The Army to the Rescue

Mrs. Racy Yurkowicz lives in Lod, Israel, where she is involved in a variety of community programs including teaching Torah classes for women and girls. She was interviewed by JEM’s My Encounter in October 2014.

My earliest memories of the Rebbe come from when I was a little girl, still in elementary school. Back then, the Chabad community in Crown Heights, where I grew up, was quite small, and so children had a great deal more access to the Rebbe than they did in later years.

During farbrengens on Shabbat, we would play in the alleys near 770 while the Rebbe was speaking, so as not to disturb others, but we would come inside when the chasidim began singing. On one occasion, we were playing outside when the Rebbe came out and turned toward his home. Seeing him coming, we all lined up on the side, and as the Rebbe passed us, he stopped to say Gut Shabbos to each girl with a big smile, while patiently waiting for each to say Gut Shabbos back to him.

After that happened, we realized this was an opportunity, so we made sure to be in that spot after every Shabbat farbrengen to catch the Rebbe coming out and to bask in the special attention he gave us.

My father, Rabbi Yehoshua Pinson, served as the gabbai who oversaw the function of 770 for about thirty years, and though some might think that his position gave us special access to the Rebbe, the opposite was true. My father knew first-hand how much was constantly demanded of the Rebbe, so he made sure not to bother him with our family’s needs.

In fact, the first time I ever had a private audience with the Rebbe was in 1974 when I became engaged to my husband, Rabbi Boruch Yurkowicz. This should have been a happy occasion, but it was overshadowed by the recent passing of my mother, Rebbetzin Lieba Pinson.

The period of time after I lost my mother in a tragic car accident was particularly hard. I was left alone with my father in the house, and then my older sister, who had three little children and was pregnant with her fourth, moved in with us. We were not getting along, because she was very moody, and I was really confused and hurt by everything that had happened.

I wrote all this in my note to the Rebbe before I went into the audience. People told me that the Rebbe would probably greet me with a mazel tov, but as I walked in, I saw that the Rebbe had a very serious look on his face. He didn’t say mazel tov; he did that only later in a letter. He knew what I was coming for.

I was very emotional and I was crying as I presented my note describing what was happening in my life at that moment, and the Rebbe was very, very sympathetic. He looked at me with such kindness, and I felt that he understood my pain. Even more than that, I had the sense that he actually felt my pain.

He gave me some good advice. He told me not to judge my sister and to keep in mind that, as is well-known, when women are pregnant, they are often moody. So I shouldn’t take what my sister does or says personally, because it is just a stage that she is going through, and things will get better.

Then he showered me with blessings, including a very special one to use my G-d-given talents. That blessing awakened in me a conviction that my troubles would pass. It implied a promise: “You will overcome this. You’ll go on, and you’ll even be able to use your G-d-given talents.”

All this was so uplifting, and when I walked out of his office, I felt as if a stone had been lifted from my heart. That was the magic of an encounter with the Rebbe.

After getting married, we lived in Morristown, New Jersey – where my husband and I both served as teachers – but we would occasionally come back to Crown Heights, usually staying with my sister on President Street. On one such occasion in 1981, during the High Holidays, we brought with us our three-year-old son, Shmulik. He was a very good boy, and he used to go with my husband to 770 and stay there happily for hours. But on this particular Shabbat, he got separated from his father in the crowd and decided to go home by himself. He knew the way so he felt comfortable setting off on his own.

But he got hit by a car. He was crossing Brooklyn Avenue when it happened. The driver was making a turn and could not see such a small child emerging between two parked cars. But, thank G-d, Shmulik was okay. A doctor came running and said he was fine – we didn’t even need to take him to the hospital.

Although we were very shaken, I considered it an open miracle.

The next day we wrote a note to the Rebbe, telling him what had happened and asking if we should do anything.

The Rebbe’s answer was: “Betach nirshamtem oto liTzivot Hashem – You have certainly registered him in Tzivos Hashem.” The year before, the Rebbe had started an organization called Tzivos Hashem, the Army of G-d, to instill in Jewish children Torah ideals, and he often held rallies for the members. (This organization is still going strong today.) Indeed, we had signed up Shmulik, and the Rebbe was implying that him being a member was connected to the miracle that had just happened to him. After hearing that, we signed him up again right away, just to be sure. We wanted to fulfill the Rebbe’s instructions to the letter, as we always strove to do.