The word “zealot” usually makes us uncomfortable. We picture someone angry, extreme, and impossible to talk to. But this week’s parshah introduces us to a very different kind of zealot — one whose passion came from love.
Operation Escape
We are all familiar with unions—workers’ committees and labor organizations. In Israel, for example, the doctors’ union has, at times, shut down hospitals across the country for long periods.
In 1953, Rabbi Zalman Kazen, of blessed memory, arrived in Cleveland. He wanted to work in the field of shechitah, kosher slaughter. But to his surprise, he discovered that Cleveland already had a very strong and firmly established union of shochtim.
At that time, the demand for kosher meat was declining. The market was shrinking, and the local shochtim were worried about their livelihood. They were not eager to allow another shochet into a market that was already getting smaller.
There was one shochet, however, who fought on Rabbi Kazen’s behalf, until he was finally accepted into the union.
Interestingly, years later, Rabbi Kazen became the only—and the last—shochet still slaughtering kosher meat in Cleveland. Since the time he stopped, there has been no local kosher slaughter in Cleveland, and all kosher meat has had to be brought in from outside the city.
I want to share with you a story that Rabbi Kazen told me.
Right after World War II, an agreement was signed between Russia and Poland. Polish citizens who had fled to Russia during the war were allowed to leave Russia and return to Poland, their country of origin.
At that time, Russia was under Communist rule. Religion was effectively outlawed. Anyone caught teaching Torah, performing kosher slaughter, arranging a bris, or engaging in other religious activities could be sentenced to decades in labor camps in Siberia.
No ordinary person could leave the borders of Russia. In reality, the entire Soviet Union was one enormous prison.
Chabad chasidim, who had risked their lives to keep the flame of Judaism alive in Russia, suffered terribly, together with their families. Whether it was Shabbos, kashrus, sukkah, or any other mitzvah, every aspect of Jewish life demanded courage and sacrifice.
When Chabad chasidim heard about this agreement, and realized that Polish citizens were being allowed to leave Russia, they saw a narrow opening. They decided to use the opportunity. They would obtain false Polish passports and leave Russia as Polish citizens.
Of course, under the brutal rule of Stalin, this was a frightening and very real danger.
The fear people lived with then was not theoretical. It was deep, constant, and terrifying. Today, thank G-d, living in free countries, it is hard for us to fully understand that kind of fear.
The entire operation had to be kept in absolute secrecy. Beyond that, there was the practical challenge of bribing various officials to issue the false passports, and bribing border guards not to examine everything too carefully. After all, the names and photos did not always match perfectly.
There were countless details that had to be worked out in a very short amount of time.
But in the end, hundreds of Chabad families managed to cross the borders of Russia and escape to freedom.
A Loan Returned—with Interest
In those days, the chasidim needed a great deal of money to carry out this complicated operation of escaping across the border.
A well-known chasid by the name of Reb Mendel Futerfas, who was one of the organizers of the escape, approached Rabbi Kazen and asked him for a loan to help fund the operation. He promised that once the Chabad chasidim succeeded in leaving Russia and eventually reached America, they would repay the money.
Rabbi Kazen agreed, and he lent him $955—an enormous sum of money in the Soviet Union at that time.
At the same time, Rabbi Kazen asked Reb Mendel to give him a written note confirming the loan. Reb Mendel tore a piece of paper from a newspaper lying on the table and wrote that he acknowledged receiving a loan of $500 from Rabbi Kazen, and he signed his name.
Rabbi Kazen, his wife, and their children left Russia with false passports, and after many difficulties, eventually made it to the United States.
But Reb Mendel Futerfas did not manage to leave Russia at that time. He stayed behind, trying to save as many Jews as possible. Eventually, he was caught by the Soviet secret police and spent many years in prison.
In 1965, Reb Mendel finally left Russia. About ten years later, he came to Cleveland to raise money for Russian Jews. Naturally, he was happy to meet his old friend, Rabbi Kazen.
During their meeting, Rabbi Kazen took out a wrinkled piece of paper and said to Reb Mendel, “Do you remember that thirty years ago, in Russia, I lent you $500—and I still never got it back?”
Reb Mendel remembered the story well. He responded, “If I could have, I would have borrowed a thousand dollars from you then—because with that money, we could have saved even more Jews.”
And with that, the conversation ended.
Another year passed, and Reb Mendel came once again to Cleveland to raise money for Russian Jews. He met again with Rabbi Kazen, and once again Rabbi Kazen reminded him of the old loan.
“Reb Mendel,” he said, “a loan has to be repaid.”
This time, Reb Mendel took $500 out of his pocket and handed it to Rabbi Kazen. Rabbi Kazen, in turn, gave him back the wrinkled note that he had kept for more than thirty years.
A few moments passed.
Then Rabbi Kazen took those same $500, added a generous amount of his own money, and handed it all back to Reb Mendel—this time as a donation.
A Beloved Zealot
This week, we read about zealotry.
In the parshah, we learn about Pinchas, who acted with zeal. And in the haftorah, we read about Eliyahu HaNavi, who also declared that he had been zealous for G-d.
But what is fascinating is that Hashem’s response to these two acts of zealotry was completely different.
When Pinchas acted with zeal, Hashem praised him and said, “I hereby give him My covenant of peace.” Hashem rewarded him with the priesthood and with long life.
But when Eliyahu acted with zeal, Hashem did not respond in the same way. Instead, Hashem told him to appoint Elisha as prophet in his place. In effect, Hashem released Eliyahu from his role as prophet.
At first glance, this is difficult to understand.
Why was Pinchas rewarded with blessing, priesthood, and long life, while Eliyahu was removed from his position?
The answer lies in the purpose and direction of their zealotry.
Pinchas saw that a plague was raging among the Jewish people. In order to save them, he put his own life in danger and acted with extraordinary self-sacrifice. His goal was to stop the plague and protect the Jewish people. As the Torah says, “He turned My anger away from the children of Israel, and I did not destroy them.”
Eliyahu, on the other hand, was concerned for the honor of Hashem. He fled to Mount Sinai, hid in a cave, and complained before Hashem that the Jewish people had abandoned the Torah and had stopped observing mitzvos, including the mitzvah of bris milah.
Pinchas was worried about the Jewish people. Eliyahu was worried about Hashem.
The Midrash puts it sharply: “Eliyahu demanded the honor of the Father, but not the honor of the children.” Hashem said to him, “I do not desire your prophecy.”
Hashem loves those who are zealous for the honor of the Jewish people—those who care deeply about another Jew.
Rabbi Kazen and Reb Mendel were zealots in the spirit of Pinchas. They put their lives in danger and sacrificed everything in order to save other Jews.
That is the kind of zealotry that Hashem cherishes.
A person like that is beloved not only by Hashem, but by people as well.
This post is also available in: