Rabbi Yisrael Berger (1855-1919) was one of the key collectors of hassidic tales. He came from hassidic stock, with familial ties to Rabbi Kalonymous Kalman Shapira (1751-1823), hassidic master in Krakow and author of Maor Vashamesh (Breslau 1842).
Berger was born in northern Transylvania in the town of Magyarlapos – then in Hungary and today Targu Lapus in Romania. He served as rabbi in Probuzna (then in Galicia, today in Ukraine); Dorna Watra (then in Bukovina, today in Romania); and Buzeu (then in Wallachia, today in Romania). In 1898, he accepted a rabbinic post in Bucharest, Romania, where he served for 21 years until his death.
He printed his collection of hassidic tales under the title Zekhut Yisrael – a tetralogy that included Eser Kedushot (1906), Eser Orot (1907), Eser Tzahtzahot (1909), and Eser Atarot (1910) – all published in Piotrkow Trybunalski, Poland. Each volume recounted tales about 10 (eser) hassidic masters. An addendum with additional material was published posthumously published: Zekhut Yisrael Mahadura Tinyana (Seini 1925).
In many cases, Berger recorded the sources of his tales. These sources included contemporary rabbinic figures, such as Rabbi Avraham Ettinger (1875-1924); rabbi of Dukla in Galicia (today in Poland); and Rabbi Zvi Yehezkel Mikhalzohn (1863-1942, Treblinka), rabbi in Płonsk, Poland.
Ettinger and Mikhalzohn recounted tales about hassidic master Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sasów (ca. 1745-1807) and his efforts to fulfill the mitzvah of pidyon shevuyim – securing the release of captives. Berger recorded both accounts in his Eser Tzahtzahot in the section dedicated to Rabbi Leib.
I begin with Mikhalzohn’s tale before moving to Ettinger’s story.
Tales of saving captives
RABBI MOSHE LEIB was a student of Rabbi Shmuel Shmelke Halevi Horowitz of Nikolsburg (1726-1778). After seven years under the tutelage of Rabbi Shmelke, the master told his student to return home and gave him provisions for the journey: a gold coin, a loaf of bread, and a halat – a long white coat.
While on his way, Moshe Leib heard a bitter cry, and he followed the sound to a house. The crying was coming from the cellar, where a Jew was being held captive underground. Moshe Leib called out to him and asked why he was being held captive. The man replied that he did not have the 300 rubles he needed to pay for the inn that he was leasing from the village owner.
Without hesitation, Rabbi Moshe Leib threw the loaf of bread down to the man so that he would at least have something to eat. He then made his way to the village owner to discuss releasing the Jew in exchange for the gold coin that he had received from Rabbi Shmelke.
The village owner rebuffed the offer: a solitary gold coin could not cover the 300 rubles that he was owed. Disheartened, Moshe Leib left the village owner.
Nevertheless, as he walked away, he felt that he could not leave the Jew to rot in that dark, dank cellar. So he raced back to the village owner and once again offered the gold coin. The village owner had no patience for Moshe Leib, and he promptly called the executioner to take care of the impetuous interloper. Moshe Leib was to be thrown to the dogs, which would viciously tear the meat from his bones.
Moshe Leib was shoved into the dogs’ yard for a grisly end. Surprisingly, the dogs did not even bark at him, let alone attack him.
The village owner did not understand what was going on. He instructed the executioner to bring Moshe Leib to his personal zoo of wild animals, where he was to be thrown into the cage.
As the wild animals began to charge Moshe Leib, he quickly donned the white halat that he had received from Rabbi Shmelke, and the animals retreated.
The village owner was shocked. Reeling from the experience of what he had witnessed, the village owner went to the cellar, unlocked the door, and told the Jew that he was free: “Leave and go home in peace.”
RABBI MOSHE LEIB traveled from place to place in order to collect money to secure the release of people held hostage for ransom. Despite his earnest efforts, he did not succeed in raising the requisite funds.
Despondently, he thought to himself that he had wasted his time. He had set aside important pursuits for the sake of this endeavor – he had not studied Torah, and he had not prayed – and yet he did not succeed in helping those held in captivity.
He decided that from here on, he would not dedicate his time to the mitzvah of pidyon shevuyim; rather, he would remain at home and spend his time on focused Torah study and heartfelt prayer.
On that very day, a Jew stole a certain object and was caught fleeing the scene. The Jew was remanded in custody, and while in prison he was physically abused and wounded.
When Rabbi Moshe Leib heard about this, he hurried to the courthouse and petitioned for the release of the Jew. After much effort, he succeed in securing the Jew’s release.
As they walked away from the jailhouse, Moshe Leib reprimanded the thieving Jew: “I hope the pain of the injuries you sustained in prison will remind you not to do such disreputable acts like stealing.” The thief responded – perhaps with an impish grin on his face: “Why not? So what if I did not succeed one time? I hope that the next time I will succeed!”
Moshe Leib immediately felt that the thief’s words were also directed at him: “So what if I did not succeed one time to collect the money to secure the release of the captives? Just because of that failure, will I discard the mitzvah of pidyon shevuyim? Heaven forfend! No! No! Perhaps next time I will succeed in securing their release.” ■
The writer is a senior faculty member at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies and rabbi in Tzur Hadassah.