Editing Joseph Dov Soloveitchik (Boston) (section)

== Childhood Memories of Chabad Chassidim in Russia ==
Rabbi Soloveitchik wrote on Erev Rosh Hashanah 5715 to the Chassidic Gaon Rabbi Moshe Dovber Rivkin, a letter in which he describes his connections to Chabad Chassidut from his childhood: "I have a special fondness for the Chabad movement. When I speak of it, I remember it in the vision of my youth, filled with impressions of innocent childhood... Patriarchal figures, adorned with ancient glory, still hover before me. Here is the image of my teacher, Rabbi Yaakov Baruch Risberg, before me. I still see his facial expression, which radiated heart discernment and eye wisdom, as well as imagination and creativity. To this day, I hear his voice in the dim twilight, sad and full of longing and yearning, and his words break through from the distance, words full of enthusiasm and amazement about his stay in Lubavitch in his youth. I still carry in the depths of my soul the image of the Alter Rebbe [Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi] who looked at us, schoolchildren, from the whitewashed walls of the cheder - that image, with the broad forehead, the ruler of intellect, and the large eyes gazing into the infinite expanses of G-d, fixed on a vision of wonders. The beard that descended according to his measurements enchanted us, small children, with its splendor and secrecy.

"My eyes still see the image of the Tzemach Tzedek, dressed in white, which in our childish fantasy took the form of a High Priest coming out of the Holy of Holies. My ears still pick up strange but also heartwarming and heart-attracting sounds, fragmented expressions, scattered words that came from the mouths of the 'chozrim' [those who would memorize and repeat the Rebbe's discourses] on long winter evenings by dim candlelight, about surrounding lights and returning lights, concealment and revelation, inner love and the Jewish soul that was hewn from the Throne of Glory. And I still dream and see the elderly Chassidim dancing at a rapid pace on the night of Shemini Atzeret around my father, of blessed memory. Impressions like these will not be erased from my heart, and they are deeply rooted in the mysteries of my being."

In another place, he described: "I consider myself entitled to describe such a scene, since in my childhood memories, half-foggy and half-romantic, I still see now the strong swaying of the Chabad congregation on the first night of Rosh Hashanah, 'the night of coronation' (in the terminology of veteran Chassidim), when the lowly and downtrodden man, who is here today and tomorrow in the grave, presents the crown of kingship to the Ancient of Days, to the Infinite, to the Eternal One, and calls Him: the Holy King. I still hear the rustling of hundreds of spiritually inflamed Jews that would pass through the synagogue when the cantor finished the Kaddish, and the congregation began reciting the Amidah prayer. A hum of something sublime and elevated, burning and alive, which needed neither cantor nor choir nor theatrical decorations to reach the gates of heaven."