My Eternal Rebbe

When I was six years old, they kicked me out of the men’s section in shul.  Prior to this, my cousins and I would frolic in the historic rooms of 770 Eastern Parkway, where the Lubavitcher Rebbe, would smile at us and greet us every single time he saw us sliding down the banisters, near his private room.  Our great- grandfather was privileged to have his own room in those hallowed halls, where he rested in between studying, praying and bonding with the beautiful man whose sparkling blue eyes were so bright, you couldn’t look straight at him.  It was like trying to gaze at the sun and being blinded.  We adored him and he loved us.  If G-d was love and light, this man was the personification of this.  We were the only females amongst the sea of bearded men, dressed in black and white, wearing fringed “talesim” (prayer shawls) which they occasionally threw over their heads in deference to Hashem and completely covered themselves during the blessing of the “Kohanim”(holy priests).  I can still smell the sweet musty aroma of books and the scent of my father as he held me close to him.  It was one of the few times that he was ever physically demonstrative and I relished his touch and the holiness I felt when everyone prayed in unison creating one beautiful, pleading voice crying out to G-d with song, joy, gratitude and most of all, love.

(Even then, I was a drama queen.)

I was hurt and I was angry.  Why couldn’t we continue to play in the rooms and pray with our fathers?  In this original building of 770, there was no women’s section, so we were exiled to another building which was more like an endless balcony of a large theatre.  We could barely see through the tall tinted glass, down towards the main synagogue which was huge and packed with hundreds of men, trying to glimpse the Rebbe as the sea of humanity split, allowing him to glide towards the front, where he prayed and then the crowd completely folded and spilled over with arms and legs sticking out and men being propped upright only because they were squeezed together so tightly.  It was difficult to hear the cantor pray  to follow along and not lose our places in the siddur.  We would have to stand on benches if we wanted to see anything and I longed for the intimacy that I previously had with MY Rebbe.  I missed the glow of his gaze, his warmth and his humor.  There was something so beautifully childlike and wise, simultaneously.  He was always happy. I had never seen him upset or angry.  He appeared to be simple, but was complex.  Even as a child, I couldn’t comprehend greatness, but my soul craved it and felt it. I longed to hold and kiss the velvet draped Torah with its glorious crown.  My special patent leather “Shabbos shoes” killed my feet, but I never admitted it, because that was my way of honoring my creator, Shabbos and the gift of the Torah, but I felt excluded and it upset me.  I missed my weekly interaction with Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the person who made me feel like I was never alone, important and so very loved, unconditionally.

My grandfather, Rabbi Benyamin Gorodetsky(zaidy) and my grandmother, Rebbetzin Chaya Sara (bubby) had miraculously survived WWII with their four children.  My grandmother lost her mother, Shaina, one of her brothers and many loved ones and so did my grandfather.  My grandfather had spent numerous years in the Russian gulag for the crime of being a Jew.  From a very young age, he supported his family and my grandmother, whose father, Rabbi Shmuel Levitin, was the Rabbi of Nevel in Russia.  She married my zaidy, because he was a physically and spiritually powerful, intense and brilliant young man.  Though short in stature, he was muscular and always earned money through his intelligence from the age of 13.  My grandmother would tell me that when no one had food, shoes or coats, my grandfather always had them and would provide for his family, his new wife, her family and then his own.  Throughout his incarcerations and many close encounters with the angel of death, he was of service to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchock Shneerson, and dedicated his life to maintaining Jewish life in communities where it was forbidden and one would be shot and killed if discovered.  My grandfather lost his parents and never had a youth.  In those days, no one had that luxury, because even before the War, Jews were always the victims of the “progroms”.  When the Russians were drunk and angry, they would massacre villages of Jews.  Thus, Jews had to always be ready to flee their homes.  It was the tough reality of life. My father was the youngest, born during the war and was always fleeing the Ukrainians and/or Nazis.  My grandparents never spoke of the horrors they experienced and we never asked them, but my grandmother escaped with her four babies through false papers and the hand of G-d.  My grandfather later joined them in Paris right after the war. Through it all, he NEVER stopped providing his fellow jews with everything needed to resurrecting Jewish life.  He immediately garnered the aid of the JDC to start rebuilding Jewish schools and life in France, North Africa and Later Israel.  He was one of the selected souls who helped our people rise from the ashes of the Holocaust and I was always so proud that he was my “zaidy”.   My grandfather always maintained an office in Paris and constantly traveled doing the work of the Rebbe, while my grandmother raised the kids, mostly on her own and with the help of both the previous Rebbe and the one that followed.  The Rebbe took the place of my grandfather at my father’s bar mitzvah, because my Zaidy was abroad, establishing schools, shuls and communities in North Africa and was one of the founders of “Nachlat Har Chabad” in Israel.  He was part businessman/ part diplomat and mostly the ambassador and grand emissary of the Rebbe.  The Rebbe also married my parents off and was a member of my extended family.   I never appreciated how lucky I was to have this special man in my life until I was older and didn’t have the same sort of access that the males in my family seemed to have, especially my zaidy who spent hours with him.  Yes, when it was our birthdays, we would wait outside the office of the Rebbe and we would get some time alone with him.  I was shy and overwhelmed by his presence, but when I left, I would feel my heart flutter and was so elated.  Endorphins would rush through me and I didn’t understand it.  I didn’t have to, because It just was.

All the people in our close-knit community would ask the Rebbe for an answer to all their questions.  From the silly and mundane (“Should I get contact lenses? ) to the serious requests for blessings before getting engaged.  Since my family was so close to the Rebbe, I never asked the Rebbe for anything.  I felt that he was inundated with more important matters.  Secretly, there were times I thought it was downright silly.  In retrospect, I see that it wasn’t.  In fact, the only regret I have is not requesting his solutions to more  of the problems I had.  I was so lucky to know this man and I never took advantage of his brilliance and wisdom:  With one exception.

At the age of 17, I had very painful feet. (must have been those shoes I wore)  I couldn’t walk and was told by many doctors that it was serious and that I needed to have orthopedic surgery.  They also told me that I would be in the hospital for at least a week and would have an extremely long recovery.  My parents wanted me to wait until I was older to do it, but I was, literally, crippled.   So, my father asked the Rebbe when he saw him and the Rebbe told him that I should have the surgery and even recommended the name of the orthopedic surgeon to use.  Yes, it was successful and within two months I was ok.  I miss having that perceptive person to seek advice from.   Wouldn’t anyone?

Now that he is gone, I go to the “Ohel” (his gravesite) frequently, because my grandfather is buried right behind him, my great grandfather is right beside him and my grandmother at the side of the rebbetzin.  Every time I go, I receive a premonition or message.  I thought I might have to be institutionalized until this past summer, when I was leaving through the Bais Chabad and glanced at the video where the Rebbe was speaking about the commandment that we were given to be fruitful and multiply. He continued to point out that one should never delay having children for financial reasons, because Hashem provides more and each soul is a blessing.   I knew I wasn’t pregnant:)  Suddenly, it dawned on me that one of my kids’ wives might be, even though they both had infants of a few months! I just knew that this was a message for me.  I returned home and fell asleep at 8 pm, because I was exhausted.

In my lucid dream state, my youngest son was telling me that they were expecting.  I, immediately woke up and decided to call him.  I started with “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy” (since his second daughter was only a few months old), but I had a dream that you told me you were having another baby’.   Silence ensued.  He paused and said “Yeh ma, we are.  We were going to tell you in person this weekend”.

Who’s crazy now?

Throughout my life, I have always felt that this holy man was taking care of me.  I’m, obviously, not the only one, but I always tell people to look at the signs.  If you’re open to it, you will see them.  It can be through a lost loved one, an angel or the Lubavitcher Rebbe.   We are all connected through love and even death can’t destroy that.