A farbrengen and chassidic reminiscences from Rabbi Shimon Lazaroff

00:00 Speaker 1 Shalom aleichem. Before I begin, I want to make an announcement: I studied in Lod from 5700 to 5707. Back then, classes in the yeshiva were taught in Yiddish, and we didn’t speak Hebrew. Once, Youth Aliyah came, and our teacher was Rabbi Melech Kaplan. So he wrote things out and they put up a board—we hadn’t had a board before—and he spoke Hebrew, saying [unclear], and so on. That was the Hebrew we learned. So my Hebrew isn’t good enough for me to speak fluently. I’ll make some mistakes; please don’t be particular about the grammar. You know the story: A Litvak once married a Polish woman—a Jewish woman, but Polish—and she was very, very forceful at home. He shouted, “And he shall rule!” I’m the head of the household. She shouted back, “And she shall rule!” So she was the head of the household. He shouted, “But it says ‘he shall rule,’ not ‘she shall rule’!” In Poland, they weren’t particular about grammar. She said “she,” and he said “he.” So don’t be particular about my Hebrew. Just pay attention to what I’m saying, not to the grammar. Agreed? Then I’ll speak. I understand that you all came here for the month of Tishrei. Many arrived a little earlier, and many were here already. But during Tishrei, the shluchim whom the Rebbe sent here in the United States, who have Chabad Houses, unfortunately couldn’t be here. For more than thirty-two years now, we haven’t been here for Rosh Hashanah. We would come on 6 Tishrei [unclear]. In recent years, we combined the farbrengen of 6 Tishrei with being here on 6 Tishrei and continuing with all the activities of Tishrei. If Shabbos Bereishis wasn’t immediately after Simchas Torah, we came for Shabbos Bereishis. Sometimes, when Shabbos Bereishis was immediately after Simchas Torah, we came for Parshas Noach. Some jokers would laugh: Why come for Parshas Noach? But in the later years, the Rebbe specifically held a major farbrengen before

03:51 Speaker 1 Shabbos Parshas Noach, apparently in honor of the shluchim who couldn’t come for Shabbos Bereishis, about [unclear] and so on. But we are here primarily for 6 Tishrei. And 6 Tishrei obligates us to reflect on particular things that this date calls on us to consider. Throughout the generations, we knew that [unclear]—even the chassidim of [unclear]—was not just a celebration of the Geulah and a special day for the Maggid and for the Rebbes up to our generation. They did not make a major occasion of a Rebbe’s yahrzeit until our generation. Granted, the Frierdiker Rebbe said [unclear], and formally, “Basi Legani” was connected with his mother’s yahrzeit; [unclear]. But formally, it was through “Basi Legani.” “Basi Legani.” As is well known, the chassidim said that the Frierdiker Rebbe had prepared the maamar for his own yahrzeit. It was like “Ve’atah Tetzaveh” for us: after Gimmel Tammuz, we understood. After 27 Adar, we understood that in “Ve’atah Tetzaveh” the Rebbe had alluded to many things in his maamar that we hadn’t understood until afterward. So the question arises: Why? What is the point of doing something special on 6 Tishrei? Why wasn’t this done before? And on 14 Kislev we make a major occasion of the Rebbe’s wedding anniversary. On 22 Shvat we make a major occasion. Until our generation, they didn’t—they didn’t make an occasion of dates like these. Generally, until our generation, it was understood and clear that not just anyone could establish a custom. A custom the Rebbe stated became a rule. A custom the chassidim spoke of had a lesser standing. Whenever the Rebbe told a story at a farbrengen, if it came from the Frierdiker Rebbe or from the Rebbes, he said it came from the Rebbes. If it didn’t come from the Rebbes, then each time he would say [unclear], or

08:44 Speaker 1 “Chassidim relate.” That was a distinct level. [Unclear]. “I didn’t hear it from the Rebbe; chassidim relate it.” Even in his maamarim, whenever the Rebbe offered a new insight—for us chassidim, once the Rebbe said it, it became Torah. But the Rebbe himself, out of humility, would say, “One might suggest another approach.” Even when the Rebbe gave an insight without citing a source, he would say, “One might suggest another approach.” For us, as chassidim, what the Rebbe said is sacred. But people didn’t establish customs on their own. Let me give you an example. When we were growing up, we began putting on tefillin at bar mitzvah. There was just one boy, Yisroel Gruskin, who began putting on Rabbeinu Tam tefillin from his bar mitzvah. As for the rest of us, none of us had heard of putting on Rabbeinu Tam tefillin. It says [unclear]. When we turned eighteen, it was customary among the Temimim to ask the Rebbe. The Rebbe told some [unclear]. He told others to begin at nineteen. He told others not to wait until their wedding. But after the Rebbe launched the campaign—a few years after the Six-Day War, he came out about Rabbeinu Tam tefillin—everyone began putting them on, even thirteen-year-olds. When the Rebbe said it, it became a rule. If the Rebbe told you something personally, it applied only if you took it upon yourself. But when the Rebbe made a public statement, that was what the Rebbe said. How many years later was it? I don’t know exactly. I don’t know exactly how long afterward. Before the Rebbe launched the campaign for all thirteen-year-olds to put on Rabbeinu Tam tefillin, they would begin at thirteen, on their birthday. Then [unclear] at one of the farbrengens said they should put on Rabbeinu Tam tefillin from two months before bar mitzvah. For bar mitzvah, the Rebbe said—the Rebbe

11:39 Speaker 1 said it, but on his own behalf, however deeply he may have felt about it. For example, in Houston a baal teshuvah came to me. He had once been a delinquent and had become a baal teshuvah in Houston. Then he went to Eretz Yisroel, where he became involved with the Kabbalists and with various Sephardic groups. Suddenly he came back putting on Rashi, Rabbeinu Tam, and Shimusha Rabba tefillin. Just ten years earlier, he had been a delinquent, a thief. And he said that [unclear] and the angel Ashmedai. He, he, he didn’t... I didn’t even... I didn’t want to challenge him or embarrass him. But the point is that a person shouldn’t take a Chassidic practice upon himself. Even the Rebbe, whom the Frierdiker Rebbe instructed to put on four pairs of tefillin—this isn’t something one simply does. As the Rebbe related, the Frierdiker Rebbe personally ordered the tefillin during seder hours so that no one would know. And until the later years, the Rebbe put on those tefillin in his room during seder hours. Why? Because this is only for lofty souls. Out of humility, the Rebbe said to himself: I do this because the Frierdiker Rebbe instructed me to, but one doesn’t establish customs on one’s own. When the Rebbe makes it a practice, though, it becomes an obligation. I know there are students here from France and students from Brunoy, so I was reminded of something that happened to me in Brunoy. Here’s another story. In 5722, the Rebbe sent us, so to speak, as shluchim to Brunoy. It was 20 Menachem Av. We wanted to farbreng—a Chassidic farbrengen for 20 Menachem Av, when the Rebbe farbrengs. One of the elder members of Anash there began to object: “What is 20 Menachem Av? [Unclear].” He had never heard of observing 20 Menachem Av in Kremenchuk. “[Unclear].” We were young Temimim.

14:44 Speaker 1 More Temimim than there are today, and we started in on him as though it were World War III. In the middle of it, Reb Nissan’s son apparently ran to his father and told him there was about to be a war here—World War III. Five moments later, he came downstairs and said that Reb Nissan was coming to farbreng. Coming to farbreng? Everything, everything calmed down. The whole... storm. He came downstairs and began to farbreng. What were his words? “We are the Rebbe’s feet, and 20 Menachem Av is the Rebbe’s father’s yahrzeit. On that day, the Rebbe conducts himself differently from every other day of the year. If it’s a special day for the head, it’s a special day for the feet.” And the member of Anash who had begun objecting earlier sat there with his head down. Reb Nissan continued that evening’s farbrengen and spoke about other things, but those were his words, his own expression: “We are nothing.” That’s how a true chossid speaks. “We are nothing. Our feelings aren’t worth a garlic peel. The Rebbe is our head; we are his feet. So if it’s a special day for the Rebbe, it’s automatically a special day for us. The Rebbe farbrengs on 20 Menachem Av, so we farbreng on 20 Menachem Av—as feet.” A healthy person—G-d forbid he should have a stroke. But if he is healthy, the feet automatically do what the head does. Every limb obeys the head. So that is where we begin. Why do we hold a farbrengen on 22 Shvat? The first explanation of 22 Shvat is that the Rebbe began doing so in 5748. No, not 5748; that was when she passed away. But from 5749 onward, there was a farbrengen every year on 22 Shvat, whether it fell on Shabbos or during the week. That’s the first explanation. But for us chassidim, what is 22 Shvat? 22 Shvat is like 14 Kislev. And it’s like the month—the month of Shvat. For us, especially in our generation. Just as the Rebbe

18:09 Speaker 1 himself said about 14 Kislev: “For us, this is a holy day, because on this day Hakadosh Boruch Hu connected me with you.” And for that, we give thanks and praise Hashem for this day. Just as with 22 Shvat, we thank Hakadosh Boruch Hu for 14 Kislev, the day that connected the Rebbe with us. But who made that possible? The Rebbetzin. In practical, logistical terms, he married his wife. She was the daughter of the Frierdiker Rebbe, and in practical terms that created the connection, and he became Rebbe. Everyone knows that by nature the Rebbe was a private person. Had he not married the Rebbetzin, he would have continued sitting in Yekaterinoslav. There were many hidden tzaddikim. As a young man, he already knew the entire Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds and everything else—Abaye and Rav Acha bar Shimon, every work of Jewish philosophy, Chassidus and Kabbalah—and no one would have known about him. He would have sat there in [unclear], a chossid, a tzaddik, a Jew, and his Chassidus would not have been known. We, the Jewish people, would have had none of this. We of the seventh generation would have had none of it. But Hashem helped us, and the Rebbe became the Frierdiker Rebbe’s son-in-law. Even then, like the Baal Shem Tov, z”l, he remained hidden. He was far, far from Anash; each time he lived in a different country. Even with Kovetz Hatamim, of which he was the editor-in-chief, it was unofficial. The Frierdiker Rebbe would send him everything, the entire journal, and the Rebbe, wherever he was in Germany or France, would send it back. He did it in his spare time, and now we know this. Letters have come to light. It’s clear how the Frierdiker Rebbe wanted him to edit everything—the letters and everything, all that was there. And even after he came here, it’s known

20:54 Speaker 1 how the Frierdiker Rebbe had to plead with him and ask him to start directing communal affairs, while he wanted to go work somewhere and remain hidden. That was his nature. After Yud Shvat, the chassidim had to plead with the Rebbe for a whole year to become Rebbe. They pleaded for a whole year. And even after that year, right up to the very last years, the Rebbe openly spoke to chassidim as a chossid. Sometimes he even said: “[unclear].” And sometimes, when something displeased him, something was done against his wishes, he said explicitly in the middle of a farbrengen: “I am upset. I wanted—I would have liked to sit in my room, study, and educate the child. Why am I sitting here? I am sitting here only because the Rebbe instructed me to.” The Rebbe was a private person by nature. He was someone who always wanted to serve Hashem as a hidden tzaddik. All these communal affairs went against his nature, and he did them because the Rebbe—his Rebbe—instructed him to. So in a way, we can say what Rabbi Akiva said about his wife. After forty years, his students did not want to let her through; they did not know she was his wife. So he told them, “What is mine and what is yours is hers.” So we thank Hashem, and we are grateful to the Rebbetzin. We are grateful. For 14 Kislev, for the month of Shvat, we are grateful for 14 Kislev. In the same way, we are grateful to Rebbetzin Chana, a”h, who was the mother of the king. She gave birth to him and gave us a Rebbe. So for us in the seventh generation, this has a special significance. We thank Hashem. Things are different now that we have a Rebbe, and Chabad has grown a thousandfold from what it was before, thanks to the Rebbe. He did it against his own inclination, at the instruction of his Rebbe. And we are grateful for all the circumstances and all the reasons that brought this about.

23:55 Speaker 1 We thank Hashem. And every such day that reminds us of it is a holy day for us, a day of a special kind. Yud Shvat, 14 Kislev and 6 Tishrei are holy days in their own right. It’s like this: What is special about the Baal Shem Tov? As the Rebbe said many times, why wasn’t Chassidus needed in earlier years? Why was it hidden then? There were hidden tzaddikim and great, humble people, and they did not study [unclear]. They didn’t. So you see why we need it. And once it was revealed, we need it. Earlier generations did not need it. We had a Rebbe, they had children, there was a continuation. But we today are the seventh generation. We give thanks that, because of these three, we have a Rebbe. They were the physical circumstances, the practical reasons, for which we thank Hashem. So 6 Tishrei is not just another day. We thank Hashem. For us, it is a particular day, a special day. Especially since it falls in the month of Tishrei, when chassidim from every corner of the world naturally come to the Rebbe and meet together. So on that day, 6 Tishrei, the Rebbe [unclear] throughout the years. Many times there was not merely a farbrengen, but a great, long farbrengen. Once it went on until the early hours of the morning. And he distributed a letter, a dollar and a kuntres. Everyone received one. [unclear]. It was a great day. So we can now call it a bright day, a bright day. So let’s finish with l’chaim. L’chaim, and... let’s sing the well-known song “How Fortunate We Are”—“How Fortunate We Are”—which they sang at Reb Shlomo Chaim’s farbrengens. Ay, mama, maya, mama, maya, la la, ay la la, [unclear]. Ay, na na nay.

26:57 Speaker 1 [Unclear singing.] How fortunate we are, how good our portion, and how pleasant our lot. How lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely it is for us. What do we have? How good our portion and how pleasant our lot. How lovely, lovely, lovely. He will come, he will come, he will come to Jerusalem. Jerusalem [unclear]. The nations [unclear]. The nations. He will come, he will come, he will come, he will come to Jerusalem. Jerusalem [unclear]. The nations [unclear]. The nations. He will come, he will come, he will come, he will come to Jerusalem.

32:09 Speaker 2 After establishing that in the seventh generation we have four new farbrengens of the seventh generation: [unclear].

00:00 Speaker 1 From when until Tishrei? Until Tishrei, the month of Shvat. These yahrzeits—from one yahrzeit to the next, and the wedding anniversary—are all reasons to thank Hashem for giving us this gift. Beyond everything else, the Rebbe himself, our holy Rebbe. There are things that were truly new in the seventh generation. If not the idea itself—perhaps something of it existed earlier—then certainly its name and its scope were new in our generation. Take the institution of shlichus, for example. We know that in the time of the Baal Shem Tov there were shadarim, emissaries sent by the Baal Shem Tov to different towns. Chassidim traveled to settlements on various missions. There are all those long stories in Likkutei Dibburim, about the sea, the water, the wellspring, and that great man who was [unclear] and had to be saved from [unclear]—all kinds of stories about the Baal Shem Tov. The Tzemach Tzedek certainly had emissaries. The well-known chossid Reb Hillel Paritcher was an emissary of the Rebbe, the Tzemach Tzedek. Reb Hillel Paritcher was a renowned chossid and a genius. What did he spend most of his time doing? He traveled to all sorts of towns. It says in the records that in the Tzemach Tzedek’s time there were at least ten kollels across Russia. And the well-known emissary was Reb Hillel Paritcher. The Rebbe told him what his work was: he had to help the chassidim and collect money. Though he was a great chossid, he was called an emissary, a shadar. There were shadarim. He was a shadar who came to every town, village, and city. He had no [unclear], no computer, and no cell phone. He had a good head: he remembered every address and every name. He didn’t have to go around pleading for money. People lined up to give him money, and he would say, “No, I don’t want it from you.” He assessed what each person should give: “You need to give such-and-such an amount.” He had to give an opportunity to everyone who wanted to give, and they all practically begged him to accept it. He had no lists; he knew everything by heart. He came to the Rebbe and gave him the lists, all the names. Yes, he had a good head, but he was called a shadar. Years later, the Rebbe Rashab had shadarim. There were the well-known first shluchim who traveled to Kutaisi and Batumi—the first Lubavitch brothers who went to Georgia. You hear about Kutaisi, about Shimon [unclear] in Batumi, about Shimon in Batumi. They traveled to [unclear]; they traveled to another city. They were shluchim. When the Frierdiker Rebbe came to America, he too began sending shluchim throughout America, though mostly around New York—to Connecticut and New Jersey. The farthest place was San Francisco. That was the end of the line for the train. The Rebbe began the institution of shlichus with his sweeping vision. It began when he delivered his first maamar, Basi Legani. This is the seventh generation: “You shall spread out westward and eastward, northward and southward.” That is the mission of the seventh generation. Who could have dreamed of it then? Only the Rebbe himself, in Basi Legani, laid out what would happen throughout the world. Today there is hardly a Jewish community anywhere without a Chabad House, hardly a corner of the world. And if there is no Chabad House, young men from Merkos Shlichus come there during the year to meet Jews or bring them [unclear]. Who could have imagined it? Who could have said it would happen? Even in the time of Moshe Rabbeinu in the wilderness, all the Jews were together in one place. In our generation, Jews are scattered throughout the world, from Hawaii to Hong Kong, from Timbuktu to some remote place, and the Rebbe made sure to send them rabbis, shluchim. The Rebbe himself explained how this differs from what came before. As the Rebbe explains, in earlier generations and up until now,

03:51 Speaker 1 there were emissaries—Jews who traveled from place to place, holy Jews. I remember my uncle Sandel Menkin [?], an av beis din. I was a child, but I remember. He was a fundraiser for a large yeshiva. He traveled to cities throughout Europe. He always had books, [unclear], mezuzos, and tefillin with him. Wherever he came, he would speak and have an influence. He didn’t only collect money. He collected money for the yeshiva, but while he was there people would buy things, put up mezuzos, and he would leave tefillin here and there. He would receive a pidyon to bring to the Rebbe, and when he arrived he would send a letter to the Rebbe and obtain a blessing from the Rebbe. That is how it was with all these traveling emissaries. He was hardly ever home—once every three months—and that was his work. When he came home, he brought money for the yeshiva. The yeshiva was a holy, pure place, and while traveling he drew Jews closer and received money from them. A shliach is something entirely different. The Rebbe sends a shliach to a remote place to live there. Yes, to collect money—but from whom, and for what? Not for a yeshiva in Jerusalem or New York. He collects money from the Jews there to build a yeshiva, a cheder, or a school for their children; to build a mikveh not in Jerusalem, but in that remote town, for the Jews who live there. If a traveling fundraiser was a great speaker, he would also use his speeches for a good purpose: the world is in ruins, and our people will endure only if they give tzedakah; the yeshiva must survive so that we can raise rabbis. Therefore, give money to this yeshiva in Jerusalem. That is a valid approach, but a shliach is something else entirely. The shliach goes to his place; the Rebbe sent him there for the rest of his life—until, to put it plainly, he returns to his Maker. He stays there and collects money. He gets authorization to collect from those Jews so that their children will have a school,

06:53 Speaker 1 and nobody thanks him. But as the community grows, they come to him and tell him teachings and guidance from the Rebbe, from Chassidus, and from all sorts of places. They speak to him as though he were a rabbi with a white kippah perched on his nose, and tell him what Chassidus is and what Kabbalah is. So, do they say thank you? No. And more than that, the Rebbe says in one of the sichos: this is the Samech-Mem. What is the real mission, all the way to the end? To turn that remote place into Lubavitch. And in Lubavitch, the shliach will never feel like a local resident. Until his last day, he will always feel like a guest in the village. In fact, it is the opposite: he lives there, collects money, raises his children, and has to send his own children to our yeshivos because the place is not suitable. No, it is not that it is a bad place; it just is not yet suitable for them after sixth grade. So why is he there? To collect money? He is there to raise and educate their children. They give the money, and he has to give back, to tell them—this is something entirely unique. His goal is to make the place into Lubavitch, yet he himself will never feel that he belongs to the place. He will always feel like a guest. This is an institution the Rebbe established, one that did not exist before. And what are the results? The results are obvious. It is not just that a traveling fundraiser comes and the place remains remote, [unclear]. Some places are more successful and some less, but each one accomplishes something in its own place. There is a corner of Chabad there, a holy corner. It is just as the Rebbe says in one of the sichos: there is a question. It is written that one must pay a hired worker his wages. You have to pay him that night; you must not hold back his wages and say, “Wait until tomorrow.” How, then, can Hakadosh Boruch Hu have us do mitzvos and everything else—where is our reward? They say the reward is in the World to Come. But what about all the years we spend here? Generations have died. What does the Rebbe say? After all the questions, the bottom line, as they say—how do you say that in English? “Bottom line”?

09:52 Speaker 1 And nobody thanks him. But the people of the community, once they grow up, come to him with teachings and guidance from the Rebbe, from Chassidus, and from everything else. They tell him what Chassidus is and what Kabbalah is—even though he is serving as their rabbi, with that white kippah on his head. So does he get a thank-you? No. And not only that. The Rebbe says in one of the sichos: that is the Samech-Mem. What is the mission, carried through to the end? To make this remote place like Lubavitch. And even in Lubavitch, the shliach will never feel like one of the local residents. Until his last day, he will always feel like a guest in the village. Yet it is just the opposite: he lives there, receives money, raises his children there—and he himself has to send his children to our yeshivos, because the place there is no good. No, not no good. It is just no longer the place for them after sixth grade. So why is he there? To receive money? To raise his children and educate his own children? They give money; he has to give back, to tell them: this is something altogether special. And his own goal is to make the place into Lubavitch, while he himself never feels that he belongs to the place. He always feels like a guest, as though he had never been there. This is an institution the Rebbe established. It is an institution the Rebbe founded and put in place, one that did not exist before. And what are the results? The results are quite self-evident. It is not merely that a fundraiser comes; the place remains remote, [unclear]. Every place—some are more successful and some less successful. But each one succeeds in bringing something to his place. There is a Chabad corner, a holy corner. Just as the Rebbe says in one of the sichos: there is a question. It says that you must pay a hired worker his wages. You have to pay him that night; you may not hold them over and say, “Wait until tomorrow.” So how is it that we do mitzvos and do everything for Hakadosh Boruch Hu—and where is our reward? They say the reward is in the World to Come. But what about all the years we are here, and the generations that have passed away? What does the Rebbe say? After all the questions, the bottom line, as they say—how do you say that in English? “Bottom line”?

12:50 Speaker 1 The bottom line.

13:19 Speaker 2 The bottom line.

13:21 Speaker 1 The bottom line. The Rebbe explains it this way: the owner is Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Let’s put it this way to explain things: Hakadosh Boruch Hu hired the Jewish people like a contractor to prepare this world so that He would enjoy being here and feel at home here—so that He would feel as much at home down here as He does above, and even more so. So what does the Rebbe explain? This is a contract with the Jewish people. Not just with one generation, not just with one Jew—with the Jewish people. And not just with this generation, but with all the generations. We are simply continuing until Moshiach comes, speedily in our days; Moshiach has not yet come. So we continue [unclear], continuing what the previous generation began, what that generation continued from the one before it, and that one from the one before it—all the way back to Moshe Rabbeinu, from Moshe Rabbeinu to Avraham Avinu, and from Avraham Avinu to Adam Harishon. And we are the last generation. The Rebbe explains elsewhere that it is exactly like building a large house. Have you ever seen it? I’m sure you’ve seen how a building is built. First come the architects. They draw up plans, blueprints. It’s all on paper; everything is written down. Then the owner comes and doesn’t want it that way. No problem. He takes a pen, erases something, and draws a line here and a line there. You don’t want a window? Okay, I want a window. Okay, a window. Or a door here. A door. A bathroom here. A bathroom. Not a bathroom—a holy place. Okay, an aron kodesh. It’s all on paper, and you can change it in an instant. This sometimes goes on for six months or a year, depending on the size of the house they want to build. Sometimes it even takes a year. After that year, they start building the foundations. The foundations sometimes also

16:13 Speaker 1 mean digging a big hole there. A year, two years. What are they doing with that hole? Digging holes. You don’t know. You don’t understand what’s going on. Foundations. What? The healthier and stronger the foundation, the bigger and taller the house they can build. The foundations. One small mistake might seem like nothing, but after they build on it, it becomes a catastrophe. Then they start building the walls, and you still don’t see the beauty. But after they put on the roof, you begin to see all the colors, all that concrete, and it starts becoming a beautiful building. After that comes everything else: the furnishings, the beauty, the work inside, then the furniture, and then, then, then, then the cleaners come and start clearing away all the mess and all the construction debris. So you might say, what of it? But who is most important here? The head of the company, the owner of the construction project. The work manager goes through each stage. But say someone has to lay the bricks, the blocks. And not only the people laying the blocks, but their assistants, who bring the blocks over to the platforms there. So the next day they go on strike. Can you do anything? They don’t do anything, you say. They only get five dollars an hour. Nothing. But if they go on strike, what then? Will the owner, or that great architect who comes with his plans, start laying the bricks? No, that isn’t his job. So the whole building comes to a halt. It’s the same with us. All the work that remains in making a dwelling for Hakadosh Boruch Hu in the lower realms, in preparing the world for Moshiach’s coming

18:41 Speaker 1 and preparing the world—what remains is to bring the Geulah. That is up to us. [unclear] And we will clear away the rubbish. We are the last ones, the ones who have to do the finishing touches. The lady of the house won’t come sleep there while all the garbage is still lying around and one of the cleaners has left his sandwich there for the cats and dogs to eat. They don’t lay the carpet before they clean everything up. But we are cleaners, working people, cleaning workers. They rely on us to clean it up. All in all, we are just cleaners. That is the last thing done before the residents move in. So on the one hand, we are the most important: without the cleaning, they cannot move in. On the other hand, we are nothing. So who are we to set our own ways, as though a cat were going to teach its owner how to be a cat? So the Rebbe did something that, again, concerns the whole world, not just ordinary chassidim. He was the Rebbe of the seventh generation, and the seventh generation is like... We are the ones being relied on to bring the world to perfection and bring it successfully into the days of Moshiach. That is our responsibility. And we, as Temimim, yeshiva students, come here for Tishrei. The Rebbe is our commander, our king; we are under his care, and this is our work. If we go on strike or become a little lazy about our work, then, G-d forbid, we hold up the whole undertaking—all the work handed down by the previous generations. There were the modest ones, the awe-inspiring ones, and the great chassidim who withdrew from the world—all those great chassidim. Now they rely on us, the cleaners, to finish the job. We are nothing. We are nothing at all. We are cleaners, but they rely on us. Without us, they cannot enter Eretz Yisroel. Forgive me for mentioning it. But because this is the seventh generation, we have many farbrengens, days—new days of farbrengens—that we

21:34 Speaker 1 need, because we have a particular task that did not exist before. And through this work we connect and unite with the Rebbe: we follow in his ways and do exactly what he told us. No more and no less. Who doesn’t know this? Every yeshiva student knows. We had a grandmother named Chava. Have you heard of our grandmother, Adam Harishon’s wife? Have you heard of this woman? Chava. Yes, yes. Hashem told them not to eat the fruit of the tree. Do not eat. When the snake came, she added one word: do not touch. Just one word. She wanted to be more scrupulous. She felt the need to be righteous, to go beyond what was required. Hashem had said not to eat; she would go further and not touch it. But she didn’t know that the snake was cunning and would play with her words. When she said not to touch it, he pushed her, and she touched the tree. You see? Hashem didn’t tell you not to. So nothing will happen to you if you eat it, either. And we know how that ended. She became afraid that she would die and Adam Harishon would marry another Chava. She wanted him to die too if she died. [unclear] It only takes one word: “Do not eat,” “do not touch.” We have to be very careful to do exactly what the Rebbe told us, what the Rebbe instructed us—not what our fantasies tell us to do. Fantasies? Go to sleep. What do we have to do? Exactly what the Rebbe told us. Do not subtract and do not add. When you start subtracting or adding, that only brings death into the world. It does no good. Can you name a worse woman than Chava? There really isn’t one. We need to understand. I don’t know. Say someone wants to—oh, that’s not good. The Rebbe, zya, [unclear]. She is the worst woman.

24:08 Speaker 1 And suppose she suddenly—because she’s a tall woman—starts walking around like her neighbor, in slippers and all that, and her husband Yankel Kolin[?] says she should start wearing that thing, like women do nowadays. Oh, Yankel Kolin[?], because his wife is so tall, will start wearing a sheitel! A tall woman, a sheitel—that doesn’t appeal to him either. She’ll wear the shtreimel and he’ll wear the sheitel. You understand? A disaster. Each person should do what they’re supposed to do. She’ll wear her big sheitel, and he’ll wear the shtreimel. You don’t make customs based on how you feel. Suppose I like the idea that—uh—a tall woman... Rashi’s daughters wore tefillin. Maybe women should wear tefillin too; I don’t know. I haven’t heard of that. [unclear] But a shtreimel? We certainly haven’t seen women wearing shtreimels to this day. Have you ever seen one? Hardly. Or take the well-known story. It’s a well-known story from the Baal Shem Tov’s circle. Once, the Baal Shem Tov stood at the lectern with his tallis over his head, crying. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour—and he wasn’t starting Kol Nidrei. So they began to realize something was wrong. The students began to cry out. The people in the shul began to cry out. The shamashim began to cry out and faint. And suddenly a young villager came in. Now I’m sure you’ve heard the story. He was a young villager, and he didn’t know anything. He saw the crowding and heard all the shouting, and he didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t know alef-beis; he didn’t know a thing. He was a village boy, and he knew all sorts of animal sounds—the horses, the dogs—and the sound that came most naturally to him, that touched his heart, was

26:43 Speaker 1 the rooster’s. That was one of the sounds he knew: a rooster crowing. So its call, “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” was close to his heart. He saw everyone shouting and crying, so he shouted, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Everyone was crying, and there he was saying that. The men wanted to throw him straight out of the shul. What was going on here? But before they could throw him out, the Baal Shem Tov lifted the tallis from his head. “Don’t throw him out.” And they began to daven. Afterward, he explained what had happened. There had been a terrible decree against the entire community, and he saw no way to avert it. He pleaded and begged for mercy, but it did not help. He kept pleading until this village boy came with his “cock-a-doodle-doo.” The boy accomplished what no one else had managed to do and tore up the decree. Then they began to daven. What I’m trying to say is: imagine taking that and, because such a thing happened, making a new custom—that before Kol Nidrei, it’s the Chabad custom for the chazzan, the Rebbetzin, the rabbi, the men and the cat to bring a rooster, all crow together, and practice it. How do you say that in Hebrew?

28:35 Speaker 3 Rehearsals.

28:36 Speaker 1 Huh? Rehearsals. They’ll practice, and everyone will do it nicely: “Cock-a-doodle-doo.” A Chabad custom before Kol Nidrei, written down in Krias Shema! Come on—that belongs in a madhouse, not a shul. Such a thing happened, and the Baal Shem Tov spoke about it. This isn’t a secondhand report; he himself said it. But for some madman to turn it into a Chabad custom and tell all the authorities and rabbis to institute a new practice—and if you don’t, you’re not a Chabad chossid, or you have to say “cock-a-doodle-doo”—that’s absurd. We know, and we listen, when the Rebbe says that a custom has the force of law. But these fantasies? They would have thrown that villager with his “cock-a-doodle-doo” out of the shul. They didn’t throw him out because the Baal Shem Tov said not to. And the Baal Shem Tov testified that it came from the depths of the boy’s heart and affected the higher worlds, tearing up the decree. But without the Baal Shem Tov’s testimony, that boy would have been considered mad, with no place in a shul. So what follows from all this? What follows from all this is that, on the one hand, we are fortunate to be in the seventh generation. We are finishing the work. On the other hand, we are nothing—we’re the peel of a garlic clove. We’re only continuing to whitewash the house and clean up the dirt left from what the previous generations built. We are nothing. Yet we are fortunate because we are finishing the job. We will have the joy of Moshiach coming in our generation, and we will be the ones to welcome him. The previous generations will come like a grandfather coming to a wedding. There are the bride and groom, the parents, and the grandparents. The grandfather comes after the father. Without the grandfather there would have been no father, and without the father there would have been no groom. But who sits in the room? That’s generally how it is with us too. We are the seventh generation, but we are nothing. We are finishing what they—the previous generations, the previous generations—began. Understand? Ay, ay, ay. Ay, ay,

32:04 Speaker 1 ay. Ay, ay, ay. Ay, ay, ay. Ay, ay, ay.

00:01 Speaker 1 Continuing with the first thing we said: the Rebbe was the model of a Rebbe who is a shliach. There is another thing, something new that did not exist before. It emerged only with our holy Rebbe, and that was what I spoke about. With our Rebbe. That’s it. With the earlier Rebbes—the Mitteler Rebbe, the Tzemach Tzedek, the Rebbe Maharash, the Rebbe Rashab, and the Frierdiker Rebbe—chassidim knew how things were. There is the well-known story of an agunah, a woman whose husband had run away, who wanted a blessing from the Tzemach Tzedek. She could not get in to see him, and people tried all sorts of things, all sorts of schemes, to reach the Tzemach Tzedek. The famous story is that she had a son who was deaf: he could neither hear nor speak. She sent him with a note, thinking he could wander around there and no one would pay attention to him. He saw the Tzemach Tzedek and handed him the note. In it she asked for a blessing that she should find her husband. The Tzemach Tzedek said to this deaf boy, “Go tell your mother that her husband is in Vienna.” I don’t remember the name of the city. The boy went and told his mother what the Tzemach Tzedek had said. The Tzemach Tzedek had not known that the boy was deaf, but the boy began to speak. She went, and what happened, happened—[unclear]. You can see from the whole episode what a major thing it was for a woman to be able to approach a Rebbe. That was how it was in the Rebbe Rashab’s generation, and even with the Frierdiker Rebbe. I remember when we left Russia, all the chassidim asked the Frierdiker Rebbe where to go. The Rebbe told some two hundred families to go to Eretz Yisroel. They went there, and today there is already Chabad there. He told ten families to go to England and ten families to Australia. That is how Chabad chassidim spread throughout the world. I remember that my mother, may she live to 102, asked the Frierdiker Rebbe where

03:09 Speaker 1 to go, where to settle. She did not ask him herself. My uncle, Reb Michoel Lipsker, a”h, wrote a letter to the Frierdiker Rebbe. The letter still exists, and in it he asked about his sister, may she live, where it would be best for her to travel, and asked the Rebbe to tell him so he could pass it on to his sister. That was how it was. But the Rebbe answered every woman—and not only every woman, every child. Every bar mitzvah boy. Every age, even before bar mitzvah, even a much younger child. I have a friend who is a shliach in San Antonio, Chaim Block. I remember this happened when he was seven years old. Seven! He sent a letter to the Rebbe saying that his class was holding a fundraiser: they were making a Melaveh Malkah, putting on a play, and going to raise eighteen dollars for pencils, notebooks, erasers, and all the things a student needs. At seven years old, he asked the Rebbe for a blessing with complete sincerity. To him it was important. They had to raise eighteen dollars—that was a lot of money—and buy pencils and notebooks. What happened? I heard this from his father, Dr. Chaim Block—Dr. Yitzchak Block—and he remembers it. Suddenly, in those days before Federal Express and faxes, a special-delivery letter arrived. The envelope was covered with stamps, and it arrived on Shabbos. Why? Because the Melaveh Malkah was on Motzaei Shabbos. The Rebbe had sent it special delivery so it would arrive by Shabbos and at least be there in time. So they waited until Motzaei Shabbos and opened the letter. What did it say? “To the young man Chaim, may he live.” He had written asking for a blessing to hold a fundraiser for his first-grade class, for pencils and notebooks, and the Rebbe wished him great success, that he should share good news, and that he should bring nachas. “With blessing,” and the Rebbe’s signature.

06:15 Speaker 1 Do you know what happened? It was a great success. He did not just raise eighteen dollars; he raised eighteen and a half. All right, I think about that. This is no joke. I think about it. What happened here? The Rebbe respected a soul. This child wrote to the Rebbe, and to him it was urgent. He wanted to succeed. And a soul—there is no such thing as a small soul. The Rebbe once said there is no such thing as a small Jew. To that child it was urgent. He wrote to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe answered him. When had there ever been such a thing? In what generation did a Rebbe answer like that? And not only a thirteen-year-old. Where was it in earlier generations that a Rebbe wrote a letter to a bar mitzvah boy? The Rebbe would even write for a baby at his bris—of course, the baby could neither read nor write, so he sent it to the parents. But at age seven, the Rebbe was already writing to the child himself. I wrote a letter to the Rebbe when I was ten. What was my problem? My chavrusa had left the yeshivah for a higher yeshivah. He was a good chavrusa; I do not want to say his name. Later he returned to Chabad. But at the time he left the yeshivah, and I was left without a chavrusa. So I asked the Rebbe for a blessing. I had no chavrusa and wanted a blessing. That is what happened. It was in 5729. Many letters came, and Avraham Wolf distributed them. I received a letter addressed to me as a young man, “may he live.” I still have that letter. [unclear] It had the Rebbe’s blessing and signature. I remember feeling as though I had received something better than a package from the chief of staff. I was with the Rebbe. The Rebbe was here with me. I was not alone in the world. I was with the Rebbe—my Rebbe, my Rebbe,

08:44 Speaker 1 my Rebbe. Why? Because that was what the Rebbe was like. There had not been a Rebbe like that in earlier generations—one who would answer a letter from every little kid, every ordinary person, everyone. And even more than that. I heard this story: the Rebbe cared not only for his chassidim, not only for Chabad people, not only for Chabad chassidim, not only for Chabad youth—not only for Chabad people, even for Chabad children. I heard something more from Rabbi Dov Wolpern [unclear]. I heard the story from him; it happened to him. I need to give some background. You know, for years the Rebbe would write public letters in Yiddish. They were sent to Eretz Yisroel, where they were translated into Hebrew. After the translation, they were sent back to the Rebbe for proofreading, so there would be no mistakes. Then they were distributed to all the newspapers. Reb Chaim, a”h, [unclear] worked to get them published in Maariv and Hatzofeh, even in Al Hamishmar—what was it called? Al Hamishmar? It was the same letter in all of them. Not every time, but many times. Once, the Rebbe wrote “every person” in Yiddish. In Eretz Yisroel, someone translated it as “every person,” but someone—I don’t know who—thought “every Jew” would be more appropriate. They sent it back to the Rebbe. The Rebbe crossed out “Jew” and restored “person.” They were surprised. Perhaps that wording suited Maariv better, but what about Hatzofeh? What did it mean—an Arab, a Palestinian? Who was it addressed to? Why not “Jew”? The Rebbe crossed out “Jew” and put back “person.” So they printed “person,” and it remained a puzzle. But then—I don’t know whether it was fifty days later or years later—the rabbi [unclear] was traveling on a plane. At this moment I have forgotten the name of the Knesset member. It was not

11:39 Speaker 1 In recent years—this was fifteen years ago—a well-known Knesset member, an antisemite, an Arab Palestinian member of the Knesset in Israel, was traveling with him on a plane. He saw a picture. From the pictures he had seen, he thought... But he was an Arab. Outwardly, that was all there was to it. Then came this exchange: “Where are you going?” “You speak with the Lubavitcher Rebbe? The Lubavitcher Rebbe is a great man. I once wanted to meet him, even in a political capacity. We’re on opposite sides, but I wanted to see him once. What sort of access do you have to him? I read his articles in the press all the time. What do you think—that I’m not a human being? The Rebbe writes for every person. I’m a Palestinian, but the Rebbe writes for every person. That letter is for me too. He wrote it to me. I love his articles. They’re very deep. I wanted to see him.” That’s something. And I know—I really have many congregants with family members who married Conservative and Reform rabbis. The Rebbe looked at every person and saw the spark of G-d within him. I know Reform and Conservative rabbis who themselves feel that the Rebbe drew them close. I’ll tell you a story that amazed me; I could hardly believe it myself. I have a baal teshuvah, a congregant, whose son studied at a modern school. There he met a young woman, the daughter of the chancellor of the Conservative Jewish Theological Seminary. His daughter. And he married her, of all people. I was very upset, because my congregant wanted me to ask [unclear]. I knew how he thought of me, and I didn’t know how I could [unclear]. It was very uncomfortable. I was very apprehensive. When [unclear] and that man were there, and a group came from the Jerusalem seminary, I didn’t know what to do.

14:50 Speaker 1 He told me, “Ask how he is.” And my congregant knows about this; my congregant is not... Suddenly he says to me, “Listen—the Rebbe, the Lubavitcher Rebbe.” When I married my wife—listen. Her father... The woman lived here in Highland Park, or it was Grand Plaza. And her father was a shochet. You won’t hear this tomorrow, only today. What has philosophy got to do with it? You’ll have to say that afterward. She lived in Franklin. Her father was a shochet, a shochet. She was going out with him, and her father learned that he was a student at the Jewish Theological Seminary and would become a Conservative rabbi. There was a dispute over it. They argued for weeks and months. Finally, her mother thought about it and said to her daughter, “You know what? The Lubavitcher Rebbe is here. He lives right here on our street. Let’s ask him. Whatever he says, you’ll agree to it.” The mother and father thought the Rebbe would certainly say no, and that would be the end of the discussion, the end of the story. The daughter was devoted to her parents, and her parents said, “All right.” There had been shouting, arguments and tears. [Unclear] asked the Rebbe, “So what will happen?” They approached the Rebbe, requested yechidus, went in for yechidus and told him the whole story. The daughter told the story: her father and mother were both against it, but she was going ahead with him. The Rebbe answered them like this: “Does he keep Shabbos?”

17:21 Speaker 2 Yes.

17:21 Speaker 1 “Does he eat kosher?”

17:21 Speaker 2 Yes.

17:22 Speaker 1 “Does he promise to observe taharas hamishpachah?”

17:27 Speaker 2 Yes.

17:28 Speaker 1 “Then don’t prevent this shidduch. Let it happen. I’m not against it. Let them build a Jewish home.” Well, that was simply tremendous. What the Rebbe says goes. So the arguments stopped. But what happened? This young man became one of the best students at the Jewish Theological Seminary. Afterward, he began studying privately with Baruch Baumgart[unclear], together with another student, and became one of the top students. He was highly regarded, so he became the deputy director. Now he is the head of that seminary, and he is grateful to the Rebbe. Why? Because the Rebbe saw the good spark in him. And the Rebbe’s reach is long, very long. It amazed me. Here I thought I was going to meet an enemy. Not an enemy—a friend, someone grateful to the Rebbe. He had studied with Baruch Baumgart[unclear]. Later, when I went to the wedding, he didn’t mind my officiating at the kiddushin; he would just recite the blessings as the father. I asked the respected rabbis, and so I handled the kesubah and everything else, while he only recited the blessings, because he was not the rabbi of the community; he was coming as the father. So that was fine, and in practice it went well. Everything was all right. At the wedding, sitting very close to me, was a rabbi named Rabbi Zlotnik. He is [unclear] of all the senior teachers. We call everyone a professor, so he is a professor of Talmud. He tells me a story. What story? He had studied together with him under Baruch Baumgart[unclear]. As a young man, a student of Baruch Baumgart[unclear], he came to the wedding of Baruch Baumgart’s[unclear] daughter. He was standing here, and there were people over there; the wedding was in this hall, and there was a farbrengen. The wedding was here, or in the basement—also in this hall. Baumgart[unclear]. When the Rebbe came out, Baumgart[unclear] said to him, “This is one of my students.” And—

20:45 Speaker 1 He told the Rebbe that, for his doctorate—sorry, for his doctorate—he had written a paper about a mikveh. The other student, his friend, this rabbi. So the Rebbe said to him, “Well, if you did that, and it was successful and you received your PhD, perhaps you could publish that paper in the magazine they put out there every two or three months.” Well, every three months. Huh? He should publish the paper there. He thought the Rebbe was just paying him a compliment, drawing him close. Suddenly, a few days later, there was a call from the Rebbe’s secretariat. Rabbi Chodakov asked whether he had prepared the paper yet; the Rebbe was asking. He still thought it was just a way of drawing him close. Two weeks later, Rabbi Chodakov called again: “Did you get my call? The Rebbe wants to know whether you’ve written the paper yet.” Now it was serious; he understood that the Rebbe meant it. So he made arrangements for the paper to be published in that magazine. That was stage one. Stage two: in the town of London, Ontario, there was a Dr. Yitzchak Black. He too was a baal teshuvah, a professor of Aristotle at the university there. Since he was the only religious person in London, Ontario, he was, unofficially, the Chabad shliach in the city. For several years, when he and some other people sent people to a mikveh, they had to travel to Toronto, an hour and a half away. So he set about building a mikveh in the city, in that small town of London, Ontario. It’s a little bigger than Rishon LeZion, but relatively small; in America, that’s a small city. It has a few traffic lights, not just one. He didn’t have the money to build a mikveh himself, so he wanted to get funding from members of the community as well—from the Federation, the United Jewish Appeal, and from the Conservatives—to contribute to the mikveh. They held a big meeting, took a vote and did all that, but in the end they voted against it. So this

24:05 Speaker 1 No, that’s it. A week later, the president—the president of the Reform or Conservative synagogue, I don’t remember which, Conservative—receives the magazine of the Jewish Theological Seminary, and he reads a serious article there about mikveh. The Jewish Theological Seminary speaking positively about mikveh? So he read the whole thing again, and they held another meeting. “We had a meeting two or three weeks ago and took a vote, and we criticized the whole idea. But here it is, from their own seminary, their main seminary. And all their students...” It was an excellent article, and they put it in the magazine. About mikveh. They spoke positively about mikveh. It’s an important thing. They voted again, and it passed. Thanks to that money, Rabbi Dr. Chaim Brot[unclear] was able to build the mikveh. I heard this from Rabbi Zak[unclear] at Rabbi Ilow’s[unclear] wedding; he was my father’s mechutan. He told me at the wedding, “You don’t know what your Rebbe is. Your Rebbe is the biggest women’s liberation!” What happened when he visited the Rebbe’s father-in-law? He asked them what they did. The husband was a teacher of culture, and he really knew how to play a little guitar and things like that. He told him about what he did with a Sefer Torah. And the Rebbe turned to his wife: “And what do you do?” She said, “I’m very, very proud of what my husband does. He does good things.” So the Rebbe said to her, “You’re satisfied with that? You should give classes for women yourself, on Shabbos, on Sunday. You don’t have to rely only on your husband. You—women should do good things on their own.” And ever since then, she has held classes for women every Shabbos afternoon. “My wife is the Rebbe’s biggest chossid.” I came away from that wedding thinking about the Rebbe’s power: it isn’t only that he answers letters,

26:55 Speaker 1 not only great shluchim or small shluchim, [unclear]. Not only women, not only Chabad children, not only observant Jews from other camps, not only misnagdim, not only Reform Jews, not only Conservative Jews—even Palestinians. In a Jewish publication, a man wrote that the Rebbe knew the letter would reach him and that he would want to hear it. And it did reach him. Only recently I bought this. I was walking here along the wall on Second Avenue, and there’s a large photograph. What photograph? It’s a shame I didn’t bring it with me. It’s an extraordinary photograph. Zalman Shazar is holding his cup, saying l’chaim to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe is looking at him. My uncle, Reb Leibel Lipsker, a”h, is looking at him. As if to say to Shazar, “Why have you come to bother him? What is this? Go back to your own affairs. Why have you come to disrupt the farbrengen?” And Reb Lipsker, a”h, is looking on like this, impassively. As if the father of Meir [unclear] Kazanovsky[unclear] were looking on like that: “Well, what has this fellow done?” And everyone is like that: “What are you doing here? What do you want?” But the Rebbe is looking at him: “You may be at the very depths of impurity, but I will draw out all the good inside you. The good, your spark—I will draw it out of all your mud. I will bring you back to the original source.” The Rebbe. The chassidim. What are you looking at? The Rebbe kept drawing him in, drawing him in, drawing him in. When Shazar died, [unclear]. The chassidim went wild. He had come six months before he died—he came one last time to say goodbye to the Rebbe. In the photograph you can see the whole, whole situation. If you know how to read a photograph, you can see all the chassidim: “Why are you wasting the Rebbe’s time? Get out of here! Finish already. Go to sleep. You’re a guest. Go! Let them speak to the Rebbe.” [unclear]. You can see it in the photograph. If you go to Kings Avenue, to the gallery there, you’ll see

29:44 Speaker 1 that photograph, really [unclear]. What the Rebbe was. The chassidim want him to take the hint, to go to sleep already, so the Rebbe can daven. But the Rebbe... A tremendous photograph. Wonderful. An awe-inspiring photograph. Like the Days of Awe. So what comes out of all this? We see that the Rebbe was one of a kind. Since the days of Moshe Rabbeinu there has been nothing like it. The Rebbe was not only our Rebbe, but the Rebbe of the world. He cared about every boy and girl, every Jew, regardless of which camp they belonged to, what state they were in or where they lived. And not only that—even a non-Jew. Who doesn’t know all those sichos of the Rebbe about the Seven Noahide Laws? But this story with the Palestinian Knesset member: the Rebbe crossed out “Jew” and wrote “person” instead. And afterward the man himself said, “Aharon David, the Rebbe spoke to me. The Rebbe didn’t write only ‘Jew’; he wrote ‘person.’ Am I not a person? The Rebbe spoke to me.” Deep, deep. “I want to meet him.” Something extraordinary. So we truly are fortunate. Not only are we fortunate to be on this path, to have such a Rebbe; we also need to thank the Rebbetzin, in a practical sense. Our Rebbe became our Rebbe after he married the daughter of the previous Rebbe. There were the father and mother who brought him into the world, and then there was the wedding at the previous Rebbe’s, the day the Rebbe himself said “connected me with the Jewish people.” [unclear]. It was something unlike anything before, as is known from the sicha with Rabbi Mordechai at the hotel in France, in Paris. But here we see clearly how the Rebbe’s hand reached out to bring Jews close, regardless of their official standing or their level of religious observance. The Rebbe fought a tremendous battle over “Who is a Jew?” But when it came to an individual Jew—this is what the enemies of the Jewish people, the enemies of Chabad, wanted to make people think: that the Rebbe hated [unclear]. He didn’t hate anyone. The Rebbe loves every Jew. But if a Jew loses his way—if he’s a doctor and wants to be an architect, if

32:45 Speaker 1 he’s a watchmaker and wants to be a mechanic, or if he’s only a driver and wants to be a pilot—that’s a shame. The Rebbe said, “Save yourself.” But as a Jew, the Rebbe loves every Jew. And the Rebbe loves every human being [unclear]. Whether he’s a chossid or a misnaged, the Rebbe wants to give his soul and everything he has for him. The proof is this Palestinian. Who would ever have imagined such a thing—that the Rebbe would cross out “Jew” and write “person,” and that he would say, “What is the Rebbe saying? What does ‘person’ mean? The Rebbe wasn’t speaking only about him. I’m a person too. The Rebbe spoke to me.” And that is 6 Tishrei. On 6 Tishrei we thank Hashem. We give her all the honor: Rebbetzin Chana. She was a holy woman in her own right, and she gave us the Rebbe. I had a remarkable experience with her, personally. She was a very holy woman. I’m not saying that just because of what happened to me during the last two years of her life. She gave me the privilege, after Reb Rafael—may he have a complete recovery—went to Morocco on shlichus, of filling in for him and going to search her home for chametz. The following year—the second year—and back then there weren’t chassidim there the way there are today. We entered very, very discreetly. We knew when the Rebbe would come, whether at eight o’clock or a quarter to eight. So we generally came at seven, so we could leave before the Rebbe arrived, because the Rebbe came to visit her every night. We wanted to meet the Rebbe there. So the final year was 5724, before Pesach. I came to search for chametz, and they told me how it would go. At the end, you would say to her, “Tell me clearly everything you need for Pesach.” That last year she wanted to give me—there was something like a [unclear] that no longer exists. In those days it was all over the furniture, on her [unclear]...

35:27 Speaker 1 Such a great loss. So she wanted to give me a gift, and I refused to take it. I wanted to give her something else. Now I regret not taking it, but at the time... In the end, after I had almost finished searching the room for chametz, I said to her, “[unclear].” She said, “Everything that needs to be done for Pesach,” and she made a gesture like this. Only after she did that did I become alarmed. She told me, “[unclear].” And that is how it was. I became a chassan not that summer, but the following winter, and my wedding was in Adar, before Pesach. She passed away in Tishrei. What? What? On 6 Tishrei 5725. I was still a bochur then, and I married that winter. By the following Pesach, she was no longer alive. So there were two things. She made that gesture. No, it was no longer about searching for chametz. It meant, in a positive sense, searching for chametz in your own home. My mother. I did not marry at thirty-five. I was the youngest, the very youngest, in my class. I married when I was only twenty-two. It was not as though thirty-five was the usual age at which one ought to marry. Rabbi [unclear] married at twenty-seven. I married at twenty-two. That is what the Rebbetzin told me. Ah! That is why he fought it. There were two things: she was no longer alive, and I got married. So that is a personal matter; it is not relevant. But since we are telling stories about Rebbetzins, this was something that happened to me. In any case, Rebbetzin Chana, a”h, was a holy woman, a pure woman. She was the mother of the king, and she gave us our feeling. We thank her and accord her every honor. For, as the Rebbe Rashab wrote in a letter to the Frierdiker Rebbe, when you love a person, you also love what is connected with him. That is what the Rebbe Rashab says in his letter to the Frierdiker Rebbe, and he

38:25 Speaker 1 says exactly what he thinks. If I love—this is how it goes. If I do not care about you at all, I do not care what happens to you. You start telling me stories—what does it have to do with me? You went, you came back; you feel well, you do not feel well. But if I love you, I do not want to hear only the important things. I want to hear the other things too. The Rebbe also wrote there: the Frierdiker Rebbe wrote to the Rebbe Rashab that he had traveled to Haditch and performed the mitzvah there, at the Alter Rebbe’s resting place. He had traveled through this town and that town, taken this train, and the journey had gone this way and that. So the Rebbe says: I took pleasure not only in hearing that you performed the mitzvah in Haditch; I also enjoyed all the little details surrounding it. When you love a person, you also love hearing about his travels. It is the same for us. If we love the Rebbe, we love his family. We love the mother who gave birth to him and raised him, his father and mother, and everything connected with him. We are connected to him and love him with all our hearts. And that is his spirituality. I bless you that he should bless...

00:04 Speaker 1 Chaim, Chaim. How many of you boys have ever heard of the chossid Zalman Dukman? Was there a Zalman Zezmer among us? An Isaac of Homil? Or among us... Look when he lived. Huh? Have you ever heard of Zalman Dukman? Huh? No, not the one responsible for Zalman Zezmer? Not Isaac of Homil? His grandfather, during his lifetime, was Isaac of Homil’s father-in-law. Another very new thing about the Rebbe—something seen only with the Rebbe. The first time in the lives of chassidim was with the Rebbe. First of all, what? What’s the first thing? What’s your name? Michael what? Swid. Chaim Swid, your father?

01:45 Speaker 2 David.

01:48 Speaker 1 David. Schweichs[?]. And the Rebbe wrote a letter to everyone. And the third thing is also something new, something that did not exist in earlier generations. So I won’t mention the matter before the Moshiach—before the story. There was once a chossid, Zalman Dukman. He led Shacharis here at 770 in the early years of the Rebbe’s leadership. He was the one who announced the order of the farbrengen. And he was such an innocent, sweet chossid that he even brought a smile to the Rebbe’s face in the middle of Yom Kippur. That’s a well-known story. He brought a smile to the Rebbe’s face in the middle of Yom Kippur with his great wit. He was a sweetheart. An earnest chossid, attached to the Rebbe. He had a son-in-law, a householder. Rabbi Eli Lipker was my uncle, the one I spoke about in connection with Yom Kippur. He lived in Toronto. And this Zalman Dukman was, as I said earlier, in the days of the previous Rebbe, the Rebbe Rashab, and at the beginning of the Rebbe’s leadership, a shadar. In those days such a person was called a shadar, a shlucha derabbanan, an emissary of the rabbis. On behalf of our Rebbe. From time to time they would travel to towns and collect money for the Rebbe’s household. So Zalman Dukman traveled to Toronto because his son-in-law lived there. He would visit him. In those days, even though there were telephones, a telephone wasn’t an everyday thing like it is today. He went by train, from here to Toronto. It was an overnight journey, all night, and he would stay there for two or three weeks collecting money for the Rebbe’s institutions.

04:15 Speaker 1 While he was in Toronto—this was in the early years of the Rebbe’s leadership, and he was already one of the older chassidim. He was a little older than the Rebbe and was attached to him. He traveled to Toronto, and while he was there, as was the custom, there was a young couple who had already been married for quite a few years and had no children. His son-in-law took advantage of the fact that Rabbi Zalman Dukman was staying in his home and brought the young couple over. They gave a certain donation, gave him their names and their mothers’ names, and asked that when he returned to the Rebbe, he request a blessing from the Rebbe for healthy, living children. When he came back—if you look there, there’s the small shul on the right, the central area. There’s the door to the central area, the shul door, the door to the yeshivah, and the lobby, the hallway, and there’s the elevator door. In the early years, it was quite common for someone to say a few brief words to the Rebbe on his way to or from Minchah, or on his way to Maariv. A person would stand there by the elevator, and if the Rebbe wished, he would look at him. People took the opportunity to say something to the Rebbe. So Rabbi Zalman Dukman stood there by the elevator. I don’t remember whether it was on the way to Minchah or on the way back. He told the Rebbe that he had just returned from Toronto and handed the Rebbe a note with the couple’s names. They were asking for a blessing for healthy, living children. The Rebbe looked at him. This was in the early years, 5714 or 5711, perhaps even 5712. The Rebbe answered, “I will mention them at the Ohel.” Always, simply, “I will mention them at the Ohel.” Since he was older than the Rebbe, he had chassidic boldness: “Rebbe, give them a blessing. A blessing.” The Rebbe looked at him like this and did not answer. He went into his room. A whole year passed. He traveled to Toronto again.

07:12 Speaker 1 To see his son-in-law. My uncle and aunt, Renas[?]. The young couple came with good news: a child had been born to them. I don’t remember whether it was a girl or a boy, but they had a child. They wanted to bring the Rebbe the good news that his blessing had been fulfilled, and they gave an even larger donation in gratitude. He came back to the Rebbe and stood in the same place, by the elevator door. The Rebbe was passing on his way to Minchah, and he said, “Rebbe, I’ve come from Toronto. You remember—I asked last year for a blessing for a young couple. The Rebbe’s blessing was fulfilled. They had a child.” The Rebbe started walking toward his holy room. After two steps, he stopped and turned to Zalman Dukman with a smile: “Nu, so ‘I will mention them at the Ohel’ is a good blessing.” And he returned to his room. What comes to mind here? Zalman Dukman was a little older than the Rebbe. He had the chassidic boldness to say that, but you can’t blame him. Even we, who are much younger—I remember receiving a letter from the Rebbe. I had asked for a blessing, and the answer I got was “I will mention it at the Ohel.” It was a little disappointing. It was, it was a left-handed compliment, nu. It wasn’t that “I will mention it at the Ohel” was nothing, although we had plainly seen things happen through “I will mention it at the Ohel”—things we heard about in the natural course of events. Zalman Dukman was a chossid; he studied in Lubavitch. He was with the Rebbe Rashab and with the previous Rebbe. He had never heard “I will mention it at the Ohel.” What was this “I will mention it at the Ohel”? The Rebbes never asked for that at all. No one had ever heard it. Had anyone ever heard “I will mention it at the Ohel” from the Maggid? Who says “I will mention it at the Ohel”? Even from Lubavitch, did the Maggid travel to say, “I will mention it at the Ohel”? The Tzemach Tzedek—“I will mention it at the Ohel”? The Rebbe Maharash—“I will mention it at the Ohel”? The Frierdiker Rebbe—“I will mention it at the Ohel”? But with the Frierdiker Rebbe, yes, “I will mention it at the Ohel” did appear, simply at the end, at the end of a line, on the fourth line. It wasn’t something he had in that way, even though they sent him to the resting place of his holy father every day, every month. The Rebbe was the first Rebbe

10:22 Speaker 1 to introduce this wording for a blessing at the Ohel. So Zalman Dukman asked the Rebbe, “[unclear],” because it really was something new: “Give me that.” The Rebbe introduced this practice, and they saw in actuality, in actuality, what a miracle came from the Ohel—blessings like that. This, too, was something new that the Rebbe established openly, outwardly. You can understand it this way: the Rebbe was humble, and throughout his life, all his conduct showed that he did not act as though he were the Rebbe. In his humility, the Rebbe was the previous Rebbe, the Frierdiker Rebbe, while he himself was only a chossid whom his Rebbe had instructed to pray. So he guided the young men, the Chabad people, in what the Rebbe had instructed him to do—no more and no less. He would say it at the Ohel. There are many Chabad institutions; when their representatives came to tell the Rebbe about a miracle, it was truly a miracle from the Rebbe. The Rebbe answered: “It all goes to the Frierdiker Rebbe.” So outwardly, one could understand that he was going to pray at the Ohel. All the Rebbe’s letters say to come to the Rebbe. And to come to the Ohel—if you hadn’t seen him at the Ohel for a few days, you needed to... a bar mitzvah, you needed this. People needed to find all kinds of pretexts. How could one come to the Rebbe at the Ohel? The Rebbe didn’t say. And to pray in the Rebbe’s shul—that was permitted.

12:15 Speaker 1 A salvation. And going to the Rebbe is a salvation. The Rebbe spoke all the time about the Frierdiker Rebbe. He was only a chossid whom the Rebbe had instructed to guide these matters. You can say that’s one way of looking at it, but at its heart, this was something new introduced by the Rebbe. If we approach it another way, we get to deeper things—what the Rebbe was, if one knows what the Rebbe was. The Rebbe was a complete person. Nothing like it had ever been seen. Usually, as we know, even Chanina ben Dosa, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, Rabbi Meir, or Rabbi Akiva were Tannaim who were masters of halachah, masters of the revealed Torah; some were masters of Chassidus and teachers of goodness. Is there a single saying of Chanina ben Dosa in the entire Yerushalmi or Bavli? Can anyone here quote a saying of his? How do we know of his good deeds? I remember from kindergarten, ah, a picture of Chanina ben Dosa walking with birds and goats and all that, with barley and the watchman, and the goats and animals, and everything he found at someone’s house. Good stories. But is there any teaching, any saying, from Chanina ben Dosa? If anyone has one, please come tell me. If you do, fine, then there’s one teaching. But what is Rabbi Meir known for? Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai too—sometimes even Sumchus comes up. But who has heard a teaching from Chanina ben Dosa? Tell me one piece of Talmudic reasoning from Chanina ben Dosa. There were Tannaim who were masters of the revealed Torah, masters of Chassidus, masters of Kabbalah. The Rebbe was all of it. On the one hand, a G-dly genius. On the other hand, he was utterly straightforward in every respect. He believed in Hashem like a simple woman, without any cleverness. Usually, a great tzaddik is so removed that he cannot even speak to anyone. He would be like the sort of tzaddik Elie Wiesel wants to portray: a man with a long white beard, holding a candle in a cave

14:40 Speaker 1 In the dark, looking with a [unclear], the way they make pictures of Rashi writing his commentary. That’s a tzaddik. A hidden tzaddik. But the Rebbe, on the one hand, was a great genius. And on the other hand, when he spoke about making the Book of Shluchim, the Rebbe knew how a little girl of two and a half feels when she sees a picture of herself, how it affects her, how excited she gets—or what’s “excited” in Hebrew? Huh?

15:22 Speaker 3 Excited.

15:23 Speaker 1 Excited when she sees her picture. So that’s why we need to make the Book of Shluchim: to include all the boys and girls, all the little ones, so they’ll all feel that they truly are shluchim. And the Rebbe describes all kinds of feelings like that. How does the Rebbe know? But a complete person knows everything. Especially striking is that the Rebbe had no children and no grandchildren, yet as a complete person, he had—he has—everything. He knew everything. Nigleh, Chassidus, an ocean in every field. A simple believer, in the plainest sense. A master of Kabbalah. Mordechai Eliyahu came to him and was astonished: whatever subject he mentioned, the Rebbe discussed it with him in depth as though he had studied it that very morning. Some obscure corner of Talmud, halachah, Kabbalah. Arik Sharon came to the Rebbe—he was the great general—and came to see the Rebbe. The Rebbe knew every corner of the country and every military tactic better than he did. A politician came and was amazed that the Rebbe knew more than he did. Someone came who had lived in Jerusalem for seven generations. He knew Jerusalem, Meah Shearim, Batei Hungarin, down to the synagogue of [unclear]. The Rebbe knew more than he did. Someone from an institution came from Russia and began telling him about Russia. Then they saw that the Rebbe knew what was happening in Russia, in every detail. The Rebbe didn’t say anything to them, but in every field he was a genius. And I saw there an elderly Jew with a beard and [unclear]. But no, I don’t remember his name. His mother’s name came up in [unclear]. That’s how he went from town to town. Each person came. Gush Dan. Branover brought a book there, with all kinds of techniques or something. The Rebbe looked at it. He had worked on it for seven years, and the Rebbe looked at it for a moment: “There’s an error here.” He corrected the error, and by correcting it the Rebbe saved him. That was how he managed to go to the Baal Shem Tov and receive what he received. A mathematician came from there, came

17:54 Speaker 1 to the Rebbe, and he had worked on it and written a book. And in an instant the Rebbe knew everything he had produced. In a moment, the Rebbe knew something that the man himself didn’t even have in mind. Everyone who came to the Rebbe was amazed. He might be the greatest professor of mathematics, but the Rebbe knew mathematics better than he did. He knew more than he did. [Unclear]. Why? The Rebbe is exactly what it says: a G-dly genius. Not just a genius—a G-dly genius. [Unclear]. Everything: a complete person. So the Rebbe, being a complete person, has everything within him. An ordinary person who is intellectual generally isn’t emotional, and an emotional person isn’t intellectual. Among chassidim, among Temimim, there were always different kinds: intellectual chassidim and other kinds of chassidim. The Frierdiker Rebbe distinguished between maskilim, those who studied and contemplated Chassidus, and ovdim, those who worked on themselves. Those are two different things. [Unclear] was an oved, and [unclear] was a maskil. [Unclear] was both a maskil and an oved. He was also a genius beyond geniuses. But the Rebbe was everything. And where you find his greatness, there you find his humility. So he introduced something new: well, a blessing—he gave you a blessing—and the doctors’ advice. Everything was through the Frierdiker Rebbe, by his power; the Rebbe followed his Rebbe. But this was something new: the doctors’ advice alongside a blessing, putting the doctors’ advice on the table too. And we chassidim, we trust. Chassidim know. [Unclear]. How do we know how to conduct ourselves toward the Rebbe and in our own lives? We look and reflect, especially on the sichos from the first years, and see how the Rebbe conducted himself toward his Rebbe. That is our Shulchan Aruch for how we should conduct ourselves. When the Rebbe wasn’t feeling well, the chassidim, out of their love for the Rebbe, wanted to ask him not to go to the Ohel during the winter, when it was so bitterly cold. The Rebbe had a cold, and it was affecting his health. So some chassidim went in to the Rebbe for yechidus and pleaded with him not to go, not to go to the Ohel. Then the Rebbe, as I heard it, struck the door—the table—and said, “You would keep me from my Rebbe?” After that, they were afraid to bring it up again. The Rebbe said: I go to my Rebbe, and he is my Rebbe. Now, the Rebbe taught us that [unclear]. When we came to the Rebbe to receive a dollar, when we had yechidus, we went to the Rebbe. But what did we actually see? His holy body, his eyes, his face. That is whom we came to. We came to the Rebbe—the Rebbe in the fullest sense of the word. But what did we see with our eyes, with our physical senses? The Rebbe’s body. The Rebbe taught us that after our [unclear], after Gimmel Tammuz, what remains with us is what he left us out of his love for us. Even though there is an Ohel, a histalkus—[unclear]—at the Ohel, you know where his body is. So we know, through the power of those who believe and those who are connected to the Rebbe, and as the Rebbe himself said: Have you ever heard of [unclear] Posner? Shalom Posner’s father. In 5710 he wrote a letter to our Rebbe. What he really wanted, what he was aiming for, was for the Rebbe to answer him, to give him a blessing and advice. He wrote to the Rebbe and said, “Until Shvat, we could ask for advice or receive an answer. But what do we do now, after Shvat?” He wanted the Rebbe to answer him. So what did the Rebbe reply? “When one is connected to the Rebbe, the Rebbe will find a way to answer.” If you’re connected to the Rebbe, the Rebbe will find a way

20:46 Speaker 1 They asked him not to go to the Ohel during the winter, when it was so bitterly cold. The Rebbe had a cold, and it was affecting his health. Some chassidim went in to the Rebbe for yechidus and asked him not to go, not to go to the Ohel. Then the Rebbe, as I heard it, struck the table and said, “[unclear].” From then on, they were afraid to bring it up again. The Rebbe said: “I go to the Rebbe, and he is my Rebbe.” Now, the Rebbe taught us that where a Rebbe goes, that is where he is. When we came to the Rebbe to receive a dollar, when we had a yechidus, we went to the Rebbe. But what did we actually see? His holy body, his eyes, his face. That is whom we came to. We came to the Rebbe—to the Rebbe in the fullest sense of the word. But what did we see with our own eyes? The Rebbe’s body. The Rebbe taught us that after our tragedy, after Gimmel Tammuz, what we have remains with us because of his love for us. Even though there was a histalkus, an ascent from level to level, his body is at the Ohel. And so we know, through the faith of those who believe and are connected to him, and as the Rebbe himself said… Have you ever heard of [unclear] Posner? Sholom Posner’s father. In 5710, he wrote a letter to our Rebbe. What he really wanted was for the Rebbe to answer him, to give him a blessing and advice. He wrote to the Rebbe and said: “Until Shabbos, we could ask for advice or receive an answer. But what do we do now, after Shabbos?” He wanted the Rebbe to answer him. So what did the Rebbe reply? “When one is connected to the Rebbe, the Rebbe will find a way to answer.”

24:11 Speaker 1 to answer you. That is what the Rebbe taught us. If we’re connected to the Rebbe and prepare to travel—not to a city, but to travel to the Rebbe—then we prepare. How do we prepare? As we did before going in for yechidus: we write a pan, just as we wrote a pan while he was physically with us in this world, and we go to the Rebbe. That is what it means to [unclear] the Rebbe and to be truly connected to the Rebbe. The Rebbe will find a way to answer us. Sometimes it’s through Igros Kodesh, sometimes through something else—not that, G-d forbid, one should make a practice of turning to Igros Kodesh for everything. I’ll tell you a story that happened to me. Once I had a very, very painful family problem. It was already after Gimmel Tammuz. I didn’t know what to do; I truly was at a loss. I thought to myself, if the Rebbe were here, physically in this world, I would write to the Rebbe and he would answer me. Now what do I do? What am I going to do? Let’s pause there and go back a few years. I’d had the same problem, involving the same matter, five years earlier, when the Rebbe was still physically with us in this world. It was after Simchas Torah. My wife and I traveled here, to New York, to the Rebbe, to meet someone who had connections that might help us with our problem. We met with this Jew, a wealthy and respected man. We hadn’t come... We had come about money, but although he had money, he also had connections in various places. We had a meeting at my sister-in-law’s home, my wife and I with him. We were talking, and we had written a letter to the Rebbe. This man was religious, Modern Orthodox, and he was a Belzer Jew. He didn’t think in... So he listened to our problem, and in the middle he asked us—he asked my wife:

27:24 Speaker 1 “Did you write a letter to the Rebbe?” I felt uncomfortable answering, so my wife answered him, “Yes.” “Has he answered you yet?” “No, not yet.” Then he started talking to us in a way I couldn’t stand. This was in the eighties. He said, “In the fifties, when Chabad was still a small community, the Rebbe knew everyone by first name or last name. He knew every family. Today it’s become such a huge empire. I don’t know if the Rebbe knows everyone. Do you think the Rebbe knows you? Do you think he’s some kind of computer? Do you think the Rebbe knows you? Do you think the Rebbe even knows who you are? It’s such a huge empire.” I got upset and said, “How can you talk like that? Of course! Of course the Rebbe knows me!” “Then why isn’t he answering you? Here you are, a shliach in Texas, with such a big problem. Why isn’t he answering you?” I said, “It’s a big problem, and the Rebbe hasn’t answered me. When the Rebbe doesn’t answer, he’ll answer me when he answers me. Of course he knows me.” I was speaking to him just as directly as he was speaking to me. This was before the—before the diapers. Suddenly word reached the family that the Rebbe was going to hold a farbrengen. It was an unannounced farbrengen, [unclear], for Jews who were traveling back to Israel. There were three hundred thousand there; there was [unclear]. So I went there with him and my wife. I was young then, with a beard. Ah, [unclear]. By the way, we went to farbrengens in a jacket, but for this unannounced farbrengen I went in a suit. When I got there, the Rebbe had already begun. So I left him and went to the farbrengen. When I arrived, they were already singing. I didn’t go to my usual place; I went over and stood there on

29:48 Speaker 1 the table. There were already several hundred people. I stood on the table while everyone sang. The Rebbe said a sicha, and when they began singing again, I was thinking about the meeting I had just had with that man. I thought to myself, “The Rebbe promised you.” “Of course he promised me!” “Then why isn’t he answering you?” That’s what I was thinking. While I was thinking it, the Rebbe... And I was standing there like this. One of the people distributing mashke said, “Listen! The Rebbe means you, the Rebbe means you.” I thought, Have I gone crazy? He started to give me a small cup. The Rebbe said, “A big one.” So he gave me a big cup. “Who is traveling...” And everyone around me shouted, “L’chaim, l’chaim!” I remember my friends after the farbrengen: “What? What? What special attention! What special attention!” I knew what it was, and I was embarrassed. The Rebbe had caught me with my grand thoughts and given me quite a jolt: Don’t think such grand thoughts here at my farbrengen. “Who is traveling...” The next day I received a six-line answer from the Rebbe. There was enough there to keep me busy all day: all kinds of details about where to go, what to do, what I should and shouldn’t do. That was the day after the farbrengen. I told that man, “Well, I got a letter. Do you know when? While I was thinking at the farbrengen about what you’d said to me, I got an answer.” I thought that was the end of it. I was done, Yosef. Then the same problem came up again. What was I to do? I made all kinds of resolutions, as we had been instructed. I read, I recited a maamar, I said Tehillim. Then I sat down at home and wrote a fax to the Rebbe, to the tziyun—that’s what we called it then—and described my problem. Now look what happened. An hour or two later—I don’t know why, but this is how things happen to me. A year, two years, maybe three years earlier, I’d traveled to Russia, during the second year

33:04 Speaker 1 that the Rebbe was ill. I went to all the Ohel sites and asked for the Rebbe’s blessings at those places. I traveled there with a backpack, and I was preparing for another trip. On the flight back from Russia to the United States, I bought a watch on the plane that displayed two times, for two different places. I later traveled to Australia. I wanted that watch, but couldn’t find it, so I started looking through my Russia bag, with all the photographs and everything else, thinking it might be there. I didn’t find the watch, and I started shaking out my backpack. A card fell out—a business card. What business card? Two years earlier I had been in Israel, and there I’d met a friend from my class in Lod, someone I’d studied with in [unclear]. He saw me and said, “Hey, Shimon Lazaroff, where have you been?” He was now running a high-level office in Israel. I won’t say exactly which one, because I don’t want to go into the details of the matter. He told me what he was doing, and I told him about myself. That was five years earlier, before I went to Russia, and he gave me his card. It had the name of his high-level office, and on the back he wrote his home address and phone number, in case I could come visit him. We’d been classmates. We’d traveled to Eilat together—Eilat! We were friends in school. We traveled through Ein Gedi, then Dimona and [unclear] and Eilat, a sea of scorpions. There weren’t roads yet; it was a dirt road. We were friends. So this card fell out, and that very office was the one I needed. That was what I had asked the Rebbe for. I literally began trembling with emotion. It was then two-thirty in Brussels. In Israel it was already seven-thirty, eleven, ten, eleven-thirty.

36:10 Speaker 1 But I was very excited. Then I began wondering whether perhaps there was already... That phone number might no longer... I decided to try the number—to dial it. His wife answered. I could tell she was half asleep, so I... But I... “May I speak to [unclear]?” I could tell she was a little, well, irritated. I don’t know how to say it in Hebrew—annoyed. A little... What does this pest want from me? Calling when we’re already asleep! I told her who was calling: Shimon Lazaroff. Then I heard him say, “Sh’ma Yisroel!” Boruch Hashem, [unclear], but I was very... So I said, “I’ll tell you: I have a problem, and I didn’t realize you’d be... Now I see it’s a bit late.” “It’s all right, it’s all right. How are you?” So I told him my problem. I hadn’t yet told him the story of how I’d asked for a blessing and the card had fallen out of the backpack. Then he said, “I think I can help you.” It was exactly the office that could help me. He said, “It’s eleven, eleven-thirty—I don’t remember what time it was, eleven, eleven-thirty. Tomorrow morning I’ll get up at six-thirty or seven, go daven, and straight after davening I’ll go to the office. The first thing I’ll take care of is this matter. You can consider it done. How do you say it? It’s done. I’ll call him back.” What we arranged at twelve, two—we’d already done it in the middle of the night. Around two in Israel. Huh? Two after... In Israel, we did it in the middle of the night. The coupons. So he took care of it, and I called him and told him... And he

38:48 Speaker 1 He told me it was on the way and everything was arranged. So I told him the whole story: she had asked the Rebbe for a bracha for me, and I had no idea where it would come from. I’d forgotten about it. I’d completely forgotten he even had an office like that. I met him, he gave me a card. Two hours later I was looking for my watch, and I saw the card. Why am I telling you this story? You ask the Rebbe, and you believe in him. Then the Rebbe will find a way to show you how to get there. Just like the Rebbe... This business card was in my bag. I was looking for my watch, found the card he’d given me and forgotten about, and suddenly there it was. I called him. I caught him at home at exactly the right time. No, I wouldn’t necessarily have found him at the office. He goes to all kinds of places; he doesn’t sit at his office desk all day. I caught him at home that evening, and first thing in the morning he arranged it. A bracha from the Rebbe. You’re here. Ask the Rebbe for as much as you can. Ask for what you want. But you have to believe, connect yourself to the Rebbe and cleave to him, follow his ways, learn his Torah, learn his sichos, carry out his directives and believe in him. And the Rebbe will show you what to do and how to do it. That’s success from the Rebbe. There was Moshe Rabbeinu, and there were the ten spies. Two Jews stood apart from them. Yehoshua was Moshe Rabbeinu’s successor. And besides Yehoshua, there was one chossid there: Calev. Have you heard me speak about him before? Calev. He was a great chossid. Nobody wanted to marry his wife. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, and she was a great scholar, so everyone was afraid to marry her. Calev was delighted to marry her. She was Moshe Rabbeinu’s sister. Calev—

42:00 Speaker 1 —was a chossid. He saw what he needed to do. Where did he go? He went to the city of the forefathers. Calev—what did he ask for there? That Hashem save him from the spies. What was so special about Calev? After Moshe Rabbeinu passed away, he immediately became connected to his fellow Yehoshua. Yehoshua became the leader, and Calev was there too. Yehoshua was Yehoshua, and Calev was Calev. Calev put himself on the line, going against the current. Everyone was shouting at him. [unclear] Ah?

43:00 Speaker 4 Come.

43:00 Speaker 1 Come. So what was his strength? He believed in the Rebbe. He went to the city and asked, and Hashem saved him from the spies. He connected himself to the Rebbe. Then he received everything, and things went well for him. So, kinderlech, do the same. Don’t sit quietly. Let’s come back to the Rebbe. The Rebbe said it this way: this is what we have today—the Rebbe’s holy resting place. We go to him and ask him for brachos. We connect ourselves to the Rebbe, receive brachos, and find salvation in every matter, both materially and spiritually. Especially, as you say, on such a great day, such a holy day. Ask him for anything you want. If you truly need it, if it isn’t just lip service but something you need, the Rebbe is with you. He loves every Jew, every chossid, every Tomim. So if that’s what you want... If Chaim Black[?] received a letter from the Rebbe by special delivery about buying [unclear] for eighteen dollars, then if you have a problem—if you have a wound, if your mind isn’t working so well, if your memory or understanding isn’t good—just tell him about it. Be direct. Ask the Rebbe for a bracha and believe in it. The Rebbe will help you. Really. [unclear] Believe in the Rebbe. The Rebbe will find a way, how to proceed and what to do. The Rebbe has already found the way. Don’t worry on the Rebbe’s behalf. As they say in Israel, believe me, don’t worry. Don’t worry. Believe me. Don’t worry. L’chaim! Turn up the camp’s music, eh? [unclear] That’s nonsense. Be proud of the name “shliach.” [unclear]

46:12 Speaker 1 Be proud of the name “shliach”; don’t lose your bitachon. For you are a shliach, [unclear]. My letters and my talks are with you; know that I am with you. Through them we are always together. My letters and my talks are with you; know that I am with you. [unclear] Through them we are always together. I’m traveling, traveling away from you, dear 770. I’m traveling far, far away from you. Be proud of the name “shliach”; don’t lose your bitachon. For you are a shliach, [unclear]. Be proud of your mission, the mission placed upon you. Carry it out with pride, joyfully, [unclear]. I’m traveling, traveling away from you, dear 770. I’m traveling far, far away from you. Be proud of the name “shliach”; don’t lose sight of [unclear]. For you are a shliach, [unclear]. My letters, my talks and my mitzvah campaigns—don’t stop them, chas veshalom. Through them I come down to you. My letters, my talks and my mitzvah campaigns—don’t stop them, chas veshalom. Through them I come down to you. Learn my maamarim, sefarim and letters; take them in and understand them. Through them we—

49:34 Speaker 1 —are always together. The mission placed upon you—carry it out with pride and joy, [unclear]. I’m traveling, traveling away from you, dear 770. I’m traveling far, far away from you. Be proud of the name “shliach”; don’t lose sight of [unclear]. For you are a shliach, [unclear]. My maamarim and my sichos are with you. [unclear] Through them we are always together. That is what the Rebbe promised us. That is what is written in the sichos we learn. That is what the Rebbe says in the sichos, as we learn the Rebbe’s ways. The Rebbe’s maamarim guide us; through them we are with the Rebbe all the time. The Rebbe is with us. If anyone has even the slightest doubt that it could be otherwise, [unclear]. But don’t [unclear]. You’re here. You came here? Take the time. Go to the Rebbe. Ask for what you want, and the Rebbe will find a way to answer you. This is the deeper meaning of the Alter Rebbe’s words: a tzaddik who has passed away is present even more than during his lifetime. When he was alive, people would come to the Rebbe and approach him to receive a dollar—just a second or two. They were fortunate if they had five seconds. Before that, people went in for a few moments, and by the fifth moment they were already being ushered out. Today we go in to the Rebbe. On a day when thousands of people are there, there may be some restrictions; they don’t let you stay. But on an ordinary day you can be with the Rebbe for an hour—

52:43 Speaker 1 —two hours. Nobody comes out to ask how long you’ve been with the Rebbe. [unclear] Make use of the time. Instead of wandering around Eastern Parkway talking lashon hara, recite a maamar. Two maamarim. Three maamarim. The Rebbe’s maamarim—what the Rebbe said. Recite his maamarim, his sichos, his letters. [unclear] That is what the Rebbe promised, and that is how it will be. That’s the whole point: living with him. We learn his maamarim. Torah and mitzvos are the Rebbe’s life. And when we learn Torah—his Torah—and follow his ways and his directives, we are together with him. We become united with him. Understand? Yai, yai, yai...

00:00 Speaker 1 Ready, ready. So this is a Polish story, and a Chabad story. Both stories lead to the same point, the same purpose, the same lesson. There is a story about Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk. You’ve surely heard of him, Reb Elimelech—Reb Melech. He was the Rebbe, the father of all the Polish Rebbes, as the Alter Rebbe is for us. Reb Melech had a brother, Reb Zusha of Anipoli, one of the famous tzaddikim. In those days—now, in our generation, the shluchim go into exile as a matter of course, but their purpose is to spread the Rebbe’s teachings. Back then, chassidim had a practice of going into exile. And that exile also served to help the villagers, the simple people, and so on. In any case, the story goes like this. Reb Melech and Reb Zusha went into exile. In those days, every little town had a shul, and beside the shul was a hekdesh—a room set aside for the poor, for travelers and people collecting charity. They would sleep and eat there. That is where the expression comes from when a mother shouts, “What have you done to my house—turned it into a hekdesh? What a mess, what dirt, what disorder!” That’s where the word comes from. When a great Torah scholar or an important person came to town, he would be invited to stay with a communal leader or the rabbi. But the beggars stayed in the hekdesh. Reb Melech and Reb Zusha, being in exile, stayed with the beggars too, in the hekdesh with everyone else. Once, on Motzaei Shabbos, one of the communal leaders discovered that his silver cup—his becher, made of real silver—was missing. It was a family heirloom, passed down for generations. It turned out that one of the beggars had stolen the becher, the cup. Now, there was a thief, but they didn’t know

03:24 Speaker 1 who it was. So they took everyone from the hekdesh, all the beggars, and put them in prison. Naturally, Reb Zusha and Reb Melech were in prison with them. Meanwhile, it came time for Minchah, and Reb Melech wanted to daven. Even today, a prison doesn’t have a bathroom for each person, and back then there was no bathroom either. There was a chamber pot where people relieved themselves. Reb Melech was ready to daven Minchah, and someone pointed out the pot of foul water. You can’t daven Minchah there. Reb Melech became distressed and began to cry. He needed to daven Minchah, and he couldn’t, because of that pot. He found it very, very hard to accept and was terribly sad. So Reb Zusha began to admonish him: “What’s going on, Melech? What’s going on, my brother? I can’t believe you. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” [unclear] “We have to understand: who told us to daven Minchah? Hakadosh Boruch Hu. And the same Hakadosh Boruch Hu told us that we may not daven where there is foul water. Either way, we are carrying out Hashem’s command. What? You have to daven Minchah, and now you aren’t davening—but you are fulfilling Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s command. The very same Hakadosh Boruch Hu who told us to daven Minchah gave us the Torah law that we may not daven in a place with foul water. But what is it?

06:13 Speaker 1 It goes against your nature, against what you want. You wanted to daven, but now you have a greater, deeper test: to do the will of Hakadosh Boruch Hu. ‘Now I know that you fear G-d.’ Why ‘now I know’? Because Avraham Avinu was a man of kindness. Kindness itself said to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, ‘There is nothing left for me to do in Your world after Avraham Avinu...’ Yet he was prepared to offer his son as a sacrifice. So: ‘Now I know that you fear G-d.’ Right, right.” And they began to rejoice. Here was an opportunity to serve Hashem against their own nature, by doing something they did not want to do. They began to sing. Reb Elimelech and Reb Zusha began to dance. The others began dancing with them, and soon everyone was dancing, waving their arms. Meanwhile, the prison guards out in the yard heard melodies, singing and dancing, and came in angrily. “Why have you started dancing and singing in here? What’s going on?” One of the other prisoners said, “Someone pointed out that pot to them, and they started singing.” “Oh, that’s what this is about? Take the pot out of the room.” What happened? [unclear] Here they had begun to dance, and the guards themselves came in and removed the pot from the room. It’s remarkable. That is a Polish chassidic story. There is a similar story about Chabad chassidim. As the story goes, there was a chassidic meal. Frikadellen were brought to the house for the meal, and everyone crowded around, eager to eat them. As is well known, Reb Shmuel Munkes seized them and wouldn’t let anyone take any. They started arguing with him: “What? What are you doing?” So he took the whole pot of frikadellen and hurled it into the drain.

09:14 Speaker 1 They began shouting at him, “What are you doing?” A few moments later, someone came rushing in from the house in a panic. There had been a mistake: the animal had been declared treif by the rabbi, so the frikadellen were treif. They had come to warn everyone not to eat them. Now they began calling Reb Shmuel a wonder-worker. [unclear] Reb Shmuel Munkes began to cry and said, “I’m not a Rebbe, and I can’t perform miracles. I only know one thing. When I came to the Alter Rebbe, the Rebbe taught us that what we want to do, we shouldn’t do. When I saw how badly everyone wanted those frikadellen, how they chased after them like animals, like beasts of prey, I thought something was wrong here. Such a craving, such an appetite—something wasn’t right. So I took them and threw them away.” These two stories show ordinary people like us a small thing. I have to finish. I won’t be able to finish this one point. Everyone wants the easy things, [unclear]. He likes farbrengens. But what is it called in Hebrew? Boring, boring. Learning a maamar, davening and keeping to the schedule—those seem boring. Stories, a farbrengen—yes, that’s something! It’s entertaining and easy. All the davening and all these things are good and right and healthy. But the point is for them to lead us to learn the Rebbe’s teachings, follow in his ways and do what he asks of us. The easy things are very easy. They’re entertaining, not boring. But what are we to do? Reb Elimelech wanted to daven Minchah and was very, very unhappy. He was terribly sad that he couldn’t do what came naturally to him, but nothing helped until he heard from his brother that he was fulfilling the will of Hakadosh Boruch Hu.

12:06 Speaker 1 To fulfill His command against one’s own nature is an even greater mitzvah. That made him happy, and it helped him carry out Hashem’s will. He began with what was hard, and afterward it became easy. The same was true of Reb Shmuel Munkes: seeing how intensely everyone craved that food showed him something was wrong. That is the lesson for people on our level, a small lesson: not to seek only the entertaining parts of Chassidus. Entertainment is a good thing. A chossid should always be happy, always have a kind word and a smile on his face. But hand on heart, it isn’t always easy. Sometimes you have to do something you don’t necessarily like doing. It’s harder, but it lifts us up. It’s like training: eventually it becomes easy. Eventually it becomes our nature. Understand? You don’t understand? Yes, you do? Let’s finish with a short story Reb Mendel Futerfas told us when we were bochurim, just after he came out of Russia. It shows us something very, very important. He was in prison with Cossacks, and a young Cossack told him a story. The Cossacks were known for having the finest horses. Have you heard about that? Huh? What?

14:17 Speaker 2 A river.

14:17 Speaker 1 That’s right. Right, did you all hear? So he described to him how they raise the horses to be the very best horses in the world. He said, “Look how it works.” They take wild horses from the forest, completely untamed. There’s a river there, five hundred or a thousand meters wide, and they make the horses swim across it. Many strong, powerful horses cross easily. Some struggle and eventually reach the other side. Some go only a few meters and turn back. Others get frightened halfway through. But among all these horses, there are five or ten that cross the whole river, then look back and see that a few horses are still coming, but they’re exhausted and can’t make it. With the last of their strength, they go back into the river, take hold of another horse and lead it across. Those are the horses they look for: not just strong horses, but horses with heart, that care about another. So they take a horse like that, with heart, but still untamed. Then they discipline it. They put a harness on it and keep working with it until it bleeds. As the Maharshal says, the greater a person’s head, the more of a person he is; the more a horse is like that, the more of a horse it is. That’s how the Maharsha put it. A horse. More what? More of a horse. More responsible. So they take a horse with a great sense of responsibility and discipline it. Kabbolas ol together with heart—that makes the best horses in the world. Understand? There’s a letter about this from the Frierdiker Rebbe. For 19 Kislev 5702, he wrote a letter to Rabbi Levi Rothschild of Chicago. He gave a very, very important instruction for every student: wherever a Chabad chossid goes, he takes something with him—

17:26 Speaker 1 a special instruction for every student. Chabad Chassidus is his four amos. Wherever a Chabad chossid goes, he can take his four amos with him. What are his four amos? What does “four amos” mean? Four sides, the Rebbe says. Four sides. What are they meant to teach us? The foundation of Chabad. Chabad’s four amos aren’t about reaching the heavens or flying over mountains. They’re very, very, very simple. Very small things. But this is the teaching. This is what he said. One side, one step: go to the mikveh every day. Second step: learn Chassidus before davening. Third step: think about and internalize the Chassidus you learned. I don’t care how long—think about the Chassidus after you’ve learned it. That’s three. And four: daven aloud, at an unhurried pace and with a melodious voice. Those are the four walls: mikveh, learning Chassidus, thinking about the Chassidus afterward, and then davening at an unhurried pace and with a melodious voice. Those are the four walls. What’s the floor? Good middos and “love your fellow as yourself.” Think about one another. Chassidim don’t hate. Draw others close; don’t think badly of the other person. Look for the good. Work on yourself until you find satisfaction in it and simply want to do a favor for someone else. It should become like a habit: doing a favor for someone else, caring about someone else. “Love your fellow as yourself,” good middos—that’s the floor. And the ceiling is like the heavens, without end. So the more you build those four sides and the floor, the higher you build the ceiling. Let’s finish with something Reb Shimon Ravitzky once said: learning Chassidus without mikveh is like salting—salting—salting meat. Do you say “salting” or “koshering”? Koshering. Koshering non-kosher meat: it will never become kosher. If you try to kosher it without salting, that’s Chassidus without mikveh. Mikveh, Chassidus, Torah, Chassidus, [unclear]. That’s the Rebbe’s letter from 5702. That’s what I meant about without—

20:56 Speaker 1 salting. But that’s the Rebbe’s letter from 5702. The letter is from before that other letter. The four amos, the amos of Chabad. Very, very small things, but those are the amos of Chabad. Wishing you health and blessing. Let’s go to the Rebbe. The blessing of our master, the Rebbe, our Nasi—[unclear].

22:15 Speaker 3 Are you doing it? See what’s happening?