The author of the book was Rav Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, the author of Seridei Eish. It was ritten in Berlin
around 1928 and addresses the question of what happens when modern governments
decide that Jewish cemeteries are standing in the way of “progress.”
Germany in the interwar period was rapidly urbanizing, and Jewish burial grounds were increasingly threatened by
municipal decrees and development plans. Rav Weinberg was asked to confront the almost unthinkable: Under what
circumstances, if any, may Jewish remains be exhumed and relocated? His analysis begins where it must: the
fundamental prohibition against disturbing the dead, rooted in nivul hamet — the degradation of the deceased
— and charadat hadin, the unsettling of the soul’s repose. Even after the body has decomposed and only bones
remain, Rav Weinberg marshals earlier authorities, including the Shevut Yaakov, to argue that the prohibition
remains in force. Skeletal remains are not halachically “neutral debris.”
A classic Seridei Eish balance: uncompromising fidelity to halacha, paired with a sober recognition of the
world as it actually exists.
Yet Rav Weinberg was never a posek who lived in a vacuum. A product of the great Lithuanian tradition and fully
conversant with the realities of modern Europe, he carefully delineates circumstances under which relocation may be
permitted — cases of pressing public necessity, or when leaving the graves undisturbed would likely lead to outright
desecration by secular authorities.
The Young Scholar in Berlin
What elevates this modest booklet to near-mythic status, however, is who studied it — and how. At the time, a young
Rabbi Menachem Schneerson was also in Berlin. Long before he became the Lubavitcher Rebbe, he was already demonstrating
a prodigious command of Torah. Rav Weinberg would ultimately grant him semicha, alongside a separate ordination from the
Rogatchover Gaon, forging a record of rabbinic breadth few towering figures of twentieth-century Torah life could match.
A detail that matters
According to a well-known account, Rabbi Schneerson initially sought semicha for practical reasons: access to Berlin’s
vast academic libraries. Rav Weinberg agreed in principle — but insisted that the young scholar undergo the same rigorous
examinations as any other student.
Rabbi Schneerson pressed for a faster route. Rav Weinberg refused.
Then the young man’s son proposed that Rav Weinberg select any volume from his library, which he would master overnight
and be tested on the following day. As one later observer noted, this was not merely confidence — it bordered on the
unbelievable. Only someone already fluent in the entire sweep of responsa literature could even contemplate such a feat.
Rav Weinberg, perhaps intrigued by the challenge, handed him Pinui Atzmot HaMet. This was no easy text — its
mastery demands familiarity with obscure laws of burial, ritual impurity, and halachic precedents rarely reviewed even by
seasoned scholars.
The next day, Rav Weinberg examined him and was stunned. The young R. Schneerson not only knew the contents of the booklet,
but expounded on it with insight and precision. On the spot, Rav Weinberg granted him rabbinical ordination.
Sometimes, a sefer tells you more than its subject matter. This one captures a moment when halacha confronted modernity
head-on — and when greatness quietly revealed itself, overnight, in a Berlin study hall.
