Introduction
The life of Rebbetzin Rivkah Schneersohn spanned eight decades, from 1834 to 1914. For almost the entirety of that time she lived in the town of Lubavitch, the seat of Chabad-Chassidism for more than a century. As such, she personified a bridge of rich experience and memory that became all the more important amid the dislocations, challenges, and troubles suffered by Chabad in the decades following her passing. World War I broke out just six months after the ascent of her soul, and shortly thereafter her family left Lubavitch, never to return.
Rebbetzin Rivkah’s grandson, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn (1880-1950), became the sixth rebbe of Chabad in 1920, when traditional Jewish life was on the cusp of being trampled beneath the tyrannical boot of the new Communist regime. Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak often retold stories that he heard from his grandmother, including many anecdotes drawn from her own life, which wasn’t without loss, drama, and hardship. These reflections, recorded by his own hand or transcribed from his words by others over the course of many decades, are fragmentary and iterative. The same anecdote might appear in three or four different versions with varying details that are sometimes inconsistent. In the case of Rebbetzin Rivkah’s own life story, anecdotes and impressions can also be found in the memoirs of other individuals who knew her, especially in the later decades of her life when she presided as the dowager rebbetzin at the court of her son, Rabbi Shalom DovBer of Lubavitch (1860-1920). We can also corroborate and clarify some ambiguities based on historical manuscripts, letters and documents, which have either been published or preserved in archives.
The account that follows is primarily based on a manuscript drafted by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak in the autumn of 1915, less than a year after Rebbetzin Rivkah’s passing on the 10th of Shevat 5674 (1914). Though incomplete, it was evidently intended to be the first draft of a comprehensive biographical narrative. It begins with the story of her paternal grandfather, a disciple of the Alter Rebbe, founder of Chabad, and concludes with a detailed, yet unfinished, account of her final illness. It was published as a booklet in 2014 by Kehot, under the title Divrei Yemei Harabanit Rivkah, with extensive notes that often cite and excerpt other related sources. I have not attempted anything like a direct translation, but have rather used this booklet as my main source and guide for a new retelling. Often, I closely paraphrase Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s own words, but I also abbreviate, expand, embroider, and interpret his stories, utilizing material drawn from additional sources. Such supplemental material is referred to and discussed in the footnotes. Without ignoring unresolved questions and contradictions, my goal is to weave the available material into a single accessible narrative, along the lines originally set out by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak himself.
I - Young Buds
In the summer of 1826 a wedding was held in the Russian village of Lubavitch. The bride was Soreke (Chana Chaya Sarah), the youngest of six daughters born to the Mitteler Rebbe (Rabbi DovBer Shneuri, 1773-1827, the second Rebbe of Chabad) and his wife, Rebbetzin Sheina. The groom was Aharon, son of Chaim Moshe Alexandrov of Shklov.1
The groom’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had dedicated themselves to the new path of Torah and devotion paved by the bride’s grandfather, the Alter Rebbe (Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, 1745-1813), all the way back since the early days of Chabad’s emergence.2 Following the noble pattern set by his forebears, Reb Moshe Alexandrov combined great mercantile success with even greater dedication to Torah study and scholarship. The groom’s mother was Leah Golda, daughter of Rabbi Binyomin Broda of Grodno, whose great-grandfather had authored the Talmudic commentary Eshel Avraham and was himself a great-grandson of the Maharal of Prague.3 One of Leah Golda’s sisters married a grandson of Rabbi Yechezkal Landau, author of Nodah Beyehuda.4 Rabbi Akiva Eiger was a distant cousin.5
Leah Golda was a great woman in her own right. G‑d had gifted her with extraordinary understanding, and even the menfolk marveled at her resolute gravitas, depth, and piety. Her disposition was generous, and her serene equanimity prevented her from ever becoming angry or upset. Together with her husband, she raised her son to greatness.
The young groom, Rabbi Aharon, was already an accomplished scholar. He was not only knowledgeable, but also wise and handy, with a talent for engraving wood and signet rings. He was diligent and disciplined, pursuing his learning with the skill of a researcher and the subtlety of an analyst, treasuring his time and relinquishing little of it to sleep. His cheerful mood gave way to anger only when people complained gratuitously. Yet, for those who were indeed suffering, he was a balm, finding the right words to provide comfort and uncover the silver lining that hides even in the darkest cloud. Apparently, this was a quality he inherited from his mother, and it would stand him and his family in good stead in times to come.
It is said that some 3,000 guests arrived in Lubavitch for the great wedding of Soreke and Aharon. The bride’s father, the Mitteler Rebbe, delivered a lengthy maamar, beginning with a phrase from the traditional wedding blessings: “Rejoice, rejoice, loving friends!” He transcribed the maamar in his own hand, and the manuscript is preserved to this day in the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad, in Brooklyn, N.Y. At the top he inscribed the date and occasion: “15 Menachem Av, 5586, wedding of my daughter Sarah.”6
![Autograph transcript by the Mitteler Rebbe of the maamar he delivered at the wedding of his youngest daughter, the mother of Rebbetzin Rivkah. - The Library Of Agudas Chassidei Chabad, Ms. 1194, 141a [2:137].](https://w2.chabad.org/media/images/1262/oQmQ12623112.jpg?_i=_n504BC99DD0473598AAE3BCDC5D75568D "Autograph transcript by the Mitteler Rebbe of the maamar he delivered at the wedding of his youngest daughter, the mother of Rebbetzin Rivkah. - The Library Of Agudas Chassidei Chabad, Ms. 1194, 141a [2:137].")
The young couple settled in Lubavitch. There, Rabbi Aharon merited to study with his older brother-in-law, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, who would soon earn enduring renown as Chabad’s third rebbe, “the Tzemach Tzedek” (1789-1866). The Tzemach Tzedek was two decades older than Rabbi Aharon, yet he would outlive him by nearly 30 years. Later, the Rebbe would extol the agility and grace of his youngest brother-in-law’s learning: “When someone asked a question and an answer occurred to him, he would present it as a suggestion: ‘Perhaps it is possible to resolve the problem in the following way.’ Then he would present dazzling arguments, but all merely as possibilities. If his resolution was rejected he didn’t defend his position stubbornly, and would readily endorse the truth of a counter-argument presented. Indeed, he would examine and articulate arguments presented by his fellow with the same energy that he applied to those he came up with himself.”
The Mitteler Rebbe passed away at the age of 54, about 18 months after his youngest daughter’s marriage. Soon, the leading chassidim persuaded Rabbi Menachem Mendel to assume the mantle of leadership. After all, he had been a direct student of his illustrious grandfather, the Alter Rebbe, and had emerged both as an authoritative adjudicator of Jewish law and a magisterial transcriber, editor, and interpreter of Chabad’s already prolific literary and intellectual legacy. Over the next few years, he completed the first of two edited volumes that curated select maamarim by the Alter Rebbe according to the annual cycle of Torah readings and festivals.
This volume, the enduringly popular Torah Ohr, was published in 1836, and the first edition bears the imprint of Rabbi Aharon’s contribution. On the second title page we read that this work was “brought to the publishing house by the son-in-law of the great and famous rabbi, our master and teacher Rabbi DovBer, that is, his honor, our master and teacher Rabbi Aharon, son of our master and teacher Rabbi Chaim Moshe Alexander, may his light shine forth.”7 Moreover, the first page features an ornate woodcut floral frame for the opening word of the first maamar. We do not find this feature in other books printed in the same press during this period. As mentioned above, it is said that Rabbi Aharon was a talented engraver of wooden blocks and signet rings, so it’s possible that he personally created this artful floral design to decorate the volume whose publication he oversaw.
In the years following their marriage, Rabbi Aharon and Rebbetzin Soreke were blessed with three daughters and a son. The oldest, Tziviya Gittel, was born sometime in 1832 or 1833. The second, Rivkah, was born on the 10th of Cheshvan in 1834 (5595). They named their third girl Sterna, and their only son Shneur Zalman. These were good years. Rabbi Aharon’s father supplied them with all their material needs, freeing his son from the burden of livelihood and enabling him to devote himself entirely to study, prayer, and the wellbeing of his family. Living in Lubavitch, they were constantly enveloped in the life of the court, and the children had many cousins of varying ages to play with.
Each Shabbat afternoon, Soreke and her sisters, together with their younger children, would gather in the home of their mother, Rebbetzin Sheina. The adults would talk and all the children played together, boys and girls alike. The Tzemach Tzedek’s wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, would bring her youngest son, Shmuel, who was approximately six months older than his cousin Rivkah. The story is told that, when they were just three or four years old, Shmuel declared that Rivkah would be his bride and he would be her groom.
On another occasion, after Shabbat had ended, Reb Elya the Shamash brought a woven havdalah candle to be lit in the synagogue, marking the beginning of the new week. All the children gathered about him and accompanied him, much as the bride and groom are escorted by chaperones to the wedding canopy. Once the candle had been lit, Reb Elye handed it to young Shmuel, saying: “Here, take the candle and choose yourself a bride!” Shmuel took the candle and solemnly looked around at all his cousins. Finally he said: “I can’t find another as nice as Rivkah, Aunt Soreke’s daughter.” Of course, all the adults laughed at such childish fancies. But, as we shall see, Shmuel did not forget.8
II - The Winter of Life
In 1837 tragedy struck the Alexandrov family. Rabbi Aharon was one of four brothers, all of whom died prematurely. The oldest had passed away several years earlier, at the age of 24. Now the third brother, who was just 17 years old, became ill. His Talmudic prowess was legendary, and he had recently finished the entire Talmud for a second time. He was also deeply immersed in the study of Chassidism, and he died holding the recently published Torah Ohr in his hands. When his mother, Leah Golda, saw this, she turned to G‑d and said: “Blessed is the Omnipresent One who gave me the merit of bearing holy sons and pure souls, and blessed be He who gave me the merit to return them to Him in purity and in holiness.”
Her husband, Reb Moshe, was profoundly grieved by this loss. One of his friends decided to travel to Lubavitch to fetch the second Alexandrov son, Rabbi Aharon. His presence, it was hoped, would bring Reb Moshe some measure of comfort. When the Tzemach Tzedek heard of this, he protested: “What do you want from this precious young man?!” As noted above, the Rebbe would study together with Rabbi Aharon and treasured him very much. Nevertheless, Rabbi Aharon did make the journey to his childhood home in Shklov, and it was there that he died, in the presence of his parents. He hadn’t yet completed the 28th year of his life. Rivkah and her siblings were left without a father.9
Instead of the hoped-for comfort, more sorrow was heaped upon Reb Moshe’s sorrow. Leah Golda, for her part, retained her stoic composure and thanked G‑d for the great honor of having a son who was chosen to be the son-in-law of the Rebbe: “Just as that good came by the hand of G‑d, so did this tragedy come by the hand of G‑d. He is our Father, and He will do what is good in His eyes.” Only later, when the last of her children died, did she allow her grief to show. “Now,” she said, “the time has come for me to offer up the after-blessing,” and tears began to flow from her eyes.
Rabbi Aharon’s widow, Soreke the daughter of the Mitteler Rebbe, was still a young woman when she lost her husband. Her heart ailed mightily and she began to neglect herself. When her mother-in-law saw the state she was in, her kerchief askew and her clothing disheveled, pain and desolation in her eyes, she spoke to her gently but firmly: “My daughter, what’s with you?! You mustn’t allow your heart to be entirely consumed. You’re still young, you have yet a whole world to see!”10
These words shook Rebbetzin Soreke from the haze of mourning and eased the anguish in her soul. For approximately six years she stayed in Lubavitch with her children, living under her mother’s roof. The family fund, administered by the Tzemach Tzedek, allocated her a stipend and she continued to receive support from her in-laws too. On several occasions, she traveled with her children to Shklov so that they could spend time with their grandparents.
In 1843, when Rebbetzin Soreke was 31 years old, she accepted a proposal to marry her first cousin, Rabbi Aharon of Kremenchug. He was the son of the Alter Rebbe’s oldest daughter, Rebbetzin Freida. Previously, he had been married to Chaya, the daughter of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, but now he was a widower. By this time, Rivkah was about nine years old. Her sister, Tziviya Gittel, recalled that when they were preparing to relocate from Lubavitch for Kremenchug, their young cousin Shmuel protested, demanding that Rivkah stay behind. But his objection was to no avail.11
Initially, their life in Kremenchug wasn’t bad. Rivkah remembered Rabbi Aharon of Kremenchug as a man of tremendous stature and spirit, with a kindly and smiling disposition. He was especially renowned for the depth of his contemplation during prayer. Wrapped in his tallit, and adorned with tefillin, he would enter entirely into the spiritual realm of the soul, completely losing contact with the physical realm outside. Later, Rivkah would recall that a fire once broke out in their home, while he was praying alone in his study. They could hear his delicately melodious voice, but the door was locked. For all they pounded on it to alert him, he remained completely unaware of what was happening. In the end, the door was broken open and he was removed from the house through a window. Throughout all of this, he remained oblivious. When he completed his prayer he was surprised that somehow, for some reason, he was no longer in his study.
Rebbetzin Soreke bore her new husband two children, a boy and a girl, but neither of them survived infancy. Soon, she herself became severely ill. Despite all her prayers, and the prayers of her young children, and despite all the efforts of the doctors who were consulted, her health and strength gradually drained away. Their mother’s illness had a profound impact on her children, especially the two older girls. Tziviya Gittel was consumed with such worry that she came to express herself only in tears, not in words. Rivkah, who was then about eleven years old, would constantly ask: “Is mother better yet?” Unfortunately, the answer was never yes.
During the last two weeks of her life, Rebbetzin Soreke said that she had already ascended within the world of truth, and she pleaded aloud with the souls of her saintly forebears, asking them to have mercy upon her children. With closed eyes, she would speak aloud to her father, the Mitteler Rebbe, and to her grandfather, the Alter Rebbe. But her words also revealed her deep sense of hopelessness and abandonment: “Why,” she pleaded, “does no one pay heed to my poor orphaned children?” On the 10th of Adar, in the year 1846, Rebbetzin Soreke’s soul left her body, and she was laid to rest in Kremenchug.
The death of their mother fell with the force of a double blow on her children, who were now left without either of their parents. They stayed in Kremenchug till after Pesach, and then journeyed to the home of their grandparents in Shklov. Their paternal grandmother, Leah Golda, cared for them over the course of several months, and then they returned to Lubavitch, to the house of their maternal grandmother, Rebbetzin Sheina.
Tziviya Gittel and Rivkah had many good memories of their early childhood in Lubavitch, and they had only been away for a few years. But the return was more bitter than sweet. Back in those happy days, they had always been well taken care of. They had been nourished by the love shown to them by their father and mother, and lacked for nothing materially either. But now things were very different. Rebbetzin Sheina ran a very modest household, as did all the other members of the extended Schneuri and Schneersohn families. Even in the Tzemach Tzedek’s own home everything was simple, even minimal. They ate black bread, and milled the flour themselves. The furniture was all constructed of plain, unpainted, wood. Even in Kremenchug the Alexandrov children had eaten better, for that city is located in Ukraine, the breadbasket of Europe, where white bread was the norm.
Amid all the excitement of the court, the young orphans felt alone and adrift, rather than at home. What was once comforting and familiar now felt strange and unsettling. They felt invisible, bereft, as if there was nothing left for them but to be pitied. The two older sisters took care of their younger siblings, helped with all the household chores, and took comfort in the love shown to them by their grandmother. They were lonely and often sad, but their hearts could harbor neither hatred nor jealousy.
“In those days,” Rivkah would later remember, “I often pined greatly for a motherly caress. Sometimes I felt as if this longing would swallow up even the innermost point within my heart. On the other hand, I would tell myself, ‘Clearly, this is what G‑d wants, and somehow it will all be made right.’ On several occasions, my mother appeared to me in a dream. She caressed my head and said, ‘Set your hopes upon G‑d, and He will be your aid.’ I would try to subdue and forget all thoughts of despair. But I knew very well that our situation was pitiful.”
All the tragedy and hardship she endured took its toll. Though she tried to hide the distress in her soul, Rivkah’s beautiful face and lustrous eyes were beclouded.12
III - A Time of Turmoil
In the late 1840s a tumultuous drama unfolded in Lubavitch. It began with rivalrous excitement and intrigue, and it ended in calamity.
By now, all the Tzemach Tzedek’s children were married, except for his youngest son, Shmuel. His older brothers already had grown daughters, and two of them were vying to make him their son-in-law. Everyone knew how dearly the Tzemach Tzedek loved the son born to him in the mature period of his life, at a time when his leadership and authority were already well established. Everyone also knew that young Shmuel was unusually talented. Beneath his charismatic and mischievous demeanor, which endeared him to everyone, he hid a serious and sensitive soul. All of Lubavitch was abuzz with speculation and anticipation: Who would become his bride?
In truth, the prospective groom did not want to marry either of his nieces.13 This wasn’t due to any fault he found in them as individuals, but apparently for a personal reason that remained hidden in his heart. He was also bothered by all the competitiveness that his older brothers displayed. His father pointed to the “commandment of the sages,” codified by Maimonides: In choosing a bride one should give preference to “the daughter of one’s sister, or the daughter of one’s brother.”14 The prospective groom countered that Maimonides also codified another commandment of the sages: “A man should not privilege one son over another during his lifetime, even with something insignificant, so that they shall not come to rivalry and jealousy as the brothers of Joseph did with Joseph.”15
This triggered a learned debate ranging across the Talmudic corpus, including the earlier and later commentaries and codifiers of halachah. Eventually, the Tzemach Tzedek summarized the various arguments and counter-arguments in a letter addressed to Rabbi Nechemiah Ginzberg of Dubrovno (1788-1852), one of the foremost pupils of the Alter Rebbe and a renowned adjudicator of Jewish law. Rabbi Nechemia responded with a lengthy and learned dissertation designed to neutralize the arguments of the son in favor of the arguments set forth by the father. This is not the time or the place to enter into all the complicated details of this response, but all who wish to study the issue themselves can find it in Shut Divrei Nechemiah, published in Vilna in 1866.16
One of the competing brothers acquired for his daughter a pearled headdress, valued at 1,200 silver rubles, and his father-in-law offered a dowry of 5,000 rubles to be paid in gold. Two matching donations, of equal value, were also pledged: One to the fund for chassidim living in the Holy Land, the second to domestic communal charities. This generosity seems to have swayed the Tzemach Tzedek, and he eventually chose his granddaughter Sterna, daughter of his son, Rabbi Chaim Shneur Zalman (1814-1880), as a bride for his youngest son, Rabbi Shmuel, who was only just entering his teens.17
The wedding was held in the spring of 1848, with much splendorous finery and celebratory excitement. Thousands of chassidim were in attendance. Beneath the wedding canopy, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, the mother of the groom, said to her son, the father of the bride, “mechutan (in-law), come here!” and kissed him on the forehead.18
But all the joy was premature. Before the week was over the bride took ill. As her sickness dragged on and intensified, the groom suffered bitterly. He withdrew from his new in-laws’ household and returned to his parents’ home. Sterna never arose from her sickbed and died after about three months. Her cousin, who had been her rival for Rabbi Shmuel’s hand, married someone else, but she too fell ill and died within a short time.19
The double calamity weighed heavily on the Tzemach Tzedek, and on all members of the extended family. Rabbi Shmuel, for his part, secluded himself in a room adjacent to his father’s study and immersed himself entirely in Torah learning. His father gave him treasured manuscripts, containing writings and teachings by the Alter Rebbe, which he had never shared with anyone else. “At any time that you want to talk,” he told his son, “my door is open to you. Don’t hesitate to interrupt me.” As if to empty his mind of all other thoughts and regrets, Rabbi Shmuel studied so hard that his head began to ache. He was forced to slow down and rest, and for about two months spent only four or five hours a day learning. In his heart, he came to understand that the calamity was not his, because the bride had not been his.20
If there is one thing that heals loss and sorrow, it is time. And so time was allowed to pass. The question of who Rabbi Shmuel would marry was left aside, and life in Lubavitch gradually returned to normal.
IV - Making the Match
Two years went by. Rabbi Shmuel remained in his father’s house. Rivkah and her siblings remained in the house of their grandmother, Rebbetzin Sheina, the widow of the Mittler Rebbe. One day, Rebbetzin Sheina visited her son-in-law, the Tzemach Tzedek, and said to him: “Hasn’t the time arrived for you to marry off your youngest son? He was hardly married, and yet he has long been a widower.”
“Indeed,” responded the Rebbe, “we are now looking into an honorable prospect from a worthy family in Lyepyel. They have offered a dowry of 30,000 silver rubles.” In fact, this was only one of several possibilities that had already been explored. But when all the offers had been made, and all the conditions negotiated, nothing came of any of these efforts. Somehow, various obstacles or incidents always seemed to arise, and all the talk was for naught.
Said the Rebbetzin to her son-in-law: “Are you indeed waiting to find the right match, or are you actually in search of funds? If you will take my advice, you will choose one of the daughters of my son-in-law, Rabbi Aharon, may his memory be a blessing, who have lived in my home since the sorry death of their mother, the youngest of my daughters.”
“But what of the dowry? Who will support the young couple?”
“A dowry?! I will give the bride my share in the family fund. More importantly, my status as ‘the wife of a sage’ will be gifted to her. And, as you know, the Talmud rules that ‘the wife of a sage is like a sage’ (Shevu’ot, 30b).”
When the Tzemach Tzedek heard this, he asked the Rebbetzin to wait while he assembled a small group of visiting Chassidim, who would bear witness to their agreement and formalize it. When they arrived, he asked her to repeat her commitment to transfer her status as “the wife of a sage” to the granddaughter who would become Rabbi Shmuel’s bride. She did so, and the two parties each raised a handkerchief as a transactional gesture to seal their agreement.21
But one question remained: Among Rabbi Aharon’s daughters, two were of marriageable age—Tziviya Gittel and Rivkah, 16 and 15 years old respectively. Although Tziviya Gittel was the elder, the assembled family members remembered how Rivkah and Shmuel had played together as young children, pledging that they would one day become bride and groom. Although they had laughed about it back then, now they began to think that it wasn’t merely a childish joke. Perhaps the failure to honor that early promise had been the cause of the previous calamities.
For several weeks, or perhaps months, the question was left open. No one was quite sure what to do, and the agreement between the Rebbe and his mother-in-law was kept a secret from all but the innermost circle and the few guests who had witnessed it. Rabbi Shmuel himself knew nothing of it. One day, while he was immersed in study, his father entered the room and asked if he recalled what had passed between him and Rivkah when they were young children. “Yes,” he responded, “I remember it well.”
A few days later, his father entered his room again and asked him: “What would you say if I considered arranging a match between you and one of the daughters of your Aunt Soreke, either the elder or the younger?”
Said Rabbi Shmuel: “If a match has not already been arranged for the younger, and if she would desire to make a match with me, that would be a possibility.”22
The Tzemach Tzedek conferred with three confidants, including the local rabbinic judge, Rabbi Avraham. Once they had carefully considered everything relevant to the question at hand, they decided that it was indeed fitting that Rivkah should be Rabbi Shmuel’s bride, but not at the cost of embarrassing Tziviya Gittel.
This decision was reached on Thursday, the 2nd of Nissan, in the year 1850. On that same day, Tziviya was informed by her grandmother that the Tzemach Tzedek wanted to take either her or her sister as a bride for Rabbi Shmuel, and a messenger soon arrived asking her to come to the house of the Rebbe. When she arrived, the Tzemach Tzedek explained all the deliberations that had taken place over the last few weeks and months, and that they felt it was proper that her younger sister, Rivkah, should become Rabbi Shmuel’s prospective bride.
“If you are willing to give your approval,” the Rebbe told her, “I will treat you as a father treats his daughter, and I will seek out a suitable match for you as well. But I want to be sure that you agree to the proposed match for your sister, and that you won’t hold any grudge against her.”23
Tziviya Gittel gave her approval whole-heartedly, recognizing that this was indeed the correct path, and rejoicing over her sister’s good fortune. That very evening she brought her sister to the Rebbe’s home to celebrate the announcement of her engagement. The Tzemach Tzedek himself greeted the two sisters. As they entered his study, he rose and walked towards them, bearing a ring and brooch encrusted with pearls as gifts prepared for the new bride. For a moment, he stood still in front of the two Alexandrov girls. Tziviya Gittel whispered to her sister, “Rivkah, take a step closer.” Rivkah stepped forward and received the gifts from the Rebbe’s hand. Then Rebbetzin Sheina greeted her too, bestowing blessing upon the groom and bride, both of whom were her grandchildren: “In my name, and the name of my illustrious husband, whose sainted memory is a blessing, may it be G‑d’s will that this union be an everlasting one, bearing fruit that sustains the entire world with holiness.”
The sister of the bride, Tziviya Gittel, turned to the Tzemach Tzedek, who was her uncle as well as the father of the groom, and wished him mazal tov. Then she said to him: “Certainly, on our side we have made a nice match. If our father were still alive, he couldn’t have made such a match even if he had pledged tens of thousands as a dowry. Yet, it is you who have made the better match! I do not speak of our pedigree going back to the Eshel Avraham, and all our other holy ancestors. You already have enough pedigree of your own. What I mean is this: We have acquired you as our in-law, but you have acquired the Father of Orphans as your in-law! May He too bless the couple with mazal tov.”
The Tzemach Tzedek was very taken by the wisdom and warmth displayed by Tziviya Gittel. “If only I had another son to marry off,” he said, “I would make another match with you!”24
Everyone was in high spirits, not least the Tzemach Tzedek himself. There was a feeling that after all the difficulties and challenges, everything had now fallen into place, precisely as it was meant to be from the beginning. Many chassidim crowded into the room, including the famed Rabbi Hillel HaLevi Malisov of Paritch (1795-1864), to wish the Rebbe mazel tov and to participate in his joy.25
Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, but the Maariv prayer had not yet been recited. It’s a general rule that one shouldn’t eat or drink before prayer, but Reb Hillel understood that the Tzemach Tzedek wanted the celebration to be complete, and it wouldn’t be complete without food and drink. Although he wouldn’t usually offer his scholarly opinion without the Rebbe inviting it, he was carried away by the moment and started listing the reasons why these exceptional circumstances would undo the prohibition against eating and drinking:
“First, Maariv has no fixed time … ”26
The Rebbe gave Reb Hillel a sharp look.
“... Second, we are many [and can therefore remind one another].”27
The Rebbe interrupted: “Those two reasons are but a single reason, and that is sufficient.” What exactly this cryptic retort meant would later be debated by the young scholars in the Rebbe’s study hall, wildly turning pages and waving their thumbs passionately. At that moment, however, Reb Hillel didn’t even pause. He carried right on:
“... Third, this prohibition is but a protective boundary [to ensure Maariv isn’t missed], and, as the Alter Rebbe taught, joy breaks boundaries!”28
“Good!” exclaimed the Tzemach Tzedek. He filled a glass with akvavit29 and raised it in his right hand. “All who drink with me and are worthy of it shall merit to be with me not only in my place here and now, but also in my place in the World-to-Come!”30
That night, the Rebbe delivered a new maamar in the presence of all who had gathered. He began with a reference to G‑d, which is customarily inscribed at the head of an engagement contract: “The one who, from the beginning, foretells the end.”31 The maamar was transcribed by Reb Hillel, but to this day it remains in manuscript and has yet to be published in a printed book. For that reason, it is all the more fitting that we at least paraphrase the central point here:
G‑d extends from the highest beginning of cosmic existence to its lowest end. Yet G‑d also transcends all beginnings to the very same degree that He transcends all ends. This means that G‑d transcends the cosmos infinitely, and as such there is no difference between the beginning and the end.
But if G‑d is not bound either by beginnings or by ends, why should He foretell the end at the beginning? Surely no beginning and no end can hold any meaning or interest for the utter transcendence of G‑d’s essential self?
But, actually, the contrary is true. The ultimate desire of G‑d is that the transcendence of all beginnings and all ends should be manifest in the beginning and the end alike. This is the inner purpose of the Torah and the mitzvot, through which the physical world is transformed into a beacon of infinite illumination. Such a revelation of G‑d’s true infinitude within the finite world comes about precisely in a situation like this, when the end is foretold from the beginning.32
V - The Wedding
The next morning preparations immediately began for the wedding. Tziviya Gittel oversaw all the arrangements as the representative of the family of the bride, and personally stitched linens and gowns for her sister’s trousseau. She received funds to cover all the expenses from the Tzemach Tzedek’s family fund, as the Alexandrov children had nothing of their own.
Word was sent, and the grandparents, Reb Moshe and Leah Golda, arrived from Shklov to participate in the joyous celebration.33 The loss of their children had taken its toll on Reb Moshe. His once tall figure was now bent with age and sorrow, and he no longer had the strength to make the arduous trips to the trade fairs as he had in the past. His former wealth was depleted, but he and his wife could still live respectably, and they had set aside money to provide modest dowries for each of their granddaughters. When Reb Moshe stepped down from the wagon in Lubavitch, he set his cane upon the ground and straightened his back. Above his long white beard, his eyes were dark and wet. When he greeted his granddaughter, Rivka the bride, he allowed himself a smile.
When the wedding day arrived, all of Lubavitch was abuzz. Rebbetzin Sheina, who was the grandmother of both the bride and the groom, oversaw the preparation of the wedding feast. The kitchen was in a frenzy. Local women and guests were peeling, chopping, cutting, stirring, mixing, kneading, baking, and cooking. Rebbetzin Sheina stood in the midst of it all when suddenly the groom appeared. He walked amid the chaos calmly and erectly, in his silk coat and sash, and with a tall fur cap upon his head. “Grandmother,” he said, “I have come to ask you for your blessing before I go to the wedding canopy.”
“Shmulke!” she exclaimed, “the kitchen is no place for a groom! Away with you!”
The groom left. But within half an hour he was back, accompanied by several elderly chassidim.
Seeing this, the Rebbetzin walked towards her grandson, inquiry spreading over her serene face. “Forgive me,” he said to her, “but my father commanded that I return and remind you of the commitment you made prior to our engagement. Please bless me.”
Rebbetzin Sheina stood still and silent for a long moment. All the hubbub around her stopped, all the women raised their heads from the tasks they were busy with. All eyes turned to the Rebbetzin. She turned to a woman beside her: “Please,” her voice was low, almost inaudible, “bring me a jug of water and a basin so that I can wash my hands.” Water was brought and she thrice washed each hand, as one does before eating bread. She dried her hands and placed them on her grandson’s head. She closed her eyes, and now spoke in a voice that was still soft, but loud and clear as a bell ringing out across the fields: “All the qualities and capacities that I inherited from my husband are hereby bestowed upon you. Your bride, Rebbetzin Rivkah, shall be ‘the wife of a sage, who is like a sage,’ and you, Rabbi Shmuel, shall be a sage.”
When the Tzemach Tzedek heard the report of the blessing conferred upon the head of his son, his satisfaction was evident. “Now,” he said, “now you are ready to stand beneath the wedding canopy.”34
The bride and groom were escorted to the wedding canopy by the Tzemach Tzedek and Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka from the groom’s side, and by Reb Moshe and Leah Golda from the bride’s side. Rebbetzin Sheina joined the escort too, as grandmother of both the bride and the groom.
The Tzemach Tzedek’s face was aglow with transcendent light; a soft smile graced his lips and his eyes were lowered, perhaps closed. Reb Moshe’s face, on the other hand, was pale. His brow was deeply furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together, as if trying to hold in the flood of conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm him entirely. He was filled with pain that his dear son, Rabbi Aharon, had not lived to see this day. He was filled with anguish that his granddaughter, Rivkah, couldn’t hold her mother’s hand as she circled her groom. He was filled with sadness that none of his sons were present to dance in a circle with the Rebbe in the midst of the crowds of chassidim. And yet! And yet! He fought to push away the fantasy of what could have been, and to make space for the blessings that were now flowing down upon the future lives of the wedding couple.
Even after the seventh blessing had been recited, after the glass had been smashed underfoot, after the mass of onlookers thundered “mazal tov” and the fiddlers started a lively dance tune, even then the sweet joy remained buried, hidden in his heart. He stood erect, unmoving, utterly sober, amid all the noisy jubilation.
Leah Golda was also filled with memories, but in her heart there was no room for sadness. She radiated a joy so pure that it washed away all the pain she had so stoically sustained. To stand beneath the wedding canopy beside her granddaughter, Rivkah the bride, flanked by the Rebbe, the Rebbetzins, and their noble sons and daughters, was to collapse the passage of time. She remembered the wedding of her son, Rabbi Aharon, to Rebbetzin Soreke, where they stood together with the Mitteler Rebbe amid many seasoned chassidim who had yet been disciples of the Alter Rebbe himself.
Past and present ran together, and, with a surge of gratitude to G‑d, Leah Golda knew that her son and daughter-in-law were celebrating together with her now too, beneath the wedding canopy of their daughter. Indeed, the Alter Rebbe himself was here, together with her father, Rabbi Binyomin Broda of Grodno, with the Eshel Avraham, and the Maharal, and all the holy ancestors through all the generations.
Leah Golda looked at her husband and saw that he couldn’t return her smile. “Moshe! I don’t understand you. Aren’t you glad that G‑d has not abandoned the children of our beloved Aharon? Are you upset that you’ve merited to accompany our darling Rivkah on the day of her joy? Please, find the presence of mind to be thankful at last!”35
VI - Like a Rose in Spring
The unease that had marked Rivkah’s early teens now evaporated. After the happy years of her infancy, which she hardly remembered, her life had been marked by loss, dislocation, and impoverishment. But now her life was transformed, the cloud of misery lifted from her face and she began to bloom like a rose in the spring.
Her new husband had once been her playmate, and now she rediscovered the delight of those early years. He raised her up, took her under his wing, and she found him to be a wonderful companion, combining the innocence of a youth with the wisdom of an elder. She devoted all her heart to her husband, and sought to preemptively satisfy all his needs. The enormous gratitude she felt toward her in-laws inspired her with an instinctual sense of loyalty and deference. There was nothing that she wouldn’t do to bring more ease and pleasure to the Tzemach Tzedek and his wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka.
Before, there had been few opportunities for her inner beauty to shine. Now, she underwent a complete transformation, like a bud whose petals are overnight unfurled. The change was total, extending even to the most extraneous details of her bearing and habit, and it happened all at once. Adjustments that would have required a huge effort to achieve under ordinary circumstances now unfolded almost automatically.
Many years later, Rebbetzin Rivkah would recall that as a child she had always preferred to use her left hand to eat, rather than her right hand. But after her marriage, she was seated to the right of her mother-in-law at meal times. If she would use her left hand to eat, she realized, her elbow might intrude into the space allocated by etiquette to her mother-in-law. So she habituated herself to eating with her right hand. Overcoming an inborn left-handness does not usually come easily, but in this case it did. She came to privilege her right hand, not only for eating, but for all other tasks, as if she had always been right-handed. Even in her final years, it was her right hand that she used more than her left.
Previously, she had been at the periphery of the Rebbe’s court. But now she was at its center. While most of the Tzemach Tzedek’s older sons still lived in Lubavitch, they had established households of their own, and even cultivated their own circles of disciples. Rabbi Shmuel and Rebbetzin Rivkah, by contrast, remained part of the Rebbe’s household for several years after their marriage, and they were treated with special distinction.
This was an era of grace and peace for Rebbetzin Rivkah. Freed from economic and social anxieties, she began to thrive spiritually as well as physically. Just as her husband’s stature began to ascend above that of all his brothers, so did her stature and sweet spirit ascend from height to wondrous height. His nobility and charisma emanated upon her, embellishing her inborn goodness, and further nurturing her developing character. He provided her with funds to spend as she saw fit, and she was able to support her sisters and brother unstintingly.
Whenever she heard of someone in need, she saw to it that they received aid. But she did so confidentially, without meddling, often using her husband as an intermediary so that no one would know of her involvement.
Rebbetzin Rivkah’s refined soul and pure spirit radiated upon her lovely face. Even in old age, she was distinguished by her indescribably elegant appearance. All the more so did her beauty shine at that time, when she was a newlywed. She was like a blooming rose anointed with fresh dew, which sparkles when the sun alights upon it in the morning.
As a young orphan, bereft of a father of flesh and blood, she had always felt a special bond with her Father in Heaven; she had always been diligent in saying the morning blessings, and prayerfully reading Tehillim. In all the difficulty and sorrow she endured, the poetic pleadings of King David gave her words, comfort, and hope. Yet, by the same token, her education had largely been neglected. True, she could understand many of the words that she read in the siddur or chumash, yet her religious world remained that of a naive and unlearned child. Now, however, her husband became her teacher. As she would later recall: “He would teach me just as one teaches a young student. I would hang on to his every word and never second-guess him. For me, the words he spoke were revelatory. His tutelage set the ideals by which I would strive to live.”
And so it was that Rebbetzin Rivkah grew into a wise young woman. She was as generous as she was dependable, and as precocious as she was discreet. She was ever alert to the needs of others, and ever sincere in her loyalty and gratitude. So it was little wonder that her in-laws came to treasure her company and to depend on her more and more.36
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