Chabad connections continued

Rabbi Lipszyc's Story of the Week
Dedicated in honor of Perel krinsky's Birthday

Epilogue to second story:

After many trials and tribulations, in 1946 my parents with my older five siblings arrived in New York in the United States. My father was offered a job as a shochet in Charleston South Carolina. My father did not know whether to accept it or not, especially since it was not a place where there was chinuch for the children. It was not possible to ask the Gerer Rebbe, who was in Israel, and my father had to give an answer about the job that very evening.

He then remembered that he had heard that the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, the Rebbe Rayatz, was then living in Brooklyn, New York. And so my father went to 770 Eastern Parkway to try and get to see the Rebbe Rayatz and perhaps get an answer from him on whether he should accept the job.

When my father got to 770 he went up to the second floor where the Rebbe Rayatz was. The set up was that there were 3 doors and in the middle there was a table where Rabbi Elya Simpson, the Rebbe’s gabbai was sitting. In Ger the custom was that if one wanted to speak with the rebbe, he would go up to the Rebbe’s door and knock on it. If the Rebbe said “enter” you could enter, if not you didn’t. So my father wandered around looking at each of these three doors to try and deduct which of these doors he was supposed to knock on to be able to enter. He was not able to see any sign that would give an indication of which door was the Rebbe’s door.

As my father kept walking from door to door Rabbi Simpson was looking at him and finally asked him “young man what are you looking for?” My father looked at him in surprise and said somewhat sarcastically “and what would a Jew be looking for in a rebbe’s house?” At this Rabbi Simpson began laughing to which my father became very annoyed and asked him “what’s so funny?” Rabbi Simpson explained that perhaps in Ger it works that way, but in Lubavitch one can only get to speak to the rebbe by getting an appointment.

My father tried convincing Rabbi Simpson that it was an urgent matter and perhaps if he would just take my father’s name into the rebbe perhaps he would be willing to see him. Rabbi Simpson responded that the Rebbe was not feeling well and therefore he would not bother him. To this my father modified his request. “I don’t really need to see him I just need an answer to this question, perhaps you can put the question to him and he then can just tell you what I should do.”  Rabbi Simpson refused to bother the Rebbe at all. My father tried arguing with him, to no avail. Suddenly my father heard a voice calling for Rabbi Simpson. Not knowing from where the voice was coming, my father swung around looking. As he realized his mistake, that it was not coming from behind him, he turned back around and saw how Rabbi Simpson was already entering into one of the rooms.

Realizing that it was the rebbe’s room that Rabbi Simpson was entering, my father was very annoyed feeling that if he was already entering the Rebbe’s room he could have taken my father’s name. So feeling that obviously he was not meant to have any relationship with this Rebbe, my father started going down the stairs to leave 770.

Rabbi Simpson comes running down the stairs after him yelling “young man, young man who are you?” My father was quite upset and he turns to Rabbi Simpson and responds, “now you ask me? You should’ve asked me that before you went into the Rebbe!” To this challenge, Rabbi Simpson says to my father “that’s why I’m asking, the Rebbe called me in and said I should immediately let you in, since he owes you a favor. So I want to know who are you? And what favor does the Rebbe owe you?” My father still being annoyed with Rabbi Simpson, did not want to answer him, so he said “the Rebbe is waiting for me,” and he ran into the room without answering Rabbi Simpson’s questions.

The Rebbe told my father that he should accept the offer and become shochet in Charleston, South Carolina. To my father’s question as to what about chinuch for the children? His response was “leave your oldest (who was still under Bar Mitzvah) in a yeshiva in New York and you can rely on your wife to give the younger four a proper chinuch.

When my father left the Rebbe’s room, Rabbi Simpson blocked my father’s way and said, “young man I am not letting you leave until you tell me who you are and what favor the Rebbe owed you.” At this point my father was no longer upset and so he told Rabbi Simpson who he was and the story of how he met the Rebbe in Paris. Eventually, Rabbi Simpson’s family and my parents family became very very close.

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