It
was Stalinist Russia. The sudden banging on the door made the occupants
blood run cold. The knocking was getting louder. They were about to sneak
out the back exit when the older of the two suggested that the younger one
stay behind. It was better to wait a few minutes before opening the door.
The
banging continued even more vigorously. "Who's there?" the
youngster called out, but the stranger refused to identify himself. The
youth flung open the door. Standing there was a high-ranking officer of
the KGB.
"Is
this where the shochet lives?" the officer demanded.
"Shochet?"
he replied. "There's no one here by the name of Shochet." The
officer gave him a penetrating look and said, "Then perhaps there's
someone here who cuts children?"
"No,"
he said in the most confident tone he could muster.
For
a moment the stranger said nothing. Then he whispered in the boy's ear:
"Don't deny it. I know that the man who cuts children lives
here!" The youth was shocked, for the man had uttered these words in
Yiddish!
"I
am a Jew. Seven days ago my wife gave birth to a baby boy, and I want very
much for him to be entered into the covenant of Abraham. My wife is very
much opposed to the idea. Tomorrow at exactly nine in the morning she will
be leaving the house. 1 am begging you to come to my house tomorrow and
bring the Mohel. The baby will be in one of the front rooms."
The
officer told the astounded youngster his address and hurried away.
"Remember," he said pleadingly, "Tomorrow is the eighth day
of my son's life. I implore you to do me this favor."
Reb
Eizik was the only shochet and Mohel in the entire city, and Yaakov, a boy
with no living relatives in the world, had been taken in to live with the
shochet and accompanied him on his holy and very dangerous rounds.
The
officer left. Was it a trap? Yaakov was convinced that it was a clever
ruse cooked up to catch Reb Eizik red-handed. When Reb Eizik came home,
Yaakov filled him in on everything. The Chassid thought for several
minutes, the deep wrinkles that lined his forehead testifying to his inner
conflict and turmoil. He had reached a decision: "Tomorrow morning we
will go to the officer's house to enter his son into the covenant of
Abraham."
The
following day, Reb Eizik and his ward arose at dawn and recited their
prayers. Then they set out in the direction of the river. On the way, the
Chassid explained that he was almost certain that this was, indeed, a
trap. He therefore wished to immerse himself in a mikvah before they
continued. "If this is to be our last day on earth, at least we will
die in a state of ritual purity," he declared.
The
officer's house was located on one of the finest streets in the city,
which only served to confirm their suspicions. The neighborhood was
inhabited by the highest ranking members of the KGB and their families.
But
the two Jews stuck to their decision. Reb Eizik and Yaakov secreted
themselves in a hiding place across from the officer's house. Seconds
later they saw a woman dressed in the latest fashion exit the building and
proceed down the block. Together they strode across the street.
Reb
Eizik knocked on the massive door. An older woman opened the door and
motioned for them to enter. In the corner of the room was a beautiful
crib, inside which a tiny baby was sleeping peacefully. They ran over and
picked up the child, whereupon a small white envelope fell out.
Inside
the envelope was a letter from the baby's father, apologizing for his not
being able to be present at his son's Bris and asking that they give the
baby a Jewish name. The rest of the letter was an emotional statement of
his thanks and appreciation for the great mitzvah they were doing, without
their even knowing who he was.
Reb
Eizik quickly and deftly performed the bris, while Yaakov acted as Sandek.
They were about to leave when the woman who had opened the door suddenly
appeared and motioned for them to stay put. Yaakov was terrified. Seconds
later, however, the woman brought out a brand new frying pan, and handed
them a dozen eggs! A veritable fortune! She invited them to make
themselves omelets. The young boy was so malnourished, so starved, that
the eggs went down with no effort at all.
After
they finished eating and were about to leave, the woman presented them
with a huge sack of bread, another gift from the Russian officer. Such a
quantity of bread was something the average citizen could only dream of,
but how could they walk down the street carrying the bag. Surely they
would attract the attention of the ever-watchful police. The woman
suddenly understood why the two Jews hesitated to accept the priceless
gift. She opened a drawer, ripped off a wad of coupons from a booklet and
handed them over.
Many
months later Yaakov was walking down the street when the same Russian
officer stopped him. "I must thank you again, from the bottom of my
heart. I have one more request to make of you. Whenever you make a Bris,
you should tell my story. Let everyone know that even in Soviet Russia,
there are still Jews who have a warm spot in their hearts for
Judaism."
This
request led to a tradition in Yaakov's family. He is honored with being
the Sandek, in commemoration of the role he played in that Bris so very
long ago, and he relates the story of the Russian officer, from beginning
to end, with great enthusiasm and fervor.
(Reprinted
from Bets Moshiach Magazine)
