There are still two and a half hours until the flight from Istanbul to Almaty, and about an hour and a half until the information about the gate for the flight to Kazakhstan will appear on the screen.
It’s hot here, not really air-conditioned, and I’m thinking about my journey to visit Rabbi Levik. Rabbi Levik is the great rabbi, the chassidic scholar, and the kabbalist, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, the Rebbe's father, who passed away on the 20th of Menachem Av 5704 (1944). This upcoming Shabbat marks 80 years since then, 1944 - 2024.
Rabbi Levik was exiled by the Soviets because he stood in their way of destroying Judaism in the Soviet Union, as he served as the chief and unwavering rabbi of the city now known as Dnipro, today in Ukraine, back then in the Soviet Union.
The Rebbe's father was sent to years of suffering in prisons and to a forgotten city of exile with extreme and nearly unbearable weather in Kazakhstan, where he eventually fell ill and passed away 80 years ago. Chabad chassidim wish to honor the Rebbe by essentially coming in his place to the grave of his father on his yahrzeit. (The American Chabadniks, who are not as familiar with the concept of organizing funds, getting excited, buying a ticket, getting excited again, and then flying a long way to reach a place where they will experience spiritual elevation, are particularly enthusiastic about this.)
I don't really know who Rabbi Levik was; I don't have the tools to appreciate the greatness of his personality, but from reading the diary of his wife, Rebbetzin Chana, of blessed memory, it becomes clear between the lines that she knew she was living with a great man. This was a woman who was the daughter of a rabbi, the wife of a rabbi, and the mother of the Rebbe, an intelligent and very wise woman, whose entire life revolved around extraordinary people. Yet, from her writings, it seems she understood that she was living alongside a man who lived life differently, a man who lived on a different plane than the rest of humanity.
Sometimes, I find that a concept I’m thinking about suddenly receives reinforcement from an unexpected source. This week, I met Dayan Raskin, also known as Dayan Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Raskin of London, whose father, Rabbi Shalom Ber Raskin, was 19 years old when he met Rabbi Levik in Almaty, Kazakhstan, during the last months of his life. I asked him if his father remembered Rabbi Levik. Dayan Raskin immediately said, "Of course he remembered, but one thing my father would always recall with teary eyes was how, after Rabbi Levik’s passing, Rebbetzin Chana cried, saying, 'A great man, who have you left us with?'"
In my humble opinion, each of us has moments of greatness. These are the moments when we are willing to give up what is important in the standard dimension of our lives for a life that expresses our core essence. Perhaps it’s not even a willingness to give up but simply an awareness that there is a completely different dimension of life—one that is deeper and more true—and in a moment of truth, we devote ourselves to it.
Greatness, in my view, is the recognition of our inner personality, our divine soul, and living according to it. The direct result of this would be more humility and less pride, leading to less harm and vulnerability. The material race would calm down, resulting in less disappointment and more joy. Our self-worth would become spiritual, growing and flourishing because it would no longer be defined by material achievement.
If we lived this way, if we placed this in contrast to our daily conduct, we would come closer to the definition of a "great man."
Rabbi Levik was a great man in his very essence, in every moment of his life, in every word he spoke, and in everything he did.
I am not traveling to become a great man; I am traveling to connect to the greatness of others.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski