meet aaron chazan

Aharon Mendel Chazan was born in Krasnostav in 1912 to Rabbi Mordechai and Batya.  Trained as a rabbi but never accepting any rabbinic post, Aharon worked all sorts of jobs to survive. In the late 1930s he married Leah Friedman in Odessa and was then conscripted to the Soviet Army. He later joined his family as a refugee in Tashkent.
Aharon lost more than 70 relatives to the Nazis.
After the war, he settled in a suburb of Moscow and raised a large family with his hardworking wife.
At the time, religious rituals were not permitted outside the state sanctioned synagogues, and services at the synagogue were limited and closely watched over by the authorities.
Despite the danger, Aharon and his family persisted in living a fully observant life, going as far as to hold clandestine weekly prayers in their home, hosting circumcisions and chuppah marriages for fellow Jews, and baking matzah for Passover in a hidden oven in the cellar.
When he was finally able to make aliya in the late 1960’s, after twenty years as a refusenik, Aharon devoted the rest of his life  to other Russian Jewish immigrants in Israel, helping them with their spiritual and material lives, and continuing the tradition of hosting weddings in his own home for those who could not afford a proper wedding.

Aharon passed away in the summer of 2008 and is survived by approximately one thousand descendants.

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From the book
​“Deep in the Russian night”
by Aaron Chazan

.... a visitor to the small Russian town of Krasnostav could hardly imagine that it was once a vibrant Jewish shtetl. Yet, in the early twentieth century, when I was born, over two hundred and fifty Jewish families  artisans and merchants  lived there.
The Jewish population, by and large, consisted of Ruzhiner, Karliner and Czernobyler Chassidim whose lives revolved around the
Bais Hamidrash and their religious duties. They davened in shul  morning and evening. Their children learned in cbeder.
Early Shabbos morning, a man used to go around, calling the Jews to read  Tehillim. "Shteit oif, shteit oif le'avoidas Haboireb!
Get up to serve your Creator!"
Even as late as 1926, there was a man who made the rounds on Friday afternoon, before Shabbos, reminding all the people to stop working and close their shops. And close their shops they did.
The name of the shtetl was derived from its lake, Krasnostav,  meaning "Red Lake," There was a legend that some centuries ago, the Cossacks rounded up the inhabitants of the town and slaughtered them at the edge of this lake. The blood of the corpses turned  the lake crimson.
 Life in the Ukrainian shtetl was simple. Residents dwelt in small  one-level houses. They learned to adjust their lives to the climate.
 Most people worked hard all summer. During the harsh Russian winter families would gather around the oven for warmth, letting
 business slow down. Drinking and cleaning water came from wells. To wash clothes, a group would go down to the nearby lake, cut a  hole in the ice and dip the clothes into the frigid water.
Despite this, or perhaps because of it, our lives were not so much    marked by the physical existence as by the spiritual dimension, a
dimension that pervaded daily life. The district surrounding Krasnostav evoked the memory of glorious figures in East European
Jewish history. Within seventy kilometers of Krasnostav were the town of Mezirich, home of the renowned Maggid, Reb Baer of
Mezirich; Anapoli, where Reb Zusia lived and taught; Koritz, from  where Reb Pinchas spread the light of Cbassidus; Polno'ah, home of
the Baal Shem Tov's illustrious pupil, Rav Yaakov Yosef Hacohen;  Sidilkov, home of the author of Degel Machaneh Ephraim, the
grandson of the Baal Shem Tov; Zevihl (Novograd Volinsk), where  Reb Shloimele lived; Slavuta, home of the children of Reb Pinchas
Koritz; and Shepetivka, the home of the Shepetivker Tzaddik.
I was born into a line of distinguished rabbis, a family that had    been zealous in maintaining its scholarship and communal leader-
ship for centuries. My maternal grandfather, Rav Moshe Hacohen    Rappaport, was an eighth generation direct descendant of the great
Shach, Rabbi Shabbesai Cohen (1611-1663), one of the greatest   Jewish scholars of Vilna and Lithuania, who wrote the Sifsei Cohen
on Shulchan Aruch. This grandfather was a man whose every action  reflected holiness. He had been the Rav of my hometown until his
son-in-law, my father, replaced him. He spent his later years in  constant Torah study and in teaching Torah to my brother and me.
In the turbulent years after the Revolution, he was my primary  mentor. It was from him that I acquired mastery in Gemara.
My father, Rav Mordechai Chazan, had been one of the eminent  students of the Iluy of Zevihl, Hagaon Rav Yoel Shurin, formerly the
Poltaver Iluy. For the rest of his life my father looked upon Rav Yoel  as his mentor. Appreciating this young man's deep yiras shamayim,
my mother's father decided to take him as a son-in-law. The couple  married, and I was their first born on Motzei Shabbos, February 3,
1912.1 was named Aaron, because in Yisro, that week's Sidra, the  words "Aaron and all the elders of Israel came" (Shemos 18:12)
were read. Shortly after my birth, my father became Rav of  Krasnostav.

Social structure in Krasnostav resembled that of other Jewish  communities. Status tended to be based on the person's degree of
Torah learning and devoutness. The most distinguished position  was held by the Rav. The community leaders, shochtim, Torah
scholars and persons of high character were next in the hierarchy.
Then came baalei batim. Although often unlearned, they carved out  a place for themselves in society through their pious deeds.
As the son of the town's Rav, I was inevitably regarded highly.  Even as a child, it was taken for granted that I would one day assume
my father's position. Little did I know how completely overturned  my world would become.