Have you ever actually held history in your hand?
Most countries and cultures have a particular fascination with mementos from their past. The Irish have the Blarney Stone, the Russians have Red Square and Lenin’s Tomb, and the Chinese have the Great Wall and Forbidden City. America, though its lifespan is much shorter than European or Asian countries, also reserves special honor for artifacts that echo its beginnings. The Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Liberty Bell still evoke strong patriotic feelings.
In the same vein, individual objects that connect to great moments or great people can also carry intense power and meaning. Imagine playing a concert piece on the same piano that Beethoven used to compose his Symphony No. 9, or using the brush that Leonardo da Vinci employed for the Mona Lisa, or swinging the bat Babe Ruth used to hit his called shot. Simply seeing or touching these iconic items becomes an unforgettable moment.
In Israel, the simultaneous ancient and modern miracle, we have our own unique touchstones. There is the Shrine of the Book, holding the Dead Sea Scrolls that date back to the 3rd century BCE, and numerous other historical sites, such as Herod’s Masada or countless synagogues throughout the country that go back 2,000 years. And while we (as of yet) have none of the actual objects from the Beit Hamikdash, we do have the Kotel – also built by Herod – that surrounded the Temple. Still one of the most-visited sites in the world, the Western Wall delivers a rush of spiritual energy to all who approach it. The Kotel transports us to a moment that transcends time, as it uniquely occupies the past, present, and future all at once.
The Kiddush cup of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev
This past week I was sent on a very special mission. Our great-niece (she really is great!) Esti was marrying Eli, a wonderful young man who is a descendant of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. Rav Levi, born in 1740, was the 26th generation in a dynasty of great rabbis and became one of the founders of Hassidism, after the Baal Shem Tov and the Maggid of Mezeritch. He was so passionate about serving God that he was known to jump up on the table while praying to express his joy and exuberance.
He was called the “Defender of the People,” due to his fierce advocacy for all Jews, regardless of their religious orientation. He once said, “If, after I pass away, I have the option of being alone in paradise or to go to purgatory but there to be in the company of other Jews, I would certainly choose the latter. All that matters is that I’m together with my people!”
Levi Yitzchak sought to use his influence to intervene with the Almighty on our behalf, and he acted boldly, as evidenced by this story: When Rosh Hashanah fell on Shabbat (as it does this year), Rav Levi went to the front of the synagogue to lead the congregation in prayer. But before beginning, he looked heavenward and said: “God, today is Shabbat. You taught us in Your holy Torah that the Shabbat may only be broken for matters of pikuach nefesh [in order to save a life]. I demand that You keep the laws which You gave us. Since writing is a prohibited act on Shabbat, You have no right to record anybody in the Book of Death. You are allowed only to record all of mankind in the Book of Life!”
The Beit Knesset of the Kedushat Levi (the name of his famous book, by which he is often called) still stands in Berdichev, in Ukraine; it is visited by throngs of Hassidim, and a minyan is still sustained there.
Rav Levi passed away in 1809, and his Kiddush cup has been passed down through the generations for more than two centuries. It remains within the family and is often used at ritual ceremonies of the relatives. It is a special and holy moment when the chatan and kallah drink from it beneath the chuppah, or the baby at his brit milah takes his first sip of wine from that cup. Guests at a simcha where the cup is used wait in line after the ceremony to say a blessing from this venerable Kos Shel Bracha (cup of blessing).
The Berditchever’s eighth-generation granddaughter, Mindy – who, God willing, will be married next week and drink from the cup – sums up its uniqueness:
“This cup is more than an heirloom because its value is not exclusively familial. The handmade kos is not remarkable at first glance. Like many others, it is silver, with flowers carved out on its sides, but it is he that owned the cup that gives it its priceless value. This goblet is brimming not only with wine but also with the rich and finely aged legacy of its saintly first owner.”
Through the years, the cup has traveled through many countries, and many legendary stories are told about it. In 1944, Levi Yitzchak Maged decided to leave Europe and come to Palestine with his family. He asked permission from his mother, Raizel Zlatah – who was then the “keeper of the cup” – to take the cup with him so that he might be protected from above on his journey. His mother demurred, and so Levi Yitzchak departed without the kos.
But as the Mageds boarded the train in Budapest for Israel, they looked out the window and saw their mother rushing toward the train. She handed them the cup through the window and told them to take it. A few months later, Raizel was tragically deported to Auschwitz and murdered. Had the cup remained with her, it would have been lost forever.
And so, when my dear friend Moish, grandfather of the chatan, asked me to bring the cup to the wedding, I was deeply excited yet fearful at the very same time. What a z’chut, what a privilege! But also, what a responsibility.
I was literally holding history in my hands, and I trembled at the thought of anything going amiss. My wife, Susie, was worried, even scared. “This world is crazy!” she said. “Who knows what could happen?”
But, of course, I could not refuse, and I took the enviable task upon myself. I felt a personal connection to Levi Yitzchak, as he was born in Zamosc, Poland, the birthplace of my Bubbie. I lived with her while growing up, and she was a major influence in my life. And so, in a sense, I felt we are lantzmen (countrymen)!
I picked the cup up from the family where it currently “lives.” They graciously sent it on after I solemnly promised that I would not let the kos out of my sight until that precious moment when the young couple drank from it. Watching these wonderful young people begin their lives together, I was overwhelmed with the realization that we are truly an eternal people.
We live on through our families, our traditions, our heroes and heroines, our amazing role models, our shared history, and, most of all, our unbreakable bond with God, who sees us through the twisted and tenacious tunnel of time.
The Jewish people, in Israel and throughout the world, are being tested now as never before. We desperately need these connectors. We need to strengthen the ties we have with one another and become like the holy Berditchever – not critics and adversaries, but defenders and advocates of each other.
To be sure, that will necessitate a lessening of our hubris and a heightening of our humility. But if we succeed in that task, challenging as it may be, we will merit to drink from the cup of blessing.
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com