When a Chossid Wanted to Buy a Bakery in Cleveland

Welcome to our weekly Motzaei Shabbos program.

We are now in the month of Adar. This month is my father's yahrzeit — Lipman ben Nachum, Yud Ches Adar. And also this month is my mother's yahrzeit — Chana bas Shneur Zalman.

So I want to dedicate the next two programs — I think two programs, we're not going to finish it in the first — l'ilui nishmas my parents. I want to share with you some stories that I heard from my father, and what I experienced myself, together with my father, going in to yechidus.

So because of the yahrzeit, because of this month, I want to say l'chaim. L'chaim! Nishmas Avraham Levi. L'chaim! Baruch atah Adonoi Elokeinu melech ha'olam, borei pri hagafen. L'chaim!

I heard once from my father that "l'chaim" is spelled lamed, ches, yud, yud, mem. Yud, yud — that's two yuds, two Yidden, two Jews. When two Yidden are together, cham — then it's warm.

And my father told us a maaseh. I don't know — he said it happened to a gadol, I don't know whether it was a rishon or an acharon, or maybe it was a talmid of the Maggid, I don't know — but it was a gadol — that he had a yahrzeit for his mother, and he forgot to say Kaddish. He forgot to say Kaddish — and you know how important it is to say Kaddish. So his mother came to him in a dream, and his mother said to him, "My son, I know you forgot to say Kaddish. I'll forgive you — you forgot. But I cannot forgive you that you didn't give out cake and mashke and l'chaim. That I can't forgive you. Because Kaddish, of course, is important in shul, but when you say l'chaim, when you have a farbrengen, l'chaim means that each one wishes the other gezunt, parnassa, nachas, hatzlacha — everything. The hana'ah, the pleasure that the neshama has that people get together and they farbreng and wish each other good inyonim — that's something that I miss, that I cannot forgive you."

I heard once from my father — my father in Russia had a yeshiva, the name was Tiferes Bachurim, underground, with great mesiras nefesh. In Russia it was especially the most dangerous time, in those days. Now, by the way, it's good to mention — my father didn't touch his beard, even at that time in Russia, when not all chassidim had beards — I don't know if halachically they were even allowed to have a beard. It was a sakana, because if you had a beard, right away, "Oh, you belong to Schneerson." But he would not touch his beard. Many times he walked outside with a scarf around his head, and they stopped him and said, "What's this scarf?" So he said he had a toothache. But he would not touch his beard. I want to mention this because today, how people touch their beards — that's not what it's about at all.

Anyways, after Russia, my parents went to Poking, Germany. All of Chabad Lubavitch went to Poking. They stayed there a few years, and then the Joint sent them to France — all of them. And from France, the Joint sent people all over. Some Chabadniks they sent to Australia, some to Israel, some stayed in France, some to America — and even in America, they sent them to different cities. This one went to Detroit, this one went to Cleveland. So my parents' goral was Cleveland, Ohio.

They arrived in America in '53, in New York, and before they went to Cleveland they went in to the Rebbe. My father wanted to stay in New York, and the Rebbe said he should not stay in New York — he should listen and go to Cleveland. So he was in Cleveland — that's where we lived, in Cleveland. I grew up in Cleveland, my whole family grew up in Cleveland. The Rebbe told him to go to Cleveland, so I guess he was a shliach in Cleveland.

When my parents came to Cleveland — my mother always used to say this was always a word, you know, you're not going to — don't ask. But you ask, what's the problem, why am I saying this? When they came to Cleveland, those days, with a house of little children, it was also very hard — not like nowadays, you have a job, and if you lose it you can go to another job. Those days, if you had a job, you had to keep it, otherwise you wouldn't have another one. It was very, very hard those days. I was a little boy — I don't remember, maybe I do remember something.

Anyways, so when they came to Cleveland, there was a job, a bakery. I think it was my father together with my uncle who was supposed to buy the bakery, and everybody told them, "You're lucky, they'll give you the bakery cheap." I don't know if they liked my parents or my uncle, I don't know — but everybody said, "You're lucky to have the bakery." But what does the person do? He has the other. And you were sure the other would tell him yes. He has the other. The other said no. No is no. He told them he's not buying the bakery. People asked, "What do you mean?" The other said — I mean, the people couldn't understand. The other said no. So they're not buying the bakery. It was thought to be a mistake. What happened — a few weeks later there was a big fire, and the bakery burned down with everything. That would have been a big mistake, G-d forbid, if they would have bought the bakery — they would have lost who knows how much money.

Then my father used to say — there was once a maaseh with the Navi: they asked the Navi whether his father should go to Israel by plane or by boat. Anyway, so he said by plane — I think not by boat, I think that's what happened. But the Navi told him — but the father went by boat. So something happened, the boat sank, and it was a tragedy. So the son came to the Navi and said, "Navi, if you would have told me that this boat would sink, I would never have let my father go on that boat. Why didn't you tell me?" So the Navi told him, in Yiddish, "Believe me, I didn't know myself." The same thing also with the Navi — they asked, "Why didn't the Navi know that there would be a fire?" No — maybe not, maybe — maybe not.

This is something that I heard from my father — my father was with me, and the Rebbe took after him. Also, my father traveled all the time to the Rebbe, by bus, a Greyhound bus, those days. As I mentioned once, Rabbi Berel Shemtov, of good health, from Detroit, hired a bus, and then they stopped in Cleveland and picked up my parents and other people — I mean my father. And I also went many times. He went to yechidus, and that was before Simchas Torah and before Yud Shvat.

Now, talking about parnassa in those days, I want to tell you something very, very amazing that happened about parnassa.

When my father came to the Rebbe for Simchas Torah — he had come for Shana Tova as well — the Rebbe gave lekach. Now, the Rebbe used to give lekach at Yom Kippur to the people that lived in New York, people from New Jersey, people around. And then the orchim, the guests that came for Simchas Torah, the Rebbe would give lekach by the sukkah.

Now, a day after Simchas Torah, my father had to be at a meeting of shochtim. My father was a shochet, and there was a shochtim union meeting, and everyone had to be there. And if a person was not there, he would not have a job — they had to be there.

Now, my father came to the Rebbe for Simchas Torah. Those days the Rebbe would farbreng on Simchas Torah until maybe 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. And if he were at the farbrengen the whole time, he would never be able to make the meeting, because the meeting was with Agudas Yisroel. He didn't know what to do. He came to the Rebbe — should he leave the farbrengen? Should he come before the farbrengen? What should he do? And you couldn't take a plane in those days at night — you couldn't take a plane before the farbrengen. Anyways, he had a problem. And his parnassa, in those days, as we mentioned, was not secure — if he lost that meeting, that was it. What should he do?

So, on Hoshana Rabbah, he told the Rebbe he didn't know what to do — should he leave the farbrengen or not. So the Rebbe told him this — and this is, I think, how it came out for everybody — "Fun a farbrengen fort men nisht avek." We don't leave a farbrengen. That's how important a chassidisher farbrengen is.

Okay, so the Rebbe said so. In other words, the Rebbe took his parnassa on his own strong shoulders. The Rebbe knew the problem with parnassa, the Rebbe knew that he had a house full of little children, and the Rebbe said, "Finished." Two hours later, he was staying at the home of Moshav Dubinsky [?] — all of a sudden. His wife was my mother's cousin; he was staying there for Yom Tov those days. So two hours later, he went to the house to eat the meal of Hoshana Rabbah. He walks in, and Rivka, the wife of Moshav [?], tells my father, "You just had a call — your wife said they postponed the meeting in Cleveland." I don't know whether they postponed it to the morning or after, I don't know, but they postponed it. So, of course, he had no problem with the farbrengen.

Now I want to say another thing here, talking about Cleveland. My father had a Tanya shiur with bochurim from Telz. In Cleveland we lived in the Heights, Cleveland Heights. The Telz bochurim, for the Tanya shiur, used to come every Shabbos. Why Shabbos? Because they shouldn't let the yeshiva know about it — so they took taxis from Wickliffe to our house, about a 45-minute drive, and it cost a lot of money, a couple of taxis every time. And they learned Tanya and other Chassidic literature, and we talked with the bochurim from the yeshiva, because if the yeshiva found out, the bochurim would be in trouble.

So one Shabbos they came to my father and said, "We have a problem. We take taxis, and taxis cost money, and we have no money. We don't know how we'll be able to come on Shabbos — we have no money for a taxi. What should we do? Maybe we won't be able to come."

So, Rabbi Dovid Raichik — he used to come to Cleveland every year, a few weeks after Sukkos — he was a shadar; he used to collect gelt for mishloach manos for the Rebbe. He was in the house; he used to stay at our house. Rabbi Raichik heard what the bochur was saying, so he said to my father, "I think we should go raise money. I mean, you're learning Tanya, and now they won't be able to come — we should raise money." But my father told him, "I don't think so." He disagreed. He said, "No, it's not necessary to raise money. When there's a will, there's a way — if they really want to learn Tanya, they'll find a way."

Rabbi Raichik said, "Maybe you're right. You know what — you're going in to the Rebbe, you're going there for your yechidus with the Rebbe — ask the Rebbe what you should do."

So my father went to the Rebbe, and he told the Rebbe the story. So the Rebbe answered, "Bazeh lo yashar" — I remember, this he also wrote down — "Chassidus darf zich nit aroplozn azoy nidrig, az m'zol darfn tzoln far lernen Chassidus." That's the loshon of the Rebbe: Chassidus doesn't have to lower itself that we should have to pay to learn Chassidus. In other words — that's what I'm saying — if they want, they'll find a way.

My father came back and told Rabbi Raichik, and Rabbi Raichik said, "Of course, of course." Baruch Hashem, they found a way — they came every week, they found a way. They couldn't advertise how they raised the money, because they didn't want the yeshiva to know, but they found a way to raise the money. So this teaches a lesson.

Mit der zach — this reminds me of something Rabbi J.J. Hecht told me once, years ago. He told me he once told the Rebbe that they had given out 500 matzos before Pesach — 500 matzos they gave out. So the Rebbe said, "But do you mean to say it was all for free? Did they give you something?" "No," he said, "for free." And the Rebbe was — I don't remember what Rabbi Hecht said, well, I'm not going to say, because I don't remember exactly — but the Rebbe felt that you should sell it, even for a quarter, so that you know it's going to be used. Many people — you give out matzos before Pesach, and I know, in Long Island, people give out matzos — many people... One guy came over to me once before Pesach — I had made matzah brei a week before Pesach — he had matzah — you have to be careful. But if a person pays for something, he appreciates it — that way you know for sure.

So this is something that I wanted to share. There's much more to say — a little more about my father's neshama — but there's no time today. So, with Hashem's help, next week I'll continue the second program at the same time. L'ilui nishmas my parents. Thank you.