When are you having guest?

In 1976, after several years of marriage, my wife and I finally mustered the courage to make our own Passover seder, at least for the second night. As soon as we made the decision, we began to invite guests. As the festival drew closer, the guest list grew. And grew. And grew! All of a sudden we were expecting sixteen guests!

After nullifying and burning the chametz on Passover eve, a new flush of excitement overtook me. Every year, for the few hours before the festival began, the Lubavitcher Rebbe would stand in the doorway of his office and distribute pieces of his matza, which had been baked earlier that afternoon. I decided that I would tell the Rebbe how many guests we were having and surely the Rebbe . Then, surely, he would give me extra matza.

Over-enthusiastic and impractical as usual, we sorely underestimated the amount of work left to be done that day. When I finally reached the Rebbe's office, it was too late! The Rebbe had gone back inside to prepare for Maariv (the evening prayer). "Oh no," I thought. "From one piece of matza, to a lot, to none. How will I face my wife?"

"Don't be upset," I was told by an old-timer. "The Rebbe will give out some more after Maariv for a short while."

"Thank G-d!" I exhaled. Immediately after the final "amen" of the services (or perhaps even a bit before, I must admit), I charged out of the shul and sprinted up the stairs to the Rebbe's office. I wasn't first on line, or even close to it, but thank G-d I could tell from the pace we were moving that I would get in. No sweat.

My turn came. The Rebbe sized me up with a rapid glance and turned to break off a piece of matza for me. Before he could do so, I quickly mustered my courage and blurted, "We have sixteen guests."

The Rebbe looked at me. Time froze. I froze. Finally the Rebbe spoke: "For the first Seder or the second?"

"The second," I answered, much surprised at the question.

"Then I can not give you matza now," the Rebbe declared.

My face must have registered great perplexity, or perhaps the Rebbe sensed I was about to faint. The Rebbe hastened to explain (and in English!), "It is already the first night of the holiday. We are not allowed to do anything on a festival or Shabbat in preparation for the following day, even if the next day is also a festival. Do you understand?"

I nodded, choking back my disappointment. But the Rebbe hadn't finished. "So come again tomorrow night after Maariv, and I will give you then. Gut Yomtov. A kosher freiliche Pesach (a kosher and happy Passover)."

Good Yomtov and what a Yomtov! I excitedly ran home to tell everyone what the Rebbe had said. Immediately after the prayers the next night, I proudly marched up to the Rebbe's door, whereupon his attendant, may he be well and live many more long years, refused to admit me. "The Rebbe doesn't give out matza tonight. Only the first night," he said, turning away.

"But the Rebbe told me to come," I gasped in panic. He clearly didn't believe me. In desperation, I told him the whole story. I could see he was still skeptical. He could see I was about to either explode or collapse. Or both. Finally, he agreed to ask the Rebbe. I peeked after him and saw the Rebbe nod.

How did the Rebbe know to ask me for which night I need the matza? I can't answer that. He hadn't asked anyone else that question: I had asked around to find out. I know only that I'm grateful the Rebbe made an exception for me, on both nights.

Oh yes. The Rebbe did give me a large amount of matza which I happily shared. I don't know about the other sixteen people, but over 25 years later, I still remember my matza from the Rebbe!