When a young man was stranded in a hospital bed, the Rebbe turned his perspective around. — A new story of the Rebbe for Gimmel Tammuz.
A Fresh Story of the Rebbe
Just recently, I had the pleasure of conversing with an elderly Jew, living in New Jersey, who shared with me his incredible experience with the Rebbe. And I think it’s the perfect story to retell in honor of Gimmel Tammuz, as we prepare to mark the Rebbe’s yahrzeit.
The Perilous Trip
Moshe M. grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, and after graduating from the Jewish day school, he went off to study at Yeshiva University in New York.
It was 1965, right before Purim. Moshe missed his parents, but he didn’t have the funds to make the trip from New York to Cleveland, so he came up with an idea.
Newspapers often ran ads from people who needed their cars driven from one city to another. He found one that needed to go from New York to Columbus, which is about a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Cleveland. Perfect! He would drive the car to Cleveland with a friend, spend Shabbos with his parents, and then continue on to Columbus to deliver the car. After that, he and his friend would drive back to Cleveland using his father’s car.
They left New York on Thursday night, and by Friday they arrived at his parents’ home in Cleveland. They spent a wonderful Shabbos together, and on Sunday they set out for Columbus to deliver the car. Moshe’s friend drove his father’s car so they’d have a way to get back.
That day was bitter cold. The highway was coated in a layer of black ice—a thin, invisible sheet of ice that’s nearly impossible to see and incredibly dangerous for drivers—and Moshe drove right onto it.
As he was driving at high speed, his car hit a patch of black ice and began spinning out of control and slammed with incredible force into the guardrail. The metal tore through the door and slashed his left leg severely, and he blacked out.
When He Woke Up
The very fact that he survived was a miracle.
By Divine Providence, a truck driver was right behind him and was able to radio emergency services for help. Another passing car contained a nurse, who managed to pry open the car door and apply a tourniquet to his leg.
He was rushed to the nearby hospital, but the doctors there quickly realized the injury was beyond what they could treat and arranged for him to be airlifted to another hospital. Eventually, he found himself at Mount Sinai—the Jewish hospital in Cleveland—undergoing one surgery after another. He was completely bedridden, and the doctors told him bluntly that he’d probably never walk again. If he was lucky, he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.
One morning, as he lay helpless in his hospital bed, a woman came to visit. She introduced herself as a volunteer with the Bikur Cholim society—it was Rebbetzin Shula Kazen, of blessed memory. She was actually the sole member of the Bikur Cholim Volunteers in the 1960’s. Rebbetzin Kazen spent time with him, encouraged him, and before she left, she pulled out a small card with a name and address and suggested he write to the person listed on the card—the Lubavitcher Rebbe—to explain what had happened and ask for a blessing.
Later that day, Moshe told his father that he wanted to write to the Rebbe, and his father tried to talk him out of it. “The Rebbe’s a very busy man,” he said. “He doesn’t know who you are, he won’t have time for this.” But Moshe insisted. A nurse gave him a few blank pages, and he copied his entire medical report into the letter, asking the Rebbe for a blessing.
Ten days passed. Then Moshe received a package.
Inside was a letter from the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Hodakov, with the Rebbe’s blessings and well-wishes for a complete recovery. Indeed, Moshe would go on to make a complete and total recovery; as he told me last week, he was able to dance—on both feet—at every one of his children’s weddings. Just last month, he celebrated his 80th birthday, and will, G-d willing, have many more.
But that’s not the most important part of the story. The real story lies in the rest of the package’s contents.
The Rebbe’s Package
Inside the package he received from the Rebbe were two boxes of shmurah matzah and a bottle of wine. In addition to the Rebbe’s blessing for a complete recovery, the letter from Rabbi Hodakov said that the Rebbe was appointing him as a shliach—a representative—to lead a seder for other Jews in the hospital.
Moshe was very moved. The next time the hospital’s Jewish chaplain came to check in on him, Moshe told him he wanted to organize a seder for some Jewish patients, but the chaplain wasn’t enthusiastic. He had excuse after excuse: “You’re not allowed to leave your bed,” he said. “It’s too difficult to move you downstairs,” and so on. Bottom line, he said it wasn’t practical.
A few days later, a pastor was visiting the non-Jewish patient in the next bed, and turned to Moshe out of courtesy and asked, “Can I do something for you?” Moshe used the opportunity. “You know,” he said, “Passover is coming up—have you heard of that holiday?” “Of course,” the pastor replied. “Do you know what a Seder is?” “Certainly.” Moshe told him he wanted to lead a Seder for the Jewish patients in the hospital. The pastor lit up and said, “That would be lovely! I’d be happy to help.”
The pastor spoke with the nurses and got everything moving, and soon came back to Moshe with an update. There were two patients—a man and a woman—who were in isolation due to a contagious illness. They would love it if someone would do a seder for them. It was a perfect fit.
On Pesach eve, Moshe was wheeled—bed and all—down to their floor and brought to the window. The faces on the other side lit up. The only way to communicate with them was through small holes in the window, and they had to shout to hear each other, but their smiles and gestures said it all.
Moshe made kiddush for them. They weren’t allowed to drink wine, but they could eat matzah, which the nurses passed along. Together they sang Ma Nishtanah and a few other songs from the Haggadah. The next night, the man came again, and they celebrated the second seder together. Pesach in the hospital turned into a deeply moving experience.
His Visit to the Rebbe
There was a postscript to the story as well.
Moshe told me that he was discharged after four and a half months in the hospital and four surgeries, and soon returned to New York—on crutches—to resume his studies at Yeshiva University. He decided that he wanted to visit 770—to thank the Rebbe for the package, and to tell him that he had fulfilled his mission.
When he arrived at 770, he saw a long line of people waiting for yechidus, and got in line with his crutches at the very end. Rabbi Binyamin Klein noticed him and quickly realized that he didn’t have an appointment, and he would not manage to wait on his feet for so many hours. He kindly invited him to the front of the line and then consulted with Rabbi Groner. As soon as the next person left the Rebbe’s room, Rabbi Groner motioned for Moshe to go in.
The door opened, and Moshe stepped into the Rebbe’s room. The Rebbe was reading something, but then looked up and locked eyes with him. “Moshe M.?” the Rebbe asked.
Moshe was in shock.
He had never met the Rebbe before, had only written that one letter—and yet the Rebbe recognized him immediately. To this day, he says the fact that he didn’t faint from emotion on the spot was itself a miracle from the Rebbe.
The Rebbe offered him a seat. Moshe said, “But everyone tells me you’re supposed to stand…” The Rebbe replied, “And I’m telling you—sit.” So he sat down and told the Rebbe about his experiences, and about the seder, “How was it received?” the Rebbe wanted to know. “Very enthusiastically,” Moshe reported.
The Rebbe again gave him a blessing for a full recovery. Before he left, Moshe told the Rebbe that needed a doctor in New York to continue treating him—maybe the Rebbe could recommend someone? The Rebbe told him to leave his phone number with the secretariat and said they would call him with a doctor’s name (and a few days later, he indeed received a recommendation).
As he turned to leave the Rebbe’s room, he tried to walk backward with his crutches—because a chossid doesn’t turn his back on the Rebbe. But the Rebbe asked him to turn around and walk out safely. “The last thing he needed,” Moshe quips, “was for me to collapse there and have hatzalah carry me out.”
The Power in This Story
What I found so powerful about this story isn’t just that the Rebbe’s blessing made him healthy. It’s what the Rebbe did with him when he was sick. There he was, lying helpless in a hospital bed, unable to move, completely dependent on others. And the Rebbe made him his shliach. Gave him a mission. Gave him the strength to uplift others and bring the joy of Pesach to fellow Jews.
Instead of lying there and feeling sorry for himself, the Rebbe got him to think: who can I help? And that—right there—was the beginning of his healing.
That’s what the Rebbe did for every Jew. No matter what someone was going through, the Rebbe would redirect the conversation. “What’s happening in your community? What can you do to help someone else?” And that simple shift—focusing on others instead of your own problems—would lift the burden from their shoulders. The best medicine is to help someone else—then you’ll start to heal too.
That’s a message we can all take with us. The next time you find yourself stuck, overwhelmed, or feeling down—pause and ask: what can I do for someone else? That was the Rebbe’s formula. Help another Jew—and in that, you’ll find your own blessing.
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