Mutual Exchange
Why did the Previous Rebbe’s secretary burst into tears? How did he regain his strength and clarity? The Avner Institute presents touching anecdotes from Rabbis Yisrael Leibov and Mendel Futerfas, of blessed memory, about the enormous amount of time and self-sacrifice a Chassid devotes in the service of his leader; and the rock solid conviction – and ageless vitality – that a Chassid gains in return.
Dedicated in memory of loving memory of Hadassah Lebovic A”h
“Youthful Spirit”
As his seventieth birthday approached, Rabbi Yisrael Leibov, then director of Lubavitch Youth Organization, asked the Rebbe, “Do you think I am getting too old to run an organization for young people? Is it really appropriate for the leader of a youth organization to be an old man?”
The Rebbe smiled. “Membership of the Lubavitch Youth Organization doesn’t depend on age, or on what is written on an I.D. card or a birth certificate. It depends more on a person’s spirit.”
“He Cried Twice”
Reb Mendel Futerfas relates:
Rabbi Yechezkiel Feigin (may Hashem avenge his blood) never cried. Why? Did he have a heart of stone? No, it simply wasn’t his nature to cry. He was the paragon of stoicism, someone in control of his emotions.
Only twice in his life did he cry. Once was long after his marriage. He was a full-fledged adult, a businessman who regularly attended classes in revealed and hidden Torah. During yechidus, a private audience with the Previous Rebbe Yosef Yitzhak Schneersohn, he was asked to leave his business aside and become a mentor (mashpia) at Tomchei T’mimim.
Rabbi Feigin hesitated. Already established and, thank G-d, success, he was loath to give up something that brought him a certain measure of income and security. The Rayatz, sensing the Chassid’s reaction, said, “Nu, we’ll postpone it for another time.”
It Yom Kippur. The Rebbe Rayatz was reading the Book of Jonah during the afternoon service. Rabbi Feigin was standing nearby.
The Rebbe’s face dripped with tears as he reached the words, “For from before G-d he is fleeing.” He chanted them loudly and firmly, instead of quickly, as is usually done during the Haftarah.
Rabbi Feigin listened, nodding. He understood the message. Suddenly trembling, he hastened out of the room and burst into sobbing. Immediately he accepted the position of mashpia.
The second time took place after the Rayatz had left Russia. He appointed Rabbi Feigin as his secretary, loading him with so much work that the new secretary had virtually no time to learn, which pained him greatly. Eagerly he met with the Rebbe in private audience.
“This position is leaving me no rest,” he pleaded, face contorted in sadness. “There is so much work, so many tasks. I feel I will die if I can’t enjoy the restorative powers of Torah. I beg the Rebbe, allow me to set a certain time of the day aside for learning.”
The Rayatz listened solemnly, neither arguing nor scolding. He stared out the window, as if focusing on something far away. “In the town of Globoka there is no Talmud Torah,” he finally said. “May I suggest you go there and found a branch of Tomchei T’mimim there.”
Quickly, Rabbi Feigin grasped the Rayatz’s point: there was no room for complaints. Overcome with shame, he burst into tears.
The Rayatz, observing him, was himself moved to tears. “I have the same problem,” he wept, “but can we sit with our arms folded?”
Seeing the Rebbe driven to tears, all his years of self-sacrifice for the Jewish people discounted, made Rabbi Feigin weep even more. Finally he left the room, resolving never again to wallow in self-pity and to strengthen himself for the Rebbe’s work.
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