Stories of a little boy in communist Russia. * About learning Tanya with mesirus nefesh and how learning Chassidus saved many from sin. * Rabbi Moshe Nisselevitch a”h, former director of Chamah who passed away two years ago, shared hair-raising stories at a Chassidishe farbrengen. * Presented for Chaf-Dalet Teives, the yom histalkus of the Alter Rebbe-the Baal HaTanya.
AVOIDING SCHOOL
I was born in Kremenchug in the Ukraine where approximately 60,000 Jews lived. After the Communist Revolution, only a few remained religious. Most children went to the communist school.
When I was a child, the communists obligated children to attend public school where they were taught Marxism and Leninism, aka heresy. My father, R’ Chaim Nisselevitch, who was a Chassidic askan (communal worker) and did much on behalf of Yeshivas Tomchei T’mimim, did not allow me to go to school. I remember the days I would sit at the window and watch the other children, including Jews, going to school with their briefcases while I remained at home. Sometimes I thought, when will I be able to go to school like the other children?
Staying at home was very dangerous since parents who did not send their children to the communist school could have the government remove their children from their home and send them to an orphanage. Nevertheless, my father did not allow me to go to school.
The Rebbe Rayatz once said that if you sense that your wife is unhappy because you are not sending your son to school, don’t let that bother you. Even if she yells at you, remember that if the children go to school, you will be ruining them. So don’t answer her; just say I can only give my son to the melamed.
The situation in Russia was extremely hard. Members of the Yevsektzia made us big problems. Mainly Jews worked in this government department, some of whom had attended yeshivos and then became communists. They published two newspapers in Yiddish which mocked Torah and mitzvos. They opened schools for Jews in which they studied communism in Yiddish. In Kremenchug, where I lived, a communist school was opened in which all the subjects were taught in Yiddish. Sadly, most of the Jews in the city sent their children to this school.
Not going to school left me with lots of time on my hands. One time, out of boredom, I made some mischief and one of the neighbors called the police. The police came and the gentile neighbors told them how wicked I was. “He does not go to school, they only eat kosher and they observe the Sabbath. His father is a counter-revolutionary.” This information placed my family in grave danger and as a result, I had to go to school.
It was hard in school. Everyone was Jewish, but it was co-ed. The teachers were Jewish and spoke in Yiddish but the lessons were antithetical to Torah and Judaism.
WITHSTANDING HEAVY PRESSURE
The first Shabbos, I did not go to school. On Sunday (in those days, there was a day off every six days. That way, the day of rest alternated every week, and was intended to break the set day of rest of other religions) I went to class and was terrified. When the teacher walked in I bent over and began tying my shoes. I figured that if she did not see my face, she would forget about me. The teacher began a test and then suddenly remembered, “Nisselevitch, why didn’t you come to school yesterday?” I said I had a stomachache. She gazed at me and said, “Yesterday was Shabbos,” and all the kids burst out laughing.
A week went by and it was Shabbos again and I did not go to school. Sunday morning the teacher walked into class and immediately asked me, “Nisselevitch, get up! Why didn’t you come to school?”
“I had a headache,” I said.
“Your head hurt you? Yesterday was Shabbos,” she said cynically and once again, the class burst out laughing.
This time I was trembling. I was afraid of what might happen to me and my father, because if you did not send your children to school, you could be sent to Siberia. And what would happen to me? Would I be taken to a communist orphanage? How would I keep mitzvos?
The teacher began the lesson and did not say anything further to me. The third week, they decided to stop overlooking my absences. The teacher sent me to the principal’s office. I nervously climbed up to the third floor and went into the office of Pinchas, the son of R’ Shmuel. He was the son of a rabbi but he became a member of the Yevsektzia.
“Nisselevitch, why didn’t you come to school on Saturday?” he asked.
I was silent.
“You can do well in your studies. We will help you. You will become a successful and honored man. Why don’t you come to school on Saturdays?”
I remained silent. Then he began accusing my father.
“Your father is the one who forbids you to attend school on Shabbos.”
This time I was not silent for I knew that if I remained silent, this would be interpreted as consent on my part and then, woe to my father.
“No,” I said. “My father always encourages me to go to school and on Saturdays he yells at me because I am absent from school. The reason I don’t attend school on Saturdays is because of my grandfather who died a few years ago. He forbade me from attending school on Saturdays.” I placed the blame on my departed grandfather since I knew they could do him no harm.
The principal said, “Listen Nisselevitch, you must start coming and learning on Saturday.”
Shabbos came around again and I did not attend school. My mother cried all Shabbos since she knew how dangerous this was. We personally knew some Jews who were sent to Siberia because of this “crime.”
On Sunday I went to school and once again was sent to the principal’s office. I entered his office trembling. He angrily stated, “We will be leaving now.”
We went in his car to a tall, stately building in the center of the city. We went up some flights and he entered a room while I waited outside. A few minutes later, he came out and told me to go in. When I went in, I saw a long table with eight young men who appeared to be in their late twenties sitting there. When I walked in, they all rose in my honor and shook my hand respectfully.
We sat down and one of the men began talking to me. “I learned in yeshiva,” he said softly. “I know two hundred daf Gemara by heart,” and he began to review sugiyos in the Gemara. “My father was a rav but today I work in the Yevsektzia.”
The next young man said, “I learned in the yeshiva in Slobodka. My father was a melamed.” The third one said he learned in Lomza and his father was a shochet. They all introduced themselves and told me how knowledgeable they were in Shas.
It’s important to pause here and explain how it was possible for the talmidim of these yeshivos to cave in to communism within a short time and become Yevsekim and work against Judaism, while T’mimim continued to be religious.
The answer is, learning Chassidus in general and Tanya in particular, fortifies emuna. As the illustrious Chassid, R’ Hillel Paritcher said, the alef-beis needs to be learned from a Tanya because this strengthens the emuna. In the various yeshivos they learned a lot of Gemara but not Chassidus, which is why the Chabad talmidim clung to their faith and did not submit.
Back to the story: some of these young men wore gold framed glasses from which I understood that they had become well-to-do because of their new job in undermining Judaism. They tried to talk to me nicely and convince me to go to school. “Why hold on to the past? This generation is finished. In a little while, it will be all over. Start going to school on Shabbos and we will help you with whatever you need.”
I did not react. They did not give up but said it was my father who forbade me from going to school on Shabbos. That’s when I finally spoke up. I said again that I was being faithful to my grandfather who forbade me from going to school on Shabbos.
They laughed at me and said this was a lie and I had to say the truth. At this point they started in with clever ideas.
“If you don’t want to bring books to school on Shabbos because you don’t carry, then you can bring them to school before Shabbos. If you don’t want to write on Shabbos, don’t write; just attend school.”
They spoke and I was silent.
“Will you go to school?” they asked, thinking they would hear a yes after all their promises and assurances. But I knew that at first I would go to school without books and without writing and then they would pressure me to desecrate the Shabbos. I was quiet.
“You are making a chillul Hashem” they said. “A Jew needs to make a kiddush Hashem and you? You are making a chillul Hashem. You don’t go to school and they all laugh at you. That’s a chillul Hashem and it’s hard to do t’shuva for making a chillul Hashem. You need to make a kiddush Hashem. Go to school and they will all respect you as a Jew.”
For over two hours they tried, in nice ways and in angry tones, until they lost patience and began threatening me. “If you don’t go to school on Shabbos, we will send your father to labor camps in Siberia. He will suffer there and work hard and you will remain an orphan and your mother will be a living widow. We will take you to an orphanage with a locked dormitory. If you go to school on Shabbos, then you can keep kashrus and daven and keep mitzvos, but in our orphanage you won’t be able to observe mitzvos at all, not kashrus, not Shabbos, and not t’filla.”
After all these threats they were sure I would capitulate. But I didn’t. They threw me out of the room shouting, “Get out of here! Go on Shabbos, and that’s all.” I left the place with the principal.
All week, my family was terrified. We did not know what to do. Every now and then, someone said maybe I should go to school; maybe that was better than being in a communist orphanage.
That Friday night in our home was like Tisha B’Av. My mother kept crying and my father was sad and unsure of himself. Yes school, no school? He finally decided, “Come what may, I will not send my child to school on Shabbos.”
We could not sleep that night. We thought the NKVD would come to take me away. For a moment it even seemed as though we heard their footsteps.
In the morning I did not go to school. We were more worried than ever.
On Sunday, I went to school and a miracle occurred. Nobody said a word. It seemed they had given up on me. But then they began keeping close tabs on me. Every morning, policemen came to the house to make sure I had gone to school. My tzaros weren’t over.
In those days, it was customary that children went bareheaded in school. I wore a cap and this caused me much anguish. The children laughed at me and even took my cap away as they laughed at my being a religious Jew.
One time, a few of the older boys caught me. They held my hands behind me and tried to force a pork sausage down my throat. I clamped my teeth together and thank G-d, they were unsuccessful.
IN THE SECRET YESHIVA
The difficult times did not stop even many years later. Our family had to flee Kremenchug for Kutais in Georgia where my uncle, my father’s brother, lived. I arrived at his house first and he told me that throughout the years, the NKVD questioned him about my father’s activities. As I said earlier, my father did a lot for Tomchei T’mimim. They suspected him of this and searched for evidence against him.
There in Kutais I attended Yeshivas Tomchei T’mimim. Learning in yeshiva in those days was a great test. Whoever sent their son to Tomchei T’mimim knew that he was putting not only his own life in danger but that of his entire family. When a boy was sent to one of the branches of Tomchei T’mimim, relatives would part from him with much crying for no one knew whether he would return.
In the yeshiva in Georgia, farbrengens went on until the morning. Bachurim who were yerei Shamayim, big ovdim who davened at length and meditated on Chassidus, cried like babies. Why? Because they said they did not have enough yiras Shamayim; they wanted to be greater mekusharim. They cried because they wanted their toil in Chassidus to be as it ought. They cried for spiritual reasons. Until today, I live from those farbrengens.
Georgian Jews manufactured very strong vodka. We would say l’chaim on vodka and did not even have farbaisen (lit. something to bite into). That is how we farbrenged all night.
Materially, it was very bad, but spiritually, it was very good.
We learned in a narrow building that was attached to the mikva. We would learn by day and by night and none of us worked to support ourselves. There was nothing to eat but to stop learning was out of the question.
There was a Chassid in Kutais who was greatly respected by the Jews of the city. When he realized we had nothing to eat, he wanted to collect money for the yeshiva, but how, when it was dangerous to mention the name Tomchei T’mimim?
He went to the shul where Georgian Jews davened and sat on the floor and took off his hat. “Dear Jews,” he said, “I don’t have the wherewithal to support my family. Please, help me.” They all wondered about a distinguished Jew like him not having money to buy food and each one gave him a donation. He gave the money to us so we could buy food.
HATRED FOR TANYA
The Tanya has always been the foundational book for Chassidim. Some disseminated the Tanya under the noses of the communists. A father and son from a Chassidic family from Leningrad would disseminate the Tanya. To one they would give the entire book, to another they would give some pages, the main thing being that everyone have Tanya to learn. This was in Stalin’s times and the two of them were eventually caught.
In the cellars of the secret police they began beating the son in front of the father until he died. The father realized that his end was also near. But this was not the case. He was sent to Siberia where he suffered until he died and did not merit a Jewish burial.
The communists knew that the T’mimim and Chassidim held fast to their Judaism because they learned Chassidus, so they always looked for sifrei Chassidus and confiscated them. No wonder then that whoever they caught with sifrei Chassidus was punished severely.
I heard a special story about this when I was about to leave the Soviet Union. It was after World War II when the gates of the Soviet Union opened. Rabbanim paskened that it was obligatory to escape Russia, even on Shabbos. This was based on the principle that we desecrate one Shabbos in order to keep many more Shabbasos, and not only Shabbos but all the mitzvos.
I was supposed to travel on Shabbos to the border city of Lvov but heaven decreed otherwise. I boarded a train to Moscow (from where we were supposed to go to Lvov) together with my mother and sister. The trip took several days and before Shabbos I took out all my documents, money and other muktza items from my pockets and put them in our bundles.
On Shabbos morning, the train stopped at a station in the Kuibyshev region. My mother and I got off the train. Before we got off, the conductor announced that the train would leave in half an hour. Five minutes later, the train suddenly began moving and departed! My sister remained on the train alone and my mother and I were stuck at the station without documents or money.
We walked around the train station until the police arrested us. I was accused of being a German spy. After a brief interrogation I was released. With the help of the Jews of the nearby town, I bought tickets after Shabbos for a train going to Moscow.
Due to the loss of the documents and money, we waited for over three months in Moscow until other forged documents were obtained which I was supposed to take with me to Lvov. There, together with the other Chassidim, we were supposed to cross into Poland. Since I had no money for tickets, they got me tickets for soldiers that cost only a token sum.
On the way to Lvov the train stopped in Kiev where the tickets were examined. I was caught as a civilian using a soldier’s ticket. I was taken off the train and once again, I was alone in an unfamiliar city.
On Shabbos I went to shul where I met someone who invited me to stay with him. In his home, I met someone who looked very down. In those days, you didn’t ask questions and so, throughout the meal, we kept quiet. Each one was afraid that the other might tattle on him to the authorities (see box).
The host began talking to the guest who used the expression “b’poel mamash,” from which I understood that he knew Chassidic lingo and was apparently one of us. Still, I was afraid to talk to him. After the meal, I asked the host about him and he told me that the guest was caught learning Torah and was sent to Siberia. He returned from there just two weeks earlier.
Although this story rang true, I was still afraid that he was a member of the secret police. The next day, I went to shul and saw the guest standing behind the bookcase and looking for a book to learn. I went over to talk to him but he moved away. I tried to approach him once again but he moved away. I figured that if he was from the secret police, he himself would try to talk to me. I walked over to him quickly and before he managed to escape I began talking to him. Within a short time, we opened up to one another. He turned out to be R’ Mottel Lifshitz, a Lubavitcher Chassid from Moscow (his memoir in Yiddish is Zichronos foon Gulag).
He told me why he had been sent to Siberia. He learned in the branch of Tomchei T’mimim in Kiev. The bachurim were mekarev an assimilated youth. One day, during the Tanya shiur, this youth left the yeshiva and went straight to the secret police headquarters. Within a few minutes, policemen had surrounded the place, some of them dressed in plainclothes and others in uniform. The bachurim had managed to hide the sifrei Chassidus and take out Gemaras when the police broke in.
They conducted a thorough search but did not find the Tanyas. “Were you just learning Tanya?” shouted one of them. The bachurim explained that they were learning Gemara. “Where are your Tanyas?” screamed the police. “Bring them. We know that you learn Tanya.” The bachurim refused to disclose the hiding place and the police continued to search until they found them. They left the Gemaras in the yeshiva but took away the Tanyas. The communists knew that Chassidus is what kept the Chassidim going.
The bachurim were taken to the interrogation cellars where they were tortured. They were asked where other bachurim learned but they did not reveal anything.
In one of the interrogations, the interrogator asked the bachurim what power sustained them. “All Jews try to keep mitzvos in their home, while you, wherever you go, you find children to teach, immediately placing holy water in the pit (mikva). Who or what gives you the strength for this?”
The bachurim remained silent. Then the interrogator said, “You have a father; he is your Rebbe. Your Rebbe is the communists’ biggest enemy. He is the one who gives you the strength. The books of Chassidus of your Rebbe give you a lot of strength.”
Because they learned Tanya, the bachurim and R’ Mottel were sentenced to ten years in Siberia.
MIRACULOUS RESCUE
In order to understand the conditions under which the Chassidim lived in Siberia, I will tell a story that I heard from R’ Mottel. The prisoners slept in a barrack which was very crowded, to the point that it was quite warm despite the Siberian cold. Shortly after arriving in Siberia, they told him to move to a different barrack.
He was supposed to go to a new barrack at night but he did not find the way. He walked for a long time and was lost in a camp that was spread out over a huge area. Suddenly, he heard shouts and bullets began shrieking over his head. “Halt! Halt!” shouted a guard in the guard tower. “Why did you run away? I have the right to kill you now!”
R’ Mottel pleaded for his life but the guard told him, “Quiet! I’m killing you.”
R’ Mottel suddenly saw a vision of the Rebbe Rayatz in front of him. “Say Tanya and be saved,” said the Rebbe. He began saying Tanya and when the guard shot at him point blank, the bullet miraculously missed him.
“Get out of here,” yelled the guard.
When he returned to the barrack, the prisoners told him that many had been killed when they got lost in the camp.
During the days in which R’ Mottel and I spoke, I could see he was very depressed. He thought that Chabad no longer existed in Russia since all of them had been sent to Siberia. I told him that, thank G-d, Chabad was still alive and well.
After a while, I left Kiev for Lvov where I met the Chassid R’ Michel Rappaport and other Chassidim who were friends of R’ Mottel. They helped him emerge from his depression and even provided him with an appropriate Chassidishe shidduch.
OPEN DOORS
As is known, many Chassidim escaped Russia for Poland with forged documents. Many were caught and those who were unable to leave remained in Russia for many more years, including myself. I was in Lvov when I heard that Chassidim had been caught and that they were looking for other Chassidim in the city. I was afraid I would also be caught and so I disguised myself as a woman. I wore a kerchief and skirt and escaped the city.
We lived in Samarkand for the next twenty-five years together with a group of Chassidim. It was later, in the 70’s, when the Iron Curtain opened again that we all left for Eretz Yisroel.
In 5732, I went to the Rebbe with other Chassidim who had left Russia at that time and we enjoyed many kiruvim. In the yechidus that I had, I brought the Rebbe pictures of the talmidim who learned in secret yeshivos. The yechidus lasted three quarters of an hour and the Rebbe gave me instructions regarding Judaism in Russia and the new immigrants in Eretz Yisroel.
CAN YOU HIDE FROM THE KGB?
During that difficult time, it was even hard to celebrate a bar mitzva. One of the boys, the son of one of the Chassidim, turned thirteen. His father lived in a city where there were no other religious Jews and he wanted to arrange a minyan for the Torah reading in his home so his son could have an aliya. He and his son were two men and within a few days he managed to convince another seven friends and relatives to come and complete a minyan in his home. The men were selected very carefully; these were men whom he knew would keep quiet. Needing a tenth man, and with no other option, he found someone whom he did not completely trust, to complete the minyan.
They all arrived that morning. The host was afraid to hold a minyan for davening which is why a Torah was immediately taken out. It had been brought secretly the day before. The boy had his aliya. Immediately afterward, they dispersed, one by one. The Torah was returned to the shul and that was that.
A long time passed and the gates of Russia opened. The host had received a bracha from the Rebbe to leave and he submitted a request for a visa. The day after he submitted the request, the man who had been the tenth for the minyan came to his house.
“I heard you want to go to Eretz Yisroel,” he said. The Chassid denied it but the man said, “I know that you’re going and listen to what I have to say. From now on, do not let anyone into your home so you won’t have problems.” Then he said, “Many years ago, the KGB made me give them information about everything I saw and heard among the Jews. Once a week, I would meet with them but I always said I hadn’t seen or heard anything special.
“The week that your son’s aliya took place, I went to them as usual and said I did not remember anything in particular. ‘You liar,’ they said to me. ‘You have information and you’d better tell us.’ I insisted that I remembered nothing. ‘Remember,’ they urged me. They pressured me until they said, ‘You attended the bar mitzva.’
“I realized that despite all the care you took, in that small group of men there were two of their people. This is why you must be exceedingly careful and do not rely on anyone.”