THE FIVE SONS OF THE SEDER IN DHARAMKOT

Most of the participants at the s’darim at Chabad houses in India fall into the category of the “Fifth Son” whom the Rebbe said must also be brought to the table. * The “Fifth Son” comes in many guises – as a Wise Son, a Wicked Son, a Simple Son, and One Who Does Not Know How to Ask. And there is the fifth son within the category of Fifth Son who doesn’t even show up and ends up making a Seder for himself. * Rabbi Dror Moshe Shaul, the Rebbe’s shliach to Dharamkot, Dharamsala, together with his family and the bachurim Eliyahu Sebbag and Mendy Taib, tell about five special people.

THE WISE SON

Rabbi Dror Moshe Shaul relates:

It was just a few minutes before Yom Tov when a couple with two daughters walked into the Chabad house. They had obviously come from far away. The mother introduced her husband and children. She said they had just arrived from an organic food farm near Chennai in southern India, a distance of a week’s travel by car from Dharamsala, and it was very important to them to celebrate Pesach with other Jews. Since they had heard there was a Chabad house in the area, they had chosen to make the trip.

The couple apologized for arriving at the last minute and asked whether or not they could still register. They added that they were vegetarians and did not eat meat, eggs, and fish and they did not drink wine. “We will manage with matza,” said the father.

I told them that I was a vegetarian for years and that “Elokim” is numerically equivalent to “HaTeva” (nature). Of course I told them they were welcome to join us, and food was no problem since we had plenty and there were even vegetarian courses. And that is how we came to host this wonderful family. They ended up staying with us for the entire Yom Tov; first, because they really enjoyed our company and second, because their children became friends with my children.

Friday night, which was Chol HaMoed, the atmosphere was particularly friendly and the father decided to share a personal story he had with the Rebbe. This is what he said:

“It was 5745. I was a soldier in the IDF and serving, like many of my comrades, in Lebanon. It was very rough going and the IDF sustained losses every day.

“One day, a bomb landed on our position, and as a result of the powerful blast, one of my kidneys was severely injured. I was taken by military helicopter to Rambam hospital in Haifa where I lay unconscious. I was in critical condition and hovered between life and death. The doctors felt helpless and were afraid I had contracted a kidney infection, so they decided to gamble on a dangerous treatment in which the affected area is attacked with strong medication that destroys all the diseased cells. The great danger in this treatment is that it also destroys the good antibodies and many people die of this protocol. And yet, they had no other way to treat me.

“Since I was unconscious, they asked my parents for permission to carry out this treatment. They informed my parents that this could not be postponed and every minute was critical. If they did not give me the proper treatment, and if this was in fact an infection of the kidney, my condition would be irremediable. They wanted to begin treatment as soon as possible.

“My parents did not know what to do. Since this was a life and death matter, they continued to vacillate. It was a Thursday night. They were asked to make a final decision that same night and on Friday, the doctors prepared to begin treatment.

“A good friend of my father, Rabbi Yosef Helfinger of Yerushalayim, was staying with my parents at the time. He is a Lubavitcher Chassid, and when he saw my father’s dilemma, he suggested that he consult with the Rebbe. My father, who was not religious, did not understand why the Rebbe would know more than the doctors. He wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but since this was a critical decision and he had nothing to lose, he agreed to ask the Rebbe. That same evening, a fax marked ‘urgent’ was sent to the Rebbe with the details of the medical situation.

“The Rebbe’s answer arrived a few hours later. It said not to give the treatment and I would recover. My father told the doctors the Rebbe’s answer. They did not understand how he could rely on some bearded rabbi living in New York.

“The unbelievable happened. On Motzaei Shabbos a new CT scan showed that I was not suffering from what they had feared. My parents turned white when they found out that if they had given me the treatment on Friday, I would no longer be alive.

“In light of the new findings, I underwent a complicated operation, after which my condition continuously improved. A while later, my parents were informed that I was out of danger. It took a little while longer until I regained full consciousness. Within a few weeks I was healed of my wound and released from the hospital. You see me here, still not religious, but I had an open miracle with the Rebbe and thanks to the Rebbe I am here with you. I am full of appreciation and thanks to the Rebbe who saved my life.”

The man, a clinical psychologist, has been living with his family in India for nine years now. He and his wife run an organic farming plantation, which has thousands of volunteers passing through every year. Every Friday they hold a meal for several hundred people in which they explain the principles of ecological naturalism. They have influenced thousands of people around the world.

As we spoke, I learned that their family name is Ruzhin and that they are descendants of the Tzaddik of Ruzhin. I told the family about the close relationship between Chassidus Chabad and Chassidus Ruzhin and they were interested in hearing some stories about the Ruzhiner Rebbe.

Before the Ruzhin family left on their exhausting trip back home, we gave them a picture of the Rebbe as well as mezuzos. The father, who was very moved, said he would hang the picture in the foyer of his home and would tell everyone who came that he owes his life to this man.

After eleven years on shlichus in Dharamsala during which we have met tens of thousands of Jews, I am always amazed to see how the Rebbe touches everyone. If only we learned from this man and honestly say that it is only thanks to the Rebbe that we are alive!

THE WICKED SON

In one of the Rebbe’s sichos, he explains that even the Wicked Son has a connection to the Exodus from Egypt. The proof is that he asks, “What is this service to you?” If he’s asking, it shows that he takes an interest in it. So even he has to be drawn in a nice way, and we are guaranteed that if we make the effort, it is not done for nothing.

We look for Jews in all the nooks and crannies. Every so often we go down to a neighboring village called Bhagsu to enable Jews to put on t’fillin and to have a pleasant interaction with them. We sometimes encounter tourists who are looking for answers to all sorts of questions that bother them, and we do our best to answer them.

Two days before Pesach, I went around to the many restaurants to put t’fillin on people and to register them for the Seder. At one of the local restaurants I met L., a tall, husky fellow with a powerful Yiddishe neshama and I invited him to register. He eagerly accepted and said he wanted to attend all the holiday meals.

“Why is it important to you?” I asked him. He told me that he had decided that this Pesach no treif would enter his mouth. Since the Chabad house is the only kosher place in the area, he wanted to eat all his meals there. I was happy to mark him down.

Let it be said in L.’s favor that he did, in fact, show up to all the meals. The flipside was that whenever the conversation got around to matters of faith or stories from the Torah, he would ask heretical questions, just like the Wicked Son who asks, “What is this service to you?” He spoke disparagingly about Rashi’s commentary and constantly looked for contradictions in the text. He had difficulty accepting any insights or explanations based on the Torah. That’s the way it was, time after time. Whether it was in the middle of a sicha of the Rebbe or even a Chassidic tale, he always had something to say. It began interfering with the messages we wanted to convey to the other guests, but we tried to respond to his questions with a smile.

Shvii Shel Pesach, after the Yom Tov meal, we held a learning workshop into the night on popular topics such as reincarnation, Moshiach, and relationships.

For some reason, L. sat there for hours and as the time passed, his interjections and opposition diminished until they ceased. Tiredness threatened to overcome him, but he stuck it out until the end. Even when the last of the guests left, he remained a while longer and listened. We all felt it was his personal “splitting of the sea.”

After that, we did not hear another question out of him. On the contrary, from that day on, he accepted what we said in good spirits and passed it along to others.

THE SIMPLE SON

This story happened here on Erev Pesach, a few hours before Yom Tov.

The Chabad house was set up for a public Seder. There had been a registration drive with a token fee so we could plan accordingly, both logistically and for security measures. The night of B’dikas Chametz, a Jewish woman of Polish background came to the Chabad house with her three children, two sons and a daughter. Mendy Taib suggested that she register for the Seder the following night. The woman looked at him, and with a bitter smile she said she had no idea what she was going to do the following night.

“What do you mean?” asked Mendy, and the woman said that three months prior to her trip, she had been granted a visa for India. Her three children were given visas for half a year but she was given only a three month visa. Somehow, she did not notice this detail. She had arrived in India two days earlier, and upon entering the country the border officer told her that her visa was in effect only for the next two days and would expire the next night. At that point she would have to leave.

The woman related, “All my attempts to extend my visa failed. I begged the Indian policeman to at least give me an extension of a few days so I could spend Pesach with my children, but he explained that he did not have the authority to do so. He said that maybe if I went to Dharamsala there was a chance that the local police would give me an extension.

“Since my children do not want to continue on without me, and certainly not to have the Seder without me, we decided to fly back to Eretz Yisroel tomorrow night. I ordered tickets for a flight leaving Delhi tomorrow night, so I must leave Dharamkot tonight in order to get to Delhi in time.”

Her children, who were very disappointed by the cancellation of all their plans, told Mendy that if their mother did not get an extension, they would not celebrate Pesach or observe the prohibition of not eating chametz on Pesach.

Mendy commiserated and was saddened to hear this troubling pronouncement. Then he suddenly had an idea and he said to the woman: “Register for the Seder and that will be a vessel for the bracha. With Hashem’s help, all will be well.”

The woman did not understand how registering would solve her problem and Mendy told her the story about two Jews who went to the Rebbe for a bracha for children. One of them went to a store and bought a baby carriage while the other one took a wait-and-see approach. A year later, the one who had bought a carriage had a baby while the other one was still waiting.

“If you register for the seder with sincere faith that things will work out,” said Mendy, “I am confident that they will work out.”

The woman looked at him and exclaimed heatedly, “Do you know what you are saying? Didn’t I make myself clear? I bought the tickets already and tomorrow I must leave India! What are you talking about? In any case, I have never done something that I am not sure about, so how can you ask me to register for tomorrow night?”

Mendy continued to insist until the woman’s innate t’mimus (simple sincerity) came to the fore. She decided to register with her children, but she asked to speak to the shliach, Rabbi Dror. Rabbi Dror was busy shechting chickens for Yom Tov. He came out with his sh’chita knife, wearing his blood-splattered shirt.

“Please excuse my appearance,” apologized Rabbi Dror. “How can I help you?”

After the woman told the shliach her story, he said, “By Divine Providence, tomorrow morning I have to go down to the police station in order to finalize the security arrangements for the Seder. I will try to talk to someone about your situation.”

“Do you mean to say that you guarantee me an extension?” she asked.

“I cannot promise you that the police commander will give you an extension, but I am happy to discuss it with him,” said Rabbi Dror. They agreed to meet at 11:00 the next morning at the police station.

Rabbi Dror relates:

Every year, the local police force takes care of security at our Seder. Arranging the details with the district officer takes place over the phone. This year was unusual in that I got a phone call from the security department of the Israeli embassy telling me to come to the police station Erev Pesach to finalize the details. Since I know how the local police operate, I knew that this could steal at least three hours of my time. Who has time to waste on Erev Pesach? It seemed an especially aggravating waste since there was little to be gained when everything could be finalized by phone. I tried to get out of it, but the person on the line pressured me until I finally agreed to go to the police station the next day. I considered it Divine Providence that just this year I had to go down to the station, which would enable me to help the woman.

The next day, I arrived at the police station at 11:00 in the morning and met the woman. As expected, I was treated to a long wait of several hours. Just my luck – I arrived during their break and was first admitted at 2:00. In the meantime, the woman pleaded her case to the district officer. However, he refused to listen to her and dismissed her with various excuses. When I finished speaking to the officer about security, I said I had a little request to make of him.

“How can I help you?” he asked. I told him the woman’s story and how important it was to her, as a Jewish woman, to be present on the holiday with her children.

He thought it over carefully and finally said, “There is no justifiable reason for me to give her an extension, but the humanitarian part of me is prepared to give her a short extension.” He took her visa and stamped it with a thirteen day extension.

The woman left the police station with tears of joy in her eyes. We hosted her and her three children, and one of her sons told the crowd about the miracle that had just taken place.

From this story we learn how it is our obligation to care for every Jew in every way. We can also see that when one acts l’chat’chilla aribber, he will see enormous success. No less important is the t’mimus of the woman which overcame her doubts. Even when things look impossible, if a person goes with t’mimus, the situation can change from one extreme to another.

THE ONE WHO DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO ASK

Rabbi Dror relates:

Before Pesach, the area fills up with Israelis like migrating birds showing up for some historic event. We scour the byways of the Himalayas in order to personally contact every Jew and ensure that he comes to the right place on the night of Pesach. On one of these scouting expeditions I saw a man who didn’t look Jewish, but I figured I’d greet him with a hearty “Sholom Aleichem” anyway. To my astonishment, he answered in Hebrew and said he was in the area with his two sons, his daughter and his wife, and they were seriously considering spending Pesach with us. Experience has taught us that someone who is only “thinking seriously” about coming doesn’t necessarily show up, and the best way of helping him think of more definite plans is to get him to experience a bit of our activities at the Chabad house. I suggested that he come and help us prepare for Pesach. He liked the idea. He and his family took an active part in painting the walls and decorating the room.

At Maariv on the night of Pesach, among the dozens of people who joined us for the prayer services was the kibbutznik with his two sons. The large, white kippa that he wore seemed only in honor of the occasion, while his connection with religion seemed tenuous indeed. He sat throughout the t’filla and fervently held some book as he swayed while his sons each held a Siddur and wondered what they were supposed to be doing. Every so often, I glanced over at them with an encouraging look.

By the evening’s end, when the kibbutznik and his family were on their way out, I went over to them and wished them a happy holiday. He seemed overwrought and he said he wanted to tell me about a moving incident he experienced that night. This is what he said:

“Since I do not know how to pray or figure out where you were up to in the service, I went over to the bookshelf and took a random book. The book I picked up was Menachem Ziegelboim’s book of Pesach stories. I opened it and the first story I read was about the Chassid Lazer Nanes and the Pesach he spent in a Siberian labor camp.

“R’ Lazer told about one of the difficult years when the package of matzos that his family sent him did not reach him, thanks to the censor. ‘We were three people – Dovid, Berkowitz, and I. We put down a new piece of paper on the table instead of a new tablecloth and boiled water for the Seder. I poured three cups of tea that served as substitutes for the four cups of wine. To their great surprise, I placed three matzos near each person and that is how we observed the first Seder.

“‘The following night we had no matzos. I told them that throughout my years in the camps, I always left some matzos over from one year to the next and the matza we had eaten the night before was from the previous year.

“‘I purposely did not tell this to them the first night, because I knew that they would not want to eat the matza. I told them that I did this for two reasons. First, on the first night of Pesach eating matza is a positive Biblical mitzva while on the second night and the rest of Yom Tov, although it is forbidden to eat chametz, there is no obligation to eat matza. You can also eat potatoes, fruits, etc. Second, if they did not have matza, they would have to eat chametz, G-d forbid, since they had no other food, and I wanted to prevent that.’

“R’ Lazer went on to describe the severe stomach pain that he experienced after not eating for several days and about the help Berkowitz gave him:

“‘Berkowitz came into the room and sat down beside me. He did not say a word but sat and cried. Later on, he told me that he was heartbroken watching me die and being unable to help me. He sat near me all night and occasionally gave me hot tea to drink.

“‘On Acharon shel Pesach, I was semi-conscious. In the morning, Berkowitz poured water on my hands for the morning hand-washing because I could not do it myself. He gave me a Siddur and I davened with my remaining strength. What happened next, I don’t know.

“‘When I woke up from my faint, the head of the medical department was standing near my bed. Apparently, she gave me an injection which spread a warm feeling throughout my body. When I uttered a groan, she said: Now you will merit living a long life.

“‘I didn’t have the strength to daven Maariv. Dovid brought me some bread crusts and a little sugar. He soaked the crusts in the sweet tea and fed me like a baby. After I ate, I fell into a deep sleep and woke up in the morning. He helped me put on t’fillin.

“‘Berkowitz found out that he was about to be released. In his great joy he swore that he would not leave the city where the camp was located so he could make sure I had good food every day until I was no longer critically ill.

“‘ … Berkowitz kept his word. He remained in the city for two weeks. Every day he brought me a bottle of milk, potatoes, white bread, sugar, and green onions. In those days, all this cost a pretty penny; but thanks to his efforts, and thanks to G-d, I regained my health. When I got back to myself, I pleaded with him to return to his home and family. We parted with great emotion and he went home.’

“That Berkowitz,” said the kibbutznik, “he was my grandfather! I knew he was in the labor camps, but this story was new to me and reminded me where I come from.”

He was very moved by the Divine Providence that led him to pick up this book and open it to this particular story that happened with his grandfather. Furthermore, he was moved by Lazer Nanes’ mesirus nefesh and how his grandfather had the privilege of helping this Chassid. Here was a profound example of Divine Providence drawing in “the one who does not know how to ask.”

THE FIFTH SON

One of the main restaurants in Dharamkot belongs to a Jew who for years has refused to have any contact with the Chabad house. The shliach told us about him and emphasized that we need to reach out in particular to Jews like him, and if possible, to enable him to eat matza and drink wine on Pesach.

Mendy went to the restaurant and began a friendly conversation with the man. For some reason, the man was receptive and offered us a cold drink. He said that friends do not need to pay.

Every now and then we would visit him in the restaurant and a nice relationship developed. Despite the friendliness, whenever we spoke about the Chabad house he would indicate that he wanted to change the topic and we respected his wishes.

Before Pesach, Mendy brought him matza on behalf of Rabbi Dror. The man was willing to accept it, but said he had no intentions of making a Seder.

When we met him again after Pesach, he told us, “A few Israelis came to the restaurant on Pesach night; they preferred not to attend the big event at the Chabad house. In the middle of eating they said to me: It is Pesach and we need matza! I smiled, went to the kitchen, and to their surprise I brought back matza. We sat into the night and fulfilled the mitzva of eating matza.”

***

It is remarkable to see the tremendous impact the Rebbe has on every Jew to the point that even the Fifth Son, who insists on staying away from the Seder table, is inspired by his shluchim who spare no exertions in carrying out the “only remaining shlichus” to prepare the world for the ultimate exodus from exile.