The Rebbe Story That Brought Chassidim to Tears

By Rabbi Zalmen Wishedski – Director of Chabad of Basel, Switzerland

His name is Nochum Litkowski, and he came to America from Soviet Russia in the 1970s at the age of 9 with his mother. They were typical stubborn Lubavitchers from old Russia. Not long after his Bar Mitzvah, Nochum already began working here and there to help his mother put bread on the table. He didn’t complain, didn’t cry—just did what needed to be done.

He was a Lubavitcher and was always around the Rebbe. “I wasn’t so interested in exactly what the maamarim or sichos were about, but I was always there—inside or outside—I was always around Seven Seventy,” referring, of course, to the red-brick building at 770 Eastern Parkway known as the Rebbe’s shul in Brooklyn, New York.

Every few weeks, he would pass by the Rebbe—whether when the Rebbe was handing out dollars or a kuntres, or even just when the Rebbe was entering a farbrengen or going down to mincha.

A few years passed, and Nochum became a renovation contractor. The job took up most of his day, and his clothes were always those of a repairman—stained with paint, putty, and the like. “That’s not how you go to the Rebbe, so it turned out that I barely came to 770 anymore,” he told me.

But one day, a friend of his was getting married, and Nochum dressed up nicely. And since he was already dressed, he decided to go by the Rebbe when the Rebbe was giving out dollars.

Thousands stood in line with him, and when Nochum reached the Rebbe, the Rebbe handed him a dollar—but the Rebbe didn’t let the bill go.

“I was going to walk away, but the Rebbe held on to the dollar and wouldn’t give it to me. Instead, he looked straight into my eyes and asked in Yiddish: “Vu bist du?” – ‘Where are you?’

“I was startled, struck silent. I lowered my gaze as if I had forgotten my Yiddish until the secretary Rabbi Leibel Groner, repeated to me, ‘The Rebbe is asking—where are you?’

“I lifted my eyes and said to the Rebbe, ‘Ich bin dah’ – ‘I’m here.’

“But the Rebbe still didn’t let go of the dollar. He looked straight into my eyes and asked: ‘Farvos kumst du nisht?’ – ‘Why don’t you come (anymore)?’

“That’s the moment I realized that it really had been a long time since I came. I immediately answered with a simple and honest reply: ‘Ich bin ale mol shmutzik’ – ‘I’m always dirty,'” referring to his stained work clothes as a contractor.

The Rebbe still didn’t let go of the dollar. And while the two of them were still holding it, the Rebbe said: “Kum vi du bist, ober kum” – ‘Come as you are, but come!’

And when Nochum told me this story on Shabbos, Chof Av last year, I cried deeply. I wanted that too. I wanted the Rebbe to say to me, “Kum vi du bist’—’Come as you are.’

Almost a year has passed, and there hasn’t been a week where I haven’t thought about and reflected on the Rebbe’s ‘Vu bist du?’ The ‘Ich bin ale mol shmutzik’ of Nochum, and again the Rebbe’s ‘Kum vi du bist, ober kum.’

The more I think about it, the less I cry. I’ve begun to understand and believe, more and more each day, that the Rebbe is actually saying this to everyone—and to me too.

Yes, he demands that we elevate ourselves. Yes, he demands that we do much more. Yes, he insists that we never stop and never give up.

But even before all that—he stands there all the time, holding out a dollar, not letting go, and says: ‘Kum vi du bist, ober kum’ – ‘Come as you are, but come.’