Filling in the Blank
Mrs. Bassie Garelik
My husband and I were sent as emissaries of the Rebbe, to Milan, Italy, in 1958. Beforehand, though, during a private audience with my husband, Rabbi Gershon Mendel Garelik, the Rebbe mentioned another Jewish community in the region that we should try to connect with. As he described it, there was “a shtetl near Milan of chasidim who are not learning Chasidut.”
The Rebbe was referring to the town of Lugano, just over the Swiss border, and in fact, not long after we arrived in Milan, I received an invitation to speak to the women of that community, who were having a gathering of some kind. As a result, I developed a relationship with this group of women, and whenever they would get together, they would ask me to come speak. I would share one of the Rebbe’s talks whenever I spoke, and so I felt quite proud that I was able to teach Chasidut to the people of this town that the Rebbe had mentioned to my husband.
In early 1965, the ladies of Lugano invited me to come for a Sunday. They asked me to give one lesson to girls during the afternoon and another lesson at night to the women. So, I decided to prepare two different classes; that way, if any of the girls from the afternoon class decided to also attend the night class, they would learn something new.
I gave the first class, which went wonderfully, and once again, I felt very proud of myself. Some of the girls even came back for the evening glass, so I was glad that I had prepared the second talk from the Rebbe. I spoke for about forty minutes, I think I delivered the talk well, and then I was finished.
The room was silent for a moment, before one of the ladies spoke up: “Keep going,” she said encouragingly. “Talk some more.”
As she said that, my mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was truly strange: This was a period of time when a group of girls would come over to my home every single week to learn a talk of the Rebbe – so something should have been in my head. But I couldn’t recall anything. A minute or so passed, before they started to sing some songs instead, and then the event was over.
The train ride back to Milan was an hour-and-a-half long, and I cried the whole way. I was devastated. The fact that I taught two Torah classes in one day gave me no satisfaction. The fact that I was reaching out to another Jewish community gave me no satisfaction. All I could dwell on was that this group of women had asked me for more but I didn’t have any more to give.
Here we are, begging for people to study some Torah, I thought to myself. But when they ask me to speak, I don’t have anything to say.
At around this time, I had been struggling to convince the local Milanese community to support the Jewish...
