Rabbi Mendy Herson's Blog

The year was 1862. In the Russian town of Lubavitch, two young brothers - sons of the fourth Lubavitcher Rebbe - played. Little Sholom Dovber was just over five years old, his brother Zalman Aaron was eighteen months older.
Cops and robbers? Cowboys and indians?
Given the home in which they were raised, these boys decided to play Rebbe and Chassid (spiritual mentor and disciple). Being the older brother, Zalman Aaron donned an adult hat and positioned himself as the ‘Rebbe’. Meanwhile, Sholom Dovber presented himself as a 'Chassid', saying “Rebbe, I’m very troubled. Last Shabbos I did something I later learned to be inadvisable, albeit permissible (the boy actually spelled out an aspect of Shabbos observance). What can I do to atone for this inadvertant slip? How can I bring my life and behavior into a better place?”
The 'Rebbe' was ready with a response: "Be careful to look into your prayerbook, actually reading the words, when you pray; don’t recite the liturgy by heart”.
Little Sholom Dovber (who was destined to become the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe) quickly responded “Your advice won’t help, and you’re not a Rebbe!”
"Why do you say that?” protested the older boy.
“When a Rebbe hears a person’s plight, and senses his/her pain, he emits a ‘krechtz’ (Yiddish for sigh or groan) before he says offers any guidance (i.e he empathizes and feels their pain before offering any advice)."
"Your advice – in and of itself - might have actually helped, but since you didn’t ‘krechtz’ you’re obviously not a Rebbe and your advice won't work!”
What was this little boy - a Rebbe-in-waiting - actually saying?
When someone share his/her pain or struggle with you, and are positioned to give advice, remember that there's an important pre-requisite: Genuine empathy. You need to truly understand any problem if you're to be of use in solving it. The first step in solving a human problem is empathy.
If you feel the 'krechtz', if you can experience a bit of the other's pain, you are in a position to give good guidance. And feeling the 'krechtz' isn't enough. Show it. Don't be afraid to express your pain.
Sometimes the 'krechtz' itself, the hurting person's knowledge that someone else cares, may be more helpful than any advice.
So give a 'krechtz'. Care.
It may mean more than you can imagine.

"Who is that man?", the boy asked his father", "he must be the happiest man in the world!"
It was Simchat Torah, 1969, and the boy was amazed at the energetic enthusiasm of a man - with five young kids in tow - who was celebrating the joyous Holiday.
"That man? Actually, his name is Rabbi Hersh Gansburg. It's hard to believe, but he just lost his wife, Rashi; she passed away six days ago at the tender age of 37.”
Shocked, the exclaimed "What? How can he be so happy??" 
"You can be certain that his heart is broken, but it's a Holiday, a joyous time. A Chassidic Jew, even in the depths of his pain, is able to find joy when he needs to."
Later that day, at a gathering (farbrengen) of thousands, the Rebbe turned to this very same man and asked him to say l’chaim on a bit of vodka. The packed synagogue was hushed as the young widower said l’chaim, and then began to sing a hope-filled Russian song [which translates as] “We, in water will not drown nor in fire will we burn”. The Rebbe began to emphatically encourage the crows to sing along, ultimately standing up to dance in place as the crowd became more and more excited, singing faster and faster.

Those present were astounded by this little heartbroken man, swinging back and forth, raising his voice from the depths of his soul, “We in water will not drown, and in fire we will not burn,” as if he was truly the happiest man alive.

A personal note:

I was in Chicago this week to mourn the sudden passing of a 59 year old colleague, a man who’d devoted his life to sparking and strengthening G-d-consciousness throughout the State of IL. To see his widow, children and grandchildren, to feel his loss, was unbearable.

Yesterday, I was at a funeral in Brooklyn to mourn another sudden death. This time, it was the wife of my colleague in Alpharetta, Georgia, a 37 year old mother of eight, who’d been devoting her life to the community down there. .

That young lady was named Rashi. She was Rabbi Gansburg’s granddaughter, the first Rashi named for the lady who passed away in 1969.

Lots of pain. Lots of sadness.

And now Purim.

How to celebrate?

With joy. Because that’s what we do.