Avrohom Ginin

An excerpt from his biography, talking about how life was in Moscow shull after the war:

One way or another, I started coming regularly, praying peacefully, made friends with the guys, and slowly they started trusting me. They had a good rabbi — Alevsky; he made kiddush on Shabbos. We would buy a packet of crackers, a bottle of vodka; some would make a brocheh, some not; we would sit around the table. I looked at this kiddush one time, another and though: this is no good. When I was small, my father would tell me: "Avrom, when a person comes to you house, you have to welcome him well. Sit him at the table, give him something to eat, but make sure he washes first and makes a brocheh — if not, it's as if you threw away your food to trash."

That's why I told the guys: "We'll make kiddush like menchen." I, Yisroel Pinsky (he is in Israel now), and a few other guys, who used to learn in yeshiva before, collected money; I went to the market, bought some pickles, couple bottles of vodka, sitnichky (it's a kind of round bread that Jews can eat), boiled some eggs and invited everyone to the table, but with one condition: who made the brocheh — please; if not — I wouldn't let them eat. This way, slowly, Yisroel and I taught everyone how to make kiddush, as one is supposed to. There were times nobody gave any money; so what? — I earned well in the craft shop, so I would bye everything myself.

Soon I married; it was difficult to be alone. I met a girl from a Jewish family, although not a religious one, and got married. My father-in-law turned out to be a communist; he made fun of me for going to shull. Suddenly, he was arrested: he worked on candy factory and himself never stole anything and wouldn't let others steal. "Well, he doesn't steal," others decided, "let us get rid of him." They did some sort of analysis, determined that there is not enough sugar in the baking, and he was arrested. Luckily, Stalin died, and my father-in-law was released according to the amnesty. Otherwise, he could've gotten twenty years or even gotten shot; in those times it was an easy thing. This story did him some good; he changed a lot and even started keeping Shabbos.

By that time I was already friends with everyone in Maryina Roscha. On Fridays we warmed some water on a burner and made mikveh. We needed to start doing bris, but, I repeat, nobody knew how. Reb Geitche, a"h, told me:

"Avrom, you do it!"
"I don't know how!"
"Take a siddur, read it, and all will be well."

We found a doctor and together with Reb Geitche and old Ms. Charna would go from house to house. We would take residence in some apartment or even a hospital. At first in secret; it used to happen a man would not even know where he was led. To many people we did this service according to our Law; adults and children.

[...]

Everything comes to an end, even one's tzuros. I had a chance to live to such years when one can daven freely. A yeshiva opened in Maryina Roscha. Dovid Karpov, whom I made a bris one day, became the rabbi. And not only the old people, but also the youth started coming to the shull. And finally happened what I'd never even dreamt about: I went to America and saw the Rebbe. What it was for me, I cannot even relate. I'd never known there were such Jews: beautiful, strong and proud. We talked for a long time and then davened together.