To be sure, the Jewish religion was not the only one to suffer. Bolshevik repression was directed equally against Christian priests and worshippers. This prompted the Pope to issue a firm protest. Russia's new dictatorial regime, in its merciless policy of terror, lost no time in learning the art of disinformation. One of its replies to the Pope and world opinion was to stage a showcase conference of Byelorussia's rabbis, scheduled for the beginning of 1928 in Minsk. It was the government's intention to have thirty-two of the rabbis attending the conference sign a declaration denying the existence of any anti-religious persecution and countering all the allegations.
With broken hearts and shaking hands, the rabbis signed the declaration prepared beforehand. In triumph, the government began to plan another conference, this one to be attended by rabbis from the Ukraine. The conference was to be held in Kharkov, then the Ukrainian capital. There was only one obstacle. According to government informers, the rabbi of Yekaterinoslav (later renamed Dnepropetrovsk), Levi Yitzchak Schneerson (a great-grandson of the Tzemach Tzedek, and an immensely popular and respected figure among the Jews), adamantly refused to sign the fabricated statement. The GPU (State Political Directorate), as the secret police had come to be called, decided to summon Rabbi Schneerson for a little talk. Everything was done to make this a "congenial" affair, with not a single threat or accusation against the rabbi. The mouths of the GPU officials were all but dripping with honey. Their boss delivered a lengthy speech to the effect that he had no doubt that the esteemed rabbi would sign the statement rebuffing the vile insinuations of international capitalism, and the Pope in particular, concerning anti-religious measures allegedly taking place in the Soviet Union. He went on to say that Jews must be grateful to the Soviet regime, which had freed them from the czarist yoke. Finally, he promised that Jews would be awarded a series of concessions provided the statement was signed. "Of course," he added with an insidious smile, "if the statement is not signed, you and other conference participants may be in for some trouble."
The rabbi had already risen to take his leave, when one of the GPU officials pulled a train ticket from a desk drawer. "We have thought of everything," he said. "Here is your ticket to Kharkov. First class, of course." However, Rabbi Schneerson's reply was brusque and definite: "I have no need for your ticket. I will come to the conference at my own expense." He left without saying another word.
On the appointed day, the rabbi arrived at the conference. There were several dozen rabbis in the auditorium. Scurrying among them were some unfamiliar characters easily recognizable as GPU agents. Palpable fear and tension were in the air; the participants avoided talking to one another. One by one, they were called to the podium, where they recited the prepared texts and, hanging their heads in shame, returned to their seats. When it was Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson's turn, a barely audible rustle went through the auditorium, followed by total silence. With quick and confident steps, the rabbi crossed the floor, climbed up to the stage and, in a loud and clear voice, called upon everyone present not to sign the statement, calling it an outright fabrication. "Those who sign this lie will be committing a grave transgression," he concluded his brief speech.
Deep silence descended on the auditorium. To the utter astonishment of all those present, no one came up to Rabbi Schneerson to demand that he retract his words. The conference lasted for several more days, during which Rabbi Schneerson was able to repeat his appeal a number of times. His words and his unshakeable conviction were beginning to affect those attending the conference, and their spirits were regaining power.
Seeing their plans threatened, the authorities summoned Rabbi Schneerson to a meeting with the people's commissar in charge of education in the Ukraine. The commissar attempted to gain the rabbi's sympathy with a show of mildness and friendliness. However, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak explained, patiently and without the slightest sign of fear, that nothing would intimidate him into signing the declaration, which did not contain a single word of truth.
"You persecute religion every way you can," he said. "You destroy synagogues and yeshivot, close down printing houses and ritual baths, deprive us of our legal right to lead Jewish lives. Do you really believe that I can be forced to sign this fabrication?"
At this point, the commissar could no longer restrain himself. "I'll have you know," he yelled, "that we will not tolerate your incitement! You are undermining the foundations of the Soviet regime, and you will pay dearly for this!"
The authorities never did obtain the desired results from the rabbinical conference. They were literally fuming with rage, which grew even more intense when they found out that someone had managed to smuggle information about these events abroad, triggering a storm of reactions and protests throughout the world. Thousands of Jews inside and outside the Soviet Union held their breath: the solitary battle of one seemingly defenseless Jew against an all-powerful state had an unreal quality.
Naturally, the GPU added this information to his "file." Rabbi Levi Yitzchak served as the rabbi of Yekaterinoslav (Dnepropetrovsk) for 39 years before his arrest in the spring of 1939, which marked the beginning of over five years of suffering and privation. He passed away in Alma Ata, Kazakhstan, on 20 Av, 1944.
