Drawing on Memories of Gimmel Tammuz 5754

By Hadassa Spalter

The Rebbe doesn’t need me to remember the day of Gimmel Tammuz 5754 for him. The Rebbe needs us, his Chassidim to remember what he taught us and what he inspired us to keep doing. The Rebbe needs us to move forward, to keep doing his horaaos and to keep doing everything we can to bring Moshiach.

But on this day, it brings back clear memories.

I can’t forget that night. We were all in Bais Yaakov in Los Angeles then (this was before the Ohel Chana Chabad girls high school). Everyone knew everyone at the time. I won’t deny, there was tension at times. In those earlier years in high school, it was the height of politics then. While we argued and debated, we respected each other even when it was intense. In the end, we all stayed good friends.

It was the end of the 12th-grade year and we were about to graduate. But first, there were finals. On Motzoei Shabbos, I was already on the phone to study for the big Chumash final. It was the hardest final. Intense. I don’t recall how long we studied when my friend said: “Hadassa, I just heard the Lubavitcher Rebbe passed away.”

Her sister was on a different line with her Lubavitcher friend who told her. I felt like I was punched deep in the gut. What!? I gotta go!

She must have been worried that I was going to jump off the deep end and really just didn’t understand why I had to hang up right now.

“Hadassa,” she said, “it’s not like… you’re going to be fine… it’s ok.”

I’m not ok at all, I said. I can’t begin to explain. I gotta go.

My father (Rabbi Ezra Schochet, Rosh Yeshivas Ohr Elchanan Chabad in Los Angeles) walked in that minute, threw up his hands in utter despair. It was so depressing and scary and felt like the end of the world. What will be?

“Anyone wants to go into New York?” he said despondently. He was on a flight soon after. I don’t remember much because he left with tons of bochurim and locals on his flight.

I do remember my mother a”h (Mrs. Sara Rochel Schochet) that night. She was amazing at knowing what to do for her children and stayed with us instead of going to New York too. She didn’t come from Chabad yet would comment when she felt it wasn’t what the Rebbe stood for…

She had twins at home and couldn’t leave, but she asked my sister and I whether we wanted to go.

We both said yes.

She took out the money she put aside and gave us $700 in cash per ticket. It was a last-minute booking and besides, cost didn’t matter that night. This was the Rebbe. She didn’t flinch. She packed us fruits and cakes.

There was no time, so we got into the car and drove to LAX. My mother never drove the highways nor did she feel comfortable driving to the airport even during the day. This time, she got in the car and just drove us. She made sure we had the tickets and she drove back to the twins, at home.

At the airport, there were many Lubavitchers there. One of them recently told me that we were handing out the food and fruits my mother sent us as people were starving. I have no recollection of that.

By the time my sister and I arrived at the Old Montefiore Cemetery in Queens, the crowds were pouring out of the Ohel extending down the street. I saw my father with hundreds of bochurim walking behind him. We didn’t say hello. It felt like this wasn’t the right time and I don’t know if he even noticed us. I do remember feeling comfort seeing my father leading so many.

Compared to Motzoei Shabbos, he seemed in a clearer state now. At least for that moment. Leading. He had no choice. So many looking up to him what to do now. My feeling that with people such as my father tzu lainge yuren, we will somehow forge on because he will say it the way it is!

I remember thinking we will somehow keep on not just surviving but living and thriving. We will keep on going, learning and doing what the Rebbe wanted us to do – to be lamplighters to the world.

And just like that, I was back at the airport returning home. This time we were flying with my father. Before boarding, he went to the newspaper and magazine stand and literally bought every copy of the ones with the Rebbe’s holy face on the cover. Buying a stack of newspapers wasn’t something that he did.

As I sat on the plane next to him, we started reading in the papers the reports about Gimmel Tammuz and it hit hard. Seeing it in print, in bold letters, with pictures and in the simplistic words that the world uses made it so real. It was so painful and that’s when I cried.

It wasn’t easy to be back at a Litvishe school and finish finals. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience coming back to territory that didn’t just experience what I did. And who can focus on finals now?

I figured all the Chabad schools were probably off. I probably hoped to just get off scot-free at that point. How can I not? My world turned upside down.

I remember vaguely different girls coming up or not knowing what to say and I appreciated that. One girl from a very Litvishe home, with whom we had major back and forths at times and lives in Lakewood today, said: “I cried so much when I heard ..” It affected her deeply too.

For my graduation speech, my father wrote me a masterpiece about being in the midst of the “Shloshim of the Lubavitcher Rebbe” and the shiva of the Klausenberger Rebbe. As I practiced, I couldn’t get the words out as my voice shook. Some girls were nervous for me the night of the graduation.

At the graduation, I knew I had to perform and I did. Many came up to us and were deeply moved by the tribute. There was a mother who made it clear she didn’t like the Rebbe being mentioned at a Bais Yaakov graduation. I know her until today and how times have changed. She has a new dress hanging in her closet waiting to be worn when Moshiach arrives…

Today, on Gimmel Tammuz 5781, I wish we were in New York. Who doesn’t want to be at the Ohel on Gimmel Tammuz. We go to the Ohel whenever we can and it’s our lifeline but sometimes our mission is meant to be elsewhere.

My husband recently had a knee injury and surgery and barely managed to fly to his niece’s wedding a couple of weeks ago. He’s been learning in Los Angeles with our boys and showing us at home what it means to be a chossid of the Rebbe whether you made it to New York or not.

My older son and some friends were needed to take over the Chabad House in the area this past Shabbos and help lead the minyan, learn, and inspire the crowd. That’s where he was meant to be. He’s here learning and being the Rebbe’s Chossid on this auspicious day without being in New York.

And I know they are doing the right thing because Gimmel Tammuz should also be a day of action. This is the day to take the blueprint the Rebbe left us and make it happen. Our connection with the Rebbe is now beyond earthly limitations and he is relying on us to carry out the missions he charged us with – to bring the geula. And in the merit of our doing, may we also be seeing – the coming of Moshiach speedily in our days.