Back in the 1970s, the Lubavitcher Rebbe initiated a campaign for his chasidim to visit and help Jewish prisoners. Rabbi Yossie Tevel began visiting prisons then and continues to visit them.
In those days, it wasn't easy for Rabbi Tevel to get permission from the authorities to enter the prisons. Some chaplains do not welcome competition. Rabbi Izak Hodakov o.b.m., the Rebbe's secretary, was guiding Rabbi Tevel every step of the way, and he always instructed Rabbi Tevel to approach stubborn or hostile chaplains politely and patiently.
By hook or by crook, Rabbi Tevel and his merry band of Lubavitcher chasidim finagled their way into the prisons to visit the Jewish prisoners.
But there was one prison in upstate New York that was a hard nut to crack. No matter how often Rabbi Tevel applied for permission to visit, he was always refused. This prison's chaplain was a Reform rabbi close to 80 years old. Rabbi J. was adamant that no Chabad rabbi would enter "his" institution. He didn't need any help. But as soon as Rabbi Tevel got word of another refusal, he would just apply again. It looked like Rabbi J. had met his match.
Things came to a head a few weeks before Passover. Rabbi Tevel, as always, requested permission to meet with the Jewish prisoners. Rabbi J., as always, refused. Rabbi Tevel sighed, "What am I asking? All I want is permission to bring matza and maror to the Jewish prisoners." Finally, Rabbi J. agreed, but only that he could send the food by mail, not that he could deliver it himself.
A few days later, Rabbi Tevel came with the matza and maror. Rabbi J. met with him and took the packages-he wouldn't let Rabbi Tevel meet the prisoners. But for the first time, they sat and talked. In accordance with Rabbi Hodakov's explicit instructions, Rabbi Tevel remained calm, thankful, and patient, and soon-incredibly- Rabbi J. was agreeing to let Rabbi Tevel come back with a few friends on Lag B'Omer. It was a breakthrough, although as they were setting the time, Rabbi J. warned Rabbi Tevel: "Don't push it... when you come, don't overstep your bounds."
On Lag B'Omer, the chasidim arrived with a tape recorder, a lively tape, and lots of food. They explained the significance of Lag B'Omer, why it is a happy day, and drew the Jewish prisoners into a joyous circle of singing and dancing. There were only two Jewish prisoners there, because Rabbi J. had not spread the word as he was supposed to.
But word of the party going on (or was it the enticing smell of the pastrami?) got out, and other Jewish prisoners joined the group.
Soon Rabbi Tevel and his cohorts took out tefilin and asked everyone to do this important mitzva. The prisoners took turns putting on tefilin. Then Rabbi Tevel got a crazy idea. He turned to Rabbi J. and called out, "Rabbi J.! Now that we're such good friends, maybe we could put on tefilin with you, too?"
Rabbi J. seemed to freeze for a few seconds. A strange expression came over his face. And then, slowly, he stood up and walked over to Rabbi Tevel, saying, "Your chutzpa is truly without limits!"
Rabbi Tevel took this as a compliment and began to put the tefilin on Rabbi J. But Rabbi J. stopped him. "I know exactly what to do." He took the tefilin and put them on perfectly. And then, suddenly, Rabbi J. burst out into hysterical weeping and wailing... and he didn't stop for a full 20 minutes. Rabbi Tevel didn't know what to think. Soon the room grew silent as everyone gathered around solemnly watching Rabbi J. say the blessing and the Shema through gasping sobs. And then, a heartfelt cry: "Tattah zisser, zei mir moichel!" ("Sweet Father, forgive me!")
"Please, Rabbi, tell me what's wrong," Rabbi Tevel begged. "Why are you so upset?" Rabbi J. caught his breath, calmed down, and told his story.
"My family lived in Berlin. My zaide was a religious Jew, and my father was also religious. Many years ago, I lived through that infamous night known as Kristallnacht. My zaide was a dignified presence in the community, and the Germans knew it. They took my zaide, tied a pig around his neck, and forced him to march around the town for hours. When they were through with him, they shot him point blank. I was a boy, and I witnessed the whole gruesome spectacle. I ran into the forest to escape. After a few days I realized that I was alone in the world. I asked G-d either to kill me also, or else I would take revenge on Him for what had just happened to me, and to my family. I swore to G-d I would make Him sorry!
"After the war, I came to America and became a Reform rabbi. And in my bitterness and grief, I made it my business to marry as many Jews to non-Jews as I could, and if possible, to officiate at weddings on Tisha B'Av or other days when weddings are forbidden. I wanted to make G-d suffer as He had made my family and me suffer.
"Why do you think I didn't want you here all these years? I knew what Lubavitch is. I knew they warm people up and draw them to Judaism. I didn't want you to get to me. So, I kept you away.
"Today, you asked me to put on tefilin. As I sat there trying to keep my armor on, I heard my father's voice, and then my zaide's voice, telling me to put on tefilin. Much as I tried, I couldn't stay cold. My heart welled up and I suddenly felt that I had been wrong all these years. In an instant I regretted all the 'revenge' I had wrought against Him. Ach, Yossele..."
Rabbi J. was now calling his former enemy "Yossele." They parted with warm hugs and Rabbi J. invited Rabbi Tevel to come back any time.
A few nights later Rabbi Tevel's phone rang. It was Rabbi J.'s son. Ever since Lag B'Omer, his father couldn't stop talking about the young Chabad rabbi, his work with the prisoners, and his experience putting on tefilin after so many decades. Today his father had passed away. Would Rabbi Tevel please attend the funeral? When Rabbi Tevel got over his shock, he agreed.
At the funeral, Rabbi J.'s son begged Rabbi Tevel to say a few words. So, Rabbi Tevel spoke about the pintele Yid, the tiny spark that lives on within every Jew, no matter how estranged he is from his Judaism. The pintele Yid is flickering still, waiting to burst into full flame, and the Lubavitcher Rebbe knows that and feels that and actually suffers when a single pintele Yid is not yet burning brightly. Which is why he sent his chasidim into prisons.
Not just for the prisoners. For the chaplains, too.
Condensed from the N'Shei Chabad Newsletter
(Editor’s Note: The above article was reprinted on April 26, 2002. Sadly, Rabbi Yossie Tevel passed away a number of years ago on January 19, 2010.)
