Rebbe Yoel Teitelbaum of Satmar was born in the year 5648 (1888) to Rebbe Chananyah Yom Tov Lipa, the Rebbe of Siget. He was known as "the Prodigy of Siget" and studied in his father's yeshivah there. His father passed away on the 29th of Shevat, 5664 (1904), and just days before his passing, Rebbe Yoel married Chavah, daughter of Rabbi Avraham Chaim of Plantshe. The couple had three daughters, all of whom predeceased their father and left no descendants. After the Rebbetzin's passing, Rebbe Yoel married Alta Faiga, daughter of Rebbe Avigdor of Tchenstochov, and subsequently moved to the city of Satmar, where he began to serve as Rebbe. When thousands of refugees fled to Hungary from the terror of the Nazis, may their name be blotted out, the Rebbe absorbed many of them into his community and helped them obtain documents and funds. As the flow of refugees swelled at the beginning of 5703 (1943), he established an organized a rescue committee to aid the war refugees. After the Nazi army invaded Hungary, Rebbe Yoelish attempted to flee to Romania, but was captured and sent to the ghetto in Kolozsvár. From there he was taken on the so-called Kasztner train and reached Switzerland. After the Holocaust he emigrated to the United States and reestablished the Satmar Chasidic dynasty, today one of the largest and most prominent communities in America. Rebbe Yoelish was known as an uncompromising zealot who demanded complete separation from secularism, Haskalah (secular enlightenment), and political Zionism. Yet when a Jew in need turned to him for help, he assisted him with an open hand, without distinction between Chasidim, Zionists, or the non-observant. He departed this world on the 26th of Av, 5739 (1979), and after his passing his nephew Rebbe Moshe served in his stead.
Rabbi Shmuel Brach, shlita, the head of the rabbinical court of Kehillat Afsei Aretz who was a close attendant of the holy Rebbe of Satmar, of blessed memory related the following:
In the year 5704 (1944), the holy Rebbe of Satmar was in the city of Pesht. My father, of blessed memory, who lived in Halas, greatly wished to come to the holy Rebbe, but had no military discharge papers. My mother, of blessed memory, who was also in Pesht at the time, went in to the Rebbe and told him that her husband wished to come but lacked the necessary papers. The Rebbe said to her: "Well, then he should not come." My mother told him that he very much wished to come, and the Rebbe said: "Then let him come." My father did so, and arrived for the Torah portion of Mikeitz together with another man who did possess discharge papers. My father spent the weekdays with the Rebbe, though for the holy Shabbat the Rebbe traveled to Újpesht. My father was afraid to travel to Újpesht, and so before Shabbat he went in to the Rebbe with a note. The Rebbe asked him why he had come now with a note. Had he not intended to stay longer? My father told him he wished to travel to Újpesht but was afraid to do so. The Rebbe took the note in his holy hand, looked at it, and said to my father: "Perhaps you should not go?" — and then immediately gave him his holy hand and said: "Go in peace!" My father followed the Rebbe's words and set off with his companion to the railway station to travel to Újpesht.
As the two waited there, an officer approached and asked for their papers. My father's companion, who had discharge papers, presented them at once, and my father likewise showed his documents though of course the officer was not satisfied with them. He returned the papers and told my father to accompany him to the police station. As they were walking together, a young man on a motorcycle passed by and grazed the officer. The officer called out for him to stop, but the cycler paid no heed and rode on his way. The officer's fury ignited and he ran after him, but the man fled. Seeing this, my father slipped away and made his way back to the train, which arrived at precisely that moment. He traveled to Újpest as though nothing had occurred and only then did my father understand what the Rebbe had first said to him: "Perhaps you should not go," and then afterward: "Go in peace."
This story, and others like it, reveal that the essential force in the soul is will, as the Sages teach (Makkot 10b): "On the path a person wishes to walk, he is led." If a person harbors a true and powerful desire for something, even when there are reasonable grounds to reject what he wants, the tzaddik offers a blessing that the person's will be fulfilled. Will is the most powerful force in the soul as reflected in the expressions, "nothing is as strong as will" and "nothing stands in the way of will" (see in length in our volume, The Art of Education). Will is also the force that connects our conscious faculties to what lies above them: the soul’s super-conscious dimension.
Giving precedence to will over intellect may seem surprising. After all, we are accustomed to consider intellect the final arbiter, at least ideally, when it is free of coarse cravings and base emotions. Yet this is true only within the domain of the soul's revealed powers, those that are within the boundaries of consciousness. Among our conscious faculties, the intellect appears as a measured, logical, and objective judge and therefore as a fair arbiter. But the human soul possesses dimensions that reach higher than the intellect, and it is precisely those dimensions that the will expresses.
For example, why do we choose to marry one particular person and not another? What motivates us to pursue a certain vocation, or to live in a particular place? What is our mission in the world? In general, these questions may seem to have a clear answer, but in fact, the complete answer is not entirely intellectual. The intellect may assist, but it cannot decide. These life-forming decisions seem to illustrate the sentiment that, "this is what I want, and that is all." We should note that more often than not, it is precisely these questions of will that are the most important ones, governing the deepest aspects of our lives. Why is this so?
This question has two answers which, on the one hand, are diametrically opposed, but on the other, are one and the same. The first is that the very essence of our soul expresses itself through will. We want something because that is who we are, not for any external reason. The second is that within human will, the Divine will is revealed. Divine will transcends all human calculation and desire. As King David declares in Psalms: "From God are a man's footsteps established, and He desires his way." The Rebbe Rayatz explains this in his discourse "VeHinei Sulam" (5708):
At first glance, there is room to reason that when a person desires to go to the place he is going, it is because his own intrinsic will drew him there. But in truth, the reason for the will to go is in order to fulfill an inner and essential intention decreed by Divine Providence. For in most cases, the higher intention is fulfilled not through his journey alone, but also through others traveling there as well.
Human will, he explains, serves only as an instrument, for who was it that arranged for two people to come to the same place, each from his own will, and thereby fulfill the will of God? Concerning this the prophet declares: "Can two walk together without having been appointed"—appointed from Above? The fitting instrument for this is precisely the will because will is not fully conscious, and is not garbed in the vessels of our awareness, a will transcending the reach of our intellect can illuminate within it. Thus it becomes clear that the very essence of the Jewish soul is in no way separate from Divinity — and when the concealing garments of consciousness fall away, the Divine will is revealed in all its force.
