A lifetime spans a certain number of changing stages-childhood, boyhood, youth, young adulthood, adulthood, advancing years, and old age. People also vary in their gifts - whether common and mediocre or wonderfully luminous; likewise in their natures - for example, whether bashful and morose, or jolly and exuberant. But apart from all these variables, in the course of a lifetime Divine Providence engineers particular periods which sometimes change a man's very nature. They develop his gifts and set him up at a particular height, so that he can gaze upon the ultimate purpose for which a man lives his life on the face of the earth.
Above all, a man's personality and gifts are most intensely escalated by a period rich in suffering which is inflicted on account of his vigorous endeavors for an ideal. This is particularly so if he struggles and battles with his pursuers and persecutors for the sake of preserving and advancing his religious faith.
Such a period, though fraught with affliction of the body and suffering of the spirit, is rich in powerful impressions. Such days are the luminous days in a man's life.
Every single incident in such a period is significant. In particular, if imprisonment is involved, the resultant spiritual benefit is so great that it warrants the recording not only of days and nights but even of hours and minutes. For every hour and minute of torment gives rise to inestimable benefits: it makes a man so resolute that even a weakling is transformed into the most courageous of men.
A few minutes after midnight, weary and fatigued, I washed my hands in preparation for the evening meal together with my family. Before ten minutes had passed the doorbell rang noisily. The door opened and two men rushed into the dining room, shouting: "We were sent by the administration of the GPU. Who is Schneersohn? Where is he?"
I answered coolly and clearly: "I don't know which Schneersohn you are looking for. If you come to a man's home you no doubt already know who lives there. So there's no need for all the threatening noise. Say what you have to say, what you want and whom you want. Besides, the official in charge of the courtyard is with you, and he knows all the residents by sight, So why shout?"
Their spokesman responded: "I'm not shouting; that's just the way I talk. It looks like you're not yet familiar with the ways of officers dispatched by the GPU. Show us all the ins and outs of your home so that we'll be able to watch it as the law prescribes. You, as head of the family, will accompany us to observe our search through the house."
"True," I replied, "I don't know the ways of your administration's officers, nor do I want to know them. It is clear to me that you have either made a mistake, or else there is an intentional libel. It's all the same to me. As to the officers of the said administration, I have not feared them, I do not fear them, and I shall not fear them. And as to the ins and outs of my home, the man in charge of the courtyard can show you around. My home is in your hands: you can search and probe according to your desires, or according to the law of which you speak. At any rate, I am sure that you will not disturb me at the supper table."
This cool and unimpressed response - or, more precisely, the naive scornfulness of a Lubavitcher citizen - left a deep imprint even on those rocklike men. Their wings drooped for a moment; they looked at me in astonishment; the house fell silent.
A couple of minutes passed before Nachmanson spoke up. He was a Jewish lad from Nevel whose father used to visit Lubavitch; he himself had gone to school in Nevel. He gave the armed men their orders: "Go out and stand guard at the doors. If anyone wants to enter, open wide. If people want to move about, even from room to room, or even to talk with each other, don't let them! You've been warned!"
He turned to Lulav, his aide, one of the Lulav family of Riga, and added: "Let's get down to work." To me he added: "We won't disturb you from eating - if you're able to eat ..."
With that, he posted one of the armed guards in the dining room to police his orders.
They began their search in the room of my daughters...and asked them: "What party do you belong to?"
"We belong to our father's party," they replied, "We are non-partisan daughters of Israel. We are fond of the old ways of our Patriarch Israel, and detest the new aspirations."
We heard Nachmanson's demand: "But why?"
My daughter Sheine answered: "Why? I'm not obliged to answer that question. You asked for my views and I answered you, but as to the question 'Why?,' I'm not obliged to reply nor to give reasons. After all, you didn't come here to rummage through all my notes and letters just for the sake of conducting a discussion! What we have now, we are telling you, irrespective of whether it makes you happy or not."
"You should really take into account our power and our opinions," Nachmanson warned. "The GPU administration which we represent can open even a dumb mouth, and make it talk about whatever is hidden under the heart. Our interrogators are remarkable craftsmen: people tell them everything. Over there there's no saying 'no'; over there people talk, sometimes willingly and sometimes not; over there everything melts; even a stone will become talkative."
"That's the whole calamity," replied my daughter. "People want to take everything by brute force. What a repulsive and unjustifiable thing it is to take hold of men with minds and opinions by the might of a fist and by the threat of a revolver!"
I cannot deny that I found it pleasing to hear the way she spoke so sensibly, in such a decisive voice, and with such cool-headed (though simulated) calm. At the same time, however, I was anxious lest this Nachmanson, who boasted so loudly about his power and violence, should have her punished by a prison sentence.
They spent about an hour and a half ransacking every room, but this did not appear to be their real purpose. Next, they wrote up a document and handed it to me to sign. It stated that they had searched the house, that I testified that all the laws governing such a search had been observed, and that I had been informed that I was under arrest.
I explained that I could not sign that everything had been according to the law when the whole notion of a house search appeared to me to be questionable. Everyone, I explained, knew the identity of Rabbi Schneersohn and his activities. It was clear to me that here was a case either of a mistake or a libel; I could not sign and give my assent to either.
I continued: "As to your desire to arrest me, it appears that the requests of my family here are to no avail - but I too have something to say about your desire.
"Whether this is a mistake or a libel, it will be clarified in a day or two. Everyone knows who I am and what I do. I have not hidden myself away. I live in one of the largest cities in the country; my home is in the center of town; I have a synagogue; and I deliver discourses on Chassidus on Sabbaths and festivals.
"From this you see that I am not in hiding. It would appear to me that such an arrest would arouse undesirable publicity. I think it would be preferable to wait with the arrest until you can establish the truth - that is, if the truth interests you. If, instead, you intend to becloud the mistake or the libel with layers of untruth, it is clear to me that you will regret it. You are capable of doing anything - but you will not arrest Schneersohn with ropes of libelous deception!"
Nachmanson interrupted me: "The administration of the GPU is responsible for its own activities. It is not afraid of criticism from the surrounding world. When it issued the order to have you arrested it obviously had the necessary power. I am surprised that you speak as you do. At any rate: For your information, you are under arrest."
I replied: "But I do not understand why I was interrupted before I managed to express my request."
Nachmanson was losing patience: "If you have a request, then you're allowed to make it. That's a right that every prisoner has. But why are you talking so harshly? Don't you understand the situation? We didn't come here to make conversation! Nor did we come here to listen to the requests of your daughters or the rest of your family! As to you," - he turned in anger to my daughters - "get out of here! Just talk one minute more and you're all arrested!"
He held up his revolver and said: "With this I'll talk to you, and then you'll give up your pretty phrases!"
My daughter Chanah spoke up: "We speak the language spoken by those who at all times have been human. We don't speak the language of those who have just come up out of the mire, who are unable to speak honestly, and who are interested only in pointing revolvers and making threats of imprisonment. Leave our father alone! Don't take away the apple of our eye!
My sisters and I will happily go to jail in his place. He is weak, and his doctor doesn't allow him to go outside. Bring a doctor to examine him and establish whether he can be taken to jail. Take us, and leave a guard here until the doctor decides that our father can go out. You are human beings, too, aren't you? Surely you, too, have what the world calls feelings? Surely you, too, have what the world calls decency?" And she burst into tears.
Smiling, I explained to my wife and daughters: "Only wishful thinking could imagine that tears and pleas could help. There's nothing in common between a cruel gentile and pleas." I addressed Nachmanson in a voice of authority: "Why did you not let me finish talking? All your threats and your moral explanations about how people should talk you can tell me in jail. Here, you have to hear what I have to say. I am still within the walls of my home, and I want it all to be heard by my family, by reliable witnesses whose testimony you will not be able to refute."
"Your words," said Nachmanson, "smack of poison. So you don't like the laws of the new regime? Well, we'll have time to talk about that.... Now, say whatever you have to say so that it will be heard by your family, by reliable witnesses whose testimony we will not be able to refute." And he winked at Lulav and the three armed men who were there at the time. It was my turn to speak: "I demand that I be given permission to put on tefillin and to pray, and if the law allows it, that my food be brought to me by no one apart from members of my family."
"You're asking for permission to pray?" said Nachmanson. "I'm telling you that you can take along your tefillin, as well as books, and pencil and paper. I promise you faithfully that no one will disturb you from praying, or reading and writing. You'll be back here today. When you arrive there, the officer in charge will be waiting for you. He'll ask you a few questions and you'll be able to return to your home."
At that moment, when all the talking was over, and they were simply waiting for the vehicle that was to take me to the new building of the Spalerno Prison, my revered mother walked in. Until this moment she had been in her room and had not known what was going on, because Nachmanson had ordered everyone to move quietly so that she should not be woken. I do not know how she found out, but at this point she walked in and discovered the uninvited guests.
"What is this?" she exclaimed, and clapped her hands together in consternation. "Why did they come? Would they force their hands even on innocent people like you, my son, who work for the good of others?!"
Quickly sizing up the situation, she declared boldly: "No, my soul's precious one! I will not let them take you away. I will go instead of you." She addressed herself to Nachmanson. "Take me!" she pleaded. "Don't disturb the repose of my only son, who is always responsive to the distress of others. Do you judge even honest men so harshly? No, no! Not arrest!" She sobbed bitterly: "My husband! They're taking our son Yosef Yitzchak!
They're taking your only son, who sacrifices his very life to do good! Your only son, who fulfills your instructions with self-sacrifice! Brigands have come, murderers of an upright soul - and for what? Holy forebears: They want to extinguish your lamp! My son: Come what may, I won't let the m take you away!"
Nachmanson now turned to me: "Please be so kind as to calm her down. Take her to her room. It's not my fault that she is so upset. We were quiet enough; we didn't want to disturb her rest. Just talk to her gently." At that moment it appeared to me that even in the depths of evil there is an ingredient of good. Words of this kind sounded incongruous when mouthed by a cruel individual whose hands were stained with human blood. This man of rock, I mused, does he too have a heart? Does he, too, have a sense of decency? Does he, too, have a conscience? Can he, too, feel compassion? Can it be that he realizes that the sobbing woman standing before him is the Lubavitcher Rebbitzin, whose good name is known far and wide? Can it even be that he feels a flutter of regret over the stroke of fortune by which he has come to be an official of the GPU...?
I accompanied my mother to her room, where I spoke of things which could not be discussed in the presence of our visitors. In fact they did not disturb me at all: they had gone out for a stroll, leaving behind only armed guards to wait for the van.
The rest of this is available in book format from Sichos In English. The name of the book is: A Prince in Prison - The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe's Account of His Incarceration in Stalinist Russia in 1927 Write to: sie100@aol.com
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