Rebbetzin Chana’s Memoirs: An Inexhaustible Fountain
In this 20th installment of the series, Rebbetzin Chana describes how her husband Reb Levik, although already weak and frail from illness, would “come back to life” when he received fellow Jewish visitors.
An “Inexhaustible Fountain”
Our home faced the street, with no gate, so whoever came to visit us was clearly visible from the street. Most of the visitors were bearded, making them particularly conspicuous.
Often we would close the shutters to shield our visitors from passersby in the street. This could be done only at night when it became somewhat cooler, but not by day when the heat was stifling.
After dark, we often moved outdoors into the yard, our visitors sitting on whatever they could find since there weren’t enough chairs for everyone. Some, especially the younger ones, would stretch out on the bare grass.
I have no words to describe the special pleasure they experienced from spending time with my husband.
By then his face was very gaunt and pale. As it turned out, he was already critically ill. Nevertheless, when he spent time in discussion with our guests, he became an “inexhaustible fountain.” His face took on a healthy appearance and his voice became so strong that it seemed that all was forgotten.
Under the repressive conditions of that time, both the listeners and the speaker could have paid dearly for his religious influence. The visitors would leave our home full of fear, and we remained at home full of fear, wondering about every rustling sound, “Who may that be?”
Yet our visitors didn’t stop coming, and they returned again and again, either the following day, or a few days later.
And so the time passed. Every day, new acquaintances joined our community. Many Jews arrived who had lived in Ukraine, White Russia, Moscow and Leningrad.
We lived outside Alma-Ata proper. Inside the city, a number of shuls had been established. They all sent delegations inviting my husband to pray with them, or at least to deliver an occasional Torah lecture or sermon to the congregation.
Some of our friends there provided for our material needs in a most honorable manner, with uncommon dignity.
I had not previously realized to what degree people esteemed my husband and appreciated his greatness.
Concurrently with the improvement in our general conditions, however, his illness progressed. It was his inner spirit that kept him going, but nothing else. He was examined by doctors, but his health got steadily worse, and he didn’t have the physical strength to walk.
Consequently, he couldn’t accept those invitations. In fact, he never made it into the city itself.
Two-Hour Speech at a Circumcision Celebration
When a boy was born to close friends of ours, the parents invited many guests, from a variety of backgrounds, to the circumcision celebration, and told everyone that my husband would be their special guest. More people attended than the number of invitations issued. They were from all walks of life: Torah learned Jews (as many as lived there then), worldly Jews, intellectuals who had some connection with Judaism, businessmen and employees of government institutions—as most people were in the Soviet Union.
Although my husband was very weak by then, he spoke for more than two hours without a break. The listeners couldn’t fathom how a Rabbi, with his strictly religious background, was so knowledgeable in such a wide range of subjects. Two mathematicians who were present approached him and posed several mathematical problems, later declaring that they were “stunned” by his solutions.
Naturally, my husband’s talk consisted primarily of Chasidus. Several Chabad Chasidim were present, and one asked my husband to concentrate more on concepts of avodah and less on concepts of haskalah.
Continue reading at Chabad.org
