The Incredible Story of the Bobover Rebbe’s Silver Cane

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I'd like to share with you another idea that I share with the oil of an amazing Bane Shaba tone this past Shabas.

In these weeks, we read about the Mata, most sure of Bane's famous stick.

The stick used to initiate the Makas, the stick that turned into a snake,

the stick with which he struck the rack, and of course, the stick with which he split the yams of.

During the Shabas, there were many people who, unfortunately, were walking around with sticks of their own,

their canes to support themselves.

And it made me wonder, are they merely symbols of weakness, or is this something much deeper going on?

So let me share with you an incredible story.

The Bob Verabur, a Buccine Halberstam, known as the Holy Kedicious Sien,

was one of the most influential and respected Hasidic leaders in Poland before the war.

He was revered for his brilliance and his leadership, and his deep love for every Jew,

a true oil visceral who embodied the highest level of mysterious nephys.

The stories told from the early 1900s, years before World War II and the horrors of the Holocaust,

a wealthy and generous businessman named the visceral Koniksberg was traveling through Europe, and he made a stop in Babuf.

Having heard so much about the wise and inspiring Sadik,

he arranged a meeting with the Kedicious Sien.

In those days, men of stature often walked with a cane.

Her visceral carried one with a silver handle, just like the Rebbe.

They had a warm conversation, and before parting, Her visceral asked the Rebbe.

Rebbe, can we exchange canes? I will take the Rebbe's, and the Rebbe should take mine.

Smiling, the Kedicious Sien agreed.

Years later, when the war broke out, the Rebbe was offered an opportunity to escape or brought, but he refused.

He said, how can I leave a place where I can still help others?

In July of 1941, the Rebbe and his family and thousands of his Hasidim were rounded up.

The Rebbe was brutally beaten with sticks, and each time his Yamaha felt their ground, and he tried to pick it up, they beat him even more.

Tragically, the Rebbe and most of his family and tens of thousands above the Hasidim were murdered by the Nazis in Makshima.

The Rebbe's son, Rabshlima, lost his wife and two children.

But miraculously, he and his son, Rabshlima, survived.

They eventually made their way to London, and then crossed over to the United States, arriving on Tanas' Esther of 1946.

As her Shlima traveled to America, he was filled with doubt.

He thought, how could I possibly rebuild my father's Hasidis on American soil?

He had been raised from childhood with the belief that America was a spiritual desert.

A place where even the stones were tummy.

He wondered whether anything could rise again from the ashes of Yiddish guide in such an atmosphere.

Rabshlima disembarked from the ship.

A small group of surviving Bavva Hasidim refugees were there to greet him.

Among them stood Rabhitsra Konitzberg, the son of Rebisrael.

He approached Rabha and he said, Rabha, do how tear them tattenshtacken.

Here is your father's cane, and he hands the cane over to the Rabha.

It was the very same cane that the Rabha had exchanged with his father decades earlier.

The cane that Rebisrael had cherished every day of his life.

Trambling with emotion, Rabshlima took this stick and he said,

My father, who was murdered al-Kiddish Hashem, has sent his cane ahead to America to greet me.

It is a clear sermon, a clear sign that the chain had not been broken, that rebuilding was possible.

My father is telling me, go on, begin again, build a new generation of early Yiddin on this soil.

So filled with faith and hope, Rabshlima was more synophage to rebuild the glory of Bavva.

Raising many generations of Yiddin who continued to carry the torch of Torah and Hasidus until this very day.

What a story.

And perhaps the moral of the story is, the same stick that is used to beat a person can later become the stick that supports them.

The same mata that brings suffering can become the mata that brings redemption.

The same darkness that frightens us can in time become the source of strength.

David Amalak says in Tehilam,

You are rather than your staff, they comfort me.

Initially we view it as a rod, but over time we realize it is really our staff.

Sometimes the stick in a person's hand is not a symbol of frailty, it is a symbol of survival.

A reminder that even after an imaginable pain Hashem gives us the strength and something to leave on, lean on.

And with that support we keep walking forward until the mata that wants struck becomes the staff that leads us to our Yeshua.

And now we know, have a wonderful day.