It had been a while since the last time I'd been to my Rebbe's
tisch, the Rebbe's friday night Sabbath meal that is usually attended by his Chasidim after finishing their own Sabbath meal. I usually spend Friday nights studying the
Parsha, the weekly portion of the Torah, if I'm not so exhausted that I fall straight into bed. Singing and dancing with Chasidim on Friday night used to be the highlight of my week, but at some point I stopped enjoying it. Maybe it was my overall disaffection with Chasidic customs, or maybe when I left Kolel and got a serious job, it left me in sore need of extra sleep on the weekends. It was probably a combination of both.
So this week, when my Shabbos guest whom I will call Mike, a non-Chasidic relative from out of town, mentioned that he'd love to experience a Chasidic Rebbe's tisch, I rather welcomed the idea. The weather was nice, I wasn't too tired, and as detached as I may be from Chasidic sentiment, I still enjoy hearing a non-Chasid's take on Chasidim, their Rebbes, and the sometimes bizarre, often quaint Chasidic behavior. When I was younger, I used to enjoy watching the fascination on the faces of non-Chasidim who chanced in to a tisch, and I still have some of that impish delight when I see an unfamiliar face enjoying the scene.
When we left the house it was already quite late, but the streets were far from empty. Men and boys, and an occasional woman or girl, were heading to the tisches of the various Rebbes around town. Chasidim from almost every Chasidic group were strutting in their Shabbos best, with all variety of
Streimels, those curious Chasidic fur hats,
bekeshes, the long, silk, black caftans, and knickers with white or black stockings.
"Git Shabbes," a friend of mine greeted us in Yiddish as we arrived at the Shul. He extended his hand to Mike with a welcoming smile and shook it warmly. The Rebbe hadn't yet entered and we stood around chatting, with Mike receiving a few polite handshakes from some who noticed the unfamiliar face. Suddenly a rush of men and boys came into the Shul hushing the crowd. These zealous young Chasidim tried to ensure total quiet when the Rebbe entered. They seem to enjoy creating a sort of royal atmosphere for the Rebbe. All are expected to stand at attention when he passes.
In the throng of teenage boys and young men rushing in ahead of the Rebbe, one of them inadvertently poked Mike in the ribs with his elbow while stepping on his foot. That couldn't have been pleasant. Mike's face registered pain, but most of all he was surprised at the rough behavior. "You should apologize," I called after the Chasid. He looked back at me totally uncomprehending.
The Rebbe appeared a moment afterward accompanied by his
gabbai, his attendant. People rushed to take their places. Older and more prominent Chasidim sat down at the rows of tables laid out with fruit, nuts, and seltzer. Most others stood around the tables reverently watching the Rebbe's every move. The
bucherim, the unmarried Yeshiva boys, and the young men climbed onto bleachers surrounding the tables. It felt like decades since I was one of them. The memories of my Yeshiva days always come back to me at the tisch, and I was starting to feel nostalgic for the warm Shabbos experience with the Rebbe.
I suggested to Mike that he try getting up on the
parentches, as the Chasidim called the bleachers. He'll be able to feel the spirit much better. He was eager to do so, and after noticing a few empty spots on one of the higher levels he headed up there while the Rebbe started chanting the hymns and prayers before the
Kiddush, the blessing over the wine. I've had many unkind thoughts about the Rebbe in the past, as regular readers would know. But now I was enchanted by the glowing atmosphere. Looking around at the Chasidim I couldn't help be aware of the obvious contentedness of these people. The men and boys may know very little about the world outside of theirs, but they are definitely happy enough without it.
But the charms were quickly shattered. Mike was suddenly standing beside me again.
"What happened?" I asked. "Why did you come down?"
"They're a bunch of putzes," he said. Mike can be very blunt sometimes. The bucherim apparently didn't give him a very warm welcome. "They say there's no room up there. It looked pretty empty to me."
"Never mind. Just stay down here; it's just as well."
But it put a damper on the warm feelings I had started to have. I knew those bucherim meant no harm, but can't they shape up their manners a bit, at least for a stranger? They could've made some room if they wanted to.
The Rebbe's chanting went on for a few minutes, occasionally breaking into song, which the Chasidim would join for a few moments. The Rebbe then poured wine from a silver wine bottle into a silver cup on which to say the Kiddush. "Shhhhh," went some young Chasidim loudly to the already hushed crowd. It's sort of a ritual for them to announce that the Rebbe is about to do something important. It doesn't really matter if there's any noise. "Shhhhh," in the Rebbe's presence is more like a sergeant yelling "Attention!"
After the Rebbe recited the Kiddush, he began his meal. Only the Rebbe eats a full meal at the tisch, the Chasidim having eaten theirs beforehand. But the Chasidim do get some food. It's in the form of
shrayim, the Rebbe's leftovers. The Rebbe's dishes are intentionally oversized and heaped way beyond his capacity to consume. When he's had his fill, the gabbai takes what's left and splits it into a few little plates which he then hands out to the Chasidim around him. Each Chasid takes a morsel with his fingers for himself before passing on the plate. It can make the unaccustomed quite queasy. Plates with gobbles of boiled white fish mixed with gefilte fish, that had been handled by dozens of hands. I watched as a Chasid handed Mike one of the plates. "No thanks," said Mike, trying not to be rude by refusing the blessed scraps. I quickly took the plate and picked a tiny morsel for myself, lest I be accused of being an "enlightened" one, who finds it beneath him to share in the Rebbe's shrayim. I'll just take the shrayim and force it down, thank you very much.
But with the next dish came the unexpected. I had been daydreaming for a moment and suddenly I notice everyone looking my way. Well, actually, Mike's way, and as I looked up I noticed the Rebbe motioning to Mike to come up to him. With some of the dishes the Rebbe takes some of the leftovers himself and hands it to Chasidim he wishes to honor. Often guests are the recipients of this special notice, and this time it was Mike. Mike looked at me as if to say, "What did you get me into?" I only shrugged, and as all eyes were in our direction I prodded him to go get the shrayim and be done with it.
Mike made his way to the Rebbe, who smiled at him. I couldn't help thinking I detected a hint of mischievousness in that smile, as if he enjoyed the discomfort of a non-Chasid being prodded to eat some shrayim.
Mike extended his hand and the Rebbe lumped a hot piece of kugel into it. Mike hadn't expected it to be so hot, and he started throwing it from one hand to the other to avoid getting burnt. But he couldn't juggle the kugel for long and with all eyes still upon him it fell out of his hands to the floor. The Chasidim gasped. Mike looked completely lost. He'd almost burnt his hands in this bizarre ordeal and he wasn't ready to risk it again by picking up the still steaming kugel. Besides, he definitely wasn't going to eat the kugel now after it touched the floor. But Mike didn't have to think long, because almost immediately the Chasidim had the kugel all scooped up and handed off to waiting hands. One Chasid graciously offered Mike a scrap he still had, but Mike just walked away with an unbelieving look on his face, relieved to be done with this shrayim business.
The tisch, as always, was punctuated by
zemiros, songs for the Sabbath, between dishes, with the gabbai inviting various members of the community to lead.
"Reb Mordche, Mah Yedidus," the gabbai called out inviting an old Chasid to lead with a particular song. Reb Mordche was a favorite of the Chasidim. He had a seemingly endless supply of fresh melodies that he remembered from old Chasidim in Europe. He began to sing
Mah Yedidus to the tune of an old Chasidic melody that was both soulful and gay. His hoarse and unsteady voice made it difficult at first to make out the song, but his voice soon became stronger and clearer and the Chasidim joined in with the voices of young and old resonating powerfully throughout the large Shul.
Ask a Chasid what is the most profound part of the Rebbe's tisch and he'll most likely say the Rebbe's
torah, the discourse on the weekly Torah portion usually with an especially Chasidic flavor. But strangely, most Chasidim look completely bored as the Rebbe weaves his interpretation of a few Torah verses based on Talmudic or Kabbalistic precepts. I've never heard the Rebbe say anything earth-shattering, and as far as I can tell, he doesn't seem to enjoy it much himself. But it's part of his job, and he carries on the tradition faithfully, and somewhat admirably, I should add.
But the true highlight of the tisch is when the Rebbe leads with a very special song that expresses a uniquely Chasidic passion for G-d and the Sabbath. The Rebbe's eyes are tightly closed, his face is red, and with his long white beard and flowing white
payess, or sidecurls, he looks almost other-worldly. His voice is strong and it can be heard clearly above those of the Chasidim. The intensity is palpable, and the Rebbe with his Chasidim seem to be in an almost sublime state. The voices rise to the high notes and it is impossible not to be captivated and drawn to sing along.
O G-d, how I yearn for the sweetness of the Sabbath.
Draw the pleasantness of your awe to the nation that seeks your desire,
Purify them with the holiness of the Sabbath that proclaims the oneness of your holy name,
Open for them pleasantness and desire by opening the gates of your will.
The Sabbath is the pleasantness of the souls,
and the seventh day is the delight of the spirits,
and the eden of the minds, to delight in your love and in your fear.
O holy Sabbath, how I ache for your love.
The song ends and the Chasidim are back on earth again. The gabbai motions to a Chasid to start another song and the Shul is soon filled with singing and tapping to the tune of a cheerful waltz. The tisch ends on a lively note, and after the Rebbe leads the Chasidim in
bentching, the grace after meals, the tisch is over.
Mike had seemed to be intensely moved by the experience, and whatever discomfort he may have felt from the shrayim episode, it wasn't visible.
"I don't know why you're always complaining about Chasidim," Mike said to me on our way out. "I wish I had this every week."
I had been warmed by the experience, and I didn't feel it the right time to explain why I still think there's a lot wrong with Chasidim. I had to admit that I sometimes forget what is good about them.
"I hope you'll come again," I said to Mike as he was leaving on Saturday night.
"You won't have to ask me twice," he said, "as long as a tisch is part of the program."
I smiled. Who was I to deny the Chasidim a new friend.