This year, even though our lone voices might not swell with the same intensity and volume of the Meron music, we will bow in humility to the Divine conductor, wherever we are
This year, even though our lone voices might not swell with the same intensity and volume of the throbbing, sweeping, all-encompassing Meron music, we will bow in humility to the Divine conductor, wherever we are
Global conflagration was only a few months away but the darkening horizon in Europe seemed to belong to a different universe as the Karliner Rebbe, Rav Avraham Elimelech Perlow, arrived under a blue sky in Tel Aviv’s port in May 1939.
Hundreds of chassidim were on hand for the occasion. As the ocean liner approached, they began to sing in welcome. Knowing of the Rebbe’s passionate longing for the holiness of Eretz Yisrael that found expression in his regular letters to them, they were sure the joy on his face would mirror that of their own. But as soon as they caught sight of his somber face, they knew that something was off. The song died on their lips when the visitor raised his hand, signaling to them to stop.
As silence fell, the 48-year-old Rebbe began to speak. “We haven’t come to Eretz Yisrael to visit, but to arouse Heavenly mercy for our brothers in Poland and the rest of Europe,” he told his audience. “Black clouds are hovering over the skies of Europe! This is no time for happiness. Every one of us has a duty to cry out bitterly and daven at the holy kevarim for salvation.”
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