1.
There were hundreds of tables set up in the huge hall, with thousands of seats, but the usher directed me straight to the corner. Behind a row of synthetic flowerpots was a small table reserved for the men at the event: Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky, who is responsible for the Shluchim network around the world, three members of his office, two medical personnel, and your faithful servant.
Welcome to the Chabad global branch gathering: three thousand women and seven men.
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Oh, what a privilege to be here. And how lucky I was to find a good excuse. Tonight I'm the photographer for my wife's article. I got off cheap. It's easier than being a waiter or washing 3,000 plates after the event.
2.
In the foyer outside, dozens of young babysitters look after the many shluchim who were born this year and are now sleeping in a stroller, and inside, a women's orchestra plays ancient Chabad melodies. Every year, there is a keynote speaker at the conference, and the one chosen this time is Nechama Dina Freundlich, the Chabad emissary to Beijing, China.
""Most of you probably don't want me to sit at your table," she begins humorously. All the women in the room laugh, and then she moves on to describe the struggles of her and her family's mission in China over the past 19 years in general, and the last month of the coronavirus in particular.
She only left China a few days ago, but her husband, Rabbi Shimon Freundlich, is still there. Why? Because there are Jews who need him there, she says simply.
At a certain point in the speech, she tells of a fan, an Israeli who worked for a short time in a Chabad restaurant and then moved to a distant city in the East, whose brief connection with him led to saving a life in Israel (a long, winding and very moving story that may be told in a separate column). At the height of the story, the translator who was translating the entire evening simultaneously, from English to Hebrew, gasped with excitement. At first, I heard her voice cracking in my headphones, but then she really started crying.
3.
And from the East to Europe. The screen projects the scenery of Venice, and I prepare for another favorite video about a great Seder night or an impressive Hanukkah campaign. Little did I know that one of the most wonderful stories of the coming of the Messiah I have ever heard would soon arrive. Precisely because of its simplicity and because it contains no miracles, voices, or lightning.
""Venice is a beautiful city, everyone knows it," says Shahar Benin, the emissary there, "even though there are so many people who pass through here, whether for a full Sabbath or even just to eat something or to pray in the minyan, we do our best to connect with each person. Each person is a whole world.".
Then she tells the following story in English: "One Yom Kippur, it was right before closing prayers, I passed by our Chabad house, and saw the Rebbe's smile in the large picture on the front of the building, with the inscription 'No Jew will remain in exile.' As I quickly passed there on my way to the synagogue, I noticed someone walking around inside the Chabad house. I glanced inside and to my surprise I saw a young woman, in her early twenties, sitting at the computer.".
And here we see on the screen a young Israeli woman, her name is Kesem, who tells the story from her perspective: "I opened the door of the Chabad house and felt very comfortable. I turned on the light, asked if anyone was here, and no one was there. So I turned on music and started going through my emails on the computer. Suddenly, someone comes in and speaks to me in English.".
And again the camera returns to the building: "I opened the door, as if it were a normal day, and I said to her: Welcome to the Chabad of Venice. I introduced myself, and the nice young lady looked up and smiled. I said to her: Listen, in a short while I'll be preparing a big meal for all our guests, why don't you join us? And she replied: With pleasure, why not. She got up and went to get her huge backpack.
""Then, when we left, I said to her, casually: Oh, you know what? I need to go to synagogue, really quickly, just to pray, and then we'll all go to dinner. What do you think? And she replied: Great, why not. And suddenly, as if thinking to herself out loud, this traveler says to me: Wait, dinner? Synagogue? What's going on? Is there anything special today? What day is it today?
""It was ten years ago, but I still remember that moment. I knew that no matter what I chose to say, when she understood the importance of the day and the situation, she would probably be sad. But worse than that, I was afraid she would be ashamed.".
4.
Luckily, in this segment of the evening, the translation is in the subtitles in the body of the film and not simultaneously in the headphones like during the speeches. The translator would probably have been distraught here (like me). How much caring, how much sensitivity towards another Jew. Even if you just met him for the first time, even if he desecrates Yom Kippur, even if he does it using your computer. If someone had accessed their Gmail on my computer a few minutes before the closing prayer, I don't know what I would have done.
One thing is clear: I wouldn't start calculating how I wouldn't insult him.
Well, but what will the messenger Shahar say to Kasem? How will she get out of this delicate situation without hurting her in the midst of the holy day?
""In that second," Shahar continues, "I realized that as long as she could see that I was honest, and that things really came from my heart, it would soften the embarrassment a little. So I answered her: What day is it today? Exactly the perfect day for us to meet.".
Applause is heard in the hall. What a wonderful answer. "I thought to myself at that moment: The closing prayer is when the gate is locked. I don't intend to leave her outside, we will be together.".
And again Kesem speaks: "I still remember Shahar's pleasant presence that accompanied me. Then she said: Listen, Kesem, this is the last moment of the closing prayer. If you pray this prayer, it's as if you've prayed all the prayers your whole life. It made me realize that this is the thing. That was the moment my soul woke up and I just burst into tears that I can't explain. A kind of connection that is so from above: the precise message, at the precise moment, with the precise words. It created a triangle of love in me that simply built and connected and leads me to this day.".
Well, you can already understand from the style of Kesem's words that today she already knows what Yom Kippur is. But it's much more: today she herself is a Chabad emissary.
""When we come into contact with a friend, a neighbor, someone at work," concludes the envoy from Venice, "we have an opportunity to love the other, to show that you care, to do something good. We meet so many people in life, but we need to give each one a personal experience. This is a duty that is incumbent upon us.".
5.
The moderator invites Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky to the stage. He thanks the thousands of women who came to the gathering and the thousands of husbands who keep their children at home, and then tells a story that happened in the early 1960s.
Rabbi Yosef Weinberg, a prominent Chabad Hasidim, received a phone call from a Jew in Oklahoma with an urgent question for the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Weinberg went to the Rebbe's office in Building 770 to hand over the note with the question to the secretary. It was late. Rabbi Chadkov, the secretary, had already entered the Rebbe's room with all the letters and inquiries that had arrived during the day to receive his answers.
Since it was an urgent matter, Weinberg put the note with the question in an envelope and placed it in the crack between the door and the jamb. He thought that the secretary would come out and then see the letter in the door and realize that it was an urgent question for the Rebbe. But when the door opened, the letter fell to the ground. The secretary didn’t notice, but the Rebbe did. He bent down and picked up the letter, and a few minutes later he answered the question.
The next day, Rabbi Weinberg wrote a letter of apology to the Rebbe for making him bend over and pick up the letter. The Lubavitcher Rebbe replied in one sentence: "Isn't that all I care about - picking up. Especially things that others ignore...".
Rabbi Kotlarsky connects this sentence to the great role of our generation – to lift up every Jew everywhere in the world, especially if most of the world ignores him.
He gets off the stage and returns to us, behind the flower pots. I congratulate him on his speech, but in my head he is still talking, giving me a twinge of conscience.
Does Chabad have a monopoly on caring for the fate of the people of Israel? Why exactly? Can someone who was not born a Chabad member not adopt such values in their lives? I didn't say go on a mission to China. That's a bit complicated now. But there are other places in the world. And actually, why go that far? There are enough places in Israel. Even in your city. In your neighborhood. You know what? Leave. In your building. In your office. You don't have to be actual Chabad emissaries, but you have to try to at least develop some kind of awareness.
This can change the world much more than the election result. It's a more important platform than a party's platform. We just have to make a switch in our minds, in our hearts. You don't have to live in Venice for this.
6.
Between one moving speech and another moving film, I ask Rabbi Kotlarsky about the tefillin scandal in Tel Aviv and, in general, about all matters of "religion." While emissaries in other parts of the world have to deal with anti-Semitism, assimilation, and other challenges, Israel provides home-grown problems, of Jews against Jews. He says he is certainly troubled. I am sure he will tell me now that he is worried about the damage to the status of Chabad emissaries and the incitement against them from extremist secular organizations. But no.
"I am worried about the Land of Israel," he says, reminding me that the Plan of the Century is not the guarantee of our security. "The Rebbe spoke about the integrity of the land, the integrity of the people and the integrity of the Torah. If the integrity of the Torah is harmed, if fewer children learn Judaism, fewer young men put on tefillin, if the media incites all day against observing the mitzvot – that means not only less Torah, but also less security.
""People talk about Tel Aviv, about mandates, about incitement, and forget the main thing: Those who struggle with the Torah like this do not only harm the religious, or only Judaism, they harm the security of the Land of Israel.".
• The column is published in the newspaper 'Bisheva''
