In Chabad, Rebbetzin Chana refers to the Rebbe’s mother, Chana Schneersohn, wife of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, who passed away in New York on the 6th of Tishrei 5725/1964. Her memoirs, which focus primarily on the years leading to her husband’s arrest by the Soviets and the period of his forced exile in a remote, primitive village in Kazakhstan, were published in part years ago in a book “A Mother in Israel” and now in more complete form available in English online at Chabad.org. 

We did a Torah-Tues class with selections on Rebbetzin Chana’s Memoirs, on the day of her Yartzeit Vav (6th of) Tishrei, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. One section of the readings was three memories of Yom Kippurs past, which are especially moving, insightful and inspiring as we approach Yom-Kippur, so we wanted to post them here as well. 

These Yom Kippur story/description selections are from the Chabad.org online pages of her memoir. 

Early morning minyan, and back for Ne’ilah
When Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur fell on weekdays when the congregants were required to report for work, my husband arranged an early “first minyan” which completed its services by 8:00 a.m., after which its participants went straight to work.
On Yom Kippur, however, they didn’t go home after work but returned to shul in time for Ne’ilah. For this service the shul was overcrowded, many forced to stand outside. Everyone was exhausted from the fast and walking long distances. The physical strain was in addition to the spiritual agony from their awareness of the exalted day on which they had had to work, besides the heartbreakingly emotional prayers of the chazzanim—all this was indescribable.
The congregants expressed heartfelt thanks to my husband for making it possible for them to participate in congregational prayers on the High Holidays, despite the early hour. Copious tears poured down my husband’s face as they spoke to him about this. Deriving intense satisfaction from their spiritual inspiration, he would comment with joy, “Oh, how special Jews are!”

Yom Kippur in Exile
I recall how, on the previous Yom Kippur [5703 (1942)], only three of us had prayed at our home, the third being the Jewish deportee who stayed with us every Yom Tov. I had brought a single machzor from home. I cannot possibly describe our feelings during those prayers.
In the middle of our prayers, we noticed a young man trying to look through our window (although it was so well draped by a curtain that nothing was visible outside). We were frightened he might be a spy, and our guest was afraid to let him in. But my husband, of blessed memory, unlocked the door and invited him in.
It was a young Jewish deportee from Lithuania. He had no idea what had happened to his parents. He had been drafted here by the authorities for forced labor. A week earlier, while riding with his horse and wagon, he had noticed my husband, and “saw something special on his face.” He immediately decided to find out where he lived, so that he could “weep next to him on Yom Kippur.” Over the past week, he had found out our address.
The young man knew many of the Yom Kippur prayers by heart. He had been afraid to request the whole day off, so he worked until 11:00 a.m., riding around with his horse and wagon, and by 12:00 noon arrived at our address, after changing out of his workday clothes.
Half an hour later, a frightened Jewish woman showed up. She had fled from Nikolayev with her husband, and living now just four kilometers from our village, had learned that we were living there. Her husband had declared that if G‑d can so mistreat Jews, he had no desire to pray. But his wife insisted she now wanted to pray more than ever before in her life. She was fasting and had walked the four-kilometer distance…

Breaking the fast
When my husband would return home after Yom Kippur, he couldn’t easily settle back into the everyday mundane existence. After coming home quite late in the evening, he drank only a glass of tea. Then he remained sitting, still garbed in his kittel and the gartel of his great-great-grandfather, the Tzemach Tzedek, to lead a farbrengen until two or three o’clock in the morning. This was his regular custom on the evening after Yom Kippur, both when Jewish life had been less constricted and later when Judaism could be practiced almost solely within the confines of one’s own home.
Some of our friends were aware of my husband’s custom, and they would eat a quick evening meal with their families before coming to our home. My husband would deliver a Chasidic discourse on subjects connected with the Yom Kippur prayers. In later years he spoke about the great qualities of Jews, their self-sacrifice to observe Judaism, and how they expressed their love towards other Jews in that difficult era. Ten or fifteen people always attended this farbrengen, which included dancing as enthusiastic as on Simchat Torah.