Musician Yishai Lapidot was in Ulm, Germany. He was invited by a shliach to visit there to celebrate a Chanukas HaBayis. He shared his impressions with the listening public on his “Ishi B’Shishi” radio program.
By Yishai Lapidot
The city of Ulm is situated on the Danube River. The houses aren’t high and it is known for its picturesque peace and quiet. Ulm is a favored destination for tourists from all over the world who visit Germany, particularly the part on the river which is called “Little Venice” for the streets that are small canals that flow between the houses.
About 700 Jews lived in Ulm at the turn of the 20th century. A beautiful shul was situated in the middle of the city. Then, on Kristalnacht, the shul was burned down. Since then and up until fifteen years ago, Ulm had no Jewish-spiritual presence. Most of the Jewish residents got the message on that night of destruction and fled for their lives. The rest escaped in the weeks prior to the enactment of the Final Solution. After the war, very few Jews returned to Ulm, most of them not religiously observant.
Then came a young, dynamic bachur named R’ Shneur Trebnik, who decided that his shlichus would be in this modest city. The beginning wasn’t easy. In his first year in Ulm there was no minyan, not even on Yom Tov and the Yomim Nora’im.
His friends, some of them shluchim in Germany in prestigious cities near Ulm, often advised him to leave and find a place with more potential. “Isn’t it a pity,” they would say. “You put so much energy into a place with so little Jewish potential.”
But R’ Shneur is made of standard stuff and “I can’t” is not in his arsenal of excuses and reasons. “If one Jew returns to his heritage or even learns the basics of what it means to be Jewish and what Torah is, that is enough for me,” is what he always replied.
With quiet devotion and modesty and uncompromising mesirus nefesh, he and his wife Chani managed to build a small, religious community, offering shiurim and the celebration of significant Jewish events.
THE CHILDREN’S MESIRUS NEFESH
It all came at a price. When we sat down to the large Friday night meal (like most Chabad houses in the world) we spoke with the children of the shluchim. We learned that Mendy and Levi get up at five o’clock every morning in order to get to school in Stuttgart on time. It takes several hours to get there. The girls attend the virtual online shluchim school every morning where they learn all the Jewish and secular subjects. The school is “attended” by children all over the world who sit at their computers wherever they live.
The next day, at the end of the lunch meal when we remained alone, the grandfather and grandmother asked Mendy, Levi and the little girls to sing the new songs they recently learned in school. The words to the song they sang were in praise of the children of the shluchim and the enormous sacrifice they make in being part of a family on shlichus. These are children whose social circle usually consists of their own brothers and sisters.
As they sang, I noticed how tough Shneur, who seems ready and able to tackle anything, broke down and cried. I saw that unsentimental shluchim are sensitive too; it’s just that they know how to hide it behind their smile and friendly demeanor.
THE MAIN EVENT
Last Sunday, some of the streets of Ulm were closed off and dozens of policemen and ushers could be seen. The quiet city took on a festive air.
Then we found out that the simcha and excitement were operating overtime that day. The municipality of Ulm had decided to invite, at its expense, all Jews who had been born in Ulm to convene in their hometown for the dedication of the new shul.
The German media outdid themselves in covering this event. Dozens of reporters and photographers were there on the block of the shul to document the historic event. When the official guest of honor, no less than the President of Germany himself, walked in, the media frenzy reached fever pitch.
The silver-haired president, wearing a big, black kippa, cut the red ribbon to the sounds of dozens of cameras and flashbulbs clicking away. R’ Shneur, holding a large mezuza, explained to him why a mezuza is put up in the doorway of a Jewish home.
When R’ Shneur recited the bracha as he put up the mezuza, there weren’t many dry eyes in Ulm. The crowd roared a loud “Amen.”
In our role as musicians at the event, there we stood, Amiran Dvir with his keyboard and me, at the honorable Mizrach wall with the president and his entourage.
I watched them for a long time. Although I had already participated in a Siyum HaShas and the dedications of a mikvaos in other cities in Germany, it was clear to me that the scene I was now witnessing was unusual. For beyond all the Kavod HaTorah given by the presidential retinue, the dozens of photographers and people from the media, and the many guests and residents of the city who now had a beautiful, new shul, there was something taking place here that was not given to dissent, interpretation or debate:
75 years after the Final Solution was implemented and the Jews of Germany, including those from Ulm, were sent to their deaths, dozens of years after the burning of the shul on Kristalnacht in that precise spot, the president of German, with a big, black kippa on his head, sat with ministers of the country and a large presidential entourage, facing the Aron Kodesh in the new shul, and listened to the speeches, Divrei Torah, and the recitation of Psalms.
There aren’t many other clear examples of the fulfillment of the G-dly oath that “the eternity of Israel will not come up false.” And you don’t have many opportunities in life to witness the sweet revenge of the Jewish people, as grandchildren and descendants of the holy martyrs, who were killed for being Jewish, are honored by the president of a country with a cursed past, who wears a black velvet kippa at the Chanukas HaBayis of the shul of Ulm.
This astounding miracle did not take place only there, for we must give credit to all the shluchim of the Rebbe who have become part of this unnatural, wondrous process of “and we were like dreamers.”