Rabbi Nisan, I salute you.

"I have a database of approximately 240 Jews, almost all of whom agree to stay in touch with me." This is how the message of one of the remarkable members of our group began, one of the 170 members of the ‚Shluchim hebrew' group of Hebrew-speaking Chabad emissaries in Europe. His name is Rabbi Nisan Rupo, and he is the Rebbe's emissary in a remote city in Russia, Kostroma—a city that once served as the place of exile for Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, also known as the Rebbe Rayatz of Lubavitch. Today, the city is home to a community that Rabbi Rupo manages with exceptional dedication and genuine humility. He showed us a collage of over 200 photos of families lighting Chanukah candles in their homes. When we asked how this was achieved, he gave the following response. I didn’t touch Nisan’s text; his words touched me. Here is the continuation, in his own words: "For twenty years, I’ve been doing home visits during Chanukah, lighting candles. Some have already grown accustomed to this practice, while others learned about it in classes. On the first night, we held a large event where a significant portion of the community participated. We distributed kits there and asked people to light the candles, take a photo, and send it to us. We also distribute humanitarian aid packages, and we included a menorah with candles in each package. Every evening, except for Shabbat eve, I go out on mivtzoim (outreach activities), visiting homes and lighting candles with them. This year, I took my children with me. Thanks to this, some families agreed to let us come and light candles. I do this from nightfall until relatively late at night, managing to visit a few homes each day. Yesterday, I reached someone who lives dozens of kilometers from the city. Initially, he didn’t want to hear about Chanukah, but when I mentioned that my children were with me, he agreed. During our drive, he called to say that they were invited to someone’s house. I told him I was already nearby, so his whole family went to the gathering while he stayed home to wait for me. After I returned home at midnight, another person responded to a message. So, around midnight, I went out to another home. I, too, became closer to Judaism thanks to these outreach efforts, so it touches my heart. It’s imprinted in my childhood memories." By this point, Nisan didn’t know that I was already teary-eyed from emotion. I quietly waited to read more. Here it is: "In the summer of 1991, I attended a camp for non-Jews, where even mentioning the word 'Jew' was the greatest embarrassment. When I received a letter from my father, with the sender's name, 'Eidelshtein,' clearly marking it as a Jewish surname, someone noticed it. I didn’t know where to hide myself. By the summer of 1992, I arrived at a Jewish camp—Gan Israel Chabad camp in Moscow. On the first day, they gave me tzitzit, and I wore them. On the second day, everyone went to put on tefillin, so I joined them. On the third day, a mohel arrived, and I underwent a brit milah. During Sukkot, I was at 'Marina Roscha,' Rabbi Lazar’s synagogue. I saw yeshiva students preparing to go out for lulav outreach on the city streets. I asked how they would recognize who was Jewish. They said by their nose. I thought they were joking. They invited me to join them. I went with them, and at that time, Moscow’s streets still had a relatively high percentage of Jews. Many could even be recognized by their faces. (Until 1985, according to the census, most Jews in Moscow married other Jews.) Then, the students would actually approach people in the street. Some admitted they were Jewish and agreed to shake the lulav right there in the street. I remembered the shame I had experienced a year earlier, and now I saw the 'majesty of Jacob' and told myself, 'This is what I love.' The next day, I stood myself with a lulav on Moscow's main street, asking people if they were Jewish. I was a very shy 14-year-old boy. After that, I went to yeshiva, and during Chanukah, we went out every day to light candles with Jews in central Moscow (in a mitzvah tank). Since then, I’ve loved it very much." Rabbi Nisan, I salute you. Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Zalman Wishedski