Zalman Schneerson - Chapter 2 - The Beating in Kremenchug
Wisdom of our Fathers, Rabbi Hillel: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.”
On the subject of Zalman Schneerson - Chapter 1 - Paris at War.
Am I a good Jew?
In my childhood, and youth, I thought about it. I noticed that my friends are more intolerant towards non Jews. Maybe they suffered more than I? I don’t think so, about the same. So, perhaps they're more Jewish than me? I felt jealousy in my heart.
It is possible that I am not good at hating? Is hate good? Probably, but not always. The inability to hate, when hate is deserved and necessary, is also a sickness. They tried to cure me of this disease, the inability to hate. The cure is painful, and so far without progress.
Pogroms of 1905 (I was 7). I witnessed them with my eyes wide open. In my eyes, besides the terror, you can see the question, WHY?
But I still could not hate.
The killers of pogroms were uncultured animals. It felt they themselves were unsure why they were killing. Someone sent them to kill. The “cultured” killers at the top who controlled them. You had to destroy those perpetrators of pogroms. But I couldn’t hate them.
In the years during the Civil War, [c.1919] I was under the beating boot of the Petliurist Officer [follower of Symon Petliura]. On the deserted streets of Kremenchug, at 10 in the evening, he attacked my friend. I could run, but to leave my friend alone was out of the question. I begged the Petliurist Officer, even kissed his hands. Back then, I still believed in human beings.
I was successful, he left my friend.
“And who are you?” - he asked. A second later, I was in the middle of the street, blows raining down on me. During the beatings I had one though, let him not kill me. He stopped, he looked at me: “You zhydy, you are all communists”.
Laying on the ground, I raised myself and in my perfect Russian protested, trying to prove him wrong. He stopped me:
-You are lying. -I swear with my honor. -What, Jews have honor?
And again, the blows rained down on my head. Lucky, his boots didn’t have metal spurs; otherwise I would be dead.
From afar, we could hear mad screams. Probably my friend is hopelessly calling for help. But there is no one. They can hear, but no one is approaching us. The Petliurist stops, points with his finger at my hat a few meters over.
- Go, he says. I stagger away. He also leaves slowly, braving a song. His job is done.
Someone hugs me at the intersection. My eyes are dark, I can’t see who is it. This is the friend who leads me to the house, to our school. I survived!
And I was “cured” with such courses of treatment for a long time, until I was “poisoned”. I became a better Jew, I started to understand hatred. I despise this man, this is a dark feeling. But God forgive me, I am still unable to fully hate. I can fight, but I cannot hate.
But the Lubavitcher Rabbi is a good Jew, right? For me, there is no holier person in the world. He was once approached by a Jew from Manchester with a question. By what ways, by what actions, can this man from Manchester, be “tied” to the Lubavitcher Rabbi?
The Rabbi answers him: If you want to be connected to me, search for an opportunity for a good deed every day. Doesn’t matter whether the man is a religious, Jew or not a Jew. This is a true opinion of Judaism.
But I digress. You don’t like my digressions? However, I enjoy them very much.
I know the grammar is not polished here. But you get the idea. This is somehow very moving.