My Audience With The King

By Harlan Bernstein

To begin a reflection with a question makes sense enough. To further that question with an answer by the end of the reflection is the direct goal, and therefore a hope.

If given the opportunity to have an audience with a king, what would one say? Such a challenge it would be for one to collect themselves so as to lucidly produce speech in the presence of majesty, splendor, and judgement.
I approached the kingdom of a king recently. It was only too fitting that the kingdom is named Crown Heights. I took a trip to his kingdom before. The neighborhood of the Rebbe is one resplendent; the resting place of a crown. I believe the sages said that after Samson died, he still lead the people for decades.

I was not a solitary pilgrim the weekend I spent in Crown Heights. The emissaries of the Rebbe, from university campuses around the nation, collected close to a thousand Jewish students. Some of these students had deeply traditional backgrounds, with a day school education written on their expressive faces. Many of them appeared new to the way of life unfolding right before their exploring eyes. This was the first time that so many ever embraced the Shabbos, regulating their activities for this queen clothed in time.

With the individuals gathered up into a group measuring close to a thousand, the Shabbaton began. The time was queenly Shabbos and the space was kingly Crown Heights. I can only imagine the purposes driving the other students. I suppose there were those who wanted to see the sophisticated city. Others no doubt came to engage in Jewish life. I went only because I needed an audience with a king.

For the whole ride up to New York from Columbus, into the weekend beyond, I thought about what I’d ask of the Rebbe. For years I’d heard stories of the miracles expounding around the leader as he’d shepherd his flock through worldly struggles. He had the reach to pull the attention of global leaders, while also possessing the focus to remember any and every small child in need of his attention. I continued to consider my audience with the Rebbe as the campus rabbi drove the van deeper into the city and closer to the kingdom of my destination.

As rabbi after rabbi went on that weekened about the efforts made by the Rebbe, I wondered if I’d tell the Rebbe about all the challenges I was facing. One by one, the chasids summoned up countless stories explicating the loving nature percolating through brilliant eyes. One rabbi explained that he was a human, an impossibly humane human.

I sat with a few of the Rebbe’s chassidim. They spoke of the Tanya, and the Lekutei Sichos, and of the parsha Vayeira, while I listened and asked questions. They said of the Shema that one should give focus and heart, as one would while reading the missive of a king.

They told stories full of drama, how the Rebbe journeyed to America and instituted Chasidism in the New World. Inside of the their words was a constant love, uninhibited by distance and years gone by. The Rebbe could have been standing beside the Ahron in Seven-Seventy with the way they talked of him. After seventeen years, he was clearly still leading his people.

The students went to the Ohel on Sunday morning. I felt unprepared. Granted I thought so much about how I’d spend my moments with the Rebbe, I still felt nervous and lackluster.

He was a mitzvah-maker. I was having trouble putting on tefilin. During the year I had to leave school for a quarter, because my father was undergoing chemotherapy. While I was with him we put on tefilin everyday together. Before Rosh Hashana the doctors said he’d made a major recovery, and I took upon myself the mitzvah. But I was having trouble putting them on. I’ve been so saddened by my failing endeavor that I became disheartened and didn’t wrap for weeks.

In my letter, after asking the Rebbe to ask Ha’Shem for my father’s health, and my family’s continued blessings, I asked for his help in getting through college and his help in utilizing my talents. My final request was for help in wrapping tefilin.

After unlacing my shoes and replacing them with non-leather crocs, I approached the final door before the Ohel. Before I could squeeze my way through, a young chassid stopped me, looked down at my forearms and without hesitating asked me simply, “righty or lefty?”

I told him I was a lefty, and he quickly withdrew tefilin from a small green velvet bag, and with his help I wrapped tefilin before I could even drop my letter in front of the Rebbe’s grave site. Walking down the path, crowded with hundreds of students all making their way to the marble shrine, it occurred to me that a chassid of the Rebbe just helped me in keeping a mitzvah I was shortly going to ask for assistance in keeping. Before I could even ask for help the Rebbe offered it.

I travelled for this audience to ask for the Rebbe’s help. What does one ask of a king? It depends upon the king. If this king is merciful, then one would ask for mercy. If this king is stern, then it would be logical to ask for justice. But if this king is impossibly humane, then it only makes sense to simply ask of this king for help. This impossible king, I knew he would take care of the rest.