12-13 Tamuz
Mosaic Express | July 04, 2025
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12-13 Tamuz

Mosaic Express | December 10, 2025

12-13 TAMUZ

In honor of the birthday and anniversary of the miraculous release of the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, from Soviet imprisonment, on 12–13 Tammuz - this year corresponding to July 8–9.

By Mendel Rubin

Imagine the scene: You’re standing on the platform, watching a train pulling out of the station with a loved one aboard, wondering if you’ll ever see him or her again. Back in the day, when long-distance travel was far more arduous and costly, the glorious and cavernous halls of train stations served as the backdrop for all the comings and goings of life. Such was the setting of two powerful moments between chassidim and the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn—trackside moments of farewell and reunion, of crushing loss and eternal connection.

The year was 1927. It was an especially difficult year for Chabad chassidim in Russia, as the Yevsektsiya (the “Jewish Section” of the Communist Party) and the Soviet secret police intensified their persecution of Jewish religious observance. Many chassidim were arrested and were never seen again. Others would spend decades in Siberian labor camps.

It was this year that the Rebbe was imprisoned in the notorious Shpalerka prison in Leningrad, sentenced to death for his tireless work promoting religious education and observance. After a harrowing ordeal in prison, his sentence was miraculously commuted to exile in the town of Kostroma, 350 kilometers northeast of Moscow. On the day he was to leave for Kostroma, the 3rd day of Tammuz (July 3), 1927, chassidim gathered for an impromptu farewell on the platform of the Leningrad train station. Uniformed police and secret agents were everywhere, and there was little doubt that informers were interspersed among the crowd. Now more than ever it took a huge amount of courage for chassidim to be seen in public, openly expressing their loyalty and enduring commitment to the Rebbe. Yet they came, unable to hide away, unwilling to forgo the opportunity to see their Rebbe, to celebrate his release from the threat of death, and to follow him with their eyes as he departed by train for Kostroma.

Standing on the train, the Rebbe turned to the assembled crowd and, quoting the biblical prayer of King Solomon and the defiant words of his own father, delivered a bold and rousing speech. This speech might be considered a Gettysburg Address for the Russian chassidim, and it continues to live on in the collective memory of Chabad chassidim to this day:

“May Gd be with us as He was with our ancestors; may He not forsake us nor abandon us . . .” Only our bodies went into exile, but not our souls . . . We must proclaim openly before all that with regard to any matter of our religion— Torah, mitzvahs and Jewish custom—it is not subject to the opinion of others, nor can any oppressive force be used against it. We must state with the greatest and strongest Jewish stubbornness, with the thousands of years of Jewish mesirat nefesh (“soul dedication”) and sacrifice: “Touch not My anointed ones! Do no evil to My prophets!” . . . This is our request to the Holy One, “May He not forsake us nor abandon us”: G d should give us true strength to be unintimidated by physical pain, and on the contrary to accept it with joy, so that every punishment we receive for supporting a cheder (Jewish school), for learning Torah, for performance of mitzvahs, shall increase our fortitude in the holy work of strengthening Judaism. We must remember that imprisonment and hard labor are only temporary things, whereas Torah, mitzvahs and the Jewish people are eternal . . .

A second, and more final, trackside gathering took place less than four months later, on the 24th of Tishrei (October 20th), 1927. The Rebbe’s exile to Kostroma had been brought to an end after less than ten days, but now he was leaving the Soviet Union for good. Throngs of chassidim crowded the station to see the rebbe off and to bid farewell. For the many chassidim who were trapped behind the thick folds of the Iron Curtain, it was an especially poignant time, their last opportunity to catch a glimpse of the Rebbe.

Sholo m Marosow was the youngest son of the (Continued on page 6)

12-13 TAMUZ

In honor of the birthday and anniversary of the miraculous release of the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, from Soviet imprisonment, on 12–13 Tammuz - this year corresponding to July 8–9.

By Mendel Rubin

Imagine the scene: You’re standing on the platform, watching a train pulling out of the station with a loved one aboard, wondering if you’ll ever see him or her again. Back in the day, when long-distance travel was far more arduous and costly, the glorious and cavernous halls of train stations served as the backdrop for all the comings and goings of life. Such was the setting of two powerful moments between chassidim and the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn—trackside moments of farewell and reunion, of crushing loss and eternal connection.

The year was 1927. It was an especially difficult year for Chabad chassidim in Russia, as the Yevsektsiya (the “Jewish Section” of the Communist Party) and the Soviet secret police intensified their persecution of Jewish religious observance. Many chassidim were arrested and were never seen again. Others would spend decades in Siberian labor camps.

It was this year that the Rebbe was imprisoned in the notorious Shpalerka prison in Leningrad, sentenced to death for his tireless work promoting religious education and observance. After a harrowing ordeal in prison, his sentence was miraculously commuted to exile in the town of Kostroma, 350 kilometers northeast of Moscow. On the day he was to leave for Kostroma, the 3rd day of Tammuz (July 3), 1927, chassidim gathered for an impromptu farewell on the platform of the Leningrad train station. Uniformed police and secret agents were everywhere, and there was little doubt that informers were interspersed among the crowd. Now more than ever it took a huge amount of courage for chassidim to be seen in public, openly expressing their loyalty and enduring commitment to the Rebbe. Yet they came, unable to hide away, unwilling to forgo the opportunity to see their Rebbe, to celebrate his release from the threat of death, and to follow him with their eyes as he departed by train for Kostroma.

Standing on the train, the Rebbe turned to the assembled crowd and, quoting the biblical prayer of King Solomon and the defiant words of his own father, delivered a bold and rousing speech. This speech might be considered a Gettysburg Address for the Russian chassidim, and it continues to live on in the collective memory of Chabad chassidim to this day:

“May Gd be with us as He was with our ancestors; may He not forsake us nor abandon us . . .” Only our bodies went into exile, but not our souls . . . We must proclaim openly before all that with regard to any matter of our religion— Torah, mitzvahs and Jewish custom—it is not subject to the opinion of others, nor can any oppressive force be used against it. We must state with the greatest and strongest Jewish stubbornness, with the thousands of years of Jewish mesirat nefesh (“soul dedication”) and sacrifice: “Touch not My anointed ones! Do no evil to My prophets!” . . . This is our request to the Holy One, “May He not forsake us nor abandon us”: G d should give us true strength to be unintimidated by physical pain, and on the contrary to accept it with joy, so that every punishment we receive for supporting a cheder (Jewish school), for learning Torah, for performance of mitzvahs, shall increase our fortitude in the holy work of strengthening Judaism. We must remember that imprisonment and hard labor are only temporary things, whereas Torah, mitzvahs and the Jewish people are eternal . . .

A second, and more final, trackside gathering took place less than four months later, on the 24th of Tishrei (October 20th), 1927. The Rebbe’s exile to Kostroma had been brought to an end after less than ten days, but now he was leaving the Soviet Union for good. Throngs of chassidim crowded the station to see the rebbe off and to bid farewell. For the many chassidim who were trapped behind the thick folds of the Iron Curtain, it was an especially poignant time, their last opportunity to catch a glimpse of the Rebbe.

Sholo m Marosow was the youngest son of the (Continued on page 6)

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