Last June, I attended a conference in Moscow. This was a special conference for all the Russian shluchos. (Shliach is a Hebrew word, meaning emissary. Shliach is the masculine, shlucha the feminine. Shluchos is feminine plural. We are so called because we are emissaries of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, sent all over the world to bring Judasim to anywhere Jews are found) The conference was a blast. I roomed with 2 other English speaking shluchos, and we talked late into the night. The program was packed with workshops, classes, and great food that I didn’t have to make. In between, we hung out together, traded from-scratch recipes, traded ideas of how to run our center, and traded contact info.

On the last night of the convention, there was a banquet, at which I spoke. I love public speaking, so that was really fun. The only down side to it was that while putting the finishing touches to my speech, I missed the group picture. I almost missed the soup, too, but they were kind enough to bring me a new portion.

I was scheduled to, officially, give ‘greetings from the non-close East’. Okay, that sounds better in Hebrew, but that was my topic. I also wanted to thank Mr. George Rohr.

A word about the Rohrs. George Rohr, and his father Sami Rohr, are philanthropists that give a huge amount of money to charitable causes. They have helped to fund many Chabad houses, brought out rabbis to college campuses, and most significantly for us, they help support rabbis in Russia. So this speech was really addressed to George Rohr, who flew in from New York for the event.

Most of the conference was in Hebrew, as most shluchos in Russia are Israeli. I stood up on stage and delivered my speech in English nonetheless, not sure if anyone could understand. That was fun too.

Close to 10 months ago, my husband, baby son, and I, moved on Shlichus to Vladivostok, in Russia’s Far East.

One day, some time after we arrived, a man walked into our shul to meet with my husband, explaining that he was interested in learning more about his Jewish heritage. He then related the amazing story of how he became involved.

Dima, our new friend, was visiting Petersburg, and while there, spontaneously entered a book shop. He asked the proprietor for a Jewish book. After searching for a while, the shopkeeper found a dusty book with Hebrew letters in some forgotten corner. Dima happily bought the book, and went home to study it. His new book was a Russian translation of Tanya, and it would change his life.

To me, this story is so representative of our shlichus, and the hard reaching effects of our work, so much of which we may never hear about.

A Tanya is printed, and it somehow reaches an out-of-the-way book shop. A random person walks in, buys it, and starts learning. And who would ever have imagined that this Tanya would reach this Jew who so desperately needed it!

Note: I wanted there to be a space between these 2 paragraphs. Somehow I got this thick ugly line, and I can't get rid of it. So feel free to ignore the thickness and the ugliness of the life, and pretend it is some cute squigglies.~~ Thanks!

I grew up in Morristown, a pleasant New Jersey suburb just an hour and a half from New York City. We’d go into New York every week or so, where all the kosher food and supplies you could ever imagine was available. I lived around the corner from the yeshiva, and would often lay awake in bed listening to the sounds of niggunim during a spirited farbrengen.

Living in Vladivostok, life is a little bit different. It is far from being a suburb, and is definitely not New Jersey! It takes 18 hours to fly to New York, and 9 hours just to get to Moscow. As Vladivostok is located directly east of here, the time difference to New York is 15 hours, to Moscow, 7. A friend recently asked me if I ‘still’ prepare all my food from scratch. “Well”, I answered her, “We have not yet opened our Kosher store”

However, the Rebbe insisted on calling the area of the world in which I live ‘the East which is not close’ rather than the ‘Far East’. For how can you say that another Jew is far?

And truly, I may not live nearby, but I also don’t live very far.

When I see Dima, who now puts on Tefillin every day, and won’t drive on Shabbos, coming to my house each week for a Tanya shiur, I know I don’t live far. Dima has since undergone a bris milah – at 37 years old! – and now goes by Dovid.

When I watch our Hebrew school students proudly saying Brochos, I know I don’t live far.

Far from what? We are I”YH, with lots of brochos translation: blessings and kochos translation: strength from the Rebbe, becoming a center of Yiddishkeit.

When I have a dilemma, and I call a fellow shlucha, who patiently guides and advises me, I know I don’t live far.

When I send our semi-annual report to someone in New York who read every word, and thinks about what I wrote, I know I don’t live far.

When I write a letter to the Rebbe, and get the clearest answer one could possible imagine, I know I don’t live far.

Far from what? I have the strongest support system in the world.

Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu. Translation: how lucky we are, how good is our lot. How lucky we are to be shluchim, helping to bring every Jew that much closer to Yiddishkeit.

Thank you, Mr Rohr, for making all of this possible. The amazing places your efforts reach to, you may never even know. One more Jew was miraculously touched by your Tanya, The Rohrs sponsored the printing of a Russian translation of the Tanya, among other books. and countless, countless others continue to be touched by the shluchim you so generously support. Thank you!