I recall the following episode of my husband’s life, which happened in 1935. Once, at 11:00 o’clock at night, a woman visited us. After looking around to make sure no stranger was present, she addressed my husband in hushed tones:
“Rabbi, I have come to you from a distant city—its name I won’t tell you. In about an hour, at midnight, my daughter will be coming with a young man. They both hold such important positions that their coming here places them in true danger. After my entreaties and tears, they promised me to agree to a Jewish wedding ceremony, but only if you will officiate; under no circumstances will they do it with anyone else.”
At 12:00 o’clock, the two arrived, the daughter having covered her face so she would not be visible. I immediately led them both into my husband’s office so that no one should notice them.
It was at this point that my husband began his preparations. First, he insisted on having a minyan, without which he would not perform the wedding. Besides my husband and the groom, we needed eight more men who “would see but not be seen,” and trusted, one hundred percent, that they would not later inform on anyone.
Within half an hour, this was accomplished, except for a tenth man, who, as usual, was missing. My husband sent for the building supervisor, who was Jewish and belonged to the young generation. His official duties required him to watch our home to observe whether we had many visitors and whether the Rav was performing religious ceremonies!
As soon as he walked in, my husband said to him, “You need to be the tenth man; otherwise I can’t perform the wedding ceremony.”
Startled, the supervisor gave my husband an astonished look. “Me?!” he asked incredulously. But he immediately went to the window and closed the shutters firmly, locked the door and took a seat.
The final preparations began. I brought out a dark-colored plush tablecloth that was similar to the cover of a chuppah [wedding canopy]. The four tallest men in the minyan acted as poles to hold it up.
After my husband wrote out the ketubah, the groom and bride were called out of their darkened room. They were still fearful of being seen by others, so they didn’t allow candles4 to be lit.
The bride entered with her face covered, just as when she had first come, and no one saw her face. She was led seven times around the groom. The latter, a tall young man in a leather coat, who looked like a Russian commissar—and perhaps he was of that ilk—did everything he was told, and recited the words “Harei at mekudeshet…” [“You are hereby consecrated…”].
At 1:30 a.m. the groom and bride hurried out of our home.
Among the wedding “guests”—the minyan—were two men who carried Communist party membership cards. They sat down and threw them down on the table. With unusually warm feeling they declared, “Now, Rabbi, we’re Jews together with you. We feel that we don’t want to leave you.” Pointing to their membership cards they said, “When we’re in your presence, these are worthless…!”
I observed such reactions to my husband’s presence from many people.
For the full diary entry please visit: http://www.chabad.org/1812373
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These Story’s Are Wonderful
Thank you for sharing these.
amazing stuff. please keep these stories coming.
These stories are priceless and so inspiring!