This past Monday, on ט״ו מרחשון, was the yahrtzeit of Rav Michoel Eliezer Hakohen Forshlager, zt״l. I have been visiting his kever for many years, and I was there again this year. I have watched the number of people coming grow, especially on his yahrtzeit. This year, hundreds traveled from out of town to daven. Food and drinks were prepared for those making the trip, and people came with tefillos, hoping for yeshuos. It is moving to see so many people turn to a tzaddik for help. But I believe the story of Rav Forshlager himself is also part of what draws them.
Rav Forshlager was born in Poland and grew up in the world of the Sochatchover Rebbe, the Avnei Nezer. From childhood, his devotion to Torah was extraordinary. As a young boy, he traveled a great distance to be near the Rebbe and his beis medrash. He became one of the Avnei Nezer’s closest talmidim, learning with him for hours each day. Even after the Rebbe stopped teaching students publicly, he made an exception for Rav Forshlager. The Avnei Nezer valued his judgment so highly that he consulted him before sending out answers to halachic questions. He carried that Torah with him throughout his life.
When he came to Baltimore in 1921, it was unusual for a man to sit and learn all day. He did not find an established Torah world waiting for him, but he would not let his surroundings decide what his life could be. When family support disappeared during the Depression, he took whatever work he could find. Eventually, people arranged for him to teach daily Torah classes. He spent his days learning, teaching and writing. He filled thousands of pages with original chiddushim, and more than fifty thousand handwritten pages survived him. Much remained unpublished for decades, but in recent years, people have worked to bring his Torah to a wider audience.
His influence in Baltimore was not limited to the seforim he wrote. Rav Forshlager gave Gemara shiurim in local shuls, teaching people who might not otherwise have had access to that level of learning. When one shul changed direction in a way he could not accept, he stopped teaching there. Yet the people who learned from him cared so deeply that they continued to support him and found ways to stay connected. His commitment to Torah was uncompromising, but he also had a deep connection with people. The Avnei Nezer trusted him as a young talmid, Rav Meir Shapiro wanted him to lead the yeshiva of Chachmei Lublin, and Rav Aharon Kotler is quoted as calling him the greatest gaon in America. Rav Forshlager declined important positions, choosing a life of learning and teaching.
When people come to his kever, they bring their worries, tefillos and hopes. They also come to a story that still speaks to us. Rav Forshlager showed that a person’s surroundings do not have to determine what he can become. He came to a place where full-time Torah learning was far from the norm and remained unwavering in his commitment. He did not keep Torah to himself. He taught, encouraged young people to learn and helped lay groundwork for the Torah growth that flourished in Baltimore and across America after his petirah. Perhaps that is part of what people seek when they visit: not only a yeshuah, but inspiration to use the freedom and opportunity we have to fill our days with Torah. May Rav Forshlager’s legacy continue to lift us, here in Baltimore, the city where his Torah took root and his greatness soared.
