The Rebbe's shoe

On one of the first occasions that R’ Reuven visited the Rebbe, he was present during a davening. While the Rebbe was davening, R’ Reuven observed that shoe was not on properly; the back of the shoe was bent in and it was undone.

[For many years the Rebbe had suffered great pains in his foot, preventing him from being able to put on that shoe properly. In fact, in the year 5747, when a custom-made car was manufactured for the Rebbe’s use (a gift that the Rebbe subsequently declined), one of the features it was built with was one that would accommodate the Rebbe’s foot ailment].

R’ Reuven assumed that the Rebbe had been in a rush to come to minyan, and did not have ample time to put on his shoe properly. Ever the devoted chosid, he immediately decided to rectify the situation himself. Thus, as the Rebbe davened, R’ Reuven crawled onto the floor by his feet, opened the shoe, pulled it over the Rebbe’s feet, and tied the laces.

However, as soon as the Rebbe completed his davening, he motioned to R’ Reuven that the shoe had in fact been that way intentionally. R’ Reuven didn’t hesitate, and immediately got back onto the floor and crawled over to the Rebbe’s shoe and restored it to its’ earlier state.

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”!

Tefillin and the dead arm

There's a Lubavitcher Yungerman, we’ll call him Moshe, who is an immigration lawyer for a multi-faceted law firm. Recently, the insurance litigation department of his firm took a client, an Iraqi gentleman, who was injured in a car accident and completely and permanently lost use of his left arm. The insurance company agreed to settle for half a million dollars. In the course of their dealings, they discovered that he had some immigration issues, so on this past Monday they sent him to Moshe's department to get things ironed out. Moshe landed the case. In the course of his interview he asked the Iraqi for his mother's maiden name, and he said "Zecharya". Moshe reacted with surprise and said "That's a Jewish sounding name!" "I know," said the Iraqi, "My mother was Jewish." "You know that means that you are Jewish!" Moshe informed him. "Yes," he said, "So I've been told."

"You know what?" said Moshe. "I have some Teffilin here. How would you like to do a mitzvah?" Moshe went on to explain to him what a mitzvah is and what Teffilin are. The gentleman agreed to put on Teffilin. As soon as he began, Moshe realized that it would be somewhat of a challenge, as the man could not move his left arm at all. Moshe had to manipulate the arm completely in order to get the Teffilin on, wrapped around correctly, and then removed.

Tuesday morning, this Iraqi showed up at the law office and demanded to speak with Moshe. As soon as he saw him, he expressed with great astonishment, "You would never believe this! When I woke up this morning, I have complete mobility in my left arm - something the doctors pronounced to be impossible! I am sure that it is due to the Teffilin that we put on yesterday!"

Rabbi Shochet and the Priest

Once, Rabbi Schochet was invited to speak by a gathering of priests, where he mentioned the following story:

 

During the time of the Tosfos Yom Tov, there lived a wealthy individual who ostensibly never contributed to charity. After this miser died, the Chevra Kadisha felt that he was unworthy of being interred next to any upright and respectable individual. They buried him in an area of the cemetery called hekdesh, where society's outcasts were buried.

 

A few days after the funeral, there was a tumult in Prague. Two prominent members of the community, the butcher and the baker, who had previously been extremely charitable and generous, suddenly stopped distributing their funds.

 

The poor people of the city, who had always relied on the benevolent pair for their sustenance, were in an uproar. Emotions ran so deep that the matter was finally brought before the Tosfos Yom Tov.

 

The Tosfos Yom Tov asked the butcher and baker why they had so suddenly stopped their acts of charity. In reply, they informed the Tosfos Yom Tov that they were not personally wealthy.

 

"We were only able to give so much charity because the 'miser' who died just a few days ago constantly supplied us with funds for charity. He strictly warned us, however, not to disclose from whence the money had originated, since he wanted the great merit of performing the mitzva anonymously. Now that he is gone, we no longer receive the funds, and are, unfortunately, unable to continue with this worthy work."

 

The Tosfos Yom Tov was so impressed by the modest behavior of this unassuming "miser" that in his own will he requested to be buried next to this humble man.

 

When my father completed his lecture, a participant from the audience, a priest, approached him and asked him to repeat the story. My father, about to return to his hotel, arranged a time to meet with the priest the following day. Thinking that the matter would be forgotten, my father was surprised when the priest actually arrived.

 

My father repeated the story for the priest but was astounded when, after concluding the story a second time, the priest seemed terribly disturbed and begged him to repeat it yet a third time.

 

Finally, the priest divulged the reason for his agitation. "Rabbi Schochet, that charitable man in the story was my ancestor."

 

Skeptically, my father calmed the young man saying that there was no connection between him and the story, which took place over 100 years ago. "Furthermore," he told him, "you are a gentile, while this man was a Jew."

 

The priest looked intently at my father and whispered, "Rabbi, now I have a story to tell you!"

 

He began by describing his background. He had grown up in the state of Tennessee. His father was a major in the U.S. Army during the Second World War. In Europe, his father had met a Jewish girl and fell in love with her. He brought her back home as his war bride, and no one knew of her Jewish background. A short time after their marriage, the couple was blessed with a child, who they devoutly raised in the Catholic Church. The child grew up and attended a seminary where he eventually trained to become a priest. In his early adulthood, the priest's mother died. On her deathbed, she disclosed her secret to her astonished son.

 

After reciting the Shema prayer, she confessed, "I want you to know that you are Jewish." She informed him of his heritage and told him that his great-grandfather was buried next to the well-known sage called the Tosfos Yom Tov. She then recounted, almost verbatim, the story that my father had told in his lecture.

 

At the time, the priest, who was unaware of this information, imagined that his mother was delirious. Although he felt uneasy about his mother's parting words, it was only a temporary, fleeting emotion. As he got on with his life, he soon forgot the entire episode.

 

"Rabbi," cried the priest, in a state of utter emotional turmoil, you have just repeated this story, detail for detail! You have just reminded me of my mother's parting words, and I realize now that the story must be true, or it wouldn't be so well known. Yet, what am I to do? I am a reputable priest with a large congregation of devoted followers."

 

My father offered to assist him in any way. He emphasized to him, however, that according to Jewish law, he was indeed Jewish. He encouraged him to explore his heritage, and he put him in contact with people in his city who could guide him. With that, the newly-found Jew departed. My father then understood why the Rebbe had suggested the topic matter.

 

He had no further interaction with the man, and did not hear from him again. Several years ago, when my father was on a visit to Israel. A Jew with a beard and a kipa approached him at the Western Wall and wished him "Shalom Aleichem!" My father, who didn't recognize the individual, was completely taken aback when the man exclaimed, "Don't you recognize me, Rabbi Schochet? I am the former priest whom you met in Buffalo."

Cherries

R’ Hillel was once visiting the Tzemach Tzedek. In honor of the illustrious guest, a bowl of cherries (strawberries?) – a delicacy at the time – was placed on the table.

Both the Rebbe the Tzemach Tzedek and R’ Hillel made a brocho, and partook of the treat. However, while the Tzemach Tzedek ate them whole, R’ Hillel first opened each one and carefully inspected it for worms and bugs. Only after assuring himself of it’s kashrus, did he place it in his mouth.

Some of the Chassidim, who were closely monitoring the visit of the famed chosid with the Rebbe, found the behavior of R’ Hillel an affront to the Tzemach Tzedek. As soon as R’ Hillel emerged from the room, he was accosted: “Hillel”, they demanded, “how could you act differently from the Rebbe in his presence? Are you perhaps more frum than the Rebbe?”

“It is very simple”, R’ Hillel reassured them, “the Rebbe, being a true tzaddik, can be assured that he will not encounter anything objectionable, as the Possuk says “לא יאונה לצדיק כל און”. Therefore he has no need to be overly cautious. I, on the other hand, have no such protection; I, therefore, have to personally verify the appropriateness of anything I take into my mouth”.

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.