R’ Itche

Years ago, some bochurim were on merkos shlichus in the city in which R’ Itche a”h was a shliach at that time. They stayed, naturally, in his home. They found it a bit surprising that every single night, regardless of how late it was, R’ Itche was sitting and learning when they went to sleep, and every morning when they awoke, he was sitting at the table learning.

It was only much later that they learned the reason for this: R’ Itche had no extra room for them in his home, but since these bochurim were shluchim of the Rebbe, he gave his own bedroom to them, and sent his wife to sleep in the children’s room. In order that they shouldn’t notice that he had nowhere to sleep, he made sure to be learning whenever they went to sleep and awoke!

3 Dollars

One day, a man walked in to the home of the shliach, the de facto Chabad House of S. Thomas, and handed the shliach 3 dollar bills. By way of explanation, he told him the following:

This story was removed to to claims of inaccuracies.

An accurate version of the story  in the comments would be greatly appreciated.

Directed by the Rebbe

It was a few days before Pesach, and a chossid from Arizona was passing by the Rebbe. The Rebbe, unexpectedly, stopped the chossid and remarked: “You are going to ____ (here the Rebbe named a small city in Texas), I would like you to bring these 2 pounds of Matzos to ____ (here the Rebbe named a person living in that city).

The chosid made a quick calculation. The small city in Texas that the Rebbe had named did not have direct flights, neither from NY nor to Arizona. To travel there in person would mean to lose 2 complete days, which would result in him arriving home Erev Pesach. He didn’t think that he could manage that. He did, however, attach great importance to the personal shlichus that was given to him by the Rebbe, so he decided that as soon as he would arrive home, he would go straight to the post office and ship the package to the desired destination.

(as if the Rebbe couldn’t have had it shipped without that chossid)

This chossid duly boarded his flight with the precious package, and began his journey to his own hometown. However, en route they encountered an unexpected difficulty: The plane suddenly developed engine trouble, and the captain instructed everyone to fasten their seat belts, because they would need to make an emergency landing. As the passengers complied, the captain got onto the loudspeaker again, and informed them where they would be making their unscheduled stopover for repairs. And – you guessed it – it was none other than in the small municipal airport in the small city in Texas to which the Rebbe had originally sent the chossid!

Now, we can think that, under these circumstances, the chossid would get the message to stop fighting his destiny, and to resolve, instead, to obey his instructions. But our chossid had other ideas: Now he was losing even more time, and a detour was even less feasible (even though he was already in the right locality). He still retained his initial plan, to send the package by post.

While he was in the airport with his fellow passengers, waiting for their aircraft to be declared sky-worthy, he was approached by a local Jew. “Are you Rabbi ___”, he was asked. “Do you have a package for me?”

That’s right, that person was his intended recipient, who came to the chossid to pick up his matzos!

Showing Kiruvim to the Rebbe

Rabbi Nachman Bernhard was the Rabbi of the largest shul in South Africa for about 5 decades. Before making the decision to move there, he visited the Rebbe, who encouraged him strongly to accept the position. He related the following about that yechidus: ‘It was after 1 a.m. when I entered the Rebbe's office and saw the Rebbe for the first time in my life. The yechidus lasted for over an hour. I felt as if the whole world around us had disappeared and it was only the Rebbe and I. In the yechidus, the Rebbe told me that Jewish life today is being devastated, as if by a fire, and whoever can extinguish the fire, must do so. The Rebbe pointed his finger at me: "You have no right to sit and become a talmid chacham." 

‘I still resisted. I said to the Rebbe: "I have already left an important position for the sake of my children's education. What will happen to them in South Africa?" By then, I had three daughters.

‘The Rebbe answered that the children of every Jew who devotes himself to communal work receive Divine protection. The Rebbe didn't exactly tell me "go," but he calmed my fears about going to South Africa.

‘When I went out of the Rebbe's room I said to myself, "I may not yet be a Lubavitcher Chasid, but from now on I am the Rebbe's Chasid!"

In 1974, after 10 years in South Africa, he made plans to move to Israel. He wanted to see the Rebbe to ask him to recommend someone to replace him. He relates the following about his yechidus at that time:

‘I flew to New York and went into yechidus, which lasted an hour and a half. The Rebbe told me how much I could accomplish in South Africa. Everyone can accomplish best in his own milieu, the Rebbe said, but it is much harder to have an effect in an alien environment. The Rebbe suggested that I remain in South Africa.

‘I let out a big sigh (having had my mind set on the move to Israel). The Rebbe suggested that I visit Israel frequently. I objected that these trips were very costly. The Rebbe smiled and said that he would pay for my ticket, and continued to encourage me to stay in South Africa.

‘Again I sighed, and again the Rebbe asked me, "Why are you sighing? You are fulfilling a Heavenly mission! The hundred thousand Jews that you can affect will bring G-d so much satisfaction!"

‘The Rebbe also spoke about himself. "Don't you think that I also want to be in Israel, near the holiness, but we have responsibilities”.

‘By now I knew that I would return to South Africa. I, however, wished to discuss it further, and I asked if I could have another yechidus on Sunday, to which the Rebbe acquiesced.

That Shabbos the Rebbe gave me extraordinary kiruvim, - extra measures of attention and encouragement. I appreciated this very much, and the first thing I said when I went into his room on Sunday was a word of thanks for the kiruvim.

"Kiruvim are a two-way street,” the Rebbe replied.

"Must I too show kiruvim to the Rebbe?!” I asked in wonder.

"Yes!” 

“What does the Rebbe mean? I have already agreed to accept the Rebbe's advice. I am staying in South Africa”. I asked.

"Yes”, said the Rebbe, “but your decision should not be made with the resignation of one who has reluctantly accepted a decree. Rather, it should come happily and good-heartedly!”

Merkos Shlichus

A couple from Kelowna, who are fine and well-to-do yidden.  The first Shabbos that they came to the local Chabad house Friday night for davening and seudas Shabbos, for some reason, the wife was asked to share an inspiring story and this was it:

4 years ago, 2 bochurim came to Kelowna on Merkos Shlichus and (presumably because this couple is wealthy and influential) the bochurim stayed by them for the 2 weeks that they were there. So, of course she told how they made Shabbos at their home, and bought new dishes and about how shetoiveled them in the lake (the dishes, that is, not the bochurim) etc. They had a great experience, they made kiddush, had a seudas shabbos with guests . . all of it was amazing. She even told about how they would come home at night and tell over their success stories from their Merkos Shlichus, and how she and her husband would love hearing them!

But, what was the most amazing thing that she remembered, and what really made the strongest impression on her (she continued), was when she woke up Shabbos morning . . and she heard loud noises from outside screaming. She listened closer, and hears that 2 people are in a deep heated argument (or discussion). The noise is coming from very close to her house, and as she pays closer attention, she realizes that the source of the sounds is on her own back porch.  It is none other than her guests, the 2 bochurim!

She doesn't really understand but it seems that the boys are discussing the portion of the week, and they’re all into it like it’s such a big deal! She couldn't believe it! She was so impressed that this is what was important to them, and so early in the morning, to boot. She was so impressed at their enthusiasm for the torah portion. (They were actually probably learning chassidus before davenen but) more than anything else this is what really stuck out in her memory, and that she wanted to share).

This was the couple’s first positive experience with Chabad, and it had such an impact on them that it ultimately led to the fact that BH they partnered with the shluchim in a significant way, and they are very close with them now. Before this they would never had thought that they could join Chabad.

2 Generations

A shliach in a city was applying for a position as a Rabbi in a local shul. The shliach contacted the officers of the shul, and it was arranged that he would come speak there on a Shabbos, after which he would be able to meet the congregants and have an opportunity to introduce himself to them.

When the designated Shabbos arrived, the shliach came to the shul. The president of the shul introduced him warmly, explaining that he was a representative from Lubavitch, who will share some Torah thoughts with them, and afterwards perhaps things would develop further.

Now, every shul or institution is dependent on the support of donations etc. for its sustenance. In many cases there is one (or 2) very wealthy member/s who usually bear the lion’s share of the financial burden. In this shul, as well, there was one main donor, who happened to be, unfortunately, not very fond of Lubavitch (to put it mildly).

Thus, when the president completed his introduction, this gvir got up and shouted: ‘I protest! I don’t want a Lubavitcher speaking in my shul!’

The president, however, was unfazed, and retorted: ‘We have already arranged for this guest to speak today in our shul, please everyone give him your attention’.

The protestor became even more furious, and screamed: ‘If you let this Lubavitcher speak here, then I’m leaving (and I’ll take my money elsewhere)’! But the president remained steadfast, informing him that if he wished to leave he is free to do so, but the speech will go on as scheduled. The man stormed out, and the shliach gave his speech.

After davening there was a kiddush [during which the president approached the shliach and brought him l’chayim, telling him: ‘you know we usually serve only scotch here, but for you, since I know you’re a Lubavitcher, I bought a bottle of absolute'], and the shliach met a number of people.

But there was one question that was greatly troubling him, and finally he asked the president directly: ‘What caused you to so forcefully defend me, even at the risk of alienating one of your important donors? Of course, I greatly appreciate it, but it was very puzzling to me’ The president told the shliach to come to his house motzoei Shabbos, when he would answer him.

On motzoei Shabbos, the president served the shliach a melaveh malka, and told him the following story:

During the (2^nd world) war, there was a youth who found himself, at a river bank, trapped between the Russian front and the German front. He didn’t know what to do (knowing that the one thing that they both had in common was their animosity towards the Jews). Finally he decided that the Germans would kill him for sure, and he was better off taking his chances with the Russians.

He duly crossed the river, and, as expected, as he neared the Russian front, he was seized by their soldiers. He explained that he was a Jewish youth, running for his life,  and he could sense that they trusted him. They took him to the medical tent,  and told him to take some food and rest up,  and didn't appear to give him another thought. Bone weary, he fell into a deep sleep. A few hours passed, when, suddenly, a group of soldiers burst into the room, grabbed him roughly, and handcuffed him. He was shocked at the startling change in their attitude, but it very quickly became clear to him: In the middle of the night, the German forces had carried out a surprise attack against the Russian positions, with numerous casualties. It was clear that they had received information, and the Jewish boy fell under suspicion of being a spy!

In vain did he try to defend himself,  trying - unsuccessfully - to impress upon them the ludicrousness of him, a Jewish boy, spying for his mortal enemies the Germans. It was wartime, and the slightest suspicion of such treason was more than enough basis to put him to death r"l. Indeed, they conducted a swift trial, and prepared to execute him. There was nothing more to do or say.

Moments before they shot him, the vehicle of the commanding officer passed by. He stopped, and inquired what was going on. When he was informed about what happened, he looked at the boy sharply, and said "I'm taking him with me". The  commanding officer took the boy with him to his tent, and then, to boy's utter surprise,  he turned to him and asked in a perfect Yiddish: "ver bizt du, vos tust du do?"

The boy was, understandably in a state of shock - moments before he had already been sure he was breathing his last - and it took him awhile until he could speak again. But gradually he calmed down, and told the officer his entire story. The officer reassured him down, telling him that he believes him, and that he has no need to worry. At that point the boy gathered his courage (or perhaps his curiosity overcame his fear) and questioned the officer about what he was doing there. At that, the officer began to share his story:

'My father', he began to relate, 'was a follower of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. When I got my notice to appear for the draft, my father immediately brought me to the Rebbe for a brocho that I be spared. The Rebbe, however, to the great surprise of both of us,  responded to our request with the words "ess iz nito vos tzu ton" (there's nothing to be done). My father began to cry, and begged the Rebbe to give us some advice to save me from being taken to the army. The Rebbe repeated his earlier statement, however, and added "there will come a time, while in the army, when he will have the opportunity to save the life of a Jewish youth, and he should be sure to take advantage of this opportunity when it arrives".

'I've been in the army many years (the commanding officer concluded his narrative to the youth), and have been promoted numerous times, until I reached this very high position, but I never saw the opportunity about which the Rebbe had spoken. Today, when I recognized the Jewish features on your face, I realized that the Rebbe had meant you, and that it was in order to save your life that I had joined the army in the first place!'

The president of the shul now looked at the shliach pointedly, and exclaimed: "I was that boy in the war, all those years ago, and the Rebbe saved me. I owe my life to Lubavitch, and you can be sure that I will pay no attention to any screaming, but will do whatever it takes to get you this position!!"

[In fact, the shliach got the appointment, and went on to be very successful in his new position. It would seem that the Rebbe with his ruach hakodesh was not only saving the life of a Jewish youth so many years later, but was also - through that - securing a job for a shliach 2 generations even further down the line!]

Miserable Faces

When Rabbi and Mrs. Shmuel Gorevitch were about to set out on shlichus to Lyon, France, they had a yechidus with the Rebbe. Towards the end, when they were about to leave, the Rebbe'suddenly turned to them with a smile and said, "In general, you should know that the French Don't like miserable faces." The significance of this seemingly strange statement only became apparent around five years later. By then, Rabbi Gorevitch had established a community of around several dozen Chassidic families and the time had come to open a school. Everyone was pleasantly surprised by the beautiful building that they received from the local municipality. Even public schools were not normally allotted such beautiful premises, yet here was a private, religious school that would never usually receive any municipal assistance. When the local mayor gave a speech about the new school, the answer became clear. "When they submitted a request to the municipality to open a school," said the mayor, "I was very interested in finding out what Chabad is. People told me that they are a group of Jews who are characterized by working with joy. I therefore decided to give them this beautiful, big building because I, by nature, cant stand miserable faces."

A Jew in Dakar

Rabbi Yosef Wineberg served as a Chabad-Lubavitch emissary for the sixth Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, of righteous memory, and the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. Rabbi Wineberg undertook missions to South Africa, Brazil, and other countries, reaching out to Jews and inspiring identity and observance.

In the early 1950s, Rabbi Wineberg went for a private audience with the Rebbe prior to traveling to South Africa. At the audience, the Rebbe asked him: "Do you stop in any other countries on your way to South Africa?"

Rabbi Wineberg told him that the plane made occasional stops for refueling, but these were for brief intervals. To this the Rebbe replied: "Do you not stay in any place for a day or two?" Rabbi Wineberg answered him that this was not the plan. Toward the end of the audience, the Rebbe again asked Rabbi Wineberg if he was planning to stop in any other countries on the way.

Rabbi Wineberg had been working with the Rebbe long enough to appreciate that this was not ordinary curiosity. When he came home, he told his wife that although he was scheduled to arrive in South Africa on Wednesday, she should not be disappointed if a telegram does not arrive before Shabbat, for from the Rebbe's words, it appeared that he would be delayed for a day or two and would not necessarily have the opportunity of communicating before Shabbat began.

As Rabbi Wineberg prepared to board the plane, he noticed that one of his acquaintances, Rabbi Lenger (of Ganeles-Lenger wines) was also planning to board the flight. They both appreciated the advantage of having each other as company on the long journey.

One of the refueling stops for the journey to South Africa was Dakar, a small country on the West African coast. As they were preparing to deplane there, the crew announced that the stay would be prolonged slightly because they were experiencing certain technical difficulties.

They deplaned at 10 PM. As Rabbi Wineberg was sitting in the lobby, he noticed a young man looking at him intently. When Rabbi Wineberg took off his hat and revealed a skull-cap, kippah, the man approached him and introduced himself as Mr. Pinto, a Sephardic Jew from Egypt. He had been in Dakar for six months and hadn't seen a Jewish face. He missed the Jewish involvement which he had experienced at home, and he was worried about the effect living in such a Jewish wasteland would have on his children.

Rabbi Wineberg explained to him that he could maintain a stronger sense of Jewish identity by intensifying his Jewish observance. "Do you have tefillin here?" Rabbi Wineberg asked him, of the small black leather boxes containing scrolls of biblical passages that are wrapped on the arm and head of adult men during weekday morning prayers.

"Yes," Mr. Pinto answered. He did have tefillin, but unfortunately, he had fallen out of the habit of putting them on each day.

"When your children see you putting on tefillin daily," Rabbi Wineberg told him, "the concept of being Jewish will mean much more to them. They will have a tangible example of what being Jewish means."

Mr. Pinto promised to put on tefillin daily. He and Rabbi Wineberg talked for a few more minutes, and then Rabbi Wineberg was called back to his plane. Rabbi Wineberg felt that perhaps his conversation with Mr. Pinto was the reason for the delay and with that he would have fulfilled whatever intent the Rebbe had in mind when speaking about a stop on the way to South Africa.

Apparently, this was not the case. After a few hours of flying, the crew announced that they were experiencing engine trouble and would have to return to Dakar. After they deplaned, the passengers were informed that one of the plane's engines had burnt out and it would be two or three days before it could be replaced.

Rabbi Wineberg's companion, Mr. Lenger, was worried. It was already past midnight Wednesday morning. If the delay was more than two days, it would be questionable whether they would arrive before Shabbat. Rabbi Wineberg calmed him; the Rebbe had spoken to him about a delay for a day or two, no longer.

After being placed in a local hotel and resting for several hours, Rabbi Wineberg set out to look for Jews. That was not an easy task in Dakar, for there were few in the country. Many of the people had not even heard what a Jew was.

He was able, however, to locate a store whose owner was reputed to be Jewish. Rabbi Wineberg entered the store and asked for the owner. He was introduced to a young man named Clement. Was he the owner of the store?

No, he was the owner's nephew.

Was he Jewish?

Yes, he was.

Clement talked freely with Rabbi Wineberg. He came from Lebanon. He felt the financial opportunities open for him in Dakar were worth undertaking the difficulties of leaving home and a familiar environment. He and his uncle know of four other Jewish families.

Rabbi Wineberg spoke to him about Jewish involvement and practice. Clement acknowledged that he had been lax in this area.

"Do you have tefillin here?" Rabbi Wineberg asked.

Clement admitted that he had left his in Lebanon.

"Would you put on tefillin if I sent them to you?"

Clement promised that he would.

They talked for a while longer, and Rabbi Wineberg sensed a genuine warmth on Clement's part. "Today is also a day," he told him. "Come with me and put on tefillin now."

Clement agreed and went with Rabbi Wineberg to his hotel room. As they were returning to the store, they met Mr. Pinto, who expressed his surprise at seeing Rabbi Wineberg still in the city.

Rabbi Wineberg explained about the engine trouble his plane had experienced and then introduced Clement. "You had complained of being in Dakar for six months without meeting another Jew," he told Mr. Pinto. "I've been here less than a day, and I have been able to find one."

Rabbi Wineberg spent the majority of the next day with Clement, developing a relationship with him. Clement took him sightseeing and they talked freely. One subject bothered Rabbi Wineberg and as the connection between them grew, he felt free to broach the issue. "What about marriage?" he asked Clement. "What chance is there of you finding a Jewish girl here in Dakar?"

Clement had to admit that there was almost no opportunity. "Promise me that you will never marry out of the faith," Rabbi Wineberg told Clement. Clement made the promise, telling Rabbi Wineberg that the time they had spent together had made an indelible impression upon him.

Rabbi Wineberg's plane was fixed in time for him to arrive in South Africa before Shabbat. At his first opportunity, he wrote a letter to the Rebbe describing his experiences in Dakar. The Rebbe sent tefillin and prayer books for the community there.

Throughout the months that followed, Rabbi Wineberg maintained a connection with Clement and Mr. Pinto, sending them cards for the High Holidays and letters from time to time. Before Passover, the Rebbe instructed his personal secretary, Rabbi Hodakov, to send matzah, the special thin bread eaten on the holiday, to Dakar.

When the matzah arrived, Clement and Mr. Pinto decided to make a communal Passover feast, known as the Seder. At the Seder, they spoke emotionally of the Rebbe's commitment to Jews throughout the world, how sitting in New York, he senses the longing within the heart of a Jew in Africa to maintain contact with his Jewish roots. After Passover, they wrote the Rebbe a moving letter thanking him and describing the Seder.

The following summer, Rabbi Wineberg had an audience with the Rebbe before leaving on a mission to Brazil and South Africa. "You will be stopping in Dakar," the Rebbe said with a smile. "Why not spend a few days there even if the plane is in order? This time, you can notify the people before you come."

Rabbi Wineberg notified his friends in Dakar, and they arranged a get-together of the entire community.

There was only one unpleasant element of the trip; Rabbi Wineberg saw that Clement was still single. "Do you remember your promise?" Rabbi Wineberg reminded him. Clement answered affirmatively. He explained that he had traveled to France to look for a Jewish girl to marry, but had not met anyone. "But," he assured Rabbi Wineberg, "there is no reason to worry. I will never marry out of the faith."

Several months afterwards, Rabbi Wineberg received a wedding invitation in the mail from Clement (and a second invitation to forward to the Rebbe). Clement had gone back to Lebanon to look for a wife. He had found a Jewish girl whom he would be marrying and then they would return to Dakar. "When I received that letter," Rabbi Wineberg explained, "I felt that my mission in Dakar had been completed."

Bob Dylan and the dog

Someone (I think it was Rabbi Feller but I´m not sure) was being mekarev Bob Dylan (I won’t try to explain to any of you who he is . .) and it was around chaf beis shvat, and he told Bob to come bemenachem avel the Rebbe, so Bob came and he calls the shliach to say he is outside, and the shliach came out and saw that in the back of Bob´s van was a huge dog, so he asked what’s with the dog? So Bob says "it's for the Rebbe". So the shliach answers "Bob, the Rebbe has enough dogs"

The 1

A shliach, we’ll call him Chaim, went out to a city to establish a Chabad House. Slowly but surely he built himself up, organizing all the usual programs and events.

After a while, he had established enough contacts, and experienced enough successes, to decide that he was ready to plan his first “major” event; - a Chanukah party in a rented hall (yes, this is a different story, and it is a truestory). Immediately his staff became involved in the myriad details involved in preparing an event on such a scale. From advertising to inviting, from designing to budgeting, they were up to their ears in work.

Slowly things began to take shape, and the team was filled with cautious optimism. While countless last minute details were being attended to, there was ample reason to anticipate a smashing success.

Finally the big day arrived. The chairs had been rented, the food was delivered, the hall was decorated, and the waiters were ordered. The sound-system was set up, special gifts for the children were acquired, a clown was on the way, and finally, well before zero hour, the family and staff went to get dressed for the celebration (making sure, of course, that none of their clothing was shatnez!)

Chaim came back, early enough, and made some last minute arrangements in the parking lot, to ensure that they could handle parking for extra cars should it become necessary. Then, having done his part, he went inside to prepare to greet the guests.

The program was only called for 8:00, and it was 7:30, so Chaim was finally able to relax slightly while he waited. He conversed calmly with one of his colleagues about some of the details of the evening.

After a while he glanced at his watch. 8:07. They were meant to start 7 minutes ago! Oh well, Jews (especially those who – he hoped – were heading towards becoming affiliated with Lubavitch) weren’t known for their punctuality. But, although not (yet) overly concerned, he relocated to the window, where he would glance towards the parking lot periodically.

8:20: Chaim was starting to get frantic. Where is everybody?! Chaim, by now, had moved to outside, and was peering up and down the street in all directions. Where are the hundreds of guests we were expecting?

8:30: Everyone is getting panicky. The adults are saying Tehillim fervently, and hoping against hope that there will still be an eleventh hour breakthrough (after all, the program was supposed to last at least until 10). The children are sampling the food from the vast containers (that appears now to be (for the most part) headed to waste).

8:45: A car pulls into the parking lot, and everyone holds their collective breath. It turns out to be one of the waiters they had ordered. Chaim, devastated, doesn’t have the ability to deal with him.

9:00: The hall is starting to look and feel like a funeral parlor. Chaim, very literally, feels like digging a hole and burying himself. How could things have gone so wrong?! The few staff are alternating between feelings of mourning, and pity for poor Chaim. Someone cracks a joke about them not needing to cook food for the foreseeable future. Nobody smiles.

9:23: Somebody, a stranger, wanders into the building and walks over to Chaim. “Excuse me Rabbi, but I heard there’s supposed to be some Hanuka party here tonight?!” Chaim is too embarrassed to look the guest in the face, and mumbles something about the event having been cancelled, while pointedly steering him towards the door. He sighs in relief when he hears the car drive off.

Somehow they survived the awful evening, cleaned up the hall, and got off to bed. The next day, a very disheartened Chaim wrote a depressing duch to the Rebbe with all the details about the grand Chanuka extravaganza that wasn’t, and how hundreds of expected attendees ended up being one hapless latecomer, who they had no choice but to send away.

The Rebbe responded (according to another version, I heard it was Rabbi Chodakov who made this point to him): “When you make an event, if you’re very successful, you may attract 1000 guests. In the course of the evening, you may manage to personally greet 100 of them. Of those, 10 may display enough interest to continue their connection with you. Of those 10, you may actually succeed in convincing one to change his life, to become a shomer Torah and Mitzvos, which was the ultimate goal of the entire event. Here, the Eibishter sent you that one person directly, the ultimate goal of your program, so that you can get directly to your objective without having to go through 999 nudniks en route, and you actually went and SENT HIM AWAY??!!”

The 12 Psukim

Among the terrible tragedies occurring in Israel are the incidences of intermarriages between Jewish women and Arab husbands rachmonoh litzlan. Besides the obvious spiritual tragedy of such a sinful union, and besides the absurdity of a Jewish woman joining her life with members of a nation bent on our destruction r”l, these unions invariably result in tragic consequences for the wayward woman in a very physical sense as well. Very soon after the “marriage”, the woman will discover that, rather than having become a wife, she has instead become a literal slave, forced to endure the most unspeakable tortures and abuse as part of her daily fare. Tragically, once settled in an Arab village she turns into a virtual prisoner, it being practically impossible to escape (not to mention that any such attempt would be risking her very life, should she be unsuccessful). She is, furthermore, powerless to save her children, once she realizes what she has submitted them to.

Boruch Hashem, numerous organizations are dedicated to addressing this pressing issue, and many daring rescue missions have been carried out, in which numerous of these hapless women were saved from their sorry fate. They were then placed into homes where they are provided with the assistance and support needed to recover from their terrible ordeal, and where they often become closer to the Yiddishkeit from which they had become estranged.

In one specific incident, one of these women was rescued together with her 2 young children. Trying to put her suffering (that she had brought upon herself by her foolishness) behind her, she tried to get on with her life. Unfortunately, her troubles were not over. Her Arab “husband” tracked her down, and stole back the two children.

Now, when the spouse forcibly takes the children, this becomes a legal matter, that makes it possible for the authorities to intervene and bring them back. However, in such situations, they are often faced by a serious obstacle: The mother will almost never venture back into the lions’ den, from which she would never emerge alive; thus, the police and/or soldiers would need to be the ones to identify the kidnapped children. The Arabs, therefore, in such situations, will bring numerous Arab children of the same age into the house (being searched), making it practically impossible for someone other than a parent to make positive identification of the particular child in question. This ploy successfully hindered the efforts of the Israeli authorities in many instances.

In this particular story, the soldiers informed the woman of the difficulty that they expected to encounter. She, however, was not daunted. “When you get into the house”, she said to them, “start screaming the Pesukim Shma Yisroel and Torah Tziva, and you’ll surely discover which are my children”.

The soldiers arrived at the house, where they found 30 young children scattered throughout the rooms (who had been brought there as a diversion, as they had feared). Following the woman’s advice, they began to loudly recite the pesukim. Suddenly, they heard a plaintive voice from the closet crying “IMA”. They opened the closet, and released a 4 year old girl. The girl pointed downwards, and the soldiers, following her directions, searched the basement, where they discovered her 2 year old brother wrapped in a rug.

After the successful conclusion of the rescue, the woman was asked what the rationale behind her plan was. She related the following by way of explanation:

“As I child I attended the mesibos Shabbos group, that was run by the Chabad shliach in the town in which I lived. Every Shabbos we were encouraged to scream the Pesukim, for which we would receive an “artik” (an ice cream bar).

When I was stuck with the Arab, and started having second thoughts about my actions, I resolved to try to impart as much Yiddishkeit as I can to my children. Since the only things Jewish that remained in my mind were the Pesukim that I used to so enthusiastically recite, I would spend every spare moment saying them with my children. It was for this reason that I was confident that if my children would only hear the pesukim they would immediately identify themselves”!

Eckvelt

Some 30 years ago, Rabbi Yitzchok Vorst, was just beginning his assignment as a Chabad representative in Amstelveen, Holland. Shortly before Passover, he received a phone call from Lubavitch Headquarters in Brooklyn. Rabbi Hodakov, the Rebbe's personal secretary, informed him that the Rebbe wants him to go to a certain small town and give shmura matza, the special matza hand-made from flour that was guarded against moisture, to the Jew that lived in that town. The young rabbi asked for the name of this Jew, whereupon he was informed that the Rebbe did not mention any names. Rabbi Hodakov assured him, though, that he would be able to locate him once he got to the town.

 

Rabbi Vorst attempted to explain that the town was many hours' drive from Amsterdam that he was busy making preparations for his first communal Seder in Holland and distributing matzos, and besides, he did not believe there were any Jews located in that town anyway. Rabbi Hodakov was adamant. The Rebbe said that he should leave tomorrow for this town. There was no choice.

 

The next morning Rabbi Vorst packed a lunch and spent the day driving to this secluded town. Once there he spent hours searching and inquiring for any Jews in the town, to no avail. He finally decided that the expedition was a total waste of time and went to fill his car with petrol for the return trip. The gas station attendant asked the rabbi what had brought him to town. Upon hearing his story the attendant replied that he believed that a worker at the local butcher shop was indeed Jewish.

 

With nothing to lose, Rabbi Vorst made his way to the shop. When he walked in, the man behind the counter took one look at him and fainted. When he revived he told Rabbi Vorst the following story:

 

His mother and he were the only survivors in his family of the Nazi horrors. They moved to this secluded part of Holland to avoid further persecution. On her deathbed, his mother made him swear never to marry a non-Jewish girl and always be true to his faith. That had been five years prior. For the last several months the local priest had frequented his shop and began proselytizing him. They would enter into long discussions, but for this man, conversion was out of the question.

 

Eventually, though, the priest began to make headway. One of his arguments G-d had abandoned the young man, as proved by the fact that he was the only Jew in the area.

 

Therefore he should convert and become part of a community.

 

After several months of being worn down, the young Jew agreed to be baptized. But, he insisted, first he wanted three days to think it over further.

 

He felt confused and depressed. He was indeed all alone. But how could he abandon his faith? How could he renege on the vow he made to his mother? He cried bitterly. Finally he called out to the Almighty, "I will wait for you, dear G-d, to show me a sign that you are still watching over me. If I do not see anything from you by 6:00 PM on the third day, I will convert!"

 

And so the man cried. For three days he became more morose. He found work impossible.

 

The third day had arrived and still no sign. The man spent the day looking at the clock. At lunch time he took a break and again beseeched the Almighty. There was less than six hours before he would agree to convert. During his 3:00 break the man again turned and prayed.

 

Now there was less than three hours. If he did not see some sign indicating that the G-d of the Jews still cared for him, he would be baptized.

 

As the minute hand passed the 5:00 mark, the man was besides himself. Perhaps the priest was right after all. Maybe it would be better for him to convert. The minutes ticked on. Each one felt like an entire hour. At 5:45, he began closing the store. At 5:55 PM Rabbi Yitzchok Vorst, armed with his matza from the Lubavitcher Rebbe, walked into this man's store.

 

After hearing this story, Rabbi Vorst begged the man to come back with him to Amsterdam and spend Passover. The man agreed. Every step of the way was a new beginning for this man. He had never been exposed to Judaism as his mother wanted to hide him from it. After Passover, he thanked the Rabbi and left.

 

Twenty-five years later, Rabbi Vorst traveled to Jerusalem for the wedding of a relative. He was praying devoutly at the Western Wall, deep in concentration, when he heard his name being called and felt a hearty slap across his back. He turned and saw a large, burly man. The man asked him in Dutch, "Rabbi, don't you recognize me, I am so and so from the town of …. I spent Pesach in your house one year. Now I live in Jerusalem with my family. I owe everything to you." Sometimes, it is possible to make a deal with the Almighty.