B"H
Friday, Shevat 9, 5781 / January 22, 2021
In this week’s Parsha, Bo, we read that when Pharaoh refused to let the children go, Moshe told Pharao, “With our young and with our old we will go.”
This Shabbat, the tenth day in the month, Shevat, will be the 70th Yartzeit of the previous Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson. It is also seventy years since the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, took over the Chabad leadership and a guiding light to Jews from all walks of life in our generation.
In connection with this I would like to share the following story as told eighteen years ago, by Rabbi Aaron Dovid Neuman, who is a first hand witness to this wonderful compassionate story with the Rebbe.
Here is the story as told by Rabbi Neuman:
I was born in 1934 in the village of Vizhnitz, Ukraine. When I was a small boy, my parents immigrated to Antwerp, Belgium. Belgium had a large Jewish community—some 50,000 Jews lived in Antwerp at that time—and they hoped to have a better life there.
Unfortunately, our stay did not last long. In 1940, the Germans invaded Belgium and immediately began deporting and killing Jews. So everybody started running. We ran across the border to France. I was only six years old at the time, but I was old enough to realize that we were fleeing for our lives.
We made our way to Marseilles, where my grandmother—my mother’s mother—and also my mother’s sister lived. A group of Lubavitcher chassidim lived there, and we were welcomed warmly. But the problem was that there was nothing for us there. By nothing, I mean that with the war going on, there was not enough food, and also not enough adequate shelter to handle the influx of all the refugees. We moved from house to house, from place to place. A few months later the Nazis invaded Paris, and the situation got even worse. In the midst of all this chaos and upheaval, my family was forced to split up. Only after the war did I get to see them again. Meanwhile, I was sent to an orphanage in Marseille.
The orphanage housed some forty or maybe fifty children, many of them as young as three and four years old. Some of them knew that their parents had been killed; others didn’t know what became of their mother or father. Often you would hear children crying, calling out for their parents, who were not there to answer.
As the days wore on, the situation grew more and more desperate, and food became more and more scarce. Many a day we went hungry.
And then, in the beginning of the summer of 1941, a man came to the rescue. We did not know his name; we just called him Monsieur, which is French for “Mister.” Every day, Monsieur would arrive with bags of bread—the long French baguettes—and tuna or sardines, sometimes potatoes too. He would stay until every child had eaten.
Some of the kids were so despondent, they didn’t want to eat. Those children he used to take on his lap, tell them a story, sing to them, and feed them by hand. He made sure everybody was fed. With some of the kids, he’d sit next to them on the floor and cajole them to eat, even feeding them with a spoon, if need be. He was like a father to these sad little children.
He knew every child by name, even though we didn’t know his. We loved him and looked forward to his coming. I remember there was a kid who was jealous. He also wanted to sit on Monsieur’s lap and hear songs and stories. So he pretended not to eat, in order to get his attention.
Monsieur came back day after day for several weeks. And I would say that many of the children who lived in the orphanage at that time owe their lives to him. If not for him, I, for one, wouldn’t be here.
Eventually the war ended, and I was reunited with my family. We left Europe and began our lives anew. In 1957, I came to live in New York, and that’s when my uncle suggested that I meet the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Of course, I agreed, and scheduled with the Rebbe’s secretary a time for an audience.
At the appointed date, I came to the Chabad Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway and sat down to wait. I read some Psalms and watched the parade of men and women from all walks of life who had come to see the Rebbe. Finally, I was told it was my turn, and I walked into the Rebbe’s office.
He was smiling, and immediately greeted me: “Dos iz Dovidele!—It’s Dovidele!”
I thought, “How does he know my name?” And then I nearly fainted. I was looking at Monsieur. The Rebbe was Monsieur! And he had recognized me before I had recognized him. It was unbelievable.
Later on I learned how he came to be in Marseille. He and Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka were trying to escape Nazi Europe. In order to arrange the necessary documents, he was travelling back and forth between Nice and Marseille. He must have found out about the orphanage and the plight of us poor children, and he came to our rescue.
Rabbi Neuman concluded, “What is remarkable to me is that a scholar of such magnitude, like the Rebbe, would busy himself with delivering bags of food and personally feeding small orphans. He never forgot that saving lives is of primary concern. And I shall forever be grateful that he saved mine, and because of him, I, thank G-d, have many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
Let us make a resolution to add an additional mitzvah and good deed, especially in the mitzvah of, “Love your fellow as yourself,” and may we hasten the redemption speedily in our days.
SHABBAT SHALOM
Montreal candle lighting time: 4:29 / Shabbat ends: 5:36