Rabbi Menachem Wolf
Part II
Tell us about your parents.
My parents are native Israelis. In his student years, my father was lucky to learn from the legendary chassid Rabbi Mendel Futerfass, whose wisdom, warm chassidic smile, and ability to accurately find solutions in difficult life situations, my father still remembers fondly. In late 1992, when the Rebbe had a stroke, my father was studying at the Rebbe's yeshiva in New York. At that time, his brother, Avraham, was a rabbi in Kherson, and he invited my father to assist him there. At that time for a religious person to go to Kherson was almost the same as going to the moon; there was no infrastructure or atmosphere for the practical observance of Jewish life. At the same time, my father was offered to go to Los Angeles to open a camp for the children of Russian-speaking Jewish emigrants, and my father was planning to accept this offer. But Uncle Avraham advised his brother: “I can't force you to, but at least write to the Rebbe.” The Rebbe, after his stroke, could not speak, he could only trace what was written on paper. He was given a note from my father that simply asked: “Kherson or Los Angeles?” The Rebbe circled “Kherson,” and so the matter was resolved: My father stayed in Kherson is still carrying out his mission as the Rebbe's envoy in Kherson.
After a year in Kherson, my father returned to Israel to help his father in his work in the Knesset, the Israeli parliament. My grandfather, who was the representative of the Chabad organizations in Israel to the parliament, was often called the 121st member of the Knesset. The Rebbe gave him a special blessing so that he would be favored in the eyes of the Almighty and people. And indeed, everyone loved my grandfather, even the most radical left-wing journalists and politicians. We have an interesting story in our family. The Minister of Education of Israel at that time, Shulamit Aloni, a significant public figure, represented the radical left party in parliament. She once put forward a bill that demanded that Lubavitcher Chassidim stop sending Mishloach Manot, delicious Purim holiday gifts, to Israeli soldiers in the army. On her way home after a heated debate in parliament, Shulamit met my grandfather in the car park and said: “Berke (grandfather’s name was Sholom Dov Ber), please give me two bags of Mishloach Manot for my grandchildren.” Grandfather, amazed, froze for a moment: “Shula, how is it?! You are the enemy of Mishloach Manot!” She replied: “Berke, each of us has our own work: I will do mine, and you will do yours!”
And now let's return to the beginning of the creation of the Jewish community in Kherson. In 1991, Uncle Avraham went there with his “chavrusa,” his Torah study partner, who is currently the Rebbe's envoy in Moscow. They had a task assigned to them by the Rebbe: to lead the Jews of Kherson to the Torah and commandments – in a word, to create a community. Now imagine two religious young guys who don't know a word of Russian. And where do they look for the Jews? They know neither the specifics of the Soviet Union, nor the specifics of Ukraine. But they know that in Jerusalem, before Shabbat, Jews go to the market to buy fish. They were sure that in the market they would meet Jews buying fish for Shabbat. And they were right: the first Jew they met in Kherson was selling fish in the market. It was a Jew from an old Chabad family. Seeing them, he spoke to them in Yiddish. As a child, he studied in a cheder and received a Jewish education. He became one of the first visitors to their synagogue. Despite the fact that he lived very poorly, every time he was called to the Torah, he paid for the Aliya. He did not imagine that it was possible to climb to the Torah without paying for it. He did not understand how this could be? Those Jews who came to the synagogue for the first time were not going to be told by young envoys that it is customary to give a donation for Aliya. After all, these young rabbis wanted to attract people, and this could repulse them. But the old Jew acted according to his convictions. Even if it was a ruble or two, he could not give more, but it was fundamentally important for him to give tzedakah (charity) before the Torah. He was one of the last old men who could read the Torah. And he not only knew how to read the Torah, but he knew how to be a chazzan.
What does it mean to be a “chazzan”?
Chazzan is a cantor, the shliach zibur or "messenger of the community” who is entrusted with leading the public prayer. He represents the community of Jews before the Almighty at the hour of prayer. The most interesting thing about this elderly man is that he sang the prayer using a traditional Chabad tune, which my parents and my uncle knew from the Rebbe's synagogue, as well as from the practice of prayer in the Chabad communities of Israel. But to hear in Russia how an elderly Jew who fought on the fronts of World War II and survived this war rises to the Torah and reads with tears in his eyes…? Those who are familiar with the warm Chabad intonation can appreciate this. These were the Jews in Kherson in the early 90s of the last century.
