by Chaya Sara Silberberg
Last year my husband was sitting shiva (the seven days of mourning) for his mother in Lakewood. After the morning prayers, an elderly gentleman came over to him and said, "I see that you are a Lubavitcher chasid. May I tell you a story that happened to me with the Frierdiker (Previous) Rebbe?"
My husband indicated that he was interested, and the stranger began: "My name is Mordechai G. I grew up in the city of Munkatch, Ukraine. Although there were no Lubavitchers there, I knew and respected Lubavitch because my Rebbe - the holy Munkatcher Rebbe - held very highly of the Baal HaTanya (the founder of Chabad-Lubavitch) and other Chabad Rebbes. "I lived through the War and all its horrors, including time in Auschwitz. After the War I spent time in a DP camp, got married, and had a child. In 1949, under the sponsorship of HIAS, I finally was able to come to America. They arranged a place for us to stay in a hotel in Manhattan, together with a number of other Jewish immigrant families. We were glad to be here, but it was very difficult for us to find jobs, with our minimal knowledge of English. Months passed but I could not find work.
"Every morning the Yiddish newspaper arrived at the door of my room. On Sunday morning, Yud Shevat, 1950, the headlines announced that the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, had passed away and the funeral would take place in front of "770" (the central Lubavitch synagogue at 770 Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn). I decided to go, and found a friend who wanted to come with me. We had absolutely no money to get there, but we spoke to a number of people, and someone finally gave us enough money to pay for a taxi.
"When we arrived at 770, there was a huge crowd of people. Someone was announcing that only those who had immersed in a mikva that morning were allowed to touch the aron (casket) of the Rebbe. I hadn't - but I pushed my way forward to the aron anyway. Someone stopped me and asked if I'd been to the mikva that day. I pulled up my sleeve and showed him the number tattooed on my arm by the Germans, may their names be erased. 'I haven't immersed in water today - but I've immersed in fire.' He stepped aside and let me through. As I touched the holy aron, I whispered 'Rebbe, parnasa (livelihood).' I even managed to carry the aron a few steps, all the time whispering "Rebbe, parnasa."
"I managed to get to the cemetery, made my way to the front, and was able to put my hands on a shovel. With each shovelful of earth that I threw on the grave, I whispered 'Rebbe, parnasa. Rebbe, parnasa.'
"After the funeral I walked from car to car to see if I could find a ride back to my hotel. At one point I struck up a conversation with a gentleman and found myself telling him that I needed a job. He told me that he wasn't going to Manhattan - but he handed me a card and said 'If you want to work, come to this place tomorrow morning, and you will have a job.'
"I went there the next morning, and worked at that job until I retired. As far as my fellow immigrants in the hotel - it took them many more months until they were able to find work..."
Mr. G.'s story poignantly reminded me of the words in the Zohar that a tzadik (righteous person) is more present in this world after his passing than during his physical lifetime here. May we soon be reunited with the Frierdiker Rebbe, as well as with our beloved Rebbe, with the revelation of Moshiach Now.
Rabbi and Mrs. Elimelech Silberberg are the Rebbe's emissaries in West Bloomfield, Michigan.
