Taibel Lipskier was born to a Russian Jewish family in the tumultuous first years of Communist Russia. Her mother died at a young age, leaving her to care for her younger siblings. Eventually she married, and after years of hardship, the couple and their children escaped the Soviet Union. After spending time in various displaced persons camps, they finally made it to the United States.

Life as new immigrants wasn’t easy. After a failed attempt at farming in New Jersey, they relocated to Brooklyn. Making a living sufficient to sustain a family was a constant challenge—by then there were ten children. Naturally, the upheavals of her life took their toll on Lipskier, and she suffered from anxiety and depression. She decided to consult the Rebbe for guidance on how to improve her psychological and emotional state.

The Rebbe gave her unexpected advice: “Go to as many weddings as possible and dance, and inspire other people to dance too.”

As it happens, Lipskier was an exceptionally skilled dancer. She followed the Rebbe’s advice, and for decades she would go to every possible wedding and dance the night away.

“She lived in Brooklyn,” her grandson explained, “where at the time there were many young women getting married who had little or no family in attendance. My grandmother would show up and dance, sometimes for hours, with the bride and her friends, bringing immense joy to the wedding.”

Rishe Deitsch was a young girl of fourteen when she moved out of her parents’ home in Massachusetts to go study in Brooklyn. The pace of New York living, and the frenetic energy of its weddings, were entirely new to her.

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“One night,” she later recalled, “I was at a wedding and I was wallflowering it. I didn’t know these dances, and the speed and noise were all new to me. I knew I couldn’t keep up, so I didn’t even try. Suddenly this older woman, this whirlwind dancer, grabbed my two hands with her two hands and pulled me into the center of the circle. I tried to pull away and explain I’m-from-Worcester-I-don’t-dance, but she couldn’t hear me anyway. And she had me with an iron grip. So I took my only option, other than to faint: I danced!

“It would not be an exaggeration to say I had more fun in that one dance than I had ever had in my whole life up until that point. She whirled me around, she flipped me this way and that way, and I just followed her lead, since I had absolutely zero choice in the matter (remember: iron grip). After it was over, she asked me my name. I was way too shy to ask her name, but later someone told me it was Mrs. Taibel Lipskier.

“I always remembered the dance, but I didn’t know there was something deeper to it. It was only many years later that I heard the story of what she went through and the Rebbe’s guidance to her.”1

“It wasn’t like she was outgoing by nature,” her grandson observed. “It was actually quite contrary to her nature. But she constantly did it, and she did it with every fiber of her being. And ultimately, we saw how the joy she brought to hundreds and thousands of people over long decades came back to her; we saw how it gave her so much joy and strength and fortitude and resilience.”

Thinking about it all these years later, he reflected: “Many of us are dealing with unresolved wounds. We want to extricate all that darkness from our system, from our psyche, from our environment and home. But sometimes the most effective solution is not to fight the darkness, but to kindle a flame of joy—by dancing and inspiring other people to dance. In that dance, with the pure intent of bringing joy to others, a passion of fire and warmth is created in us and around us, allowing the darkness to dissipate and be banished.”2

The following is a 1969 letter that emphasizes the healing power in helping others. It is addressed to a father concerned about his daughter’s emotional state. The date on the top right corner follows the Jewish calendar.

Takeaway

Becoming a giver is key to inner health and resilience.

Open your mind and heart to see those around you. Be sensitive to their needs, and try to brighten their lives.

If you feel down or dispirited and inclined to retreat inward (“Once I feel better about myself I’ll be able to start thinking about others”), caring for others is an effective way to refresh your own emotional state.

(Needless to say, this is but an additional benefit derived from fulfilling our intrinsic responsibility toward one another.)

But where can you find strength to be a giver? The next chapter will offer some perspective.