Years ago, my wife and I were set to go as Chabad emissaries to Sumy, Ukraine, a small city near the Russian border. When we arrived, my family stayed by the 'shluchim' (emissaries) in Kharkov while I went to Sumy to search for an apartment. One night, I walked to my hotel room feeling very down. I had been searching for two weeks already, but I had not yet found a suitable place for us to live. Was all this one big mistake?
The town square was mostly deserted. Over and over again, I replayed the events of the past two weeks in my mind. Packing up our apartment in California and shipping everything away. Flying with my wife and three children across the ocean. Spending weeks looking for a suitable home to live in; half of the buildings didn't even have running water or a bathroom.
Heavy footsteps interrupted my thoughts. I looked up to find a Ukrainian man walking straight towards me. It was dark, and this man was staring at me. I got a little nervous. “Good evening,” I called out in Russian.
“Good evening,” he replied. “Are you Chabad Lubavitch?”
I blinked. This was not what I expected to hear! “Yes,” I stammered. “Who are you?”
“I'm also Chabad Lubavitch!”
I looked the heavyset Ukrainian up and down. Him, a Lubavitcher? “Are you Jewish?” I asked.
“No.”
“So... how does that work?” I asked delicately. “You're not Jewish, but you're Chabad Lubavitch?”
“I worked for the Lubavitcher Rebbe!” He said proudly.
The Rebbe? I knew that in Ukraine, people refer to their Rabbis as 'Rebbe'. Maybe he works for a shliach in a neighbouring city?
“No, no, no!” he said. “I worked for Rabbi Shneerson himself!”
My eyes opened wide.
“A few years ago, I won a lottery for an American green card,” he explained. “When I went to live in Brooklyn, I worked for the Rebbe! For three years, I was the janitor at the Ohel (gravesite of the Rebbe) in Queens! I know all the rabbi's there... Rabbi Refson, Rabbi Krinsky... if you want, you can ask them about me!”
I was stunned. What were the odds? Just moments before, I was doubting my decision to go on shlichus (-serve as Chabad emissary) to such a remote location. And right then, in this “remote” town of Sumy, Ukraine, Hashem showed me that he knew exactly where I was and that he was with me! How else could I explain my encounter with the Ukrainian man who so proudly called himself a Lubavitcher?
And if this Ukrainian, who was the janitor at the Ohel, could walk around proudly, saying that he works for the Lubavitcher Rebbe, where was my own pride? I was a shliach of the Rebbe and meant to fill the role as his own personal emissary!
All my doubts disappeared. I straightened my shoulders and continued walking to my hotel room, ready to build my future in this city no matter what it took. The next day, I found an apartment.
Little did the Jews of Sumy know, but their lives were about to be changed forever for the better!
My connection to the Jews of Ukraine had really begun years before. After I finished studying in yeshiva, I went to help the shluchim in Kharkov, Ukraine. It was in 1995, just a few years after communism fell, and Ukraine was still struggling to gain its independence and shake off communism. People were desperate for a new start.
When I first arrived, the contrast to my home back in California was overwhelming. The people in Ukraine had nothing. Electricity didn't always flow and the water would randomly shut off. When kids came to the Chabad overnight camp, they didn't come with two pillows and a duffel bag filled with goodies like their American counterparts. They came with just a single change of clothing, stuffed into a single shopping bag. They had absolutely nothing, but they were happy. They had no money, but they didn't feel poor.
The simple Jews of Ukraine inspired me. Whenever we made an event, they just showed up. We didn't have to convince them to come; they had a thirst to learn more about Yiddishkeit. They wanted to hear. They wanted to learn. People came knowing nothing about their faith, not even the Alef Beis. Watching them have a bris, put on tefillin, start keeping Shabbos and kashrus, and then go learn in Israel—all in the span of a year or two—was mind boggling. The fire in their eyes when they learned Torah and their devotion to their faith was incredible to see.
The Jews of Ukraine, so eager to do more mitzvos and so hungry to learn about Yiddishkeit, made a lasting impression on me. After two years, I returned to my home in California, but the Jews of Ukraine remained in my heart. I knew that someday, I would return.
Let me tell you a story that will amaze yet also give you a good laugh.
For the first few years of our shlichus, we had to renew our visa very often. The rules constantly changed, and it was a big headache. I hired a lawyer to figure it out for me, and eventually, he told me that I should try applying for residency.
Two weeks after I submitted my application, I was called to the immigration office. I was told that while my application was denied, the head of immigration wanted to speak with me. “I'll be honest with you,” she told me. “I'm not convinced by your story. You brought your entire family from California to live in the small town of Sumy, Ukraine. The only logical reason I can see for you to do that is either because you're a spy, or because you're not normal! And we don't need spies nor crazy people here. So I have to deny your application!”
I couldn't believe my ears! There I had it: an official stamp and declaration by the government that my going on shlichus to Ukraine was considered crazy!!! And isn't that exactly what the Rebbe wanted from us? Not to go on shlichus because it makes sense, but because it is a matter of 'shtus d'kedusha', (a kabbalistic concept of utilising a 'spirit of folly' in a positive sense by performing a service that is above and beyond normal reasoning) - an unexplainable and seemingly irrational desire to brighten up the world for the better!
I left the office on a high, fired up and ready to conquer the world!
In the end, we got our residency. My wife gave birth to our two younger daughters in Ukraine, which gave us an official legitimate reason for permanent residency. But I will never forget the lesson I learned in that little government office: logic and reason cannot stand in the way of making the world a better place and bringing Moshiach!
Part 1 of 2
Reprinted from DollarDaily.org
