Unfortunately, the “Jerusalem of Lithuania” has lost much of its luster since those glorious, bygone days. The Nazis ym”s ravaged Vilna’s vibrant community, and the Soviets trampled whatever was left. In the early 90’s, after Lithuania was freed from Communist Russian hold, a small Jewish community was still extant, although most weren’t Torah observant. Still, they knew they’d need a rabbi to lead their shul, so they wrote to 770’s Merkos Office, asking for a rav.
My wife and I went to check it out, arriving in Vilna shortly before Purim of 1994. We met a few elderly stragglers in an old shul and tried to get a sense of the community from them.
“How many people do you think would come if we organized a Purim party here?” we asked.
They looked at each other thoughtfully. “If you could get even 40 people, I’d consider that a huge hatzlacha!” one answered.
We put a small ad in the paper, and hoped we’d fill our room. In the end, over 600 people showed up!
When we came back for Pesach, there were so many people interested in a seder, we had to organize shifts so everyone could attend! We had over 1,000 attendees all in all.
It was clear there was so much untapped potential. Perhaps we’d once again hear davening and learning, floating through the streets of Vilna.
Public Menorah Lighting
For our first Chanukah, we arranged a public menorah lighting in the main square, outside the mayor’s office. Such an event was still quite new and radical, and it attracted a huge crowd. Amongst the thousands milling about, enjoying the Chanukah songs and watching the massive menorah, was a tiny old woman in a wheelchair.
As she watched the flames dance atop the menorah’s branches, tears poured freely down her cheeks.
“Do you know, Rabbi,” she confided in me, “how hard it was for me to get here? I live forty miles outside the city, and it’s quite difficult for me to get around. But when I heard about this event, I told my son I had to be here – at all costs.
“I remember when these streets were witness to the daily beatings, torture, and humiliation of hundreds of thousands of Jews. Now these same streets witness the pride and resilience of our nation. I couldn’t miss seeing it myself, regardless of the difficulty.”
Summer Camp and Bris
When we started our summer camp, we knew many of our campers had never had a bris. So many of these brave children volunteered to undergo the painful procedure, so we flew out an experienced mohel. He was only staying a couple of days, and he was fully booked, from one bris to another!
There was one camper, a 15-year old boy named Adomas*, who hadn’t signed up.
“Adomas, the mohel is leaving tomorrow morning!” I reminded him. “This is your last chance!”
“I can’t,” he answered. “My father isn’t Jewish, and he would never let me do it!”
“Let’s call your father now,” I suggested. “It can’t hurt to ask.”
I was able to hear every word of Adomas’ conversation. After explaining the situation, his father remained silent for a few moments.
“Adomas, do you really want to do this?” he finally asked. “This is a surgery, and will involve a painful recovery. Before you do this, you need to be really sure. Is this what you want?”
Adomas answered immediately. “Yes!”
Early the next morning, right before the mohel ran to the airport, Adomas joined the bris of Avraham and received his Jewish name.
I was humbled by the courage of this giant, who didn’t hesitate despite the hardship involved.
Shlichus and Community Support
Shlichus means being there for a Jew’s needs, whatever they may be. While we offer many shiurim, minyanim, and Shabbos meals for their spiritual side, we pay just as much attention to their physical needs. Our soup kitchen was one of our earliest programs, and we’re still going strong, thirty years later. We serve between 50-60 meals a day, including delivery for those who are infirm and homebound. We have funds set aside for wood to heat Soviet-era homes in the winter. While our school teaches children the basics of Judaism, our dormitory offers food, heat, and care for students who can’t live at home.
Lina's Story
Since she was one of our dorm residents, we were very involved with Lina’s* life. My wife noticed Lina had many unexplained absences. When Lina’s mother arrived to take her home, my wife started to grow worried. She called Lina’s mother and learned the heartbreaking truth: Lina had been diagnosed with cancer. With the limited medical resources available, the doctors just shrugged their shoulders helplessly and told her to say goodbye to her daughter. Lina’s mother was distraught, and even my wife had no idea how to comfort her.
I was on a fundraising trip in South Africa then, and I told Lina’s story as an example of how we could make a real difference for these children.
“I think we can do more for Lina,” the donor I was meeting with said. “Why don’t you send her here, and we’ll get her the best care available!”
At first, Lina’s mother wouldn’t hear of parting with her daughter, but in time, she came to see it would be best for her. Lina flew off to South Africa where she underwent treatment. After a long, hard battle, Lina was in remission!
