When the tzaddik of Tosh raised his holy eyes to you, you felt unworthy and elevated at once, engulfed in the comfort that you weren’t alone in your challenges.
Motzaei Shabbos in Tosh. The decor is unremarkable — faded linoleum, painted cinder block walls, memorial plaques spread around like autumn leaves.
The gruff sweetness of gabbaim, the animated hum of the bochurim standing guard in various anterooms, the persistent buzzing of a lightbulb, the hope that runs through these rooms like a river.
It’s the smells that capture you.
Perspiration. Hundreds of chassidim who’ve just experienced an intense Shabbos line the waiting room, collective tension and body heat making it very warm despite softly falling snow outside.
The lingering smell of overcooked kugel, challah crumbs, and burning wax. Tosh is a place of candles, which the Rebbe tends with the care of a gardener, seeing stories in each flickering light.
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