The Rebbe took Muttel's Tzetel, his petition of requests, and scanned it briefly with his eyes.
"We see, Muttel, that you are engaged to be married. Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov. It should be in an auspicious time."
Muttel could no longer bear the burden of his thoughts as they burst through the flood gates of his soul. Tears dripped down his red face,a. and his body shook like a lone, dry leaf whipped by the Autumn winds as he began to cry

"What can I do?" Muttel gasped out between sobs. "What can I do to get the Rebbe's bracha, his blessing, so that we can rebuild what they have destroyed . . . So that we can raise G-d fearing children even here, in America?"
Another shiver ran down Muttel's spine, he could tell that the Rebbe was looking at him. Those steel blue eyes were like knives, cutting into the inner recesses of one's mind. The defining ring of silence filled the room as neither Muttel nor the Rebbe exchanged a word.
Then suddenly the sensation of the Rebbe's probing eyes stopped. His stance remained unchanged, one hand rested on his forehead in a gesture of deep contemplation, the other absently played with Muttel's Tzetel. Yet his eyes were somewhere else, no longer focused on Muttel's shivering form they gazed into space, locked onto some unseen point.
"Ah, the Amerikanishe Yidden -American Jews," The Rebbe at last said, "They are like straw -quickly they ignite, even faster they burn. Yet do not underestimate them for what they lack is only on the surface, what they have inside can not be described, they are connected to the essence . . . one needs only to reveal what is already there. . .
"In fact, Muttel, we just had one of them in our audience, Yankel, R' Zundel's, your cousin, and his son."
Muttel gasped, it was unheard of for the Rebbe to repeat someone else's private audience!
"His son came in first," the Rebbe continued.
"He was a real Amerikana Chacolad'nike, his hair long in the front -he didn't even want to speak in Yiddish, lest he develop an accent and sound 'Green'. We asked him what he thought of our new shul here in Brooklyn, how it showed that even here in America a Yid could be a Yid, that he could go to shul and pray.
His answer? Nothing but a complaint -how the waiting room was too hot, that we ought to put in nicer chairs, or in general to make things 'more comfortable'. Do you know what I told him Muttel?"
The Rebbe laughed for a moment, "I told him that Judaism is not about being comfortable, that Chassidim have worked for the past two hundred years so that things would not come with ease.
When his father came in we told him that there was nothing that we could do to help his son -he had already chosen his path. As for his decedents though, they will be Chassidim, our Chassidim. We will be watching them Muttel, we will be watching them with great interest."
The Rebbe looked up at his bewildered Chassid signaling that the audience had ended. It was already 12:30 at night and there were yet more people to be seen.