She wept loudly, “how could I abandon my People?”

This appeared in last week's TorahTidbits

by Judah Mischel

It was 1946 and R’ Chaim Tzvi Schwartz, a young survivor and Munkatcher chasid who had lost his family in the war, was in search of direction and chizuk. He went to meet with Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak, the Frierdiker (Previous) Lubavitcher Rebbe in NewYork. The Frierdiker Rebbe blessed him and referred R’ Chaim Tzvi to his dynamic son-in-law and future successor, Reb Men- achem Mendel Schneerson. The meeting with the Rebbe’s son-in-law led him on an unexpected personal and professional path, as Reb Menachem Mendel suggested that he move to Brazil to serve the Jewish refugees settling there: “You will play a role in strengthening Jewish identity and encouraging mitzvah observance in Brazil.”

R’ Chaim Tzvi accepted the shlichus and embarked on a lifelong mission to assist in rebuilding Yiddishkeit for a community of survivors in Brazil, founding a school, shul and community service organizations. A year after the passing of the Frierdiker Rebbe in 1950, Reb Menachem Mendel assumed leadership of the Lubavitchmovement and became Rebbe. From time to time, Rabbi Schwartz would seek the Rebbe’s advice on various communal issues, and over the years they maintained an infrequent but warm contact. Though he was filled with gratitude for the Rebbe’s advice and was an avid admirer — even carrying a small photo of the Rebbe in his wallet — R’ Chaim Tzvi did not identify as a Lubavitcher, and it would be many years until he fully appreciated the Rebbe’s vision and reach.

R’ Chaim Tzvi once related an incident to Rabbi Aaron Dov Halperin, the founder and long-time editor of Kfar Chabad maga- zine. A Brazilian Jewish family had reached out to him concerning their oldest daugh- ter who had fallen in love and become engaged to a gentile. The parents had tried everything to dissuade her, but to no avail, and in desperation turned to R’ Chaim Tzvi, the local rabbi.

“I took the address from her parents and went to meet her that evening. While visibly annoyed to learn of my mission, she was well mannered and respectful; we ended up speaking for several hours. The conversation was heated but polite; she didn’t show much interest in Jewish tradition, and she remained dead set on marrying her fiance. I didn’t feel like I had made much progress. For several days after that, I racked my brain, trying to think of what might possibly be done to prevent the intermarriage. Finally I decided to take a chance and call the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

“I picked up the phone, rang Rabbi Hodakov, the Rebbe’s secretary, related the details of the entire affair, and requested the Rebbe’s advice on how to proceed. I expressed my gratitude and hung up. Moments later, my phone rang. It was Rabbi Hodakov: ‘The Rebbe says to go back to the young woman and tell her that there is a Jew in Brooklyn who cannot sleep at night because she intends to marry a non-Jew.’

“Confused about the meaning of Rabbi Hodakov’s remark, I stammered, ‘Wait... What? Who? Which Jew cannot sleep?’ I then heard the Rebbe’s own voice speak- ing: ‘Tell her that his name is Mendel Schneerson.’

“After gingerly returning the receiver to its cradle, I was even more confused than before. Perhaps the Rebbe misunderstood how adamant the bride-to-be was. Maybe he didn’t fully grasp her indifference to Jewish tradition. Could I actually follow through with such a strange course of action? On the other hand... how could I not?

“Early the next morning, I was at her door. Before I could even say hello, she began snapping at me: ‘Listen, I was cour- teous and heard you out as a man of faith and out of respect to my parents. But how I choose to live my life is my business. I am getting married this weekend, and that is final. Please stop bothering me and leave me alone!’

“I took a deep breath, braced myself. ‘I’m so sorry... I just need to say one more thing. There is a Jew in Brooklyn who cannot sleep at night because you intend to marry a non-Jew.’

“As she was preparing to slam the door on my face, she stopped abruptly. ‘What did you say? What are you talking about? Who is this Jew?’

“Swallowing, I managed to squeeze the words out of my mouth: ‘There is a tzadik in Brooklyn, New York, known as the Lubavitcher Rebbe. His name is RebbeMenachem Mendel Schneerson... He is known to be personally concerned about the material and spiritual wellbeing of every Jew, and agonizes over every soul that is lost to its People... He asked me to come here again today to tell you that he can’t sleep....’”

Visibly shaken, the young woman asked, “What does he look like? Maybe you have a picture of him?” After years of counter-in- tuitively carrying a small black and white photo of the Rebbe in his wallet, R’ Chaim Tzvi swiftly removed it and handed it over. With one glance at the Rebbe’s likeness, her face turned pale. “It’s him!” she whispered,

and began to weep.
“All week long this man has been appearing in my dreams! His piercing stare is unmistakable... Every night I wake up startled seeing his eyes filled with tears. I told myself that the dream came from ‘cold feet’, or that I was just over-reacting to my parents’ pressure and conjuring up an image of a Jewish sage... In my entire life I have never seen or met this man, nor even heard his name. But those eyes...

“I don’t know what he wants from me! And I don’t know the first thing about being Jewish... but...,” she wept loudly, “how could I abandon my People?”

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