Town hall held a special ceremony on November 4th, in commemoration of Kristallnacht, attended by the oberbürgermeister, the lord mayor of Aachen. Chanukah was fast approaching, and I knew I wanted to hold a public event of some kind, but I had no idea where to begin. I figured meeting the mayor was a good start.
I was extremely nervous before approaching him, but I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was a shliach of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, approaching a German, whose grandparents were most probably complicit in the world’s worst atrocity in recent history. I squared my shoulders, and confidently requested a meeting.
“Sure. Call my secretary. I have an opening in three months.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s far too late! I need to speak to you about an event coming up in three weeks!” I responded.
Baruch Hashem, the mayor always kept a half hour in the mornings open for urgent appointments, so I was able to meet with him that week. I quickly called a friend whose shlichus was similar to mine, and asked for guidance.
“What should I tell him? What should I ask for?” I asked my friend.
“You don’t need to ask him for anything!” my friend told me. “He’s the mayor! He doesn’t handle permits. Just ask him to be your guest of honor!”
Armed with this information - and a translated book about the Rebbe - I arrived at the meeting. I explained what I wanted to do, and asked him to be our guest of honor.
“That’s not how things run here,” he told me. “I’m in charge of writing permits and arranging police barricades. Leave it all to me. Just let me know where you’d like to put your menorah.”
I learned afterwards that permission for such events must be requested at least six weeks in advance - not the three weeks notice I’d given!
Just before Chanukah, we attended a fellow shliach’s siyum Sefer Torah. I was impressed to see reporters and camera crews from the local news station covering his event.
“You must have had to arrange this weeks ago!” I said to him.
“No, not at all! I just called them a couple days ago.”
That gave me hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late to boost publicity for our menorah lighting? It would be the perfect form of pirsumei nissah, publicizing the miracle of Chanukah! I contacted the radio, newspaper, and TV stations, and our event was featured on the evening news.
The next day, I received a call from an unknown number.
“Hi, Rabbi. I want to know when you’ll be lighting the menorah again,” the woman on the phone said, introducing herself as Sivan*.
“We only do the public lighting once a year. Contact me next year, and I’ll let you know when and where the lighting will be held,” I told her. I’m usually very cautious with strangers, since many Germans still harbor deeply seated anti-Semitism. Something prompted me to ask her, “Are you Jewish?”
“Am I Jewish? I’m Israeli!” she said, in Hebrew. “My husband isn’t Jewish, but when he sat down to watch the news tonight, he saw a menorah on the screen. He quickly called me over, and I watched the whole segment. I’m so sorry I missed it!”
“Wow! So nice to meet a fellow Jew! We have many other opportunities for you to connect with your Judaism! We’d love to meet you in person!”
Sivan lived in a small suburb of Aachen. She’d never known there were any other Jews around her. Through our Chabad house, she met some Jewish friends, and became part of our community.
I was walking along a residential street, when a sleek, black car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down and a friendly, Jewish face asked me, “Rabbi, are you lost? Do you need a ride?”
“No. I live just around the corner,” I responded.
His eyes opened wide. “I don’t believe it! I was sure you were from Antwerp! What are you doing in a place like Aachen?”
“I have a Chabad house here,” I explained.
I didn’t understand why he was so surprised. He explained that he was originally from Aachen, but after he’d become frum, he’d moved to nearby Antwerp. He still commuted regularly. In fact, his office wasn’t far from my house at all!
“I can’t believe we’ve never met before!” I marveled.
“I can! I know exactly why we met today,” he said, triumphantly. “Just this morning, my wife and I were discussing a property we own here that we no longer have use for. It’s a nice-sized commercial space, with a separate living quarter attached.
“I’d love to leave it to a shul, I told her. It’s a shame Aachen doesn’t really have an active Jewish community that would use it. And then, I bumped into you, right out here, on the streets of Aachen!”
