כבר הזכיר כמה פעמים שאין סוף הגדרתה של ישיבה, מקום שמתרכזים בו לומדי תורה
הרי לפנינו ביטוי אדיר לקשר ההדדי שבין הרב והתלמיד
ההתקשרות בין הרב והתלמיד שימש נדבך יסודי בדרך חנוכו, והיתה לאחד הקוים הבולטים בבית מדרשו
תשובה במהלך דומה קיבל תלמיד ששהה בא"י, ובעקבות כיסופים דהתקשרות החליט לחזור לארה"ב לחסות בצל כנפי רבו: "בדוק את עצמך יפה יפה
ולא עוד אלא שההתקשרות הזאת שרשה בעומק הנפש, ואיננה פרי שום גורם ספציפי
אם כן, איפוא, על יסוד מה מתבססת ההתקשרות
כך ביאר פעם, פרשה שלמה בנ"ך, המלמדנו על התחלת התהוות הקשר בין תלמיד לרב
פעם כששמע טענה על אחד שעמד להגן על כבוד רבו בפני מקטרגים, הגיב שחסרה למלעיזים תפיסה ביחס תלמיד רב
במעמקים של יחסי תלמיד ורב נמצאת עוד מדרגה, הנקראת "עמידה על דעת הרב"
בסוד ההתקשרות הזאת עלו והתעלו התלמידים, בדרכם להיעשות "אישיות החיה את חייה הגדולים"
כבר בתרצ"ד, בהכירו מצב דורו, כתב שמעודו "ואני לבי הומה ונמשך אחרי... גדלות האישיות
נפלא הוא הדבר איך שיסודי דרכי חנוכו של רבנו הונחו כבר בתרצ"ד
"יצירת ערכי רוח לצורך חינוך פנימי; וחינוך פנימי גם לצורך השפעה חיצונית" — סיכום דבריו בתרצ"ד
אם בהשקפה ראשונה נראה ההמשך הישיר מתרצ"ד עד לכל ימות חייו כפלא, הנה לאחר התבוננות, טבעי הוא הדבר
משעמד היחיד במרכז, בלט הכלל "כשם שאין פרצופיהם שוין, כך אין דעותיהן שוות"
אמנם פעמים שההדרכה ליחיד מתנגשת עם טובת הכלל
אהבתו והתמסרותו לתלמידיו היתה מן המפורסמות: פעם בתוך דברי תורה על יחס התלמיד והרב, התבטא "אהבת הרב לתלמידו היא דבר המובן מאליו
ככל שהתחזקה הערכת ההתקשרות אצל המקבל, וככל שנבחנה שרשיותה — נתרבו מעיינות הקירבה והאהבה
כן, אמרנו "כל מיני נושאים אחרים"
מעיינות הקרבה והאהבה השתקפו אף דרך פעולה אחרת, פעולה שהיא עצמית לתואר רב
בנוסף על כך, נסתרת היתה האהבה מתחת לתוכחת המגולה
כחלק מהרבצת תורה בהעמדת תלמידים, הוקם גם העמוד הנופל של כבוד תורה
הוא לימד דעת את בני הישיבה בסוגיא רבת פרקים ורבת סעיפים זו, החל מהמובן המופשט של הערכת ייחודה של תורה, וה"כנגד כולם" שבה, עד לפרטי נהגים בהתנהגות ראויה כלפי הרב, אם זה בצורת דיבור, ישיבה או הליכה ועוד ועוד
גם בשימוש, שהוא חלק מכבוד הרב, העמיד את הדגש על הנהגה הבאה מתוך הכרה ודעת, ולא על פעולות חיצוניות נטולי תוך
לא רק את תלמידיו חינך לתודעה של כבוד התורה, אלא אף ה"בעלי־בתים" של הישיבה
עם כל המודעות בין כתלי הישיבה לצורת תלמיד, ועם כל זה שהיה סמל להעמדת תלמידים בצורה הראויה — מכל מקום מעולם נמנע מלכנות בן־אדם בשם "תלמיד"
זכורני, לאחר שחזר מביקור אצל אחד מתלמידיו שהיה חולה אנוש בבית החולים, תלמיד בעל־מדרגה, ראה אותו וראה משמרות העזרה והעידוד של חבריו, העיר: "מען ווערט ביי זיך גארנישט... הם כמלאכים ממש... און זיי רופען זיך נאך תלמידים?! טא, וואס זאל מען שוין זאגען?!"
He frequently mentioned that the ultimate hagodarah (definition) of a yeshivah is not simply a place where lomdei Torah gather. That is merely the inyan of any beis medrash. A yeshivah is distinguished by being the locus of mesiras ha-Torah—the forging of an additional link in the chain of the mesorah, from rebbe to talmid. There exists, therefore, within the yeshivah a re-enactment, in ze'eir anpin (microcosm), of Ma’amad Har Sinai. The relationship between rebbe and talmid is itself a ze'eir anpin of Moshe Rabbeinu and the shishim ribo (six hundred thousand).
Furthermore, in light of such a yesod, we heard from him an elucidation of the Chazal, "U’mitalmidai yoseir mikulam" (“and from my students more than all of them”). Now, this principle operates even throughout all secular disciplines: mind presses against mind, rendering the intellect more fertile and productive. Yet, this rule possesses an additional dimension unique to limud ha-Torah with talmidim. Every melameid Torah b’Yisroel stands in proximity to the heavenly archetype of “Ha-melameid Torah l’amo Yisroel” at Har Sinai. And the closer a person stands to Har Sinai, the more acutely he hears. Talmidim draw the rebbe closer to Har Sinai, and thereby the rebbe is zocheh to receive more Torah.
Here we have a profound expression of the reciprocal bond between the rebbe and the talmid. On the one hand, there is the rebbe’s dependence upon the talmid, in that the student opens an aperture for him to ascend the ladder of Torah and avodah through the portal of “u’mitalmidai yoseir mikulam.” For can not a small twig ignite a great log? A mere match has the power to consume an entire house. “The smallest talmid can kindle a great fire within the heart of the rebbe.” And what an immense measure of hakoras ha-tov the rebbe owes him!
On the other hand, there is the absolute centrality of the rebbe, with all that it entails; there is an inherent deficiency in the tzuras ha-Torah if Moshe Rabbeinu does not stand at its very center. It was no wonder, then, that he perceived a decline and a serious flaw whenever lomdei ha-yeshivah “hobn azoy veynig a hiskashrus tzum mokom limudom” (possessed so little hiskashrus to their place of learning).
The hiskashrus between rebbe and talmid served as a foundational pillar in his approach to chinuch, and stood as one of the most prominent hallmarks of his beis medrash.
Attesting to the nature of this intense hiskashrus was his response to an individual who sought to partake of such a relationship:
“This is not an external matter acquired in a casual hour. For we find in halachah that a treifah cannot live beyond twelve months. To be deemed kosher, one must possess the resilience to endure all the peaks and valleys across all seasons of an entire annual cycle. The mark of health is the capacity to weather every season and remain standing firm. Likewise, a hiskashrus worthy of the name is tested for its vitality only after an entire twelve-month period has elapsed—through all the shifting seasons.”
A student residing in Eretz Yisroel received a response along similar lines when, prompted by deep yearnings of hiskashrus, he resolved to return to the United States to take refuge under the wings of his rebbe:
“Examine yourself thoroughly. Search your heart with sevenfold inquiries until it becomes clear to you beyond doubt that these bonds represent for you a fundamental, bedrock realization (hakaros yesod), rather than an added emotional sensation (hargashas tosefes). Weigh my words with utmost precision: ‘hakarah’ to the exclusion of ‘hargashah’, and ‘yesod’ to the exclusion of ‘tosefes’. Only when it is demonstrated that your ties to us are akin to an essential organ upon which the soul depends (eiver she-ha-neshomah teluyah bo)—then, and only then, is your decision to return correct.”
Furthermore, this hiskashrus is rooted in the innermost depths of the nefesh, and is not the product of any single specific factor. The inner secret of a talmid’s hiskashrus to his rebbe must not be grounded merely in recognizing particular ma’alos (virtues) in the rebbe. A student who attaches himself to his master on account of specific attributes—be they ever so exalted, even because his rebbe possesses ruach ha-kodesh—suffers a deficiency in the true kabbalas rav. Certainly, a talmid can articulate the rebbe’s virtues. But a student does not become a talmid because he recognizes the rebbe’s ma’alos; rather, he recognizes the rebbe’s ma’alos because he is his talmid.
Upon what, then, is this hiskashrus founded? Not upon an intellectualized bond of calculation and esteem, but upon the faculty of ta’anug (transcendent delight). He delights in his words, in his conduct, and in his personal ways. Such ta’anug cannot be translated into words, for it transcends the intellect; it is beyond exposition, serving as the unmistakable sign that the student's neshomah has encountered the root of the master's soul to which it inherently belongs.
This innate belonging (shaychus) exerts a powerful pull (koach hamshochah) upon the talmid. As long as the student’s connection to his rebbe is predicated merely on specific rationale, the stature of the rebbe in its authentic form is lacking. One is a “tieferer” (deeper) talmid not because he understands the rebbe better; rather, he understands more because he is a “tieferer” talmid. One who delights solely in the rebbe’s divrei Torah remains a more superficial student than one who possesses an all-encompassing hamshochah after his master.
“And to the degree that the hiskashrus is deeper, in that exact measure he receives more... Hiskashrus for its own sake, hiskashrus for the sake of hiskashrus, so that the connection and union with the rebbe is felt more acutely and becomes more tangible—and as a matter of course, his capacity as a receptive vessel (kli kibul) expands.”
Thus did he once expound an entire narrative in Tanach that illustrates the initial emergence of the bond between disciple and master: the account of Elisha. “And he ran after Eliyahu and said, ‘Let me return... for what have I done for you?’” Behold: Elisha was drawn after Eliyahu and ran after him without ever receiving an answer to the query of “What have I done for you?”
Once, upon hearing an objection leveled against a student who arose to defend his master’s honor against detractors, he remarked that the critics lacked any comprehension of the rebbe-talmid relationship. The talmid is not claiming to act as the official representative of the rebbe; rather, this is the instinctual reaction of a person who feels struck in a vital organ. Such a student regards the Torah received from his rebbe as an eiver she-ha-neshomah teluyah bo. When a master musician hears a melody in which a single string is flawed, he shudders; the more deeply bonded he is to music, the more acutely he suffers when the note grates upon his ears. This is not necessarily an assertion of self-worth as an “artist” or expert. It is an attitude of “l’didi shaveh li” (to me personally, it is of supreme value) that elicits the reaction. And a person may make such an assertion even over an object that in itself is worth less than a shaveh perutah.
In the innermost recesses of the rebbe-talmid dynamic lies yet another madreigah, known as “amidah al da’as ha-rav” (penetrating the ultimate mind of the master). “A man does not arrive at the final mind of his teacher until forty years have passed.” Even this lofty stage is not predicated merely on mastering the master’s divrei Torah. One may comprehend the rebbe’s Torah thoroughly, grasping it to the point of generating novel insights (chiddushim) within it, and yet remain completely bereft of amidah al da’as ha-rav.
“This amidah signifies the receptive student’s faculty to perceive the organic link between the essential being (atzmiyus) of the rebbe and his divrei Torah... For instance, one can find recipients of keen intellect and sharp comprehension who find it tedious to hear the same divrei Torah two or three times from the rebbe’s mouth. Almost invariably, this points directly to a deficiency in the capacity for amidah al da’as ha-rav. Likewise, whoever lacks this power finds it difficult to listen whenever matters are not crystal-clear to him on the surface.”
Indeed, the entire maseches of hiskashrus and the bond between talmid and rebbe, in all its profound breadth, is infinitely more exalted and comprehensive than the mere receipt of intellectual divrei Torah.
Within the secret of this hiskashrus, students ascended and elevated themselves along the path to becoming an “ishiyus ha-chayah es chayeha ha-gedolim”—a personality living out its grand, elevated life.
Already in 5694 (1934), recognizing the spiritual condition of his generation, he wrote:
“All my days, my heart has yearned and been drawn after... the grandeur of personality (gadlus ha-ishiyus). If so, a unique difficulty arises in the spirit of this era, wherein the world is steadily sinking into pragmatic utilitariansm (‘ma’asiyus’)... We must counter facts with facts, reality with reality (mamosh against mamosh)... The sole refuge unto mamosh is the ishiyus. The individual, the human being—he is a fact, a palpable reality, an actuality. And specifically in this era... a single personality living out its grand life, illuminated by the light of the Torah, carries greater weight than countless abstract ideas, orations, and spiritual treatises... In all our monumental creations within the realm of Torah and thought... they must not be directed outward at all for the sake of influencing alien camps or estranged regiments—no, absolutely not. They must be directed purely inward, toward our self-education for the forging of our own personalities. And the harvest of our spiritual labor—namely, those blessed individuals educated and cultivated upon our thoughts and deep reflections—we shall stand up against the opposing camp.”
It is remarkable how the foundations of our rebbe’s educational methodology were already laid in 5694. For anyone who merely crossed the threshold of his beis medrash, or upon whom his reputation fell, knew that here the spiritual sinews were strained toward the “yetziras gavra” (the fashioning of a real person); here the individual (yachid) and the ishiyus stood at the very center. Furthermore, he introduced the novel insight that within the mitzvah of harbatzas Torah:
“Cultivating a single talmid muvhak (primary, fully realized disciple) takes precedence over producing numerous disciples who are not muvhakim.”
“The creation of spiritual values for the purpose of internal education; and internal education likewise for the sake of outward influence”—such was the distillation of his words in 5694. And so it was within his yeshivah: concentrated emphasis directed toward the internal formation of personality. Time, however, validated the second half of that maxim as well. The fruits of this internal chinuch became conduits for immense outward influence, reshaping the face of Jewish life across the United States—whether as communal leaders or in their personal, individual conduct. The atmosphere was charged with inner aspirations toward gadlus; and organically, as a matter of course, the impact permeated outward.
If at first glance this unbroken continuum from 5694 throughout his days appears astonishing, upon deeper reflection it was entirely natural. This approach stemmed from an essential vantage point, as he testified regarding himself:
“In my essence, the life of my nefesh is anchored in the life of my intellect. The shift that has transpired in our times is exceedingly difficult for me. Whereas in earlier generations the greatest scientists, for example, were singular individuals, today scientific advancements are forged by collective teams and consortiums of researchers. It is no longer the solitary thinker. And even if this is the inevitable result of an explosion of information beyond the capacity of any single person to master, nevertheless it bears the mark of ‘nitoseif ha-seichel churban’ (with the accumulation of intellect comes destruction)—because the true form of an authentic master of intellect is an ishiyus—of intellect. And in teamwork there is no ishiyus; there is only intellect.”
Because the individual stood at the center, the principle shone forth: “Just as their faces are not identical, so their minds are not identical.” While this perspective has been valid and true throughout all generations, it is redoubled many times over in our era:
“When a man travels by land, his carriage cuts a rut into the soil, thereby blazing a path for his fellow; but when a man journeys by sea, though he spend a hundred years aboard ship, no beaten path emerges for another... The life of our youth in this era resembles far more the voyage of a vessel tossed upon the heart of a stormy sea than the traversal of a carriage across dry land. Therefore, in our time, it is entirely impossible to counsel and direct the personal course of a young person among our ranks on the basis of analogies and precedents, or to derive conclusions for one soul from another.”
This approach was reflected in the overarching recognition that his chinuch was never based entirely on rigid rules. The nature of his engagement, the content of his conversations, and most certainly his practical guidance were tailored toward each individual according to his unique measure. Regarding one who struggled to find his place, it was attested in a letter to our rebbe: “...for he found no man who penetrated to the absolute truth of his soul like him.”
Thus, while the general directive was to stir inner self-examination within the heart of an aspiring individual, it happened that he told one student:
“The Son of David comes only through hesech ha-da’as (diversion of attention). Had you not been so consumed with dissecting yourself, and had you not been ‘k’seder gehaltn in zikh eyn arumtaptn’ (constantly groping and rummaging about inside yourself), perhaps your personal geulah would have already arrived. One must engage in good endeavors, persevere in learning, and divert one's mind from this self-imposed exile. Loz zikh op! (Let go of yourself!)”
It was likewise understood that one could never anticipate a uniform answer for all students inquiring about their future and how to secure their portion in Torah. To one he would counsel to become an Yissachar, while to another he would insist that he remain a Zevulun, or even suggest a particular shade of Zevulun. Frequently, to the questioner’s surprise, the guidance ran directly counter to what he expected to hear.
This individualized discernment was most conspicuous when he instructed certain individuals to remain temporarily within questionable organizations. These were students whom he had previously guided and imbued with his chinuch until they reached the readiness to depart; yet precisely then, he instructed them not to leave, but to remain temporarily so as to exert influence upon others—largely from the perspective of “Mei-oyvai techakmeini” (“From my enemies You make me wise”):
“In our times, a mode of warfare has emerged unprecedented in history—I refer to what is termed in the vernacular a ‘fifth column’, namely, vanquishing the adversary by infiltrating the very camp of the adversary itself.”
Yet at the very same time, he directed others to depart immediately. His penetrating comprehension of the inner chambers of each soul, and his precise attunement to each individual's unique nuance—whereby he perceived both the strength and the vulnerability of each one—were what informed his faithful counsel.
To be sure, there were times when individual guidance clashed with the welfare of the tzibbur. In such instances, we heard from him that if advising an individual to pursue a trade would introduce a laxity into the general limud atmosphere of the tzibbur, then the individual’s case is superseded by that of the collective.
His love and devotion toward his talmidim were legendary. Once, amidst a discourse on the relationship between talmid and rebbe, he remarked:
“A rebbe’s love for his talmid is a matter of pure course. For the very relationship of rebbe-talmid is forged through Torah, and contact with the talmid is an encounter with Torah itself. If so, how is it possible that the rebbe’s heart should not brim with love for his disciple? It is, after all, a direct branch of his overarching ahavas ha-Torah. And if there be a rebbe who possesses love of Torah but lacks love for his talmidim, his love of Torah is worth nothing at all.”
Indeed, he lavished a double portion of affection upon his students, showering them with torrents of love; the chords of love were bound like mighty ropes. Consider this excerpt from a response to a talmid:
“Your letter reached me. I received it and read it. And amidst that reading, the portal of love opened wide within my heart. Into that portal entered your words, transforming there into musical notes, upon which there began to resonate within me a melody of hiskashrus, in the aspect of the supreme bond of the Torah (kesher elyon d’Oraisa).”
As the recipient’s appreciation of this hiskashrus deepened, and as its authenticity was tested and confirmed, the wellsprings of closeness and love swelled. If they opened but a crack the size of a needle’s eye, there opened for them an entranceway as vast as the hall of the Ulam—manifested, for instance, in granting hours upon hours of private conversation, whether in the heart of limud or spanning any variety of other topics.
Yes, “any variety of other topics.” He began with weightier matters and did not omit the minor. Time and again he emphasized:
“Do not wait to write only of monumental occurrences, for I maintain: ‘l’didi shaveh li’... and consequently, nothing is inconsequential.”
And to another student he wrote:
“...It is improper for you to withhold even a fleeting thought from me... You were sorely mistaken to imagine that there exists a heichi timtza of my lacking interest. You are duty-bound by law to uproot such a ‘heichi timtza’ from your heart.”
In his distinctive idiom, he continued:
“Whenever there arises in your imagination a scenario depicting a lack of interest in your welfare, know with certainty that this is nothing other than the work of the Satan, who undoubtedly takes a vast interest in you, and specifically wishes to convince you that he is the only one concerned with your plight. Whereas in absolute truth the opposite is true—for I am deeply interested both in you and in your ‘Satan’.”
These wellsprings of closeness and love were also reflected through another mode of action—one intrinsic to the very title of rebbe. For thus did he teach us:
“It is an original insight in the laws of talmid and rebbe... that the receipt of divrei Torah from the master carries with it a distinct obligation to accept tochechah (rebuke). And if a student shields himself from accepting tochechah from his rebbe, he corrupts and ruins the very words of Torah he received from him—and this ruin is the precise rationale that forbids a student from dwelling within his master’s domain when he refuses to submit to him (b’d’lo kafeis lei).”
Without a readiness to receive the master’s tochechah, there is an inherent deficiency in the very designation of “talmid.” Therefore, whenever one heard from him words of exacting demand or grievance, he felt, at that very moment, deeply complimented—for it was a sign that he was accounted a true talmid. When an ordinary onlooker might marvel at a one-sentence letter stating: “...because I do not forgive you,” the talmid who received the reprimand felt honored that he was deemed worthy of such an exacting accounting over so personal a detail. It was a sign of true closeness. He conducted himself according to the principle: “Commensurate with the preciousness of your worth, a hairsbreadth scrutiny is fitting.” “Un a heymishe vert nisht broygez” (And an intimate friend does not take offense). Furthermore, within that very letter of tochechah, there was fulfilled “where His judgment lies, there His work is accomplished,” as he addressed the student with an exalted title and praise he was unaccustomed to using.
Underneath the overt tochechah, love lay concealed. As he wrote in a missive from his youth:
“Every lover wounds. Every speaker of truth acts with severity. Every speaker of truth in love wounds with apparent cruelty.”
Though the rebuke wounded, it issued from an affectionate, anxious heart. And although couched in love, tochechah cannot ultimately function without the vestments of dinim (strict judgments).
“Hence, throughout my days I have felt an aversion to setting words of tochechah down in writing. Every written word carries the aspect of ‘so that they may stand for many days’, and there are matters for which an ‘enduring existence for many days’ is too burdensome to bear.”
Likewise, he scrupulously avoided delivering words of tochechah on Shabbos, for on Shabbos no din may hold sway.
As an integral part of harbatzas Torah through the cultivation of disciples, he also restored the fallen pillar of kavod ha-Torah:
“In our era, as much as we suffer from the diminution of Torah itself, we suffer many times more from the diminution of kavod ha-Torah.”
Fundamentally, the imparting of Torah and the posture of kavod ha-Torah descended entwined amid the thunder and lightning at Har Sinai. As he penned:
“Ma’amad Har Sinai and Matan Torah are bound together like a flame to a coal, just as the matter of honor and the matter of Torah are inextricably linked throughout all generations.”
Behold the golden words of the Rambam in the enumeration of mitzvos prefacing the Yad Ha-Chazakah: in Hilchos Talmud Torah there are two distinct mitzvos—one of study, and one of according honor to Torah scholars. From the structural arrangement of these halachos, one must discern a marvelous point: the laws governing a disciple's honor toward his rebbe were not categorized merely as a specific sub-branch of honoring Torah scholars in general, but were embedded directly within Hilchos Talmud Torah proper. An institution where Torah study abounds, yet kavod ha-Torah is absent, does not warrant the title of a “mokom Torah.”
He enlightened the bnei ha-yeshivah in this multifaceted, multi-chaptered sugya—ranging from the abstract contemplation of the singular uniqueness of Torah and its “k’neged kulam” dimension, down to the granular details of proper comportment before a rebbe, whether in manner of speech, sitting, walking, and beyond. Thus, he did not allow even a passing phrase in a student’s letter, “I am burdened with delivering shiurim” (metupal ani b’hagadas shiurim), to pass without correction:
“This term ‘tipul’ (burden/trouble), when appended to the delivery of shiurim, carries a scent of disparagement.”
The intent was never mere external mannerisms of etiquette, but an internal cognitive inculcation of the precious sanctity of Torah. The primary objective was the cultivation of hilchos de’os and chovos ha-levavos in an inner grasp of kavod ha-Torah; the practical observance of honor would follow as an inevitable result.
“We must know that our ancestors and our teachers were zocheh to attain what they attained in Torah solely out of their inner recognition of the awesome gravity of the crowning dot of a yud in the Torah.”
Likewise regarding shimush (personal service of a master), which is an integral component of kavod ha-rav, he placed the emphasis upon conduct born of conscious reflection and da’as, rather than hollow external motions:
“The obligation of a talmid to serve his rebbe, when realized in its proper form, requires that the one serving be a mensch, investing his entire human persona into the service of the rebbe. But an external bowing of the head, unmoored from the conscious intellect of man, is mere servility. The very essence of shimush is that precisely the ‘adam’ within him bows before his rebbe.”
Nor did he educate only his students toward this consciousness of kavod ha-Torah, but even the ba’alei batim of the yeshivah. Decades ago, when it came to his attention that guests at the yeshivah’s summer camp were receiving preferential treatment at the meals over the yeshivah bachurim, he declared with sharp displeasure that this constituted an outright bizayon talmidei chachamim. Merely because they are “just” bachurim, lomdei yeshivah, are they to be slighted?! What an indignity that in a yeshivishe camp, lomdei Torah should be so humiliated!
Yet with all the acute awareness within the walls of the yeshivah regarding the true tzuras talmid, and despite standing as the very exemplar of raising disciples in their ideal stature, he nonetheless scrupulously refrained from ever referring to any individual as his “talmid.” Among the myriad letters he penned to them, the title “talmidi” never appears, nor did it ever cross his lips when referring to one of them.
Even more so: we observed that whenever a certain student would telephone him, our rebbe would ask, “Who is speaking?”—even though he unquestionably recognized the voice. When asked to explain this conduct, he clarified that the student was accustomed to opening with the question, “Rebbe?” In order to avoid answering “Yes” to that query, he redirected the exchange to the question, “Who is speaking?”
I vividly recall how, upon returning from visiting one of his students who lay critically ill in the hospital—a disciple of extraordinary spiritual stature (ba’al madreigah)—having witnessed him and the vigilant shifts of help and encouragement maintained by his peers, he remarked:
“Men vert bay zikh gornisht... (One is reduced to nothing before this...) They are veritable angels... un zey rufn zikh noch talmidim?! To, vos zol men shoyn zogn?! (And they still refer to themselves as talmidim?! Then what is left for anyone to say?!)”
