Rebbe’s trusted secretary, Reb Chonye. By this time, Sholom’s father and older brother had both been arrested, never to be seen again. Young Sholom held on to the Rebbe and did not want to let go, until the Rebbe assured him, “We will yet see each other again.” (Indeed, in the winter of 1950, shortly before Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s passing, R. Sholom Marosow arrived in New York and went to see the rebbe. The Rebbe told him, “Nu, we see each other again!” He was one of the last people received in a private meeting with the Rebbe.) When the scholar Rabbi Avraham Ela Plotkin went into the Rebbe’s train car for a final farewell, the Rebbe fell into his arms and they embraced each other, weeping.
While on the train car leaving Russia, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak composed a letter to the chassidim of Russia. Among the heartfelt lines are these loving words:
As water reflects a face, my heart is awake and feels the pure sweetness and power of the inner and essential bond of the entire community of chassidim to the Tree of Life . . .
Each and every one of you, you and your wives, your sons and daughters, your grandchildren—your physical wellbeing, education, conduct and spiritual direction deeply affect me to the inner core of my heart.
My faith shall strengthen me and be my comfort, that physical distance shall never, ever separate us, G d forbid . . . Each of you chassidim, along with your families, should set your minds and hearts to strengthen the thread that binds us, which is service of G d . . .
May G d delight my heart and yours, in seeing children and grandchildren engaging with Torah and mitzvahs, with abundant means physically and spiritually. May G d raise the glory of Torah and the service of G d, and the glory of our Jewish brethren, that they may they live with all good, from soul to body.
It would be very pleasurable to me to hear at every occasion of the wellbeing of all of you and your families, and what is happening with each of them specifically and in detail. As I said, all their concerns, both physical and spiritual, reach the deep core of my heart, which is completely dedicated to your spiritual and physical good. Be strong and courageous, you and your families, to walk in the trodden path of light. . . . May it be good for you and your families forever. May G d help us to see each other in full happiness . . .
The train started up and began to pull out of the station. Chassidim looked on longingly and then began to disperse. Many had already left, when a chassid ran up holding a young child. He was rushing towards the platform, pointing and telling his little boy, “Look, look!” Others told him there was nothing left to see; the Rebbe’s train had already left. This breathless chassid was undeterred. “I want my son to at least see the smoke of the Rebbe’s train!”
Some chassidim live with the Rebbe’s embrace. Others hold onto the Rebbe and never want to let go. And there are generations of selflessly dedicated chassidim who live inspired by the smoke of the Rebbe’s train.
One such story is especially memorable. Shmuel (Sam) Broida was the owner of a kosher meatpacking company in Chicago, and a philanthropist who gave generously to the Chabad fund for World War II refugees. In 1946 he traveled to Paris to distribute the funds, where he met an eight-year-old boy from Russia. The boy was wearing worn-out clothing; he was obviously lacking basic needs. Shmuel There was nothing left to see; the Rebbe’s train had already left. Broida asked him what he’d want from America. He figured the kid would ask for good food or nice clothing, maybe a game or toy. The boy didn’t hesitate. “I’d like to go see the Rebbe,” he requested. Mr. Broida was taken aback. He knew that the boy could not possibly have met the Rebbe, yet it was clear that his connection to the Rebbe was more important than any physical need or comfort.
This was a fulfillment of the Rebbe’s prayerful hope in that letter penned on the train as he prepared to leave Russia, “May physical distance never separate us!”
