Mrs. Y. sat at the Shabbos table and felt like a queen. The Friday night guests had cancelled, so it was just their own family at the table. The children decided that Mommy and Tatty would be the honored guests at the Shabbos meal for a change, and the children would take care of serving and clearing each course.
“You have all done an amazing job with the gashmius,” Tatty remarked after the chicken and kugel were served and everyone was seated. “Now it’s time for some ruchnius. Who wants to give over a D’var Malchus?”
Mendel volunteered. “I learned this week about the voice of Hashem Yisborach at Mattan Torah. The pasuk calls it ‘a great voice that did not stop.’ The Midrash asks: what is the meaning of the expression ‘it did not stop?’ The Midrash gives three explanations: that the voice extended itself into all seventy languages of the nations, that the voice continues on in the prophecies of the N’viim and tzaddikim throughout the generations, and that the voice had no echo.
“The Rebbe discusses the three explanations. The first explanation shows that the voice of Mattan Torah is unlimited because it affects all the nations of the world; the second shows that it is unlimited in time; but how does the fact that it had no echo show its unlimited nature?”
Chani spoke up, “I learned this sicha, too. Can I tell the answer?”
“Okay,” said Mendel, “I don’t mind!”
“An echo happens because the sound waves hit a solid object and bounce back. The voice of Hashem was not stopped by any object; it went straight through and affected every single thing in the world!” explained Chani.
“Exactly!” confirmed Mendel. “Now we, who received the Torah, can reveal that effect in every place and at every time.”
“Thank you Mendel, and thank you Chani,” said Mrs. Y. “That was beautiful! This reminded me of something that happened to me when I was about 13 years old.”
“Tell us, Mommy, tell us!”
“It must have been around 1971. As you know, I grew up outside of New York, and Zeidy and Bubby had become active members of the small Chabad community. When it became possible to hook-up to the Rebbe’s farbrengens and hear them live, Zeidy was very excited. He arranged for the hook-ups to be broadcast in our city, in fact, in our very own house. Every time there was a weekday farbrengen, all those who wanted to hear it would gather in our living room and dining room.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Mendel, “imagine being able to hear the Rebbe as he was saying the sichos that we now learn!”
“We didn’t get to hear the Shabbos or Yom Tov farbrengens. One had to be in Crown Heights to hear those, of course,” explained Mommy, “but there were still plenty of hook-ups on other days.”
“The walls of Bubby and Zaidy’s house must have absorbed a lot of ‘the voice of Mattan Torah.’ It must have been so special,” said Chani.
“Well, at the time I didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have. I didn’t understand much Yiddish then. I did enjoy seeing how many people came and I was proud that our home and family had this z’chus. I usually sat and listened, and sometimes someone would tell me a bit of what the Rebbe said.
“One evening I will never forget. We lived in a house with a finished basement. In that basement we had an old television…”
“Mommy,” interrupted Chani, “I can’t believe it! A television? In Bubby’s and Zeidy’s house?”
“At that time, and in our city, just about everyone that I knew had one. It was considered a standard piece of furniture. All of my friends had new color televisions; some even had more than one. Ours, however, was an old black and white one that was on its last legs. When I asked my mother when she was planning to get a new one, she answered that as soon as this one broke completely, that would be it. Then there would be no more television in our house. Considering the time and place, this was quite a radical decision!
“One particular evening when there was a hook-up, I had a great dilemma. There was supposed to be a spectacular program on T.V. that I had a great desire to watch. I knew that I could easily go down into the basement and watch it without getting into trouble, but I felt funny doing so with the Rebbe’s voice reverberating from the loudspeaker in the living room.
“‘So what?’ said my Yetzer HaRa. ‘You don’t understand a word of Yiddish.’
“‘But your neshama understands,’ countered my Yetzer Tov.
“‘There will be more farbrengens this year. It won’t make much difference if you miss this one. Who knows if the television program will ever be shown again!’ answered the Y.H.
“‘How can you compare the two? One is holy, the other is klipa!’ cried the Y.T.
“‘Klipa? But it is somewhat educational! And everyone in your class is watching it, how bad could it be?’ The Y.H. had an answer for everything.
“‘Come on, you’re not going to fall for such foolish arguments,’ the Y.T. pleaded with me. So kids, what do you think I chose?”
“You listened to your Yetzer Tov,” all of the children called out together.
“Wrong. Sorry to say, I went down to the basement and turned on the T.V.”
“MOMMY! YOU DIDN’T!”
“Unfortunately the truth is that I did. I sneaked down into the basement, turned on the television, and boom, all I could get was static. No sound, no picture. The k’dusha of the Rebbe’s voice upstairs was too much for the klipa in the basement. It was kaput, finished, never to work again. And that was the end of our television. I was the only one in my class without one, but believe me, I soon realized how much better off I was without it.”
Mendel burst out: “So the voice at Mattan Torah, of ‘Anochi Hashem,’ does not stop, all three explanations included!”
The above true story was heard from Mrs. Y. herself. The lesson is based on Likkutei Sichos Vol. 4 pp. 1092-1098.