In his voluminous writings, the Previous Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak, has documented the profound bond he had with his father, Rabbi Sholom Ber, known as the Rebbe Rashab. The following excerpts afford us a glimpse into the unusual childhood years which formed his towering personality.
From the year 5647 (1887) [when the author was seven years old] until 5649 (1889) I did not see my parents, because throughout this time they visited various health resorts abroad. Only occasionally did they return home for a few days. My lifestyle during those two years made me forget my earlier memories of my father.
The warm closeness which my father showed me from the summer of 5649 onwards erased all traces of the suffering which I had undergone as a result of my wanderings and difficulties in the preceding two years, and once again I recollected everything that I had seen and heard in the years before that period.
On the Sabbath my father would pray at considerable length. He would go there when the congregational prayers began at about 9:30 a.m. The congregation finished at about 11:30 a.m. and he would complete his private devotions at about three or sometimes four.
Usually, even those individuals who prayed at length had completed their prayers half an hour or at most an hour after the congregation had finished.
At this age I recalled that when I had been a very little boy, still taught by Reb Yekusiel, I used to run to shul to hear my father at his prayers. At that time, though, my heart was sad: Why didn't my father daven fast like the whole congregation-like my uncles, for example? Once, in answer to my question, my uncle, Reb Zalman Aharon explained to me that my father wasn't able to read all those letters so fast. This made me really sad.
Once, when I was little, I came to shul and found no one there but my father. He was facing the wall and entreating G-d for compassion. I was utterly unable to grasp why he entreated more than all other worshipers and why he was more in need of compassion than other people.
Suddenly, my father wept intensely. My heart fell within me: no one was there in the House of G-d but my father, and he was weeping. I listened carefully and heard that he said "Shema Yisrael" and wept, and said "Hashem Elokeinu" and wept. Then, still weeping, he said from the fullness of his heart and in an awesome voice, "Hashem Echad."
This time I could contain myself no longer. I went and asked my mother tearfully: "Why does father daven longer than everyone else? My uncle Reb Zalman Aharon says that father can't pronounce the letters quickly, but why can't he read quickly and properly? Besides, today I saw and heard him crying. Mother, come along with me and I'll show you that Father is crying!"
"But what can I do?" replied my mother. "Can I send him to a teacher? Go and ask your grandmother. Perhaps she will be able to do something about it."
Hastening to follow my mother's advice, I went to put my innocent question to my grandmother.
"Your father is a great chasid and a tzadik," she said. "Before any single word leaves his mouth he first thinks of its exact meaning."
As I now recall, her answer set my mind at rest. From that time on I related differently to my father, for I now knew that he was different from all other people. At every single step I began to see just who my father was. Other people talked, and talked excitedly; my father was silent most of the time, and when he spoke he spoke softly.
In the course of one month in the summer of 5649 I became a different boy. My father showed me such closeness that I felt all the warmth of a father, all the love of a compassionate father. I went to sleep with the thought that now I, too, had a father and a mother to whom to say goodnight, and in the course of the following two years I completely forgot the bitter conditions under which I had previously lived.
In the course of those next two years I attained understanding. I was now able to appreciate the great difference between my father and his brothers, that is, between his aspirations and theirs. For over a year now I had been listening to his discourses of Chasidic philosophy, standing behind my father as he delivered them. My father was expounding Chasidut and I was there to hear it.
In the course of those two years the Sabbaths were holy and the festivals were devoted to prayer and joy. Every Sabbath I would listen to the Reading of the Torah while following attentively in a Chumash, and in the course of the day I would study the commentary of Rashi as well. Rosh Hashana of the year 5650 (1889) [when the author was nine years old] was the first Rosh Hashana on which I did everything like an adult. And from that day on I was a grown-up.
