Rabbi Yanky and Rivky Klein, International Jewish Community of Moscow, Russia
By: Chaya Chazan
Although many of our community’s original members migrated to other countries, we still maintain contact with them and help them with their day-to-day challenges – a truly international community.
Victoria* resettled in England, where her children attend the local public school. The headmistress asked her to prepare a cultural booth about Judaism for the school’s multicultural fair. Victoria immediately called me for “the Rebbetzin’s” help.
Lena* now lives in Italy, but hasn’t mastered the language yet. Whenever she has a question for the Rav, she calls me. She asks her question in Russian, and I forward it to a Rav who can answer and guide her.
Vera* messaged me on Friday afternoon. “We’re at a hotel now, and won’t make it on time for candle lighting. Can you please keep me and my girls in mind?”
The distance and time zone changes don’t matter a whit when we’re connected by something much stronger than that!
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We’d already known Sergei* for a while when he introduced us to his girlfriend, Sofia*. From then on, they attended shul together, and we watched their relationship bloom.
When Sergei popped the question, Sofia asked if our shul could host their chuppah, a request we were only too happy to fulfill. It was a beautiful, intimate ceremony, and Sergei and Sofia began building a Jewish home.
During Covid, strict lockdown measures kept us at home and unable to meet for minyanim. Nevertheless, when Sergei and Sofia welcomed their baby girl, we joined a minyan in Israel via Zoom to celebrate her receiving a Jewish name.
When tensions heated up in Russia, Sergei and Sofia decided to make aliyah. Sergei continued traveling between Russia and Israel while Sofia focused on setting up their new home and finding their niche in Israeli society.
Unfortunately, the violence and tension they’d tried to escape followed them into their new lives after October 7th. I called Sofia after rockets began raining down on Israel to check in and see how she was doing.
Sofia broke down in tears. “Sergei isn’t even here!” she cried. “He’s in Moscow, and all flights to Israel have been canceled. I’m here all alone with the children. Every time the siren rings, I have to rush them all to the garage. It’s 90 seconds, Rivky – 90 seconds. Does that sound like a lot…? Sometimes, it seems that my pounding heart is drowning out the azakah. We sit there, huddled for warmth and safety, and I have to pretend to be brave and calm for my children, even while my hands shake and my mind races. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days, and it’s taking a serious toll on me.”
There was little to say to such heartbreak and anguish.
“What does the Torah say about dreams?” Sofia asked, after a short pause.
“Dreams…?” I repeated.
“Yes… I had a terrible dream last night, and I can’t get it out of my head. Should I take it as an omen or something…?”
“No,” I answered, decisively. “While dreams can sometimes contain prophetic visions, for the vast majority of us, they’re simply our subconscious mind amplifying our most extreme feelings. I wouldn’t worry about it at all. But I’m terribly upset to hear about everything else! Can you give me your family’s names? I’d like to say Tehillim for your safety and peace of mind.”
Sofia gave me the names. “This morning, I was so upset by the dream, I took out my Tehillim and said the chapter corresponding to my age,” Sofia told me. “It was about the power of the soul and G-d’s protection. I’ve never had a Jewish name of my own, and I’d really like to choose one today. Can you help me?”
Together, we settled on Menucha – as a permanent prayer for serenity, peace, and soulful transcendence.
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Katia* attended every women’s event, and I could tell by the look in her eye exactly what was on her mind, whenever she pulled me aside for one of her routine chats.
“You will not believe what happened on my date last night!” the conversation inevitably started. It seemed Katia had rotten luck when it came to finding her life partner. At every event, she had another saga to share; another dream shattered.
At one event, a couple of years later, she had a look in her eye I’d never seen before. We sat on a couple of chairs facing one another, but instead of the humorous, slightly cynical tone I’d come to know and love, her voice was low; quiet; sad.
“I’m done,” Katia declared. “I think I’ve dated every Jewish guy in the city, and they’re all the same. I’m not marrying a Jew!”
I heard the desperate heartbreak underlying her words, and I sat, speechless, for a moment. What could I possibly say?
Hashem put the right words in my mouth, though I hardly recall what I said. I listened to her, validated her, and encouraged her. When she left the event, I said a heartfelt kapitel of Tehillim, davening that Katia should find her zivug.
Baruch Hashem, Katia persevered and soon started dating Roman Aaranovitch*. He was the answer to her (and my) prayers, and when she told me they were engaged, I was as happy for her as if she were my own sister.
My husband and I escorted them to the chuppah, in a hotel overlooking the Red Square, where, contrary to the Communist ideology so heavily espoused in that very square, they pledged to establish a home on the foundation of Torah and mitzvos. They even named their daughter Chaya Mushka!
The Aaronoviches settled into the Moscow community until the war broke out. They decided to move to the safety and comfort of Israel. They loved living there and were finally getting comfortable when October 7th happened. They picked up once again and moved to Miami.
“I want to stay involved!” Katia told us. “Whenever you have a kids’ program, let me know, and I’ll sponsor it.”
Although foreign money exchanges are difficult under the current circumstances, Katia goes to extreme efforts to keep her word.
A few months ago, my husband had a wedding in Miami, and he let Roman know he’d be in town.
“Give me your flight information. I’ll pick you up!” Roman immediately offered.
“My flight lands way too early in the morning!” my husband protested. “I’ll just meet you later!”
But Roman insisted, and was there, bright and early. He was so excited to show my husband his home.
“Everything is kosher, but I got some disposables for you,” Roman offered, preparing a bagel and a drink on a plastic plate. “I have a meeting, but I’m saving my entire afternoon for us to catch up!”
They met up for lunch, and Roman reflected on how much their lives had changed in the last five years. They visited the Chabad Russian Center in Miami, and in the break between the chuppah and dinner, my husband visited Roman’s house again.
Apparently, Roman had been talking about him, because his children were all lined up, eager to meet him and show him all their school projects. He oohed and ahhed over their Alef Beis signs, their Yom Tov projects, and their parsha papers.
As he returned to the wedding hall, my husband couldn’t help but reflect on the hashgacha pratis of the Aaronoviches’ turbulent life. Had they stayed in Moscow, their children would have attended public school, and even in Israel, they wouldn’t have received more than the average secular Israeli education. But in Miami, their children were enrolled in a Jewish school, receiving a proper Jewish education.
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One day, a man called my husband’s phone, introducing himself as Zhenya*. “A friend of mine goes to your Chabad house and told me about you. I have a lot of questions about Judaism. Can we meet?”
They met a few days later, and Zhenya explained he’d been having a lot of dreams and feeling negative auras that he was sure were the result of long-forgotten wrongs. He asked if he could do a Hataras Nedarim ceremony. My husband heard him out and promised to look into it. Although it was nowhere close to Rosh Hashanah, he was told that Hataras Nedarim can be done anytime, in the presence of three men. A few days later, Zhenya had his Hataras Nedarim and felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
From then on, Zhenya became a regular member of our shul, although he splits his time with another shul as well. He started to take on one commitment after another: Shabbos, kashrus, tefillin, and, a few years later, he even had a bris. He loves visiting the town of Lubavitch and remains committed to growing his connection with Hashem.
One day, years later, he remarked to my husband, “I’m very happy I called you that day instead of any other rabbi. The way you responded and heard me out was exactly what I needed. I don’t know if my life would be the same if I hadn’t called you then.”
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Andrei* came to shul every Yom Tov – but only for the first day. In his eyes, the second day was “optional.”
A few months after the war began, something urged my husband to convince Andrei to attend shul for the second day of Sukkos as well.
“We need you for the minyan!” he begged. “Please come!”
Andrei begrudgingly agreed. But when he showed up on the second day, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He slept through much of davening, and grumbled to my husband that he didn’t know why he was wasting his time here instead of working.
“Just stay for the kiddush,” my husband asked.
Andrei stayed for a few more moments and then left for work.
He returned a few moments later, ashen faced. “They came!” he whispered, his voice scratched with fear. “This morning, the army came to my office and drafted everyone of army age. They missed me – because I was here, in shul!”
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My husband was out of town and it had been a busy week. I decided we’d do a small, low-key Shabbos, just for my kids.
On Friday afternoon, I got a call from an Israeli woman who was stuck, waiting for a plane out of Moscow.
“I don’t have anything for Shabbos,” she told me. “Are you able to help?”
Although I’d been feeling drained and anxious just moments before, her words buoyed me with sudden energy. It was as if Hashem was taking my hand, telling me to contribute to something bigger, rather than spending my time worrying and saying Tehillim. My mind started racing, figuring out a quick and easy menu that could feed a crowd.
“Of course!” I assured her. “Please join us for both meals, tonight and tomorrow!”
The woman told me her two youngest, both young children, were still in Israel. As a mother, my heart went out to her, and I could imagine how much she worried and wished she could hold them in her arms.
In the end, just moments before Shabbos, she called to tell me they’d figured out other plans. She remained heavy on my mind, so I called Motzei Shabbos to ask about her children and convey my compassion.
She was so touched I’d remembered, and we kept in touch, even after she found passage to Cyprus.
This moment showed me that, whatever we think we give on shlichus, we get back just as much.
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I was supposed to meet with Irina* at noon for the next session of kallah classes. It seemed she was running a bit late, so I used the few extra minutes to read the daily Rebbe letter sent on a group chat I belong to. The letter is always chosen at random, so I was surprised to see it was about weddings! The Rebbe wrote to a nervous kallah who wanted to postpone her wedding because there were so many details to take care of. The Rebbe told her that having Hashem there is more important than a big wedding, and it would be better to keep the date, even if it meant having a smaller wedding.
When Irina came in a few minutes later, I showed her the letter.
She was shocked.
“I can’t believe it! How did you know?” she marveled. “My fiance and I have been talking about this for the past few weeks! It’s his second wedding, and my first, and we couldn’t decide on a date, or how big the wedding should be! This is a direct answer to our dilemma!”
*Names changed to protect privacy
