In the late 1960s, the Russian government began letting out a trickle of Jewish emigrants. Some of these found their way to the United States. Of those who settled in New York, several families chose to live in Crown Heights. Most of these Jews weren’t observant at all, let alone chassidic. They were drawn to the neighborhood because of the relatively cheap housing, and the lively relief agencies which the Lubavitch community had set up to help them.

One of those who settled in Crown Heights was a doctor in his 30s. He had been very successful in Russia, but had left for the States to maximize his opportunities. Unfortunately, his dreams had not been fulfilled. On the contrary, he was having difficulty receiving a license to practice in the States, and adjusting to the new environment presented challenge after challenge.

At one point, close to despair, he took a stroll along Eastern Parkway, his thoughts on suicide.

How would he do it? Should he step in front of a car as it was speeding down the parkway? Or should he walk to Prospect Park, where he was likely to be mugged?

As he wandered with these dark ideas in mind, a car pulled up to the curb in front of him. The passenger rolled down the window and looked at him with warm, penetrating eyes. Not a word was said, but something inside the doctor changed; he felt recharged, ready to take on life’s challenges again. And soon his fortunes also changed. He received his license, began to practice, and was able to build his life anew.

Without saying a word, the Rebbe had saved a life.