Dancing with the KGB - Chapter 9 of The Secret of Chabad by David Eliezrie

Chapter from David Eliezrie's book on Chabad's clandestine Soviet activities and Mossad ties

Dancing with the KGB is chapter 9 of David Eliezrie's book The Secret of Chabad detailing Chabad underground networks in the Soviet Union, coordination with Israeli intelligence, and related events.

Golda Meir on the Golan Heights

The helicopter rumbled over the battlefield. It had been just a few hours since the Israeli Tank battalion, outnumbered and surprised, blocked the thrust of Syrian armor on the Golan Heights. The Syrian onslaught began on the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur, of 1973. The Israelis had been caught unprepared as the Syrian tanks threatened Israel’s heartland. The situation was grave, and Defense Minister, Moshe Dayan, and Chief of Staff, Dado Elazar, were apprehensive. Prime Minister Golda Meir had years of experience as a politician, but her command of military strategy was negligible. Dayan and Elazar felt it was essential that she see the battlefield firsthand, and the risks that still lay ahead. Pillars of smoke rose as the helicopter found a spot to land. Yehuda Avner, the Prime Minister’s aide who accompanied her, described the moment. “The stench of death was in the air, and fires smoldered from the battle that finished just a few hours earlier.” On the ground, Dayan and Elazar opened maps and began to brief Golda. A few dozen yards away, soldiers were gathered in a hastily jumbled-together Sukkah in honor of the weeklong joyous holiday that comes five days after Yom Kippur. Weary from battle, the soldiers were gathered inside, finishing the prayers. Golda Meir’s grandparents were Orthodox, but she was far from observant. Golda’s Judaism was her ardent Zionism. Helicopters had been buzzing over the battlefield the whole day. The soldiers hadn’t realized that the one landing nearby carried the prime minister, defense minister, and the chief of staff. Golda, spotting the soldiers, began to walk in their direction. Yehuda Avner, who was himself Orthodox, reminisced: “She was a bit uncomfortable around the religious,” and, uneasily, she pushed down her skirt as she got closer. As the service ended, the soldiers turned, astonished to see the prime minister standing surrounded by the leaders of Israel’s military. She asked them about the battle and wished them well, and they asked if they could pose some questions. One of the soldiers, the strain of combat etched on his face, asked in the classic blunt Israeli fashion, “Tell me, Golda, is it worth it? My father was wounded in the War of Independence in 1948, my brother suffered in the Six-Day War in 1967, and now we have just finished this terrible battle.” The soldiers all stood in silence, the smell of death lingering in the air, wondering: should the Jewish people continue to fight to control their destiny? Golda pondered his question. Finally she answered. “If it’s worth it today, I do not know, but let me tell you what happened to me in Moscow in 1948. I was appointed the first Israeli ambassador to the Soviet Union. I felt it my duty to attend the services for Rosh Hashanah in the main synagogue in Moscow. The first day, I was surprised. Close to a thousand seats, and just a few old men. Disappointed, I returned to my hotel, wondering if I should go again the next day. Finally, I decided that as the ambassador of Israel, it was my obligation, so the next day, again, I went to the synagogue. As I got close, I saw that the street was mobbed. Thousands were gathered outside yelling my name, “Golda, Golda.” Every seat was taken inside. That day I learned the power of the Jewish people, the common bond that links all of us together. That day I learned we must sacrifice for one another.”

Golda Meir told the story to celebrated Italian reporter, Oriana Fallaci, commenting that she was surprised to discover that it was Chabad that brought out the crowd. Then she added a caveat: “Seeing thousands of Jews greeting me on Rosh Hashanah in Moscow was the only moment in my life that I considered becoming observant.”

Mossad Connections

A few years after Golda Meir’s arrival in Moscow, the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service, decided to use the embassy as a base to build a connection with Russian Jews. Yitzchak Shamir, who would later become Israel’s seventh prime minister, was an intelligence officer in the fifties and sixties. Speaking at a memorial gathering for the Rebbe in Tel Aviv in 1994, he recalled the early exploits of the Mossad in Russia. “In the fifties, we decided to investigate the status of Soviet Jewry, and we discovered there was a clandestine Jewish network already in place, directed by the Rebbe in Brooklyn.”

That underground network originated with the secret covenant that nine Chassidim had made with the Sixth Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, in 1924. They took an oath as a minyan to keep Judaism alive in Russia until their last breath. The Sixth Rebbe directed the network, first from Russia and eventually from Latvia, Poland, and then the US, funneling funds through surreptitious methods and the diplomatic pouches of friendly countries. In the fifties, the new Rebbe intensified the efforts behind the Iron Curtain. Secrecy was paramount. The Rebbe instructed his secretaries not to write down information or briefings, and directives were transmitted verbally, and at times in code. Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky says, “The Rebbe did almost everything in yechidus (private meetings).”

Rabbis David Hollander and Herschel Schacter led a mission of rabbis on behalf of the Rabbinical Council of America to Russia in 1955. It was the first time in the postwar era that a formal delegation of American Jewish leaders visited Russian Jewry. Schacter said they had a long meeting with the Rebbe in advance of the trip. “We sat with the Rebbe and took notes, the Rebbe gave us names of people we should look for. It was remarkable; we looked and found many of them.” When they returned, they briefed the Rebbe about their historic trip. In the Grand Choral Synagogue in Saint Petersburg, they discovered a room filled with Torah scrolls. At that time, Communism was powerful, the cold war at its height; no one could envision a rebirth of Jewish life in Russia. They suggested to the Rebbe that the scrolls be removed from Russia and given to Jewish communities around the world. “No,” the Rebbe said, “there will be a time when they will be used in Russia.”

In 2002, President Bush and his wife, Laura, visited the same synagogue as part of a formal state visit to Russia. The Chief Rabbi of Saint Petersburg, Rabbi Mendel Pewzner and his wife, Sara, hosted the Bushes. It was supposed to be a quick twenty-minute visit, but the president lingered over an hour. The Pewzners had restored the Choral Synagogue to its prior state of grandeur. During the tour, Rabbi Pewzner told the president the story about the Torah scrolls, and Bush responded, “That was a prophecy.”

In Israel, the legendary spymaster, and first head of the Mossad, Isser Harel, launched Israel’s clandestine operations to help Soviet Jews. He appointed Shaul Avigur to direct the Lishkat Hakesher (the Liaison Office) of the covert division of the Prime Minister’s Office. Avigur embedded agents in the Israeli diplomatic mission in Moscow. In 1953 he dispatched Nechemia Levanon to the Moscow Embassy as an agriculture officer, but his true mission was Russian Jewry. Years later, in interviews with Chassidic historian Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Kamenetsky, Levanon described the era: “After the rule of Stalin that destroyed the network of Jewish institutions, the only remnants were the synagogues.” Levanon attempted to connect to Jews via the two existing synagogues in Moscow. There was the Grand Choral Synagogue and the small, wooden Marina Roscha Synagogue, which was erected by Chassidim in 1925 in the rough Marina Roscha neighborhood on the outskirts of Moscow, where even police feared patrolling too aggressively. In the Marina Roscha Synagogue, Levanon met a Chassidic Jew who invited him to a secret meeting in a bathhouse in central Moscow. “In the bathhouse, I was approached by a Chassid who told me of the difficulties of sending messages to the Rebbe in New York and asked if the Israeli government could help facilitate the communication.” Levanon was from a secular kibbutz and quite wary of the Israeli government using its resources to connect Chassidim in Russia with their Rebbe in Brooklyn. “Shaul Avigur approved the arrangement.” From then on, every Friday, they met in the bathhouse. Questions from Russian Chassidim were funneled by diplomatic mail to Tel Aviv and on to the Rebbe in New York. The Israelis also transported religious books and materials provided by Chabad via diplomatic pouch. Levanon was finally forced out of Russia in 1956 when he was discovered in the home of a Soviet Jew and was declared persona non grata.

Arieh Eliav was sent to Russia by the Israelis in 1958 with the official title of First Secretary of the Russian Embassy in Moscow. It was a difficult time, Eliav said years later in an interview. “The Iron Curtain was at its fullest strength, the Soviet Union viewed any religious expression as an act against the state. We discovered another underground, with activities similar to ours, operated by Chabad. Everywhere we went, we found them. We knew their network connected to thousands.” Eliav says the risks were much greater for the Chabad network. “If our actions were discovered, we could be declared persona non grata and expelled. They risked imprisonment and even death.” After three years in Russia, Eliav returned to Israel, and Shaul Avigur told him, “First, you must go to New York to see the Rebbe.” At 11 o’clock in the evening, Eliav entered the Rebbe’s office in Brooklyn. For close to eight hours, he was debriefed. “We spoke in Yiddish with some occasional Hebrew. For the first two hours, he wanted to know the situation in Russia. The Rebbe was interested in the politics, Soviet economic policies, and the status of the Jewish communities.” The Rebbe dug deeper, leading Eliav from city to city probing for information about each community. “A Jew went to Tashkent?” asked the Rebbe in poetic rabbinic tone. “Yes,” said Eliav. “And in Tashkent, was a Jew called to the Torah?” “Yes,” he replied. “The Torah reader, was he good, did he have a red beard?” asked the Rebbe. Eliav said, “He wanted to know if I had connected with his man on the ground, and without revealing to me who he was.” The meeting lasted some eight hours, until the morning light. The Rebbe led Eliav from one community to another, extracting detail after detail. Years later, Eliav reflected on the Rebbe’s debriefing. “He did not want me to leave his office and tell Shaul Avigur that the Rebbe’s man in Tashkent was the red-bearded Torah reader. Who knows where that information could have mistakenly gone? The Rebbe took precautions as the head of the secret underground.”

Chabad Missions

The Rebbe dispatched his own emissaries to Russia; most came as tourists, others as businessmen. There were official delegations of Jewish leaders that the Communists wanted to impress. These groups would invariably meet with the Rebbe in advance of their trips, and be secretly tasked with missions behind the Iron Curtain. One of those secret missions took place in 1965. Binyomin Katz, a yeshiva student with a photographic memory, was dispatched on a mission that took him on a three-month trip across the Soviet Union. It came about quite unexpectedly. Katz was slated to spend the summer months in Scandinavia on Merkos Shlichus (summer outreach), helping Rabbi Azriel Chaikin, who was the Chief Rabbi of Denmark. Customarily, Chassidim met the Rebbe privately on their birthdays. Just prior to entering the Rebbe’s office, Katz’s classmate, Ben Zion Shafran, pulled out a map and said, “Don’t you see how close Copenhagen and Leningrad are? This is a golden opportunity to help the Russian Jews.” Moments later, Binyomin entered the Rebbe’s office and asked if he should travel to Russia to meet Jews. The Rebbe responded, “First go to Scandinavia and write me every week what you accomplish. When you finish there, we will think about what you should do in Russia.” The summer in Denmark would be Katz’s testing ground. Rabbi Chaikin observed Katz during that summer to see if he had the wherewithal for such a demanding mission. Katz visited communities in the region, sending weekly reports back to Brooklyn. Chaikin and his wife, Sara, were born in Russia. They had fled during the Great Escape, married in Morocco, and moved to Denmark. At the end of the summer, Katz stayed on for the High Holidays. Just after Rosh Hashanah, he sent a telegram to the Rebbe asking for further instructions; the answer came back in code. Deciphered, it was a message to prepare to travel to Russia. In the coming months, the training began in earnest. The Chaikins taught him basic Russian and filled him in on numerous details on Russian life, telling him not to sleep on the sheets since they would be inspected if he was anxious during the night. He was to travel under the guise of a non-threatening affluent eccentric tourist with time and money to burn. To play the part, he gained weight and purchased a fancy wardrobe. His mission was to connect with the Chassidic communities across Russia. He was given a list of contact people in each town. Travel for foreigners in Russia was arranged only by Intourist, the then-state-operated tourist agency. It was founded in 1929 by Stalin and staffed by the KGB, the Committee for State Security, to monitor tourists and bring in much-needed foreign currency. Katz was charged $18,000 for ten weeks, including lodging, transportation, and food, paid in cash to Intourist before the trip started. In Moscow, he was placed on the thirtieth floor of the Ukraina Hotel, four miles from the synagogue. Katz’s mission was twofold: give hope to those he met, and collect names and addresses in Russia. As a young American with a full beard, brimming with enthusiasm, he would inspire the Jews behind the Iron Curtain. Katz possessed a photographic memory. It was not revealed to him the reason for collecting the names; that was “on a need-to-know basis.” Only after leaving Russia, was he informed of the second part of the mission – to facilitate immigration to Israel under a program of “Family Reunification.” In Moscow, Katz became a fixture in the main synagogue, the same one that Golda Meir had visited in 1949. The grand-style Choral Synagogue was built in 1892, and despite Bolshevik demands to convert it to a workers’ club, it remained open throughout the Communist years. The Russians used it as a symbol to the West that Jews were free to exercise their religious rights. A few old Jews and some Chabad followers frequented it. Its poorly lit, cavernous interior with towering ceilings, balconies, and pillars, as well as seating for eight hundred, provided secret niches for Katz to connect to local activists. Off to the side was a smaller sanctuary that could accommodate eighty people, and it was known as the gathering place for Chabad Chassidim. Early every morning, an Intourist car would transport Katz from his hotel to the synagogue, and he would loiter there until around 1:00 p.m. In the afternoons, he would visit museums and other local sites, returning to the synagogue near sundown for evening services. He volunteered to be the Chazzan (prayer leader), and he joined the daily Talmud lessons. Sometimes when he was leading the services, someone would snatch the prayer book and he would continue by heart. The locals were testing whether he was another Communist plant. Katz says that among the small group of observant Jews, there seemed to be three kinds: “the ones who had been to prison, the ones in prison, and the ones going to be in prison.” Fear lingered behind the dark pillars and empty pews in the vast sanctuary. Slowly, the mistrust of Katz faded, and some of the regulars began to seek contact. A money changer fumbled with some money on the floor. Scrounging around for the coins, he whispered to Katz, “I am from Dochshitz,” which was a well-known Chassidic town, “do you know my classmate Yochanan Gordon?” Katz’s first real break came when Yankel Elishevitz, who was one of the respected Chassidic elders, passed a few words to him in the stairwell leading toward the mikvah in the basement. Elishevitz was a schochet, who would slaughter kosher meat in the area behind the synagogue building. Time and again, he had tugged at Katz’s beard to see if it was real. Observing him day after day, he saw that he knew how to pray, and exhibited proficiency in the daily Talmud class. Finally, he was convinced that Katz was not a KGB spy. Katz told him he was sent by the Rebbe to collect the names of Jews. Elishevitz slowly spread the word about his mission, and others approached him clandestinely. A prayer book would be placed on a windowsill. A few minutes later Katz picked it up, slipped out the paper with the list of names, memorized and destroyed the evidence. Chassidim would stand next to him in services and, in a singsong voice mimicking the prayers, they would ask about their relatives overseas. Ephraim Kaploun, the synagogue president, who may have been a KGB front man, repeatedly demanded that Katz leave the synagogue. “Why should I go?” Katz retorted. “I am just a tourist.” To Kaploun’s consternation, Katz continued to come every day. After a month in Moscow, he had collected a large number of names. On the last day, he quietly moved to the front of the synagogue and approached a reclusive Chassid who had never shared his information. Instantly he was seized and forced into a room in the back of the synagogue. “My heart was pumping, but I tried to show no fear, as I had been instructed by Rabbi Chaikin. The room was filled with KGB agents, but luckily for me, the translator was Mordechai Chanzin, a brother of a prominent Chabad rabbi in Israel. During my time in the synagogue, we had spoken secretly about his family in Israel.” They pelted Katz with questions in Russian and Chanzin translated to Yiddish, massaging the answers, saving Katz from danger. A day later, Katz left Moscow. Katz visited nine cities in Russia; Intourist managed every step of his trip. They selected the hotels and sights he would see. They had to permit this eccentric rich American tourist his wish to visit synagogues in each town. He had one major challenge. Somehow he had to find a way to get to Tashkent. This city, two thousand miles from Moscow, was the capital of the remote Soviet-controlled Uzbekistan. A large group of Chassidim had migrated there during the Nazi invasion and had remained after the war. A formal request to visit Tashkent would have been a red flag to the KGB. He had been instructed that, once in Russia, he should find a way to visit Tashkent without raising Soviet suspicion. He arrived in Tbilisi in Soviet Georgia. Deep in Russia, it was the city closest on the official itinerary to Tashkent, located 1,200 miles further east. The Georgian Jews were noted for their fierce independence, and the Soviet Union’s rule was a touch more benevolent there than in the rest of the country. Katz discovered the only Jewish community in the Soviet Union that afforded Jews a degree of freedom. “It was the only relatively relaxed place in Russia.” In Tbilisi, he heard about a championship soccer competition taking place in Tashkent. Finally he had the excuse he needed. Overnight, he became an ardent sports fan, demanding from his handlers at Intourist, “I want to go to Tashkent for the game.” At first, the officials resisted, but Katz insisted, paying a premium for the ticket to Tashkent. He arrived on a Thursday and attended the game. The next morning, he headed to his real destination. Playing tourist, he went to the old market and slowly found his way to the Bukharan Synagogue nearby. Friday evening, he returned for services and discovered a small group. It had been a long time since Chabad emissaries from outside the USSR had penetrated so deep into Russia. The Chassidim in this isolated province were very suspicious of the American religious Jew. Katz volunteered to lead the services. “I acted like a cantor from America, everyone would see me; I knew if I led the services it would give them hope.” After services, the regular Cantor, Levi Pressman, approached Katz. “Let’s walk and talk,” he said. The streets were dark, a street light every few blocks. Pressman walked with Katz telling him that the Chabad underground had communicated with them. “We heard you were coming, we received postcards telling us something good was coming.” He told him that if anyone came near to them as they walked they should sing melodies like two cantors. The next day, Katz attended services again, but fear was still in the air and few approached him. Michael Veshedsky, a young Chassid, came close to the synagogue around noon. Discovering a ring of KGB agents, he stayed away. Saturday night after the conclusion of the Sabbath, Katz spied a couple on the street in front of his hotel. “Pressman had told me that someone might come to give me a message.” He stepped out on the sidewalk, and the women whispered in Hebrew, “First to the right and then to the left.” They began to walk parallel on different sides of the darkened streets meandering in the direction of the Old Market and the synagogue. They weaved along the streets verifying that they had lost the KGB surveillance in the dark. When they finally paused, the young couple questioned Katz about relatives in Brooklyn. He told them about their families. He had some printed material, teachings from the Rebbe. They told him, “Leave it on a bench and continue walking toward the marketplace.” After they disappeared into the shadows, another man emerged. “Follow me,” he ordered, and they walked between the streets to the outskirts of the town to the Oldmark, an ancient marketplace. The older man instructed Katz to lie down in a dark area of grass, head to head, warning him, “If you hear footsteps, we will quietly roll away in opposite directions.” Who are you, he asked. “Binyomin Katz, the Rebbe’s shliach to find people like you and help them get visas to leave Russia.” The man identified himself as Rabbi Lazer Nanes; for twenty years he had been imprisoned by the Communists, never having transgressed a Sabbath during that time. Still he was skeptical. Katz finally calmed him, “I know your brother-in-law in Montreal, Rabbi Moshe Newmark. He has three daughters, Nechama, Nacha, and Batsheva. His wife’s name is Luba. I was a student in the Yeshiva in Montreal and would eat at their Shabbat table.” Nanes had been trying to leave Russia for a while. When family members sent him needed information for visa requests, the Russian censor blotted out the page. Katz had been carrying a verbal message to Reb Lazer from Israel with instructions about how the visa documents should be prepared. Nanes faded into the night, and suddenly two sets of hands grabbed Katz. Alone, in the dark, in the hands of others, he was terrified, fearing that this could be his final moment. He heard a voice in Yiddish telling him not to fear. Katz recognized the voice; it was similar to a person he knew in Montreal. Astonishing those holding him, he said, “Mochkin.” “How do you know my name?” came the voice in the night. “I know a Mochkin voice, I know your father Peretz and your brothers Laibel and Berel and even your mother Henya,” Katz answered. Yossel Mochkin and Michael Veshedsky told Katz that they had been watching him since he arrived in Tashkent. Both were in their twenties and had served time in prison. They worried that he was a KGB plant. Veshedsky told him, “On Shabbat, I approached the synagogue but found the streets around it full of KGB agents. Your arrival seemed too good, a man flashing a lot of money, with an expensive camera, offering to help his fellow Jews.” They had searched his hotel room, seen his religious observance, and kept him under constant surveillance. Yossel Mochkin told Katz, “We couldn’t take a chance; what if you had been sent by the KGB to catch us?” The next day Binyomin Katz returned to the synagogue. A group of Chassidim waited for him. They prayed together and he shared with them some of the Rebbe’s teachings and taught them Chassidic melodies. A crowd gathered. Quietly, he was warned, “Informers are in the courtyard of the synagogue.” Binyomin decided a ruse was crucial; he began to do somersaults, laughing as he jumped around the courtyard. The Russian spies turned away from the antics of this daffy American tourist. From Russia, Katz traveled back to Scandinavia. There, he was told of the details of the second part of his mission, and he was dispatched to Israel. The Russian government was quietly permitting limited numbers of Jews to immigrate to Israel under a plan of Family Reunification. To qualify, a Russian citizen had to receive an invitation from a family member abroad. Chabad leaders in Israel arranged access to the population registry. In post offices across the country, Katz spent months poring over records looking for names of Jews in Israel that matched those in Russia. Each person who initiated a request to their newly found relatives in Russia had to be vetted. The Communist Party was still active in Israel, and there was a fear that some of the Russians still had loyalties to the Soviet homeland. After the background check, they were approached and asked to help Russian Jews immigrate. Applications were submitted to the Russian embassy, then in Tel Aviv. Jews in Russian towns discovered they had new relatives in Israel with the same name and at times from the same region and city. Hundreds of Jews arrived in Israel in the next year, surreptitiously, without publicity or fanfare. Time and again Binyomin Katz was instructed that his mission was to be considered an absolute secret. No one knew he had been in Russia. He never told his family the true reason for his trip to Israel that lasted almost a year. A few years after returning to the US, he accompanied Professor Velvel Greene to a speaking engagement about Chabad. The Soviet Jewry Movement was gaining steam in the late sixties. An audience member pestered the Professor why Chabad was not involved in the demonstrations against Russia. The Rebbe had told his followers and other Jewish leaders that the public demonstrations in the US were counterproductive. Finally Katz stated, “The Rebbe does what he can.” A few days later, Rabbi Hodakov summoned Binyomin to his office and chastised him for saying even that much. “You broke the code of secrecy.” While American Jewry was increasing its public activism against the Russian government’s treatment of Soviet Jewry, Chabad’s secret efforts continued. Groups like Ezras Achim, Chama, and, in later years, Shamir – all Chabad-backed organizations – continued to send packages to Soviet refuseniks with food and marketable goods that could be sold in Russia to sustain families. Rabbis, scholars, and activists masquerading as tourists continued to make the secret trips to Russia. While other groups attempted to seize the headlines, Chabad shipped tons of matza to Soviet Jews, never announcing its success. In Russia, underground Jewish schools continued to operate in secret. Religious leaders who could leave Russia stayed to perform key tasks with remarkable dedication. In 1973, Rabbi Mordechai Lifshitz, the only mohel (rabbi qualified to perform circumcisions) in Moscow, was granted a short travel permit to attend his daughter’s wedding in New York. In a message, the Rebbe asked him, “Who will be the mohel in Moscow if you leave?” He changed his travel plans and remained in Russia, missing his daughter’s wedding. The public campaign for Soviet Jewry in Israel had been orchestrated by the Lishkat Hakesher, the Liaison Office in the Prime Minister’s Office that coordinated the clandestine efforts in Russia. Nechemia Levanon had been tasked with this project after his deportation from Russia. With time, this small undertaking would evolve into a public campaign that included major demonstrations on behalf of Soviet Jewry in the US and around the world. American Jews were not aware that the Israeli government was behind these events. This policy of public confrontation put the Israelis in direct conflict with their partners in Russia, Chabad. The Rebbe was adamant that the public demonstrations were causing the Russian government to hunker down, limiting immigration and freedom for Jewish religious activity in Russia. It came to a head in 1969. Yoram Dinstein, the Lishkat Hakesher agent in the Israeli Consulate in New York, was invited to meet the Rebbe. When he entered the office after 11:00 p.m., he said, “I was astonished.” The Rebbe had opened the conversation, saying, “I understand you are responsible for the issues of Soviet Jewry; how is Shaul Avigur?” Dinstein says, “No rabbi in the US knew who Shaul Avigur was. The people I dealt with in the American Jewish community thought I worked for the Foreign Minister. No one imagined I was an agent of the intelligence services.” Dinstein says the Rebbe knew about the small wave of immigration from the Soviet Union that had started. “This was kept secret not to antagonize the Russians.” The Rebbe asked Dinstein to transmit a vital message to the Israeli government. “The Rebbe wanted us to suspend the demonstrations for a period of time. He believed that this would cause thousands of Jews to be permitted to leave.” Dinstein said, “I told the Rebbe that this suggestion has merit but I did not imagine that Avigur would agree.” He told me, “I am sure that Avigur will consult with the higher-ups in the government.” Dinstein was convinced that Avigur would discuss the issue with Prime Minister Levi Eshkol. Dinstein says that Israel’s embassy in Moscow had been the hub of its intelligence work in Russia. “From there, our agents had contact with Russian Jews.” After the Six-Day War in 1967, the Russians cut diplomatic relations with Israel, and the Mossad was handicapped. “Israel had very limited direct contact, other than news stories, reports from friendly diplomats and some messages from Jews in Russia.” Dinstein says that Chabad did not have these restraints. “The Rebbe had a full network that reached deep into Russia.” The Israelis thought the Rebbe’s network had made a tentative deal with the Russians. “We came to the conclusion that the Rebbe, or his agents, already hinted to the Russians of the possibility that there was what to talk about.” Two weeks later, Dinstein was notified from Jerusalem that the demonstrations would not be halted. Due to the seriousness of the issue, he asked Nechemia Levanon, the Lishkat Hakesher agent in the embassy in Washington, to join him in the second trip to Brooklyn. This time, they entered the Rebbe’s office after 1:00 a.m. The meeting was tense. Levanon describes the encounter: “The Rebbe told us that five thousand Jews will leave Russia soon, including families and children; he felt nothing should be done that could endanger this.” Levanon says the Rebbe claimed that even Shaul Avigur was against continuing the demonstrations, but there were other political concerns of the Israeli government concerning East-West tension that were impacting their decisions. The Rebbe said, “I can understand this desire, but at least hold off on the demonstrations for a few months to allow this group to immigrate.” The Rebbe asked that his request be relayed to the government a second time. Ten days later, Prime Minister Eshkol, unfortunately, passed away. The new prime minister, Golda Meir, was not as willing to acquiesce to the Rebbe’s request, and the demonstration took place as planned. Two years later, the Rebbe went public when the issues emerged again. In a searing talk in the winter of 1971, he lamented the fact that “those who organize the demonstrations” had not halted them two years earlier. At the time, we who listened to the talk thought that he was referring to the American Jewish groups that were leading the demonstrations. No one imagined that he was really talking about the Israeli government. The Rebbe recalled that he had asked the organizers to defer the massive protest scheduled for just before Passover. “I asked them to push off the demonstration to after Shavuot, for two months.” The Rebbe described the tragic results of their refusal: “Hundreds of families who had emigration permits in their hands are until today in the Soviet Union. The situation has deteriorated even more, some lost their jobs, some had to leave their homes, because the Russian government thought they were connected to the demonstrations.” Bitterly, he said, “The organizers of the demonstrations are playing with the lives of three million Jews.” The policy disagreement between the Rebbe and the Israeli government did not dampen the Rebbe’s personal connections with government officials. Levanon recalls that a few months after their contentious meeting, “a package of handmade shmura matza (matza whose production has been watched from the beginning) with the Rebbe’s blessing arrived for me at the Embassy in Washington just before Passover.” Yehoshua Porat, an Israeli agent in Russia and later in New York, says, “Even if the Rebbe did not agree with our tactics and even fought against them, in numerous operations we received the Rebbe’s support. We helped Chabad and we worked together many times.”

Ezras Achim and Secret Operations

Some of Chabad’s secret activity in Russia was being coordinated by Ezras Achim (literally, helping our brothers) in Brooklyn. The organization was inspired by Reb Mendel Futerfas. After escaping Russia in the early sixties, Futerfas asked the Rebbe if he should have remained in Russia to continue the struggle. In response, he was told he should help Russian Jewry from overseas. Reb Mendel encouraged a group of Russian refugees in Brooklyn led by Rabbi Moshe Levertov and Rabbi Gedalia Korf to create an organization to help Russian Jewry. They had operated in the Jewish underground in Russia and they transferred their tradecraft to the US. Initially they started sending packages. Levertov explained in an interview: “We couldn’t send money, so we bought items that could be sold on the Russian black market, like cameras, tape recorders, and clothing.” Refuseniks invariably lost their jobs when they applied for visas, so the money they received from selling the goods from overseas sustained them in the darkest of times. Dozens of emissaries were dispatched to Russia – yeshiva students, rabbis, and just regular Americans masquerading as tourists. They visited Jews and brought religious items. They cast a wide net looking for people who would volunteer. Levertov describes the efforts: “We sent material with Peter Himmelman, the son-in-law of the famous singer, Bob Dylan. We once sent packages with some people from Hollywood who went to make a movie in Russia.” They would smuggle in Jewish books, but that posed a special challenge. “New books always aroused suspicion. My wife would spill coffee on them to make them appear old and used and were just being carried by the passengers for their personal reading.” He says that emissaries sent to Russia were not allowed to have lists of contacts; “they had to memorize them or write them in code.” There was a risk of arrest. “It was no simple matter to arrest a tourist who held a foreign passport, but there were a few instances in which the KGB dared to arrest shluchim. Rabbi Leibel Schapiro and his wife once went to Odessa, where they were constantly under surveillance and were questioned by the KGB. Professor Yitzchok Block was harassed by the KGB for making contact with Russian citizens in Kharkov.” The major American Jewish organizations operated in a public confrontational approach that the Israeli government covertly orchestrated. Ezras Achim functioned in total secrecy. More than once, suspicions had been raised that the long arm of the KGB reached into Brooklyn. To preserve secrecy, Levertov would not meet with the Rebbe at 770. Instead, he waited at the entrance of the Crown Heights mikvah, where he would be able to speak with the Rebbe without any public attention, and relay messages to and from Russia. Fundraising was done surreptitiously. Donors were told they could not disclose whom they were supporting. In April 1985, just three weeks after Mikhail Gorbachev became the leader of Russia, the Rebbe asked to meet with Professor Herman Branover, a prominent Soviet academic at Ben Gurion University in Israel who was a devoted Chassid of the Rebbe. He was also the leader of Shamir, a Chabad organization that assisted Russian Jews. Professor Branover was astonished by the message that the Rebbe asked him to transmit to Jews in Russia. “The Rebbe asked me to inform Jews on the other side of the Iron Curtain that the Communist era would soon be over and the Soviet Union would cease to exist. A new period was beginning in which Jews would be free to immigrate to Israel – or, if they chose, to live in Russia, without any restrictions on religious freedom.” The Rebbe asked that the information should be withheld from the press, but be shared with Jews in Russia to give them hope. Branover started calling contacts in Russia, but “they were very skeptical; one Jew told me that his wife was brought in for questioning the day before by the KGB, and there was a car outside monitoring them while we spoke on the phone.” Branover informed the Rebbe of the disbelief he had encountered. The Rebbe responded, “The process of change is not yet apparent, but there is no doubt.” After the breakup of the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev was honored, in June 1992, by Ben Gurion University in Be’er Sheva, Israel. Branover, a prominent Russian faculty member, was asked to escort Gorbachev during his visit, and he told Gorbachev the story: “Seven years ago, the Lubavitcher Rebbe told me to inform Russian Jews that soon a new era of freedom was coming.” Gorbachev was surprised, saying, “This is not possible. When I took office, I had no intention to liberalize Russia. In fact my plans were the opposite. The idea of Glasnost was for outside consumption only, to remove pressure from the West.” Gorbachev told Branover that he was not going to allow Jewish immigration. “Only later did I change my mind.” Later when Gorbachev visited Oxford, Peter Kalms, a Chabad activist from London, told him the same story of the Rebbe’s instructions to Branover. Gorbachev responded, “How did he know if I didn’t know?” What others could not have imagined, the Rebbe envisioned. As the wall came down and the Soviet Union dissolved, the next phase for Chabad would begin in Russia. After decades, the clandestine network that kept Judaism alive would come out of the cold. Into the mix, the Rebbe would send a team to create a Jewish Russian revolution, Jewish rebirth on a scale and timeline never witnessed in history.