The Rabbi Who Knew No Strangers: A Student’s Portrait of Rav Kook
BY RABBI YA’AKOV MOSHE CHARLAP זצ”ל
This letter was written by Rabbi Ya’akov Moshe Charlap (1882–1951) on July 16, 1945 – ten years after Rav Kook’s death. Rav Charlap was not only one of Rav Kook’s closest students but also his confidant and close friend, later becoming Rosh Yeshiva of Merkaz HaRav. Writing to a fellow student, Rav Charlap shares personal memories that reveal both his teacher’s remarkable character and the deep impact Rav Kook had on those around him. The letter captures intimate moments from Rav Kook’s wartime exile, his emotional return to Jerusalem, and his daily interactions with students and community members, offering rare insight into how Rav Kook’s mystical worldview actually played out in practice.
Jerusalem, 16th of Tammuz, 5705
To my beloved friend, the distinguished scholar and man of learning, Rabbi Shimon Glitzenstein:
You have merited to be among the disciples of the light of Israel’s eyes and our great teacher, Rav Kook, may his memory be blessed. When he was detained abroad during the previous war, having left the Land of Israel temporarily to participate in an assembly of great Torah scholars organized by Agudat Yisrael, he thought deeply about and waited eagerly for the results of this conference.
He departed from the Land of Israel on the 18th of Tammuz, 5674 (1914), after ascending to Jerusalem to embrace its soil and to mourn its destruction at the holy site of the Kotel. He was filled with hope that he would succeed in inspiring the masses of the House of Israel – its great leaders and all its population – with the love of the Holy Land of Israel, and to leave the exile while there was still time, before the oppressors would extend their hand against our treasured people, and to build Zion and Jerusalem upon the wellsprings of holiness and the Mikdash.
But the [first world] war preceded them and disrupted all the plans of the assembly. With great difficulty, Rav Kook managed to leave Germany and come to Switzerland, where he remained for several years in St. Gallen, secluded in his tent, weeping and mourning over the destruction of our people in the Land and abroad, until he was called to London. He stipulated with the community that his residence there would only be temporary, like a sojourner in the land, until the first opportunity to return to the Land of Israel.
However, G-d sent him there to save many Jewish souls, especially the refugees from Russia, and to gladden tens of thousands of hearts, comforting them from the terrible troubles they had endured during that great war. When they needed to hide in cellars in London, he himself would stand at the entrances of the shelters and encourage their hearts not to fear the thunder and cannons of the German aircraft. When everyone saw him, they were confident that no harm would befall them. With his pure hands, he would lead them into the cellar with composure and peace of mind…
Indeed, all the private kindnesses that were done through him for thousands of individuals – besides his great and numerous activities in the public sphere – came from the good and awesome treasure that was hidden within him. For truly, the foundation of his holy stature was that he was entirely focused on Klal Yisrael, and there was no sense of the individual in him at all.
When he needed to attend to an individual or particular matter, it never occurred to him that he was doing kindness with a particular person. For in his perspective, in the individual he saw with his clear vision all of Klal Yisrael, understanding that the individual is a link within it. He didn’t speak this way in a calculated fashion, but rather spoke naturally from his innocence, that every individual is part of Klal Yisrael.
Not only was the individual as great to him as the collective, but he saw the individual together with Klal Yisrael literally, like looking at a limb of a person – one sees together with the limb the entire person, and when having mercy on the limb, it is only mercy on the entire person.
Even the concept of individual spiritual repair and fulfilling one’s role in the world – so often discussed in works of mussar – was foreign to him. Without any effort or contemplation, he simply did not see himself as an individual, and the same was true for all of Israel: they were one unified whole. This perspective was so deeply embedded in his soul that when people honored him, it had no effect on him. He didn’t need to struggle against enjoying the honor, because he understood that any honor belonged to Klal Yisrael – he had no greater share in it than anyone else.
When they asked him to pray for a particular person, together with his participation in the sorrow of the individual, all of Klal Yisrael stood before his eyes, and the sorrow of the individual was included within the sorrow of the collective. Through this very thing, he would bring salvation to the individual, because he elevated him into Klal Yisrael, of which it is said, “The mighty G-d will not despise” (Iyov 36:5).
Even when his close family members suffered, he felt no more for them than for anyone else. In his entire worldview, there were simply no individual distinctions – only Klal Yisrael. To him, what difference was there between family and strangers?…
And so it is true that all his thoughts and energies were directed toward Klal Yisrael and the sorrow of the Divine Presence. When he sat in seclusion in St. Gallen, he could not calm his thoughts or quiet his heart until he would imagine himself actually standing at the Kotel, pouring out his prayers before G-d. I keep the details of this private with me, but so deeply did his soul yearn for the Kotel that he made a vow: on the day of his return to Jerusalem, he would not enter any house before first going to the Kotel.
And so it was: on the 3rd of Elul, 5679 (1919), when he ascended to Jerusalem, he asked all the great crowd that went out to greet him to go to their homes, saying that he needed to approach a certain place before entering the inn they had prepared for him. I went with him to the Kotel.
Upon reaching the pathway to the Kotel, his face became white, and he murmured: “How lovely are your dwellings, O L-rd of Hosts! My soul yearns, indeed it faints for the courts of the L-rd; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living G-d” (Tehillim 84:1–2). Upon arriving there, he tore his garment and burst into tears, saying in his prayer: “Reign over the entire world in Your glory. Because of our sins… Merciful King.” From there he went to greet the great ones of the city and returned to his home.
Sometimes in the middle of the night he would say he wanted to take a walk. He would head toward the Old City and walk until he was inside the walls. Then he would say: “Since we are close to the Kotel, let us approach there.” After his bursting into the aforementioned tears and prayers – “Reign over the entire world,” “Merciful King,” and the like – he would return to his house and say: “We had a good walk.”
He would say that beyond Jerusalem’s inherent holiness, three specific places especially drew him to Jerusalem: the Kotel, the Great Synagogue built in the ruins of Rabbi Yehuda HaChasid’s synagogue, and the Etz Chaim Talmud Torah.
Because he saw every individual as part of Klal Yisrael, he held no grudges against anyone who troubled him, even those who insulted or attacked him. Once, at a cornerstone-laying ceremony, someone publicly confronted him, causing a great uproar. The crowd pushed the man outside, and the commotion was so great that police were called and arrested him.
Rav Kook did not know about this, and when he returned home and learned that they had arrested the offender, he cried out and said: “Woe to my soul that through me one of Israel suffers!” He immediately ran to the telephone to plead for him that they should release him, and did not rest until he knew they had released him.
In this aspect of being entirely focused on Klal Yisrael and not the individual, he rose above all the people of his generation, from his shoulders and upward, taller than all the people. It is no wonder that they could not fathom the secret of his holiness. Indeed, he was a holy man of G-d in our midst, and blessed is the generation in which he dwelt.
- Translated by Rabbi Elie Mischel.