Help & Lifelines
“Tell us,” they asked, “do the Chassidim on the other side of the Iron Curtain think about us?” I took a deep breath, then answered, “Although I can’t speak for all the rest of them, one thing is definitely clear: the Rebbe does not allow us to forget about you.”
Rabbi Katz
In the free world, religion can easily be taken for granted. But what was it like to live in a society where the slightest observance could land someone in prison – or worse?
The Avner Institute presents a vivid account from the diary of Rabbi Binyomin Katz who, while a yeshiva student at 770, was sent by the Rebbe for a covert and dangerous mission: to go to Tashkent, deep within the Soviet Union, and record the activities of his devoted Chassidim as well as give them strength and comfort. While teaching them Torah, young Katz learns for himself valuable lessons on simple faith and passionate self-sacrifice.
Tashkent, March 1964
It was a few days after Shavous 5724, when young Binyomin Katz, a student at 770, entered the Rebbe’s room for yechidus. He was told point blank: Go to Tashkent, in Uzbekistan, USSR.
He was directed to the Rebbe’s secretary Rabbi Mordechai Hodakov for additional instructions.
“You are not to have too much information about the various points involved with your trip,” the secretary explained. “The less you know, the better it will be. In case the government takes you in for interrogation and attempts to pressure you into disclosing any information, you can honestly say that you don’t know anything, or at least fabricate a tale that your trip was paid for by your rich father who wanted you to tour the world – your next stop being Australia.”
The rabbi continued, “In each city, we have a contact person who is responsible for all the Jewish activities there. You must be sure to locate and keep contact with him.”
In his own diary, Rabbi Katz writes:
“From Tbilisi I traveled to Tashkent, the regional capital of Uzbekistan. When I arrived, I found a rather large community of Chassidim.
One thing that struck me was their incredible longing to hear about the Rebbe. They begged of me, time and again, to share with them whatever I could concerning the Rebbe and his teachings.”
He continues:
“I Heard”
It was nighttime. I was leaving my hotel on the way to the old marketplace, where I was scheduled to meet with some of the younger Chassidim.
“Psst! Over here!”
I turned around in bewilderment.
A young couple motioned to me, pointing and trying to catch my attention. Mumbling in broken English, they moved away, still directing me. I followed them into a side street where they darted anxious glances, ensuring we were not being watched.
Then they began their tale.
“My name is Yaakov Lepkivker,” the man began. “I am known in Tashkent as ‘Yankele der Shvartzer.’” He pointed to his black beard.
He continued, describing his difficulty in finding employment that would not compel him to work on Shabbos. Finally, he had found a job at a laundry service. After a while the exposure to the cleaning chemicals took a toll on his health and he became critically ill. Having no choice, he and his wife risked sending a telegram to the Rebbe and received a one-word answer: Shoma’ati. I heard.
Shortly thereafter, Reb Yaakov miraculously began to heal until he was completely restored to health. Now, as a token of appreciation, they wished to send a large sum of money with me to present to the Rebbe as a pidyon nefesh, reward for saving a soul.
I was faced with a serious dilemma. On the one hand, I was moved by their selfless dedication. On the other, how was I to allow myself to take such a large sum out of Russia? Elsewhere, in the free world, Chassidim were constantly doing all they could to smuggle money into Russia!
I pondered, then finally took a deep brought. “I’m very sorry, but I simply can’t. It is unreasonable for me to bring money out while everyone in America is trying to bring money in to help Jews kept Shabbos.”
The man was crestfallen. “But this is for the Rebbe! We are forever grateful to him.”
After a brief debate it was agreed: I would bring along only eighteen dollars, which would be on behalf of the entire Tashkent community. Although I generally refrained from writing anything down, preferring to memorize, I made an exception here. I drew out a piece of paper and asked for the names of the participants. The list was attached to a bottle of liquor which had been used for a farbrengen, a Chassidic gathering and which I was to bring to the Rebbe.
“Have Pity”
As I turned to leave, I felt a tug on my arm.
Two people were standing behind me, blocking my exit.
My heart pounded in fright. But then one of them said in Yiddish, “You have no need to worry.”
As it turned out, they were Lubavitcher yeshiva students, Yosef Mochkin and Michel Vishedsky. They passionately described the hardships of the Jewish community in the Soviet Union.
“Tell us,” they asked, “do the Chassidim on the other side of the Iron Curtain think about us?”
I took a deep breath, then answered, “Although I can’t speak for all the rest of them, one thing is definitely clear: the Rebbe does not allow us to forget about you.”
I went to describe what I had witnessed at the Shavuos farbrengen just a few months earlier, when the Rebbe painfully rebuked Chassidim for not making a l’chaim, toast, for the Russian Jews.
“Often when the Rebbe sings “Hashia as Amecha, deliver Your nation, he substitutes the word veracheim, have pity, instead of just uvoreich, bless us Chassdim,” I added. “By doing so, the Rebbe was intervening on your behalf.”
As I spoke, the two students listened avidly and then began to cry. Once again I witnessed the profound devotion that the Chassidim in Russia possessed toward the Rebbe – sincere, wholehearted connection.
“The Most Connected”
While in the shul one late morning, I was approached by Reb Zalman Leib Estulin.
“Right now it’s safe,” he whispered.
“Safe?”
“We’re among only ‘our own.’” He pulled out a bottle of liquor from under a table. “Now would be an opportunity to sit together and farbreng.”
In all honesty, I felt uncomfortable sitting with them. I was just a young American boy; how could I sit and lecture these Jews of another caliber altogether – one of uncompromised self-sacrifice for Torah and Judaism? Even sitting with me was outright dangerous.
Nevertheless, I knew I was the Rebbe’s shaliach, messenger, who must do whatever possible to strengthen and uplift their spirits.
I began by teaching them the Rebbe’s nigunim, melodies, and then followed into a farbrengen. When it drew to a close, the Chassidim wanted to continue engaging in conversation.
At last they posed their final question: “How, in your opinion, can we connect ourselves to the Rebbe?”
I broke out in tears. I wish I could have told them that they were, in fact, possibly the most connected, more than any other Chassid in the world.
But I refrained from dampening their fervor. “This year, since the passing of his mother during the month of Tishrei, the Rebbe farbrengs every Shabbos and expounds upon a Rashi in Chumash, the Pentateuch. You too, farbreng together each week and learn Rashi – thereby, you’ll be connected.”
“The Direst of Circumstances”
Simchas Torah night, 5728 (1968).
During the farbrengen, the Rebbe stressed Jewish education for children, even if the results seemed unpromising. He brought an example from a story found in Isaiah, where the Prophet insisted that children be taught Torah even under the direst of circumstances. Although in the end only two were taught, in this merit King Sancheirev was defeated.
“And even if the yetzer hora, Evil Inclination, will try to convince you that this is only an ancient tale and not pertinent to our day and age, then we have a more modern example too.
“There are a number of Jews who sit confined to very cumbersome circumstances for quite a long time now. Observance of Torah and mitzvoth are strictly outlawed. Their children were born into this way of life and have been raised this way as well. They too may ask – what sense does it make to educate our children in the way of Torah? It will be difficult for their children to lead normal lives.
“But the truth is this: they continue to give a Torah education to their children, and successfully so. There are those of them who don’t even entertain the thought of ever being able to leave.
“I know of a bochur, student, who is already at marriageable age and still does not believe he’ll be able to leave. I received a letter from him; the mere sending of a letter alone is dangerous to him. There he asks me – not for a blessing that he’ll be able to leave; for that he’ll need a miracle and he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of one. He barely has enough food to eat, but that is not what concerns him. Why he has to face such challenges on a daily basis, I don’t know.”
The Rebbe wept. “So he writes in his letter that he has disturbing thoughts that haunt him during davening, and he seeks my advice on how best to deal with them. This issue bothers him to the core, for if it weren’t so, he wouldn’t put himself in danger to resolve it.
“Why does Hashem present him with such trying challenges? He did not deserve this!
“But this boy asks no such questions. In truth, the existence of the entire world is due to him. But he does not know that, and in truth, that wouldn’t concern him anyway.
“Now let’s compare our own ‘hardships’ that we face here to those of that boy in Russia. This is no ancient ‘tale’ from the past. The bochur exists where he is right now, and I have the actual letter here!”
