Yesterday was Yud-Tes Kislev (19th of Kislev) and Crown Heights was buzzing with activity. Amazing stories of the Alter Rebbe's release from prison were told and retold with enthusiasm and awe. Tonight, the fabrengens still continue (I just came from one- which happened to also be a birthday fabrengen of a friend of mine) and the air is filled with electricity. The festivities will continue through tomorrow, where at school we have a special program in honour of Yud-Yes Kislev.

Perhaps the event that touched me the most was a conversation I had with an elderly lady over Shabbos. She had sat down next to me at the table (I had no idea who she was, save that she was a fellow guest) and folded her frail hands in front of her as we listened to stories being told of the Alter Rebbe's arrest as a result of false accusations and his subsequent release from the Russian jail.

When the speaker finished, she turned to me and said "When I was a young girl, my father was arrested by the Russian government because he refused to send me to school on Shabbos. The police came to our house in the middle of the night and banged on our door. My father wanted to escape but he could not because the police had surrounded the house. He allowed himself to be arrested. He was then sent to a jail in Kazakhstan, where he wrote a letter to my mother, informing her of his whereabouts. My mother went to him, and when she finally met him, he looked sick, pale and weak after being tortured and starved for so long. He asked my mother for a drink of water, so my mum left him to find the water. By the time she got back to him with the water, he had passed away."

I blinked in disbelief. Until then, I was under the impression that the persecution of the Jews in Russia had been limited to those who were involved in spreading Yiddishkeit, for example, teachers, Rabbis and Rosh Yeshivas. I had no idea that others were targeted, and in such a manner.

Secondly, although I had heard stories before of Russian persecution, it had never been so personal in nature. Here was this frail old lady, telling me in her quiet dignity, why her father had passed away. It was overwhelming for me.

It says that the test of our generation is a more difficult one that our forefathers- its easy to be Jewish, to keep kosher, to keep Shabbos. But its also easy not to - and worse - still feel, act and think Jewish (shrimp cocktails at your bar-mitzvah, anyone ?).

The previous generation saw everything in black and white - die or be Jewish. For many, the answer was easy. One of the results of that mesiras nefesh (self-sacrifice) wound up sitting next to me this last Shabbos to tell her story.

In our generation, there is too much grey. We don't have to give up our lives to be Jewish any more. Synagogues in every major city in the world (and many small ones too !). More synagogues in most major neighbourhoods across America. Supermarket aisles overflowing with high-quality, fabulous-tasting kosher food. And we certainly don't have to be arrested for keeping our children home on Shabbos.

And yet, the "other side" is all-too tempting and within easy reach - on the next grocery shelf, in fact : Two types of potato chips, side by side. One is kosher, the other is not. Which one would you choose ?