The Scar On Shloimele's Arm

Little Shloimeleh was the youngest of the family's nine children. He had a quick smile and intelligent eyes. Shloimeleh's favorite time was Friday afternoon, when his mother lit the Shabbat candles. He loved to watch them burn in their polished candlesticks.

But one Shabbat eve, when his mother had closed her eyes to recite the blessing, one of the candles fell on Shloimeleh's arm, badly burning him.

Time passed, and the burn eventually healed. But little Shloimeleh was left with an ugly scar on his forearm as a reminder of the incident.

Then WWII broke out, and Poland was invaded by the Germans. As part of the "final solution," all the Jews in Shloimeleh's town were rounded up and sent to concentration camps. Reb Avraham, Shloimeleh's father, was forcibly separated from the rest of his family. It was the last time he would see his wife and children. Reb Avraham was later interred in a labor camp. Miraculously he survived the Holocaust, and eventually found himself in Russia.

Reb Avraham was now alone in the world. Physically exhausted and consumed with grief, he tried to lessen his pain by learning, praying, and teaching Torah and mitzvot (commandments) to Jewish children, many of whom had never been exposed to Judaism. Aside from organizing a secret yeshiva, he also served as a mohel (ritual circumciser). But of all his religious achievements, the tiny synagogue he established was closest to his heart.

Needless to say, Reb Avraham's activities were completely illegal; time and again he was cautioned by the Communist authorities. But Reb Avraham felt he had nothing to lose. After going through everything he had, what else could they do to him? He continued to spread Torah and mitzvot, and spent even more time in his little shul.

The most persistent of Reb Avraham's tormentors was a young Communist named Natishka. Reb Avraham could hardly take a step without being followed by him. Natishka repeatedly warned him that he would end up before a firing squad if he didn't shape up.

Around this time Reb Avraham decided to apply for an exit visa to Israel. He was very surprised when his request was approved. In truth, Reb Avraham had mixed feelings about leaving Russia. On the one hand, he was grateful for the opportunity to spend the rest of his days in the Holy Land. Yet on the other, he worried about the fate of his brethren. Who would keep the embers of Judaism burning after he was gone?

As the date of his departure grew near, Reb Avraham spent most of his time in his beloved synagogue. Emboldened by the prospect of imminent freedom, he abandoned some of his usual precautions.

One evening Reb Avraham entered the shul and lit several memorial candles in remembrance of his family. His eyes filled with tears as he recalled their faces. In a voice choked with emotion he began to recite Psalms, and the sound carried out into the street...

At that moment, Natishka happened to pass by and decided to investigate. When he saw what the Jew was up to he became incensed.

"When will you ever learn?" he screamed at him. "When will you finally give up your obsolete practices?" Once and for all, he would teach the Jew a lesson. He began to roll up his sleeves...

Reb Avraham remained tranquil. Having already been beaten many times, there was nothing new about the prospect of physical violence. "Shema Yisrael!" ("Hear O Israel"), he called out in a clear if somewhat trembling voice. "The L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One!"

It was then that he looked up and noticed Natishka's bare forearm, poised to strike. A long scar, evidence of an old burn, wound its way down his arm in a very familiar pattern...

"Shloimeleh!" Reb Avraham cried out. "Is that you, my son?"

The young Communist's face drained of color as his hand froze in midair. Inexplicably, his eyes were drawn to the candles' flames, as if they reminded him of something long hidden and repressed... A cry erupted from his throat as his eyes filled with tears. He embraced the elderly Jew and began to weep like a small child.

"Tatteh (father)!" he wailed inconsolably. "Tatteh, forgive me!"

Father and son marveled at how Divine Providence had brought them together. Not long afterward they both emigrated to Israel. And each week thereafter, as they gazed into the Shabbat candles, they pondered their indebtedness to them for their reunion.

Chanukah Miracle In Snowy Communist Russia

By Rabbi Moshe Gurkow

When I was still a boy of 6 years old in my home in Communist Russia, I went with my Uncle, Rabbi Michoel Teitelbaum, who later founded the Lubavitch Educational Institute Oholei Torah in Brooklyn, to light the first candle of the Chanukah menorah in an outdoor setting in an effort to publicize the miracle. All of a sudden from out of nowhere a policeman appeared, wielding a huge knife, with which he attempted to kill us!

My uncle and I ran for our lives. We came to a gigantic snow pile and plunged into its snow, but the policeman with his deadly knife was still at our backs. He thrust it deep into the snow; the knife's sharp blade literally reached the throat of Uncle Michoel when he suddenly bit the policeman's thumb, causing him to drop the knife to the ground. In the midst of the commotion my uncle and I fled the scene. We returned back to the place where we started out only to find that lone, first Chanukah candle still burning joyously.

Stories Of R' Levi Yitzchak Schneerson

The 20th of Av, marks the yahrzeit (anniversary of the passing) of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, father of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Rav Levi Yitzchak was a great sage and scholar, an awesome reservoir of Talmudic and Kabalistic knowledge. But perhaps the most unique dimension of his character was his unflinching commitment to Judaism and the total lack of fear with which he expressed that commitment.

One night in 1935, in the midst of the fiercest Stalinist oppression, a woman knocked on his door. "I've come from a distant city whose name I cannot mention. In approximately one hour, my daughter and her fiance? will also arrive. They both hold high government positions and so their coming here is fraught with danger. They have agreed to be married according to Jewish law, provided you would perform the wedding in your home."

Rav Levi Yitzchak consented and set about gathering together a minyan for the wedding. Within half an hour, he had brought eight other men into his home. But the tenth man was lacking. On the bottom floor of the apartment house where Rav Levi Yitzchak lived a young Jewish man who had been hired by the Communist authorities to spy on the goings on in Rav Levi Yitzchak's home. Rav Levi Yitzchak was well aware of who this person was and how he was employed. Yet when the tenth man was lacking, he sent for him.

"We need a tenth man for a minyan so that a Jewish couple can marry," he told his neighbor.

"And so you sent for me?!" the neighbor responded in utter amazement. And yet he consented to participate in the minyan and did not inform about the ceremony.

Years later, the Rebbe said: "From my father I learned never to be afraid."

From Keeping in Touch, by Rabbi E. Touger

---

One year, before Passover, the Government required each citizen to complete a questionnaire, as part of a general population census. One of the questions was, "Do you believe in G-d?"

Certain Jews who did believe, nevertheless responded in the negative because they were afraid of losing their jobs. When Rav Levi Yitzchak became aware of this, he stood up and proclaimed before a large audience in the synagogue, that for a Jew to deny his belief in G-d is considered heresy and therefore it is absolutely prohibited for any Jew to give a negative answer to this question, no matter what the consequences.

This ruling of Rabbi Lev Yitzchak was brought to the attention of the authorities by an agent who had been planted in the shul in order to observe the rabbi's manner of conducting himself and to determine the extent of his influence upon the congregation.

At a later date, after Rabbi Levi Yitzchak had been arrested and was being interrogated about this speech, he defended himself. He explained that the Government certainly expected truthful answers to all of its questions, and it being the case that so many Jews were ready to respond falsely to this particular question out of fear of losing their jobs, he had felt it his duty as a loyal citizen to urge them to answer each question honestly!

From the diary of Rebbetzin Chana Schneerson, wife of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, published in A mother in Israel, Kehot Publications

Ozar Wienikursky told of the traumatic time when he was about to be drafted into the Russian Communist army. He came to Rav Levi Yitzchak to ask for his blessing that he should secure a deferment. The Rav did not simply bless him. He gave Ozar extremely detailed instructions; he specified the exact date and hour at which he should report to the draft office, which route to take on the way there, the chapters of Psalms that he should say beforehand, and exactly how many coins he should give to charity.

He also prescribed that when Ozar stood at the entrance to the building, he should stop and envisage in his mind the holy four-letter name of G-d. The Rav then blessed him and promised that nothing bad would befall him. He concluded by requesting that the young man return afterwards with a detailed report of all that had transpired.

Wienikursky carefully followed all of the Rav's instructions. When he arrived at the draft office, he was sent into a large room with many tables. At each table sat a doctor with a particular specialty who had the responsibility of examining each candidate that passed before him, but only in his area of expertise. Each draftee had to go before all of the doctors to determine the true state of his health and eliminate any possibility of deception.

"I passed along the row of tables and was examined by each doctor," related Ozar. "Each one recorded his opinion in turn. Finally, I reached the desk of the clerk who notified the draftees of the board's decision.

The man looked at me pityingly and exclaimed, "What is going on with you? You poor man! Each doctor found something wrong with you and each one's diagnosis describes you as suffering from a different disease!"

He left safely with a complete exemption from the army.

Translated and adapted by Yrachmiel Tilles from Eim b'Yisrael, reprinted from www.ascent.co.il

Prince In Prison

The 12th of Tamuz is the anniversary of the Previous Rebbe's release from Communist imprisonment. What follows are excerpts from the book Likutei Diburim, authored by the Previous Rebbe, concerning his incarceration.

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

Pesach in Siberia

by Eliezer Naness

Excerpted from his book Subota, which details his experiences in a Russian labor camp where he was imprisoned for nearly two decades

Just before Passover in 1938, I was summoned to the camp office. The commandant's aide informed me that my wife had sent a package containing warm clothing, a hundred rubles and a packet of matzot. He gave me everything except the matzot. "Because you do not work on Saturday, you will be having enough troubles. I advise you, for your own welfare, not to take the matzot. Ask the commandant to return them to your wife. Then there can be the possibility of discussing transferring you, and maybe your friend too, to some lighter work."

I thanked him for his advice and good intentions, and asked him to give me the matzot because I would not eat chametz (leaven) on Passover.

The representative apologized and added, "I can only warn you that you are doing yourself, and especially your young friend [Shmuel], a grave disservice. There is talk in camp already that you are demoralizing the other prisoners of your brigade. You know that there are plenty of ways of eliminating undesirable elements here. They'll send you off some place. On the way 'something' will happen. Your bones will never be found."

He gave me the matzot and said no more. I walked off delighted that we had matzot for Passover. The day prior to Passover, we went out to work as usual.

In the evening, when all the prisoners went to eat, Shmuel and I prayed the Passover evening service. Then we spread out a sack on the shelf where we slept at night and set the seder on it. We put out three matzot for both of us. We didn't have maror (bitter herbs) but we didn't lack bitter experiences. We had no wine either, but we had it in our thoughts, and we began the seder. First we recited the Kiddush. Then Shmuel asked me the four questions.

Shmuel and I spoke of our relatives. I thought of how my wife and my mother were now sitting in their houses alone, and that they were surely shedding tears over my condition in this brutal camp.

Shmuel's thoughts were of his parents, also sitting at the seder without him. We decided then, that whatever awaited us the next day, on the holiday of Passover, we would not work. Just as the nation of Israel believed that G-d would redeem them from Egypt, so we believed that G-d would save us from this camp and that He would take all the Jews from Russia and bring them to Israel; just as the Jews could not escape from Egypt, so the Jews could not escape from Russia. Only G-d could take them from Russia and bring them to the Land of Israel.

Late that night we presented our brigadier with some matzot. He was very grateful and promised to help me.

"You'll have to go out with the rest of the brigade. Otherwise I'll have to report you. Out there we'll find a way to keep you from working on the holiday."

On the first day of Passover, Shmuel and I evaded the brigade. The brigadier pretended not to notice our disappearance as we went wandering around the area. We found a tiny abandoned, unheated room, where we huddled in the intolerable cold. In the evening, when the brigade finished its work, we came out. Our reception was unfriendly.

After roll-call, everyone went to the mess hall while we prayed, conducted the second seder, and lay down to sleep. The following morning, the brigadier had a paternal conversation with us.

"You know that there are no secrets in camp. The commandant has already been informed that you did not appear for work yesterday because of your holiday. The rumor is that you will be tried for 'collective refusal to work.' You are well aware that your reward for this can be a rope. I won't force you to work on your holy days, but I will not suffer along with you. Do as you wish without involving me. I want nothing to do with the whole thing."

Avoiding work that day was much more difficult than the first day, but we managed. Frozen and famished, we wandered around the work area. When night finally fell, we davened and then returned to our brigade and started working. Returning to the zone, we found our supervisor waiting for us.

"Look here," he said to me. "If you want to destroy your life, that's your affair. I don't wish you any evil, G-d forbid. The commandant isn't the least interested in your trial, because this can cast a shadow on his whole career. He can send you to the other world without any trial, and he has done exactly that more than once to others. Consider very carefully how to get out of this danger."

In the commandant's office we found an NKVD colonel. The colonel spoke calmly and patiently, as though he counted his words. "What is the nature of your refusal to work on Saturdays and Jewish holidays?"

"Only religious."

"We have taken a particular interest in this matter. We are informed that, according to Jewish law, work is permitted on Saturday if danger to life is involved. Hence, it is clear to us that your refusal to work, especially in a collective manner, is of an absolutely political nature. Crimes of this sort may be punished by execution. We shall grant you one more chance. If you assure us that henceforth you will work honestly and diligently every day of the week, as do the others, we will give you your proper sentence. In addition, if your conduct is good, we might transfer you to lighter work."

He paused for our answer. "Well, what do you say?"

"I will not work on the Sabbath and Jewish holidays under any condition," I answered categorically. Shmuel said the same.

"I believe you will reconsider this," the colonel answered in a mixture of anger and exasperation. "In the meantime, go to sleep." Despite threats, beatings, and torture, Eliezer Naness never "reconsidered" when it came to the observe of mitzvot.

In 1965, ten years after he was released, Eliezer Naness and his wife were finally allowed to leave and settle in Israel, where he lived until his passing last year.

A Bris In Communist Russia

It was Stalinist Russia. The sudden banging on the door made the occupants' blood run cold. The knocking was getting louder. They were about to sneak out the back exit when the older of the two suggested that the younger one stay behind. It was better to wait a few minutes before opening the door.
The banging continued even more vigorously. "Who's there?" the youngster called out, but the stranger refused to identify himself. The youth flung open the door. Standing there was a high-ranking officer of the KGB. "Is this where the shochet lives?" the officer demanded.
"Shochet?" he replied. "There's no one here by the name of Shochet."
The officer gave him a penetrating look and said, "Then perhaps there's someone here who cuts children?"
"No," he said in the most confident tone he could muster.
For a moment the stranger said nothing. Then he whispered in the boy's ear: "Don't deny it. I know that the man who cuts children lives here!" The youth was shocked, for the man had uttered these words in Yiddish!"
"I am a Jew. Seven days ago my wife gave birth to a baby boy, and I want very much for him to be entered into the covenant of Abraham. My wife is very much opposed to the idea. Tomorrow at exactly nine in the morning she will be leaving the house. I am begging you to come to my house tomorrow and bring the mohel. The baby will be in one of the front rooms."
The officer told the astounded youngster his address and hurried away. "Remember," he said pleadingly, "Tomorrow is the eighth day of my son's life. I implore you to do me this favor."
Reb Eizik was the only shochet and mohel in the entire city, and Yaakov, a boy with no living relatives in the world, had been taken in to live with the shochet and accompanied him on his holy and very dangerous rounds.
The officer left. Was it a trap? Yaakov was convinced that it was a clever ruse cooked up to catch Reb Eizik red-handed. When Reb Eizik came home, Yaakov filled him in on everything. The Chasid thought for several minutes, the deep wrinkles that lined his forehead testifying to his inner conflict and turmoil. He had reached a decision:
"Tomorrow morning we will go to the officer's house to enter his son into the covenant of Abraham."
The following day, Reb Eizik and his ward arose at dawn and recited their prayers. Then they set out in the direction of the river. On the way, the Chasid explained that he was almost certain that this was, indeed, a trap. He therefore wished to immerse himself in a mikva before they continued. "If this is to be our last day on earth, at least we will die in a state of ritual purity," he declared.
The officer's house was located on one of the finest streets in the city, which only served to confirm their suspicions. The neighborhood was inhabited by the highest ranking members of the KGB and their families. But the two Jews stuck to their decision. Reb Eizik and Yaakov secreted themselves in a hiding place across from the officer's house. Seconds later they saw a woman dressed in the latest fashion exit the building and proceed down the block. Together they strode across the street.
Reb Eizik knocked on the massive door. An older woman opened the door and motioned for them to enter. In the corner of the room was a beautiful crib, inside which a tiny baby was sleeping peacefully. They ran over and picked up the child, whereupon a small white envelope fell out.
Inside the envelope was a letter from the baby's father, apologizing for his not being able to be present at his son's bris and asking that they give the baby a Jewish name. The rest of the letter was an emotional statement of his thanks and appreciation for the great mitzva they were doing, without their even knowing who he was.
Reb Eizik quickly and deftly performed the bris, while Yaakov acted as sandek. They were about to leave when the woman who had opened the door suddenly appeared and motioned for them to stay put.
Yaakov was terrified. Seconds later, however, the woman brought out a brand new frying pan, and handed them a dozen eggs! A veritable fortune! She invited them to make themselves omelets. The young boy was so malnourished, so starved, that the eggs went down with no effort at all.
After they finished eating and were about to leave, the woman presented them with a huge sack of bread, another gift from the Russian officer. Such a quantity of bread was something the average citizen could only dream of, but how could they walk down the street carrying the bag. Surely they would attract the attention of the ever watchful police.
The woman suddenly understood why the two Jews hesitated to accept the priceless gift. She opened a drawer, ripped off a wad of coupons from a booklet and handed them over.
Many months later Yaakov was walking down the street when the same Russian officer stopped him. "I must thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I have one more request to make of you. Whenever you make a bris, you should tell my story. Let everyone know that even in Soviet Russia, there are still Jews who have a warm spot in their hearts for Yiddishkeit."
This request led to a tradition in Yaakov's family. He is honored with being the sandek, in commemoration of the role he played in that bris so very long ago, and he relates the story of the Russian officer, from beginning to end, with great enthusiasm and fervor.

Reprinted from Beis Moshiach Magazine

The Sukkah That Saved The Chassid From The KGB

Run away!" the woman begged her husband. "Go before it's too late!"

"I can't leave," Reb Michael answered. "It wouldn't be right to walk away and abandon everyone."

"But you must!" she insisted. "They're already making inquiries. Pretty soon they'll find you. And what will happen then?" The woman burst into tears.

"All right," Reb Michael consoled her. "Let me tie up a few loose ends..."

The couple had been having the same conversation quite frequently of late. It was the height of the Communist regime in Russia, and all religious activity was strictly forbidden. Numerous rabbis had already been exiled to Siberia, and even worse. Nonetheless, there were a handful of brave individuals here and there who struggled to keep the embers of Judaism alive. Risking their lives they taught Torah to Jewish children, organized communal prayer, and saw to it that kosher meat was available. They built and maintained ritual baths, and kept their brethren supplied with prayer books, prayer shawls and tefillin. Reb Michael, a Chasid, was one of these courageous and defiant Jews.

Reb Michael didn't fool himself; he recognized the danger he placed himself in, and faced it willingly. But recently the risk was intensifying. Rumor had it that his activities were under close observation by the KGB, and that a thick file had been accumulated. It was only a matter of time before Reb Michael was arrested and imprisoned.

Every day the Chasid's wife urged him to flee, and every day Reb Michael pushed off his departure for another reason. It was the end of the year, almost time for the High Holidays. Reb Michael was the only Jew in town who could organize a clandestine minyan. Reluctantly, Reb Michael's wife agreed that he should stay until after Rosh Hashana.

Rosh Hashana came and went. Now it was almost Yom Kippur. "How can I leave these Jews without a minyan for Yom Kippur?" Reb Michael tried to convince his wife.

"All right," she gave in. "But as soon as Yom Kippur ends, you're leaving!"

After Yom Kippur, Reb Michael changed his mind yet again. For years he had been building a tiny sukka in his backyard, no more than four cubits by four cubits. The whole thing was cleverly concealed with branches and leaves. On the night of Sukkot, many of the area's Jews would come and make Kiddush and eat a small piece of challa before rushing home. Some even returned on the first and second day of Yom Tov to eat their meals there. "I can't very well leave them without a sukka..." Reb Michael told his wife.

When she realized he intended to stay until after Sukkot she almost fainted from fear. But her husband would not budge. There was no way he was leaving.

The night of Sukkot arrived. At the makeshift synagogue the congregants wished each other a quiet "Good Yom Tov," then left. As planned, each person took a different route through the city, arriving at Reb Michael's sukka at staggered hours throughout the evening. Great care had been taken so that not even two people would be present in the sukka at the same time. One after the other they snuck in, made Kiddush on the wine, washed their hands, ate a piece of challa and departed hastily.

The first two days of Sukkot were uneventful. The next morning Reb Michael informed his friends that the time had come for him to leave. If previously there was insufficient evidence of his "crimes," his activities of the past few weeks/ had surely provided it. Building a sukka for the entire Jewish community was icing on the cake.

It was the middle of the night when Reb Michael returned from the gathering his friends had made in his honor. Deciding on a late night snack, he took some food and went out to the sukka. Pretty soon he was lost in thought.

The loud knocking on his front door broke his reverie. Reb Michael jumped up and started in the direction of his house. But what he heard next stopped him in his tracks. "Open up! Police!" a harsh voice demanded.

Reb Michael's brain was working overtime. Every second was crucial. But what to do? He heard the police announce that they had come to arrest him, and his wife's reply that she hadn't seen him in ages. Very well, they told her brusquely, they would search the house for themselves.

Now was his only chance. Stealthily, his heart beating wildly, Reb Michael tip-toed around the house. Reaching the street, he broke into a run in the direction of the train station. In the meantime, his wife's only prayer was that her husband not arrive home in the middle of the search.

For several days she was unaware of his whereabouts. Then a letter arrived from her brother who lived several thousand kilometers away, informing her of a guest who had come to see him, and noting the guest's robust health...

In truth, Reb Michael had the merit of many mitzvot to protect him. But in his heart, Reb Michael knew it was the sukka he had built that was his salvation.