(According to "These Are the Generations of Peretz")
It was morning in the city of Tashkent, Uzbekistan. In a modest home, Rabbi Chaikel Hanin sat for secret study with his chevruta. The books were taken out of hiding, and the senses of the two were sharpened by listening attentively to every suspicious noise. Suddenly, Hanin's heart froze. A familiar figure passed by the window. His heart prophesied evil for him.
These were the years of terror in Soviet Russia. The rule of evil sanctified an all-out war against Judaism. Religious activity was banned, and 'criminals,' such as rabbis, slaughterers, and teachers, were persecuted by the secret police and sentenced to severe punishments.
One man dared to raise his head against the formidable regime – the Rebbe of Rayatz, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson. With courage, an underground rose up and spread throughout the Soviet Union, which worked to preserve the Jewish embers. His followers were persecuted, imprisoned, sent to Siberia, and even executed, but in their place others came and continued the heroic struggle.
Many Hasidim found refuge in the cities of Tashkent and Samarkand in Uzbekistan, where the KGB's hand was relatively weak. But even there, life was shrouded in fear and full of hardships. In addition to the difficulty of maintaining a Jewish lifestyle, there was also the hardship of existence.
In the name of the principle of equality, the government banned private businesses. The only way to make a living was by working in public corporations, but there it was impossible to avoid desecration of the Sabbath. This situation led many of the Chassidim to the disgrace of starvation.
They had no other choice but to turn to illegal means of livelihood in order to bring prey to their homes. Two of them, in the city of Tashkent, were Ben-Zion Shem-Tov and Mordechai Rivkin. They traded raw materials bought on the black market. A significant portion of the proceeds was transferred to the underground Tumei Tamimim Yeshiva and made it possible.
The two owned a truck and used it to transport the goods from Tashkent to Samarkand. The sections of the journey were dangerous, as the police used to set up checkpoints and inspect the trucks. Any investigation could have brought disaster upon them.
Indeed, one day the worst happened: the truck was caught. It was the eve of Mordechai Rivkin's wedding. He himself miraculously managed to slip away and hide. Now he did not know his soul. How could he marry when an arrest warrant hung over his head?
He turned to Haykel Hanin, who had unknown connections with influential figures. Hanin heard what had happened and reassured the worried groom. "The matter is in my treatment," he told him.
One of Hanin's contacts was the head of the secret police. Friendship was formed between the two, and Hanin made sure to reward the man fairly, when he informed him about the followers who had come to the KGB's intentions.
The appearance of the head of the KGB near Hanin's home was an ominous sign. With some excuse, Hanin got rid of his fellowship and went out into the street. "Comrade Hanin," whispered the head of the KGB in his ear, "we must talk urgently."
Hanin continued walking, and the head of the KGB followed him. In a quiet garden, Hanin stopped, and the head of the KGB took out a thick bag and placed it in the hands of the Chassid. It shuddered. Pictures of Rivkin and Shem-Tov appeared there, along with an unequivocal order to capture the wanted persons, alive or dead. "This order was circulated throughout the Soviet Union," the KGB chief delivered another blow to the head. Now an escape from the city is also off the agenda.
While Khanin was feverishly thinking about a way out of the thicket, the head of the KGB urged him: "Well, friend, even if I want to save them, what can I do?"
Hanin managed to control his emotions, and asked his interlocutor to go back to his office and read the material carefully. "We'll meet in the afternoon and see what to do," he concluded.
On their second meeting, Hanin took out a fat envelope from his pocket, containing a huge fortune in terms of those days. When the tip was welcomed by the head of the KGB, he felt a certain calm. He suggested that the man accompany him on a short trip.
While they were strolling, they passed by a tavern. Hanin suggested his colleague come in and have a drink. He jumped at the invitation. As soon as they entered, Hanin noticed the burning fireplace. "We'll sit next to the oven," she gestured to the head of the KGB. While the man was sipping a glass of vodka, Hanin asked to look at the file of documents. He looked so and so, picked up the briefcase, and with a sharp swing they threw them into the fire.
The head of the KGB opened his mouth in astonishment. "This is the solution to the problem," Hanin said. "You don't have a file, you don't have documents and photos, and no one knows anything about this file except you!"
The decisive tone in which he spoke hid the enormous tension that filled his heart. He waited for his colleague's response. The man got up and scratched his head. "Comrade Hanin!" he said, "I appreciate your courage so much, and especially the brotherhood of brothers that exist among you, the Jews."
The man pondered for a moment and added: "I don't know what a day will bring. Maybe tomorrow I'll be executed. But tell your friends that as long as my head is on my shoulders, no harm will befall them. Just warn them not to leave Tashkent!"
That evening, shortly before Rivkin's wedding, he received a message from Khanin: "The danger has passed. Go to your chuppah with a quiet heart and joy."
