By Dovid Zaklikowski for COLlive and Hasidic Archives
It was 1943 in Uzbekistan, and Yaakov Schwei was eight years old. His father, R’ Mordechai Schwei, had passed away, leaving his mother, Bunia Schwei, to care for and educate their three sons alone. Bunia wanted the boys to have a Jewish education, but in the Soviet Union, fulfilling that desire could land a parent in prison, or worse.
At first, she hired a private teacher, whom she “paid” by cleaning his home and hauling water each day from the well. But when the teacher departed for the Land of Israel (then Palestine), Bunia was at a loss. She had heard that in Samarkand there was an underground Lubavitch school. It would be too risky, however, for the entire family to travel without a permit. The boys would have to go alone.
The two older ones went first. For Yaakov, the youngest, Bunia found a man who agreed to escort him on the condition that if the boy was questioned, he would say he was running away from home alone.
Life in Samarkand was not easy for the students—accommodations were limited to a bench for a bed, and one meal a day, eaten at the home of a local family. Still, they made every effort to dedicate themselves to their studies.
By the time Yaakov arrived in Samarkand, even these necessities were not available. His older brother Isaac Schwei gave up his bench to him. “That bench was your ‘apartment’,” Rabbi Schwei OBM, who became a member of the Crown Heights Beis Din, recalled years later. Isaac had arranged to eat with the same family every day. This coveted spot, too, he sacrificed for his younger sibling. “He gave me his place and went every day to a different family.”
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Bunia was making plans to join her children. One day, she was summoned to the police station. “Where is your son?” the interrogator asked her. “Why is he not in school?”
“These days children run away from their parents,” Bunia replied.
They let her go, and soon she was on her way to Samarkand. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Yaakov there at the station, waiting for her.
“How did you know I was coming?” she asked.
“You assured us that we would reunite one day,” he replied. “So every day, I have come to wait for the train from our city.”
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I once asked rabbi schwei about this story so i could hear it first hand. He told me that it was true but that he didn’t go to the train station stam every day. His mother had sent him some communication that she was coming to see him. From that point on (i think it was a few weeks) he went every day.
Aryeh Citron
I heard that she wasn’t able to communicate clearly with her children because all of the letters were censered and it would be dangerous to share such information
Can someone identify the people in the photos?