By Rochel Vorst
When my father-in-law passed away two days before Rosh Hashana, I asked for the privilege to share some of his story. However, after three attempts rejected by family members, I realized that it wasn’t a simple task. You see, my father-in-law, Rabbi Yitzchak Vorst, was more than a Rabbi, a writer, a father, and a husband and as my poor, previous attempts prove, impossible to fully portray.
As a writer, I committed myself to doing more research. I’d read his writings over Yom Tov, I told myself. And try again. That Yomtov was Shmini Atzeres. Before I even had the opportunity to open the book he authored, Why? Reflections on the Loss of a Loved One, our Chabad house security guard had already informed us of the horror that was unfolding in Israel, sending all thoughts of research and writing out of my head.
To complicated matters and emotions, I was busily attempting to plan my oldest daughter’s wedding here in Charlotte, NC. Not an easy feat when no infrastructure exists for such things. Who has a hall that’ll hold four hundred guests? The wedding is November of 2023, don’t you mean next 2024? And catering? Well my husband runs the city’s only kosher caterer out of our Chabad house kitchen, so he has his work cut out for him. And really, a wedding in war time! Who has the headspace to think of flowers and music when we are in mourning for so many of our Jewish brothers and sisters? When hundreds of them remain imprisoned! And then I remembered my father-in-law’s story.
When he was a child, he and his family were rounded up in Rotterdam The Netherlands by the Nazis and brought to the Westerbork transit camp. Despite the inhumane conditions, we Jews survive, and one way we do so is by teaching our children. A makeshift school was established. Its staff and student numbers would shrink dramatically every Tuesday, transport day. And then it would rise again as more prisoners were rounded up.
One day, when only two teachers remained, a little boy wandered in to where the classes were held. Singing a song. Ashrenu – how fortunate we are to be Jewish. The teachers, one of them my father-in-law’s own father, Rabbi Levi Vorst, along with the students joined the little boy in singing and dancing. The little boy was my father-in-law. Singing and dancing. In a labor camp. How fortunate is our lot. How beautiful is our heritage.
It was with that thought in mind that I forced myself to dance that Simchat Torah night. I watched my husband hold the Torah singing the very words his father had sang so many years ago in Westerbork. How precious is our inheritance. And it was with that thought that I threw myself into wedding preparations.
Rabbi Vorst truly lived by these words. How else could he have served as the first Shliach to the Netherlands, impacting thousands of Jewish lives in a country ravaged by the horrors of the Holocaust? What else would have kept him and my mother-in-law going for almost sixty years, reaching Jews of all ages and stages?
Truly, the beauty of our heritage.
Dutch Jewry of every denomination and age group were represented at his funeral, including alumni and current campers of “Tikvatenu,” a Jewish children’s camp. Rabbi Vorst had offered his services as camp rabbi to the camp close to sixty years ago. He went to the summer, winter camp and weekends until a few months before his passing. He taught, wrote tens of children’s songs in Dutch, and was always happy to join a soccer game. Sure, his goal wasn’t the net, but sometimes it takes a well-played game to send the message that we are truly lucky to be Jewish.
Again, my words seem woefully inadequate. I haven’t touched on the countless families comforted, the countless souls introduced to Yiddishkeit, the smile, the gentle words, the honesty, and the humor. I didn’t tell of his dedication to Eretz Yisrael, the engineering degree and the choice to become a chosid.
I don’t know if I can. Maybe I didn’t know him long enough. Maybe living in far off North Carolina doesn’t qualify me to do so.
So, I’ll end off with my favorite story.
When as a young man, he met the Rebbe for the first time, Rabbi Vorst had an important message to pass on from his father, Rabbi Levi Vorst who was serving as the chief Rabbi of Rotterdam. A Chabad shliach was desperately needed in the Netherlands. Please send someone.
The Rebbe replied that he had not yet found the right person who had the skills and knowledge necessary to fill this position. And then the Rebbe smiled broadly.
When some months later the Rebbe instructed him to return to the Netherlands as his first shliach, he understood the meaning of that smile. Soon after their wedding, my in-laws moved to the Netherlands settling in Amstelveen where they became pillars of Jewish life.
So, here is your description. Rabbi Yitzchak Vorst was a shliach of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. He dedicated his life to the Rebbe’s mission; teaching every Jew, umah yaffah yerushatenu, our precious and beautiful heritage.
