PART I
Thousands of people over the years had the opportunity to enjoy the farbrengens of the elder Chassid, R’ Mendel Morosov a”h. R’ Mendel, who had seen the Rebbe Rayatz, bequeathed the Chassidic flavor of earlier generations to this generation. In his 101 years, he farbrenged often with the many who came to hear his Chassidic aphorisms, memories of earlier times, and guidance on the path of avodas Hashem.
All of them: young and old (compared to him, the old were young), Lubavitcher Chassidim, Poilisher Chassidim, non-Chassidim. They loved to sit around him and listen to him, as well as gaze at his eyes that sparkled with Chassidishe chayus, and delight in the glow that shone from his face.
At one of his farbrengens, he told a moving story, part of which he was witness to.
PART II
Boris was about 50. From his name, it was obvious that he came from Russia, but he eventually emigrated from the country and like many thousands of Jews, he went to the U.S. with his wife. His son Igor, a doctor, decided to stay in Russia with his family. Life was good for Igor, he had a decent job and salary, so he did not join his parents.
One morning, or to be more precise, before morning, the phone at his parent’s house in New York rang. Their daughter-in-law was on the line and she sounded frightened. “Igor just received an order to report for duty in Chernobyl,” she said. She did not have to say anything further; the message was clear.
It was Friday night, 17 Nissan 5746, when in block four of the nuclear reactor named for Lenin, an experiment was conducted whose purpose was to check the function of the reactor during an electricity blackout, when it would be forced to operate on backup power. The nuclear reactor is located about 18 kilometers from Chernobyl. Due to not following protocol, a mistake in planning, and an incorrect understanding of the situation, the temperature in the reactor rose to a heat level ten times that of normal energy production.
As a result, it caused a meltdown of the nuclear fuel rods, and this, together with the tremendous pressure from the overheating, caused an explosion. The explosion blew off the top of the reactor and the roof of the building, as a result of which the core of the reactor which contained large amounts of radioactive materials was exposed to the open air, and a fire erupted which spread those radioactive particles.
According to estimates, the amount of radioactive leakage that was released was 300 times greater than that of a standard nuclear bomb exploding on the ground. This leakage was dispersed by the wind to other areas, mainly Ukraine, Russia and Belarus. In total, the populated areas that were exposed to severe radiation poisoning housed about 200,000 people. The catastrophe was Level 7, the most serious on the international scale for atomic and radiation events, established by the International Agency for Atomic Energy.
If that wasn’t negligent enough, the government tried to hide it and did not report it. The event was first noticed in the West when abnormal radiation readings were picked up in Sweden. That’s when Western countries began looking for the source of the radiation. Despite the catastrophe known to the government, but concealed from its citizens, the Ukrainian government, led by Volodymyr Shcherbytsky, required residents in affected areas to participate, a few days later, in the traditional May 1st workers’ parade, as though nothing had happened, as though the air wasn’t contaminated with deadly materials.
The authorities began evacuating people from the area around the reactor only 36 hours after the accident. It took another month until all residents who lived within a 30-kilometer radius were evacuated, about 130,000 people. Until today, this area is called, “the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone,” even though the radiation affected a much larger radius than 30 kilometers.
In the months that followed, the Russian government refused to ask for or accept help from countries that offered their aid. Their pride was too great. They claimed they could handle it themselves. Consequently, many people were directly and indirectly killed.
At a later stage, the Soviet government tried to minimize the damage, but it did so at the expense of the lives of hundreds and thousands of engineers, doctors, soldiers and other professionals who were rushed to the area to help minimize damage at the reactor and evacuate people. It was clear that sending professionals to the affected area without proper protective gear would expose them to the continuing radioactive leakage.
This was the significance of the mobilization order that Igor got and his parents understood this immediately.
Boris had no obvious connection to Judaism other than knowing Mrs. Morosov, R’ Mendel’s wife, who did mivtzaim among Russian-speakers in Brooklyn. He went to Crown Heights to ask for her help in a different matter and while there he ended up telling her what was on his mind. “Whoever goes there, does not return,” he said as he broke down crying over the bitter fortune of his son.
Mrs. Morosov knew this was something for the Rebbe and since it was Sunday, she suggested that Boris go for “dollars” and ask the Rebbe for a bracha.
“Where is that? What is that?” he asked.
“Go to Eastern Parkway, between Brooklyn and Kingston. You will see a long line. Get on the line and wait until you reach the Rebbe and tell him what you told me.”
Boris, a simple Jew, went to 770, stood on line, and when it was his turn, began telling the Rebbe in Russian that his son is a doctor and that he was drafted by the government to be sent to the radioactive area. The Rebbe listened, gave a dollar for tz’daka to Boris, and then another dollar, and said in Russian, “Your son will return home.”
Boris was unfamiliar with the whole idea of “Rebbe” and “brachos.” He did not understand what the Rebbe meant and he found it difficult to move on while he was still in a state of agitation. Someone gently pushed him toward the exit so the line could move on. The Rebbe turned to Boris and said, “Why are you crying? I told you that he would return home.”
“Boris returned home and told his wife what happened. Neither could digest it, so they called us,” said R’ Morosov.
“When we heard his report, we knew his son was in good hands and that he would return home in good health. We reassured the parents and explained the significance of a tzaddik’s bracha.”
Boris called his daughter-in-law and told her that he had been to a big rabbi who promised that Igor would return home.
And that is exactly what happened. Just two days after leaving for Chernobyl, the door unexpectedly opened and there was Igor, back home. He called his parents and told them what happened.
PART III
5748. After the passing of the Rebbetzin, the Rebbe stayed in his house for the entire year of mourning. The main prayer services were moved from 770 to the Rebbe’s house on President Street. The distribution of dollars moved there as well, and tens of thousands of Jews ended up entering and exiting the home.
One Sunday, R’ Mendel Morosov was standing on the sidewalk near the home of the Rebbe and was engrossed in a pleasant Chassidic exchange with R’ Mordechai Zajac from Brazil, while all around them there was the cacophony of the Sunday dollars scene (for those who remember).
Suddenly, R’ Mendel spotted Boris standing in the line. Boris was seen talking animatedly with a younger man, about half a head taller than him, as the two of them moved forward in the line.
“Shalom aleichem,” said R’ Mendel to Boris, who already knew him from before.
“Aleichem shalom,” Boris exclaimed, and he gave a firm handshake to R’ Mendel. “Look here,” he said, pointing to the younger man standing next to him. “This is my son Igor who I told you about. He was saved thanks to the blessing of the Rebbe, and he just arrived in New York. We decided to come together to thank the Rebbe.”
R’ Mendel returned to his friend, R’ Mordechai Zajac, and told him the story of Boris and Igor.
“If so,” suggested R’ Mordechai on the spot, “let’s go together with them towards the Rebbe, so that we can hear what they say to the Rebbe.”
After a not very long while, father and son were standing facing the holy countenance of the Rebbe.
“This is my son whom you saved,” Boris said, presenting his son to the Rebbe.
The Rebbe looked quite pleased. He handed a dollar to the father and said, “Don’t say that I saved him; it was G-d who saved him,” pointing upward as he said this.
Boris, with his simple sincerity, pointed to the Rebbe and said, “You are the one who saved my son, you, the Rebbe!”
PART IV
When they had stepped outside the Rebbe’s house, R’ Mendel turned to Igor and asked him, just how was he saved.
Igor gave a shy smile, and began to tell his story in Russian:
As an expert doctor in my field, I received a military order to report at the train station in a certain city, where we were supposed to board a train that would take us to the disaster area. On the train, there were many soldiers, as well as doctors, engineers and workers, who were instructed to seal off the reactor.
It was a long train ride that stopped in many cities, and at each stop was supposed to pick up the people from that area who had received their orders in advance. The system was that in each city there was someone in charge with a long list of names, and using the sound system in the station he would call out the names. Anyone whose name was called, had to board the train.
As I had been instructed, I also stood in the train station and waited to hear my name called. The officer in charge called out a long list of names, but my name was not called. They all got on the train, which after a time pulled out, while I stood there alone in the station.
I was in a quandary, since they had taken my passport but they had not called me. The train had left the station and I was just left there. What should I do? I went to the government office and knocked on the door, and explained the situation. The officer there castigated me, “So you deserted, huh?” His eyes flashed with fury. “Now you will get the death penalty,” he said along with some choice curses. I was very shaken and said that they did not call my name.
He took out the list and started to go through the names. Each name that was called, and once the person boarded the train, had two pencil marks next to it; one to indicate that the name was called and the second that he had actually boarded the train. When he got to my name, it turned out that there was no mark there at all, meaning that they had not even called my name. Out of the entire list, mine was the only name that they skipped over.
“Go home,” the officer barked at me, as he handed me a temporary travel permit.
Boris turned to R’ Mendel with a gleam in his eye, and said in a triumphant tone, “Nu, who was the only one who said that he would return home?! Huh?!”