My dear and beloved uncle, Michul, passed away on Rosh Hashanah night.
There will surely be much said about him, I am certain. For anyone who met him will never forget him. And anyone who heard from his mouth a Chassidic story would never wish to hear that same story from anyone else.
They will tell of his self-sacrifice in Soviet Russia, of the wondrous stories from his time with the Rebbe in Crown Heights, and above all, in my opinion, of his profound influence on the people of Kfar Chabad in general, and on the congregants of Beis Menachem in particular.
But before the stories, I have a personal perspective on Michul, one that built within me a new level of faith and trust in G-d and in Divine Providence.
Beforehand, I must say: a personal perspective, by its very definition, is personal. It is mine. Not necessarily how others saw him.
Michul was the owner of shoe stores in America, and as far back as I can recall from my childhood, he was quite successful. But then, one fine day, Hashem gave him a kick where one gives a kick (personal perspective, remember?), and sent him to be the *mashpia* of the great synagogue of Kfar Chabad ‚Beis Menachem‘. Not officially, neither the kick nor the mashpia. It just happened or at least that’s how it looked to me.
His father, my grandfather Reb Moshe Vishedsky, was a mashpia in that very shul on Shabbos. My zeide passed away, and Hashem quickly sent Uncle Michul to Kfar Chabad. As a child who grew up in „Beis Menachem", I remember that period as a great light that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, illuminating and warming all around.
I am not exaggerating, not speaking in clichés, not mouthing empty words, and not merely because of the saying “after death, speak well of the holy.” I mean every word in its plainest sense. What had been a nice shul where people davened and afterwards enjoyed a pleasant *farbrengen*, Michul transformed into a radiant center of *lichtikayt* and *varmkeit* a brightness and warmth that are no longer so common in our world. In my opinion, dozens of families in Kfar Chabad continue to shine with the light of Chabad thanks to Michul’s Shabbos *farbrengens*.
But that is not what struck me. Nor is it what built within me that new level of faith and trust in G-d and His Providence that I mentioned.
So what was it?
Well, precisely in that very period when he was illuminating and warming Beis Menachem and its congregants, Michul himself was facing immense, some would say inhuman struggles in his business. It was as if he would leave on Motzaei Shabbos and return on Friday to a limping enterprise that only drained strength and money, a struggle strong enough to crush families and exhaust ordinary people. But what I remember is seeing him descend on Friday afternoon, just before sunset, with a towel over his shoulder, down to the men’s mikvah in the basement of the shul slightly bent under the week’s burden, weighed down by toil (my personal perspective, yes). And then, ten minutes later, he would emerge in all his glory and splendor, a Shabbos Chassid, his countenance shining, his face radiant and noble like that of a king, a new man. A completely different person. He would go to his place at the back of the shul, and instantly his light would spread around him, his Chassidic warmth glowing. People would approach, some to receive a glowing “Gut Shabbos,” some to feel his warm and firm handshake, and all to hear a kind word, a Chassidic *vort*, perhaps even a moving story. Always moving.
And on Shabbos afternoon at the *farbrengen*, with a small glass in hand, a sparkle in his eyes and words of truth on his lips, he gave himself wholly to his listeners - and they received, and they absorbed, they received his love and returned their own to him.
That contrast between the weekday struggles and the radiant Shabbos Chassid, captured my heart forever. That ability found a permanent home in my soul.
Shabbat Shalom and Gmar Chasimah Tovah,
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski