The last time we reported on Chabad’s orphanages in Russia and Ukraine, we were inundated with readers’ responses. Some called and emailed to inquire about adopting a child, and others donated generously. Many told us that they had no idea that in some parts of the world children are still growing up in orphanages. After all, in the U.S. and most western countries, orphanages have long been replaced with foster care systems and private adoption agencies.
Since we published that story (From Heartbreak to Hope, Winter 2016/17), Ukraine’s Jewish communities have suffered great misfortunes. After conflict erupted in Eastern Ukraine, the country’s economy collapsed, and with it the Jewish communities that had been so painstakingly rebuilt since the fall of the Soviet Union. Lubavitch International led with reports on the tragic dismantling of Jewish communities in Donetsk and Lugansk (April/May 2017). We looked at how the Kharkov Jewish community was holding on by sheer will.
Following those reports, readers wrote back telling us that they had been unaware—not only of the situation facing Jews in this region, but in general—of Jewish life in Ukraine. Thus, the sentiment conveyed to us by the people whom we interviewed in Ukraine—that they had been abandoned by their counterparts in the U.S.—was sadly confirmed. We decided that if we take seriously the idea that Jewish people are responsible for each other—and we do—we would make raising awareness a priority.
So when we learned about the deteriorating crisis in Odessa that is directly impacting vulnerable Jewish children, we sent one of our reporters to see for herself and give our readers a first-hand account. Rena Udkoff had visited Odessa’s Mishpacha orphanage several years earlier, and what she saw on her most recent visit earlier this summer was disheartening. The precious sweetness of children who’ve come into this world with so little going for them, and the unshakeable commitment of a faculty struggling with extremely limited resources to give these orphans a way out of their miserable circumstances, left her humbled and heartbroken.
One of the most poignant stories related to Yom Kippur is about Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Chabad. The story tells us that once, on the eve of Yom Kippur, the Rebbe was late for the Kol Nidrei service. His congregation waited in anticipation, unwilling to begin without him.
We may expect this story to end like so many other stories about holy men: that Rabbi Schneur Zalman, being a great mystic and Torah scholar, was late for Kol Nidrei because he had ascended to some spiritual realm during his preparation for this holy day. But that isn’t how this story ends at all.
In fact, the Rebbe had kept his congregation waiting because he’d heard that a young woman who had just given birth was in need. Alone in her hut, she was without fire or food, and the Rebbe had gone to help her.
Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are so much about the spiritual life: we pray, we introspect, we fast. But these days are meant to heighten our awareness of the world around us, and, as the stories in this issue illustrate, help us become better attuned to the cry of a shivering child, the frustration of a rejected student, and even to the helplessness of an unclaimed body.
We hope that what you read in these pages will enrich your own preparations for Rosh Hashanah. And we hope that you will feel inspired to participate in the transformational work of the Rebbe’s shluchim in Odessa and around the world, wherever they bring the gift of hope as a new year dawns.
May you and your loved ones be blessed with a good, sweet year. May you be inscribed in the book of life.