Editor’s note: The following story is a tiny but poignant taste of what goes on in Uman on Rosh Hashanah. It also shows the Breslev way of Jewish Outreach and how we should relate to our fellow Jew, no matter how far away from observant Judaism he or she may be. Rebbe Nachman would tell his Chassidim – amongst who were monumental Torah scholars and pious servants of Hashem – how far away from Hashem they were. But, he’d tell the simple villagers, the milkmen and the water schleppers how close they were to Hashem and how much Hashem loves them. Rabbenu still pulls the strings, especially on Rosh Hashanah…
On the second day Rosh Hashanah, we joined a group of Israelis who looked like they were either from Hevron or Judea and together had a made a minyan (prayer quorum) in the garage of the village house that they had rented from the Ukrainians.
The service was ever so sweet and sincere. Repeatedly during the repetition of the Amidah, where ever possible, the group broke out into joyous singing and dancing. Each song had such energy, itself complete service to Hashem “besimcha,” in total happiness. The Shaliach Tsibur (cantor) remained in his place while everyone around him encircled him, joining in with passion.
All of a sudden a lone photographer came inside the doorway of our makeshift synagogue and started taking pictures of us dancing. My initial instinct was shock – the person was not one of the local Ukrainian Gentiles but an American Jew that was violating the sanctity of the holy Day of Judgment! This was my first trip to Uman, and I had no idea how I was supposed to react. Yet, I looked around me and I realized that the organizers of the Minyan were not reacting to this person at all in a negative manner – on the contrary, they smiled at him!
The photographer gained more confidence and started moving in on the action in order to get better close up pictures.
As the dancing continued the unwitting photographer didn’t notice one of the guys – a healthy farmer from the Har Hevron area – move in from behind and pick him up on his shoulders. As the photographer went up in the air, somebody put a big woven kippa on his head and someone else placed a Tallit on his shoulders.
The lone photographer was now in the middle of the action; the only problem was that he was still holding his two cameras. He tried handing them down for someone to look after but no one would touch them as they were Muktzeh – untouchable objects on a Sabbath or holiday.
I don’t know what happened to the photographer after he left our garage-synagogue, but I’m positive that he’ll never forget his attempted photo shoot on Rosh Hashanah 5770 in Uman.
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