CHABAD SHLUCHIM WORLDWIDE SHARE THEIR STORIES FROM THE FRONTLINES.
We were offered a position in Cyprus, and began our research. We were delighted to discover a strong, established Israeli community. This would make our transition and integration that much easier.
While we lived in Israel, my wife taught at the local school. She loved teaching, and wanted to continue in chinuch, wherever our shlichus led us. So, a couple of years after we moved, we were excited to open our very own preschool.
It took a while to find the perfect location, but we soon learned the neighbor across the street from our Chabad house was retiring. We met with her, and, with Hashem’s help, managed to convince her to allow us to take over half her lease until she retired. We hired teachers, and spread the word that our school was open for registration!
Unfortunately, it seemed our passion and excitement was not contagious. It was understandable, albeit disappointing. We were opening in the middle of October, when most kids were already in school. The parents all trusted the established preschools, and were wary of our brand new institution. Meanwhile, we’d already expended significant costs opening the school. We had a building; we had teachers. All we needed were students! A few parents expressed some interest, and we allowed our hopes to rise, but nothing came of it.
“Maybe we should just try again at the start of the school year?” I suggested.
But my wife had a plan. She gave the parents who’d shown interest at the beginning a deadline. “If we don’t have enough kids registered by the end of the week, we’ll have to open the school to the general public. We need the tuition to pay rent and our teacher’s salaries!”
The parents didn’t believe she’d go through with it, and the truth is, we probably would’ve tried to find an alternate plan. But Hashem intervened. A few days later, a non-Jewish woman passed by our school and decided to stop in to find out more. She must’ve been impressed, because soon, we were receiving dozens of calls from her friends, all inquiring about our program and availability.
Word quickly spread, and the interest soon infected the Jewish community. Desperate to get their children into the newest (and most sought-after) preschool, our email was inundated with applications. We’d soon registered more kids than we could handle, and were free to handpick which children to accept. Baruch Hashem, today we have a thriving preschool, filled with Jewish children who learn about their Judaism with joy, passion, and excitement.
Persistence Pays Off
I spent years trying to get David* to put on tefillin. No matter what arguments I used, he’d refuse every single time. And then, one day, David came to the Chabad house and asked me to help him put on tefillin.
I vacillated between joy and disbelief, but I quickly grabbed a pair of tefillin and helped him say the brachos.
“I’m curious,” I told him afterwards. “I’ve asked you to put on tefillin many times. What changed your mind?”
David shrugged. “I was out of options.” He sighed. “I’ve run a successful business for years, but lately, things have been falling apart. I’ve tried everything I could think of! Then I remembered all the discussions we’ve had. I figured putting on tefillin couldn’t hurt!”
David now puts on tefillin happily, every time I ask. When his sons approached bar mitzvah age, he asked me to learn with them and teach them what this milestone really means. They, too, are happy to put on tefillin whenever I ask.
I often reflect on the importance of persistence, regardless of how pointless or futile it sometimes seems. Every fruitless conversation with David was a drop of water, slowly but surely ebbing away his indifference. While I was disappointed by refusal after refusal, my efforts eventually showed him that this was an option for drawing down Hashem’s bracha.
Liel's Journey
When Liel* first moved to the community, we’d bring her challah every Friday morning, as a way of introducing ourselves and trying to form a friendship. Liel was raised on a typically secular kibbutz and left Israel at 17 years old. Her knowledge and connection to Judaism were minimal.
The weekly challah deliveries soon began to bear fruits. When we’d deliver the challah, we’d converse, and we’d always invite her to whichever shiur or program was coming up. Liel even volunteered to host a weekly Tanya shiur in her home! She began attending more functions, and soon became a beloved member of our community. We found her open and receptive to Jewish and Chassidic concepts she’d never heard before, and always ready to learn more.
Last year, Liel approached me with an interesting Halachic question: she wanted to take on a commitment in regards to her dress. Should she start covering her hair, or was dressing modestly a greater priority? I promised her I’d do some research and get back to her. I consulted with rabbanim, and found out that the mitzvah of kisuy rosh - covering her hair - would be the greater priority. Liel was happy to accept my recommendation and invested in a colorful array of beautiful head scarves.
A few weeks later, Liel returned. “My head covering makes me look religious,” she explained, seriously. “As a representative of religious people, I feel like I need to make a stronger commitment to my Judaism.”
Liel voluntarily undertook to dress modestly, insisting that was the only way she could properly represent the religious community. Her dedication to her Judaism impacted her entire family, inspiring them all to reconnect with Hashem in their own ways. She shed tears of nachas when her son flew to Israel, the newest enrollee of a Jewish school.
Responding to Crisis
After the war broke out in Ukraine, Cyprus was flooded with refugees. Our community swelled quite suddenly, and it was a challenge to meet its influx of needs. For weeks, my wife was getting knocks at the preschool’s door from Ukrainian parents asking to register their children.
