by Yehudis Cohen
It was the second day of the Hebrew month of Sivan. Just a few days earlier I had attended the Lubavitch Women and Girls annual convention in Crown Heights. Rabbi Dudu Lider had travelled half-way around the world to address the thousands of local women and visitors who were at the convention. Rabbi Lider’s animated style, delightful sense of humor and powerfully simple devotion to his mission as an emissary of the Rebbe was uplifting.
Among others, he told the story of a secular Israeli man whom he had met late one evening at a café in Melbourne, Australia. The man shared that he had recently arrived from Israel. He was running away from everyone and everything after losing his brother, sister and father in just two weeks. Rabbi Lider invited the man to his Chabad House for Israelis. Over the next few weeks, Rabbi Lider treated the man with compassion, dignity and love. And Rabbi Lider introduced him to the Rebbe’s teachings.
And then, one Shabbat, in the midst of a room packed full of people, this man stood up and shouted, “Rabbi Lider! You are a thief!” Rabbi Lider was in shock. Then his disbelief and embarrassment turned to bewilderment as the man continued his rant: “You have stolen from us. Not just you but all of you Chabadnikim! You have stolen from us the Rebbe! I’m Jewish! I grew up in Israel. I was never exposed to the Rebbe’s teachings. These are so important for our lives!” The man began to emotionally share how learning the Rebbe’s teachings those past weeks was helping him heal and giving him a new outlook on life.
Now it was Rabbi Lider’s turn. “You told me you are a marketing expert! One of the best in all of Israel. Come up with a marketing plan of how to share the Rebbe with the world. I will raise the money to implement your plan here in Melbourne and I will share your plan with all of my colleagues!” It was a deal! That very night after Shabbat the man started working on the plan.
The next morning, red-eyed and sleep deprived, the man came over to Rabbi Lider. “It’s hopeless. It’s impossible. I don’t even have the beginning of a small idea. There is no way to market the Rebbe! Marketing is about gaining pleasure and avoiding pain – in the here and now. The Rebbe is about responsibility to ourselves, our communities, G-d, the world! The Rebbe’s teachings will lead to great pleasure and lessen or eliminate pain and suffering… but it’s not quick. It won’t happen without a lot of hard work and effort. And we don’t market those kinds of experiences – because the people we’re aiming at aren’t looking for them!”
I sat there in the audience, mulling over this and other ideas that Rabbi Lider shared. I had been feeling worn out from all of the “hard work and effort.” The “elimination of pain and suffering” seemed so far off. And it seemed like it was actually moving further and further away. But Rabbi Lider’s speech was putting a little fuel in my empty tank that had been running on fumes as of late.
The following day I attended the main session of the convention. A highlight of the convention is the opportunity for the participants to go into the Rebbe’s office, the place where countless people imbibed the Rebbe’s wisdom, received support, were heard, advised, challenged. Regarding his office, the Rebbe had told the government officials who had accompanied then-Israeli President Zalman Shazar to a meeting with the Rebbe in 1966: “In this room, tens of thousands of Jews received guidance and strength.”
I waited in line to go into the Rebbe’s office. I recited the chapters of Psalms corresponding to each of my children’s years. In the Rebbe’s office I would just pour out my heart; I knew I would be heard. A few days passed. It was the second day of Sivan. On that day – and forgive me for sounding melodramatic – for no reason in particular, the hard work and effort had made me feel even more burnt out, alone and in despair.
I needed the connection with the Rebbe. I needed to know that the Rebbe was hearing me. I needed to feel that the Rebbe was with me. I had never before had the chutzpa to write a letter to the Rebbe expecting, no demanding, a response. But today, on this second day of Sivan, things were different. I couldn’t bring myself to actually put pen to paper. That would have been so ungrateful. After all, the things that seemed to be sapping my energy were actually gifts, opportunities that should rightfully be viewed as blessings. Not things that should be pulling me down.
So I prepared myself in the way that I had always done before writing to the Rebbe. And then I took off the bookshelf a volume of the Rebbe’s letters. And I spoke to the Rebbe from a very, very deep place within my heart. And then I was done. I had shared everything that needed to be heard, everything that I know was heard. Hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, I randomly opened up the book of the Rebbe’s letters. “In response to your letter of the second day of Sivan…” The advice and guidance in the continuation of the letter shows that the Rebbe heard me loud and clear. There are no short-cuts. I will need to put in a lot of hard work and effort to fulfill what the Rebbe writes. I always expected that from myself. I think the Rebbe always expected that of me as well. And I think the Rebbe is reminding me of that expectation.