Chabad of the North Shore, Sydney, Australia, with Rabbi Nochum and Fruma Schapiro
By Chaya Chazan
For years, individual Chabad students traveled into Soviet Russia, finding Jews and teaching Yiddishkeit while dodging the KGB. To avoid detection, they couldn't meet anyone consistently or stay in one city long.
In the mid-1980s, a plan ensured consistency. Pairs of Chabad students traveled to the Soviet Union each month, with the next group replacing the first. They could pick up classes where the previous group stopped, allowing Russian Jews true understanding.
Teaching Tanya in hidden basements, after switching taxis, crossing streets, and knocking with secret passwords, remains vivid.
I asked permission to return a second time, which he granted, reminding me to "be careful." I returned a third time after my engagement, for the summer.
After my wife and I married, I asked permission to take advantage of a new law allowing Americans a three-month Russian visa. This time, the Rebbe refused, explaining that Russia was no place to spend our "first year."
Instead, I enrolled in kollel. A few months later, my father-in-law, Rabbi Pinchas Feldman, invited us to join him on his shlichus in Sydney, Australia.
I expected the Rebbe to say no, since he had indicated newlyweds belonged in kollel. To my surprise, he encouraged us to accept, explaining that it did not contradict his response.
The Rebbe had encouraged me to earn semicha and dayanus, so I had already learned much of the knowledge acquired in kollel. Before our four-month anniversary, we headed on a transatlantic flight to the other side of the world.
In the summer of 1991, I started a day camp for local children and wrote to the Rebbe for a bracha for hatzlachah. Over time, I gave the directorship to others, eventually my son and daughter-in-law.
In their first year directing camp, only seven campers signed up. They still gave their all.
My daughter-in-law was nevertheless disappointed and wrote to the Rebbe. The next day, her mother forwarded the Rebbe's letters. One was a letter sent to me almost thirty years earlier: "In response to your news regarding the summer camp in S. Ives, may it be with lots of hatzlacha and with much growth." The Rebbe had underlined "growth."
The Rebbe's words comforted my daughter-in-law as they had me decades earlier. Today, the camp's success has led to CKids, CTeen, JewQ, and more—a fulfillment of the Rebbe's bracha.
Just before Rosh Hashana, I received a call from a woman I barely knew. Her father-in-law, James, was doing poorly, and doctors were pressuring the family to sign a DNR. Before doing so, they wanted to ensure he would be buried the Jewish way. I rearranged my schedule and visited him.
I offered James tefillin. His daughter-in-law whispered that he had been on a hunger strike for a month and refused all food. His condition deteriorated.
"James," I said, praying for the right words, "G-d sent your soul down into this world to live. That is your mission. G-d needs you to eat and regain your strength! You must eat!"
Seeing cornflakes and milk nearby, I asked, "Will you take a bite?" He nodded. I called the nurse. She explained that he had refused food for a month. "I know. But he's agreed to eat now." The nurse was shocked when he swallowed it. He couldn't eat much, but it was a start.
I returned the next day and urged him to eat. Baruch Hashem, he agreed to try a nutrient shake. He slowly regained strength.
By Simchas Torah, James was well enough to come to shul. "G-d wants us not only to live, but to live joyfully! What brings you joy?" I asked. "I used to paint," he replied. "Wonderful! I've been looking for an artist who could create a mural of the six days of creation for our shul!"
Filled with purpose and joy, James lived many more healthy years. His paintings now grace our Chabad house walls.
While Chabad of Bondi was setting up its public menorah lighting on Bondi Beach, we were holding a Chanukah party 45 minutes away. A high-profile government official attended. I asked if he would put on tefillin. "Sure." I asked, "Would you do it on stage, in front of everyone?" "I'd be happy to."
Seeing a famous figure proudly keeping his faith alive inspired everyone. The applause gave way to whispers of "an incident." As we finished lighting the menorah and Maoz Tzur faded, we heard the terrible news. Everyone called loved ones and worried about our gathering.
I encouraged everyone to remain steadfast in Jewish pride. Police barricaded our shuls and schools the next day, but we insisted they be opened. "We cannot cower in fear and let them win! We need to show up and strengthen our commitment to Judaism!"
That night, another Chanukah event was scheduled at a shopping center. We moved it to a private indoor location, yet more than 50 people showed up, determined to show Jewish pride.
I spoke about tefillin and how its straps represent our logic ruling over instinct. I promised to fund a pair for any anyone who committed to wearing them daily. "Rabbi Eli, the hero who died protecting others last night, would undoubtedly want this as well!"
"After a tragic accident in Meron killed 45 people, Rabbi Eli worked hard to get 45 people to commit to wearing tefillin every day in their memory."
Afterward, a young man I'd never met introduced himself as Eran*. "I've always been ashamed to admit I'm Israeli. I've tried everything I could to hide my Judaism. But now, I know I need to be there with my people. Can I please have a pair of tefillin?"
*Excerpts reprinted from Dollardaily.org. Names changed to protect privacy.