Here’s My Story: Dancing In The Rain
Rabbi Binyamin Silberstrom
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In 1971, after spending several years in Chabad yeshivot in Israel, I traveled to New York to study Torah in 770, at the court of the Lubavitcher Rebbe.
That year, the Rebbe requested that his chasidim go out to bring the joy of Sukkot to other Jews by arranging festive Simchat Beit Hasho’eva celebrations, as they are known. And, for several years afterwards, I was privileged to help direct this special campaign, under the auspices of the Lubavitch Youth Organization. The Rebbe even wanted the many visitors who would come from overseas for the holidays to accompany the groups going out to conduct the festivities. As he explained, the more “fresh faces” there were at these events, the merrier.
Early each afternoon during the intermediate days of Sukkot, several yellow school buses would line up in front of 770 and then disperse groups of chasidim to neighborhoods throughout New York where Jewish communities were concentrated – Boro Park, Williamsburg, Flatbush, Queens, and elsewhere. We visited synagogues, played music, danced, and led farbrengens where words of Torah and chasidut were shared.
Every year, I prepared a detailed report of the campaign – with lists of locations, participants, and summaries of our activities – to present to the Rebbe. On the eve of Hoshanah Rabbah, the last day of Sukkot, I would sit down to organize all of the information I had received, aiming to finish the report by around 2:30 AM, when the Rebbe would return to his office after the customary late-night recital of the book of Tehillim (Psalms). Only afterward did I sit down to recite Tehillim myself.
Then came Sukkot of 1975. From the eve of the festival, a relentless rain began to pour down, for days on end. Needless to say, this made our activities very difficult. I was reminded of the Mishnah in Tractate Sukkah that compares such a situation to “a servant who comes to pour wine for his master, and the master throws a jug of water in his face.” Even though it is the custom of chasidim to have their meals in the sukkah no matter the weather, basic Jewish law states that one is exempt from fulfilling the commandment, and there is no need to eat in the sukkah, while it is raining. The Mishnah’s parable suggests that when it does rain on Sukkot, it’s a sign that G-d does not desire the servant’s “service,” which no doubt comes as painful disappointment for the servant.
I don’t know where I got the nerve, but while reflecting on the unceasing rain, I sat down and wrote to the Rebbe:
“We have been organizing groups to go out across New York to bring festive cheer to our fellow Jews. But since the rain hasn’t stopped, and given our sages’ words that such rain indicates a state contrary to joy – how can we bring joy under such circumstances?”
To be honest, I didn’t expect any answer. Maybe I hoped the Rebbe might give a blessing that the rain would stop.
The next afternoon, at around 1:00 PM, I was boarding one of the school buses to oversee the preparations for the last excursion of that Sukkot, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Binyamin,” he said, “you’re being called to the Rebbe’s secretariat.”
“Just a few more minutes,” I said, “I need to wrap up a few things here.”
A few minutes later the message came again, more insistent: “Come right away!” Realizing that it must be urgent, I hurried inside.
Rabbi Binyomin Klein, the Rebbe’s secretary, looked up and said: “The Rebbe answered your letter. Sit and copy it.”
The Rebbe had written his response by hand on my note. As was customary, the original page would stay in the secretariat, so I needed to copy it. I assumed it would be a line or two – but to my surprise, the Rebbe’s answer ran over ten lines.
With barely any time to absorb their meaning, I quickly copied those lines and rushed back to the bus. Then, my heart pounding, I stood up and called out: “Gentlemen, we have an answer from the Rebbe! I’m going to read it to you all now.”
The Rebbe’s answer (which was later published in Likkutei Sichot volume 14, page 433) contained two main points.
First, he wrote that surely G-d does want us to fulfill the mitzvah of sukkah. After all, even with the heavy rain, there had been a few breaks when people were able to recite the holiday kiddush, recite the blessing for eating in the sukkah, and even have brief meals inside. “This is clear proof,” wrote the Rebbe, “that G-d finds pleasure in our service.” With the mitzvah fulfilled, the rain was simply a sign that G-d wanted us to serve Him elsewhere.
The point of the Mishna’s parable, as the Rebbe apparently understood it, is that when someone is prevented from sitting in the sukkah, he must “leave submissively” and humbly, rather than “kicking and leaving” in frustration, to use the words of the Alter Rebbe’s Code of Law.
This led to a second point: When the sukkah cannot be used, having to conduct a farbrengen indoors is not a loss, but an advantage!
If, as a result of the rain, “according to the Torah the farbrengen may and therefore should take place indoors,” it is simply a “sign from Above that it should be held in greater comfort and calmness.”
After all, as the Rebbe pointed out, the law is that Torah study and prayer – both of which are integral themes of a farbrengen – should be held indoors even in good weather if doing so in the sukkah will be inconvenient or make it difficult to concentrate.
The thrust of the Rebbe’s message was clear: When you go out to gather other Jewish people inside homes or synagogues instead of sukkahs, explain that this is no deficiency. On the contrary, Heaven wishes the farbrengen to be more comfortable, so that the ideas discussed in it should be absorbed more deeply and with greater joy.
Now I understood why the secretariat had called me so urgently: The Rebbe wanted this uplifting message to reach as many Jews throughout the city as possible, that very day.
That evening, when I returned to 770, I was astonished to see copies of the Rebbe’s letter posted on all the walls inside – upstairs and downstairs. Additional sources and references had been added to each point, as the Rebbe often did when preparing something for publication. Although the answer had been addressed to me, it wasn’t about me. The Rebbe’s concern was with the Jewish nation – to affirm that G-d takes pleasure in His people and their service.
As I walked further inside, I noticed a commotion. Two men were standing and debating heatedly, surrounded by listeners. It was Rabbi Sholom Marozov, a deep Torah scholar and devoted chasid, arguing passionately with Rabbi Leibel Groner, the Rebbe’s secretary and a great scholar in his own right, about the precise meaning of the Rebbe’s words and his novel interpretation of the relevant Talmudic sources.
Someone nearby exclaimed, “There is much to delve into here – but however you read it, the Rebbe is acting in the spirit of the Baal Shem Tov and Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, the great defenders of the Jewish people, by insisting that they are all righteous and beloved by G-d, and that He surely desires their mitzvot.”
Rabbi Binyamin Silberstrom is one of the founders of the Heichal Menachem chasidic library in Jerusalem. He also teaches at the Torat Emet yeshivah, as well as in several Chabad communities throughout the city. He was interviewed in May 2015.
