The Satmar sense of community was especially apparent when the Yomim Noraim Season began – first Selichos, with the Rebbe leading with his frail voice, precise in nusach, heart-rending in emotion . . . his pouring forth of soul on Rosh Hashana, and then on Yom Kippur, crowned by his Ne’ilah ... Then Hoshana Rabbah, when thousands – literally thousands – would crowd the Satmar bais hamidrash to be with the Rebbe, with hundreds of “outsiders” who joined the mispallelim to watch as the Rebbe sang the Hallel, and waved his lulav, cuing thousands to follow his lead – southward, northward, eastward, up, down, westward – “Hodu – let us praise G-d” – “Anna Hashem – Please G-d, help us, save us!” Waving to and fro, as if the Rebbe were himself waving a thousand lulavim – not lulavim, but waving a thousand souls in praise and supplication ... Watching as he led his Chassidim in the Hoshanos, weeping, and pleading with them to strive for personal improvement, for sanctity – urging them in his moving address, to join him in calling to G-d to “Help us lema’ancho – for Your Sake!” ... Then Simchas Torah, when the sea of humanity compressed into his bais hamidrash would split, opening a path for the Rebbe, carrying his diminutive Sefer Torah; voices rising and falling in song like breakers on a shore; his tallis draped over his head, shielding his eyes, swaying for a moment, and then running – or dancing – or floating – it’s difficult to say which . . . somehow he seemed to be borne aloft by the swell of voices. How else could he stay on his frail, suffering feet for six hours on end?
And then, after Yom Tov, the triumphant torchlit march accompanying the Rebbe home, closing the season.
