My Story 7

I knew my romance with Chabad was over. But where to now? The other well known Hasdic groups seemed forbidding, and weren't that open to outsiders anyway. The "Yeshivish" communities seemed to needlessly delve into minutia, mostly about topics that didn't really affect people's lives. I viewed them as much ado about nothing, or at least very little. Modern Orthodoxy seemed superficial and artificial, as well as  downright dishonest. (That is still my feeling).The Hirschian approach of the German community seemed to be more about civics than G-d, with a strange fascination for German culture, together with a weird denial of German antisemitism.(There were never more than five Nazis!) As I mentioned, my Cincinnati German congregation was Orthodox, but few of their children were. Many had rare volumes of Jewish religious literature, some centuries old. When one of the members passed away, their families brought their entire libraries to the synagogue for eventual burial. I would often browse through these stacks of ancient tomes, choosing some to keep for my own library. On one such occasion. I found a small booklet that was not old. It was "Tikkun HaKlali" (the General Remedy), Rabbi Nachman's recommended ten Psalms, which he urged people to say often. I didn't know much about Rabbi Nachman., What I did know, was mostly from a 1970 book called "Nine and a Half Mystics". It was written by a Reform rabbi, Herbert Weiner. He had spent the 1960s researching various groups of Jewish mystics. His chapter on Breslov was quite enthusiastic, but he had given the distinct impression that it was depressing. This particular volume of Tikkun HaKlali had something special, though. It had the "Seder Hayom"; the 'order of the day" for a Breslover Hasid. This included spontaneous prayer to G-d, in one's own words. There was sharing burdens with friends. There was joy. There was study, turned into prayer. There was facing the reality that we fall far short of what we should be; including our rabbinic leadership, but reversal was easily possible.  Everything I had been feeling was right there! Wait...the booklet had a name written on it. I needed to talk with that man! I asked around, but no one had heard of him.I mentioned it to one of the Chabad people in Cincinnati; a young rabbi who was a teacher in the local day school. "Breslov? Ha! I have a lot of their books. Breslovers would come into the Lubavitch Yeshiva in Montreal and hand them out. We called them 'Breslover Comic Books. The rabbis said it was forbidden to read them. I"ll give you all that I have". I had been given a treasure! One book was all about individual spontaneous prayer (Hitbodedut). One was about remaining strong in the face of adversity. One was an interpretation of Shabbat and Holidays and what they should teach us. It sounded so wonderful...on paper. They all dealt with disappointments, and how to rise where we have fallen. Besides my disappointment with Chabad, I had just been turned down for a position I was sure I had in Beloit, Wisconsin. I wanted that job so badly, I could almost taste it. I was twenty-six, single, and very lonely. I thought I had found "the one", but she decided she could not accept a religious lifestyle. I was beyond disappointed on MANY levels. All that I read in these books gave me great hope! But who knows if this stuff is real? Wait...there were names and phone numbers of three rabbis on the back of the books. Two of them, alas, were non-working numbers. The third number did work.  The rabbi's wife answered, who explained to me that her husband, Rabbi Hershel Wasilski, was hard of hearing, and could not speak on the phone. However, the next time I would be in New York, he would be happy to meet with me. I immediately took vacation, and went to my parents' home in Brooklyn (Coney Island). I called the rabbi, and he invited me to come to his apartment in Williamsburg on Wednesday night. We spoke for several hours. He explained to me the basic teachings of Rabbi Nachman, as well as the history and ideology of the movement. He gave me many more books. He suggested that I study one teaching in Likkutei Moharan, Rabbi Nachman's main book, every day. He told me to recite the prayer connected with the teaching composed by Rabbi Nachman's disciple, Rabbi Natan. I was also told to speak to G-d every day for ten minutes, in my own words and language. Do this for ten days, and then come to him for Shabbat. He walked me to the elevated train which I would need to get back to my parent's place. Just as we approached the station, a train pulled in, and pulled out. The hour was late, and I knew the next train wouldn't come for at least half an hour. The rabbi said to me "You think you missed your train? You did not miss your train. If that had been your train, there is no way you would have missed it." I had never looked at things that way. He was talking as if...G-d were accessible. I had understood that He was separated from us by many heavens and portals, only to be reached through ancient, special prayers, and then only if recited properly. For the first time, I felt I had a G-d. I spent the next ten days with my parents, in whose home I could not eat. There was a kosher burger joint a few blocks away. I got in touch with some old friends, who were shocked that I was considering leaving Chabad, for a movement that no one had heard of. "You're becoming a WHAT?!?!". There were only about 200 Breslovers in the U.S. at the time. The Friday before going to Williamsburg, I was deep in thought as I walked to the burger joint for lunch. Would this prove to be real, or just another disappointment? I had been with Chabad for eleven years. Could I really start over elsewhere? My thoughts were interrupted as I passed a store that sold old junk; lamps, chairs, tables, that had seen better days. The proprietor came out of the store and said to me "Mister, can you read Hebrew? I have a Hebrew book that you can have cheap". Lo and behold...it was a Likkutei Moharan! I nearly jumped out of my skin. What were the chances? This was a sign! I went to Williamsburg, and showed the tiny Breslov community (about twenty-five people) the book I had found in Cincinnati, as well as the one I had just purchased. They looked at both. they were incredulous. "The one from Cincinnati...we know the man whose name is written on it. He lives in Jerusalem. He has never been to America, let alone Cincinnati".