The Last Exile

I am rushing to say my little bit in honour of last Rebbe of the Lubavitch before sunset tonight. This is the anniversary of his death. Some may quibble with me by even referring to the fact that the last Rebbe died an earthly death. To them, I have no words except this, I am not a meshichist.

It’s no secret that the Lubavitch hold a place in my heart. These are my ancestral roots although I make no claim among the Chassids. Nor do I fear or hold them in contempt or scorn. Mostly, when I think of them; it is as a group of very special people whom I have had the opportunity, now and then, to sojourn beside in this thing called life. I think they have something very special to teach us if we only open enough to listen with our hearts.

I could never be a Chassid. The degree of trust necessary to cling to a Rebbe’s wisdom in all things a Chassid must possess goes against my nature – for at the core I am the rebellious daughter. Even now, my father lectures me that only uneducated and ignorant men and women believe in a creator and master of the universe. I just shrug and say an extra Shema. I figure one day we will both know which of us has the right of it, and if I am wrong – ohl well and so it goes. I will have least lived the rest of my life trying to do the right things, the moral things, and leave the world a little better for the effort. And if he’s right, at least; I won’t have to listen to him gloat for an eternity.

I owe the Rebbe a twofold debt. I sound like I actually met or knew him. I haven’t but he made an impact on my life in two distinct ways. He sent his Shluchim out into the world and by doing so he enriched the last few years of my grandfather’s life. A chance encounter with a shaliach of the Rebbe, gave the man I most loved – comfort, peace and a little of the dignity he thought lost forever.

I inherited a number of Rebbe’s writings. Actually, I didn’t so much as inherit them as my father gave me free rein to take what I wanted from my grandparent’s home. Among my grandparents things I took my grandmother’s little knickknacks her children had given her when they were little for her birthday and for mother’s day. She honoured and treasured them and always kept them on display in her kitchen so now they are displayed in mine in memory of her. Among my grandfather’s things I took his books, the one’s he treasured most. Among them were many discourses of the Rebbe’s writings on this and that. For years, they collected dust, and then one day they called my name. There is something about an unread book on my bookshelf which acts as the most serious kind of personal reproach to me so I had no choice but to start to read.

At first, most of what I read made very little sense to me as I had so little common reference points for what the Rebbe was trying to teach me. This made me read more and search further at field to try to comprehend. I won’t make the slightest pretense for fully understanding yet – but what I have learned has challenged me in a way which has and continues to – create a revolution in my every day life. Now, my son reads them from time to time. For better or worse Chabad-Lubavitch is unique among the Chassids, but for the Rebbe and his wisdom, I will always be grateful…but how did he know that by sending out his Schulim he would find us just when we needed it the most?