"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.
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