Open letter by Rabbi Shmuel Wagner: Next to all your holy brothers, in a room thundering and echoing with the dor shvi’i mesirus nefesh, there will be an empty chair, where one shliach had literal, old-school mesirus nefesh, and was cold-bloodedly murdered for being a Jew.
Dear Zvi,
I did not know you; I never met you.
But that does not matter.
When the terrorists brutally murdered you, their act of terror was not directed at you as an individual, or as a lone Rabbi. They meant to terrorize everyone in your family, and they are correct: every Lubavitcher, indeed, every Jew is part of your family.
And, as one family, we all felt the searing pain, horror and shock when we received the news on Sunday morning.
The murder of any fellow yid is tragic; a knife in the heart of any sensitive soul. But the murder of a shliach is an extra twist of that knife, ten times over.
I remember Mumbai 2008. I remember how we were all glued to our tehillims and siddurim, and I remember how we were all so sure that there would ultimately be an open miracle. Because it is impossible for the Rebbe’s shluchim to be harmed. There was one line that galus cannot cross, and that is the Rebbe’s shluchim. And I remember the shell-shocking numbness of reality hitting. WHAT?! How?!
But just because I remember this happening 16 years ago didn’t make it any more acceptable now. This unimaginable knife of galus was twisted yet again yesterday, paraphrasing yesterday’s chitas, ויהי גלות בארץ מלבד הגלות הראשון אשר היה בימי תשס”ט.
I never met you. What do we have in common? You, an Israeli shliach, me, an American rebbi, yeah, we’re both working in our perspective fields for the same greater good, but if I would have walked past you at the kinnus this week on Kingston Avenue, your tie and nametag wouldn’t have invoked a second glance from me. Not chas veshalom because I don’t appreciate your holy work, but because there are baruch hashem so many thousands of you. Your presence would not have been noticed.
Your presence might not have been noticed – but your absence will be deafening.
As we will read this Shabbos in the haftorah, “ונפקדת כי יפקד מושבך”, “You will be remembered, because your seat will be absent.”
Literally. There will be a chair waiting for you at the banquet. Right there, next to all your holy brothers, in a room thundering and echoing with the dor shvi’i mesirus nefesh of thousands of shluchim who give up every comfort and luxury of living where they might have lived an easier life – there will be an empty chair, where one shliach had literal, old-school mesirus nefesh, and was cold-bloodedly murdered for being a Jew.
And, as ironic as it is unfortunate, in your absence, you will be remarkably remembered.
In your life as a shliach you have touched hundreds, probably thousands, of lives. In your death as a shliach you have touched, and will continue to touch, hundreds of thousands of lives, and millions of deeds.
Because, “ונפקדת – כי יפקד מושבך”. In your absence, people will step up to fill your place. Where you left off, committing your entire life to being a source of goodness and kindness, of light and inspiration, every single shliach, every single chosid, and perhaps every single Yid who now knows your name, will commit to adding a light in your honor, for your sake, in your footsteps.
We will live the life you died for.
I never met you. Until yesterday. But now, you have become an inseparable part of my life.
I can’t wait to meet you back here immediately now, with the coming of Moshiach.
Shmuel Wagner
Fill the chair instead with another shliach as the Rebbe said regarding russian Jews