The surprising lesson of Yud-Beis Tammuz in reaching other Jews.
This week, in several classes, I sat with people who were deeply concerned. Everyone was talking about the results of the New York primary elections. Many of the candidates who won have expressed positions that are hostile to Israel. People spoke with great concern about the future of America and wondered what this country will look like twenty years from now. They argued that America is heading in the same direction as Europe, where anti-Israel forces have gained strength, and feared the same could happen here.
I tried to encourage them and reassure them that things would ultimately work out. Then someone said to me: “I’ve been listening to you, and I’m beginning to wonder if you’re simply naïve. What makes you so calm? What do you know that we don’t? Or maybe you don’t know anything—you just keep saying everything will be fine because it’s more comfortable to think that way?”
My friends, today is the 12th of Tammuz, the Festival of Liberation—the day the Previous Rebbe was released from a Soviet prison. This year marks the beginning of the centennial year of his liberation in 1927.
The Previous Rebbe lived during one of the darkest periods of Jewish history. He assumed the leadership of Chabad in 1920, shortly after the Bolshevik Revolution. Communism promised equality: take from the rich and distribute to everyone else. Many Jews were captivated by that ideal. They believed the revolution would rescue them from poverty and provide a better life. Countless young Jews abandoned Judaism and joined the communist dream.
My grandfather, of blessed memory, who was a young boy at the time, often told me that of all the students in his cheder, only he and his brother—the rabbi’s sons—remained observant. Every other student joined the communist movement.
At that time, the Previous Rebbe accepted the leadership of Chabad. Before his passing, his father, the Rebbe Rashab, told him that dark clouds were gathering over Russia and that it would soon become extremely difficult to practice Judaism. It would require extraordinary self-sacrifice to withstand the coming challenges.
Communism declared war on religion in general, and on Judaism in particular. Tragically, many of the most zealous fighters in that campaign were Jewish youths themselves. Those boys who had once sat in cheder did not merely abandon Judaism—they actively fought against it. They closed mikvahs, synagogues, cheders, and yeshivos, confiscated holy books, and attempted to uproot Judaism entirely.
In the face of this, the Previous Rebbe mobilized all his strength, his Chassidim, and every available resource to save whatever could still be saved. He established an underground network of Jewish education—seven children here, ten children there. He arranged clandestine mikvahs, Torah classes, and everything necessary to keep Judaism alive under the Soviet regime.
His efforts were remarkably successful, and naturally the communist authorities did not appreciate them. It became increasingly difficult to conceal the underground activity because informers were everywhere, including communist Jews who reported every Jewish activity to the authorities. Eventually, the Soviet secret police decided to arrest the Previous Rebbe. On the 15th of Sivan, 5687 (1927), they came to his home.
The two senior officers who carried out the arrest were both Jews. Not only were they Jews—they had grown up in Chassidic homes. Their parents, who were still alive, were Chassidim of the Previous Rebbe. Yet it was their own sons—one named Nachmanson and the other Lulav—who came to arrest him. It illustrates the deep fracture the revolution created within the Jewish people and even within Jewish families.
When they arrived, they treated the Rebbe respectfully and said, “Rebbe, please come with us.”
One of them told him, “My grandfather had the privilege of carrying your grandfather, the Rebbe Maharash’s suitcase. I would like to have the privilege of carrying yours.” The Rebbe replied, “Your grandfather carried my grandfather’s suitcase to the place where my grandfather wanted to go. You want to carry my suitcase to the place where you want to take me.” With that, the Rebbe took the suitcase back from his hands.
Even in prison, the Previous Rebbe displayed extraordinary courage. He made a firm decision to speak only Yiddish. During the three weeks of imprisonment and interrogation, he refused to speak any other language. That meant every investigator, guard, and official dealing with him knew Yiddish. It highlights how many Jews occupied every level of the communist system—from prisons and interrogation rooms to government offices.
At first, he was sentenced to death by firing squad. Miraculously, that sentence was commuted. Following intense international pressure from governments and influential figures around the world, the Soviet authorities gradually retreated.
Finally, after three weeks of harsh interrogations and sustained diplomatic pressure, on the 12th and 13th of Tammuz the Previous Rebbe was released. Eventually, he was even granted permission to leave Russia. He departed with his family and with his priceless library.
This was not merely the victory of one individual—it was the victory of Judaism itself. The regime that sought to silence him and uproot Judaism was ultimately forced to release him and allow him to leave the country. The Previous Rebbe did not leave as a refugee; he left as someone who had prevailed. He continued carrying the banner of Judaism and leading his Chassidim beyond the borders of Russia.
Is Optimism Naïve?
So when people worry that even Jews are supporting candidates whose positions are unfriendly toward Israel—and that a significant portion of their supporters are themselves Jewish—that concern is understandable.
But when we reflect on the story of the 12th of Tammuz, it gives us perspective. If the Previous Rebbe stood firm during a time when so many Jews had not only abandoned Judaism but were actively fighting against it, and he succeeded in preserving the flame of Jewish life during what appeared to be a hopeless era, then certainly today there is no reason to lose hope.
We must recognize reality. We must act and do everything within our power. But we must never despair. Jewish history teaches us that even in the darkest moments, the Jewish people have always found the strength to continue, to grow, and to overcome.
Once, someone asked the Previous Rebbe about a sick patient. One doctor was optimistic, while another was pessimistic. Whose opinion should be followed?
The Rebbe answered: “When it comes to action, follow the pessimistic doctor. Take every medication, pursue every treatment, and do everything possible. But when it comes to thinking, think like the optimistic doctor.” The same applies today.
If there is something we can do—encourage others, support Jewish institutions, strengthen Jewish education, maintain relationships with elected officials—then certainly we must do everything possible. We may not sit back with folded arms.
But in our minds, we must remain optimistic. The Jewish people have endured far more difficult times. For thousands of years others have tried to destroy us, yet we continue to exist, to grow, and to flourish. We must act, we must pray, and we must believe that we will overcome this challenge as well.
As the Yiddish saying goes: “מען וועט זיי איבערלעבן.” “We will outlive them.”
The Surprising lesson
But this raises an interesting question, one that the Rebbe asked at a farbrengen on the 12th of Tammuz, 5740: Why did the Previous Rebbe have to spend time in prison at all?
While he was imprisoned, he could not spread Judaism. He could not direct the underground network. His tefillin were taken from him, his movements were restricted, and he was unable to perform many of the mitzvos and activities that filled his daily life.
So why did G-d make this happen? Wouldn’t it have been better had he remained free? With his extraordinary self-sacrifice, he could have saved more Jews, opened more cheders, strengthened more communities, and spread even more Torah and Judaism. What was gained by those three weeks in prison?
The Rebbe gives a remarkable answer. This week we read Parshiyos Chukas and Balak. In Parshas Balak, Bilaam is hired to curse the Jewish people. He desperately wants to curse them, but G-d does not allow him to do so. Instead, the greatest blessings ever spoken about the Jewish people emerge from his mouth.
Toward the end of his prophecy, Bilaam says: “He crouches and lies like a lion; like a lioness, who can rouse him?”
On this verse, the Baal Shem Tov offers a beautiful insight. Before a lion leaps upon its prey, it does not charge immediately. It first crouches. It lowers itself. It gathers its strength, focuses its attention, and only then springs forward with tremendous power.
So too with every Jew. Each of us has a mission—to “capture prey” in the spiritual sense: to strengthen Judaism, inspire others, spread Torah and mitzvos, and bring more light into the world.
The Rebbe explains that this teaches us something profound about Jewish outreach. Even if you are a “lion” in Judaism—even if you possess great knowledge and understanding—if you wish to influence another Jew who may be in a very low place, you must first become “crouched like a lion.”
You must lower yourself to where that person is. You must feel his pain, understand his background, know what occupies his thoughts, what interests him, and what motivates him. Only when you step outside yourself and enter another person’s world can you truly connect with him. And only from that connection can you touch his heart and influence him.
Otherwise, whatever you say from the heights of your own spiritual level will not bring him closer—it may even push him further away. He will feel that you do not understand his struggles, and therefore he will not want to listen.
First you must connect. First you must understand his world, his thoughts, and his experiences. Only then can you truly influence him. The Baal Shem Tov also explains the verse:
“A righteous person falls seven times and rises.”
It is davka the fall that gives a person the ability to rise to an even greater height. There are things that cannot be understood or accomplished without first going through them. Sometimes the descent itself becomes part of the ascent.
With this, the Rebbe explains the imprisonment of the Previous Rebbe. Why did he have to be in prison? Because sometimes, in order to lift another Jew up, you first need to experience where he is. The Previous Rebbe had to endure a situation where he could not fulfill mitzvos so that he could more deeply feel the condition of a Jew living under pressure, fear, and spiritual struggle. Precisely through that descent came an even greater ability to elevate countless more Jews afterward.
The candles and the dog
There is a similar story about one of the Baal Shem Tov’s disciples, Rabbi Michel of Zlotchov.
A man in his town unintentionally desecrated Shabbos. His wagon broke down, delaying his journey until Shabbos had already begun. The man came to Rabbi Michel and asked how he should atone.
Rabbi Michel prescribed a very difficult program of repentance—large sums of charity, fasting, and physical self-affliction.
Soon afterward, the Baal Shem Tov came to a nearby town, and the man asked him the same question. The Baal Shem Tov answered simply: “Bring a package of candles to the synagogue before Shabbos and light them. The extra light during the prayers will serve as your atonement.”
The man was astonished. He explained that Rabbi Michel had given him a far harsher program. “Don’t worry,” said the Baal Shem Tov. “Lighting the candles is sufficient.”
The man bought a bundle of tallow candles and brought them to the synagogue. Unable to find the shamash, he hung them on a hook in the wall. A dog found them and ate them. The man immediately returned to the Baal Shem Tov and explained what had happened.
The Baal Shem Tov told him, “Buy another bundle of candles and bring them again. This time, the dog will not eat them.” Then the Baal Shem Tov added: “I see that Rabbi Michel is challenging me. Tell him that I decree he must spend next Shabbos with me.”
The message was delivered, and Rabbi Michel set out on Friday. Along the way, his wagon broke down. He was forced to continue on foot. The sun set, Shabbos began, and only late Friday night did he finally arrive. When he reached the Baal Shem Tov’s home, he found the Baal Shem Tov still standing with the Kiddush cup in his hand, waiting.
The Baal Shem Tov looked at him and said: “Reb Michel, now that you have personally experienced the anguish of someone who unintentionally violated Shabbos, you can truly understand him.”
This is the meaning of “He crouches like a lion.”
Before you can lift another Jew, you must first know how to lower yourself to where he is. Before you can influence someone, you must understand the level on which that person is living.
Sometimes the descent itself is part of the ascent.
As King David says, “G-d lowers a person into the depths… and then raises him up.” Sometimes G-d brings a person into a place of struggle, darkness, and challenge precisely so that, through that experience, he will later be able to rise higher than ever before—and help others rise with him.