and impactful teachings of Kotzk, presenting the reader with an exciting journey into one of the greatest minds and hearts in the history of the Chassidic movement.
Yehuda Geberer is a historian and tour guide of Jewish historical sites in Europe and Israel, and he is the host of the Jewish History Soundbites podcast.