What is the secret magnet pulling so many to Reb Elimelech of Lizhensk's resting place and legacy?

The hamlet of Lizhensk in southeastern Poland is not likely to appear on many travel sites. 

Its entertainment scene consists mainly of a tavern. But on the 21st of Adar, all of uptown Lizhensk belongs to the 18th-century tzaddik Rebbe Reb Elimelech, and to the throngs from all over the world who have come to pray at his gravesite. 

What is the secret magnet pulling so many to his resting place and legacy? 

This year, Lizhensk will be quiet, as fear of coronavirus keeps the crowds away. But during my last visit the mob was so large, I can picture it still. What struck me aside from the myriads were the individuals. 

There was a gentleman I recognized from a business meeting in London (what in the world was he doing there?), a history scholar from Philadelphia (super not his crowd), a computer guy who usually was never more than a few feet from his CPU, and a reporter from Polish TV interviewing an American seminary girl. 

Something ultra out of the ordinary was going on — and that was before I even got near the ohel. Inside, whoever was not pouring their heart out in prayer was dancing. Very spirited dancing.

Were the kippot srugot leading the black-hatters, or was it the chassidim wearing the round, velvet-covered hats? My assessment was that no one was leading — but everyone was dancing and singing. Together. 

I distinctly recall a skinny Israeli teenager adorned with a pancake-sized knitted kippah wearing a T-shirt and sandals (yes, in Lizhensk, in the snow) who got randomly placed in a circle between two large Brooklynite chassidim significantly his senior. They were performing a crazy dance of unity and that scene was playing itself out all over, all day. 

What is it about Reb Elimelech that could forge such unity? What is it about the tzaddik known as the Noam Elimelech (after the name of his classic work) that causes tens of thousands of people to travel to a remote corner of Poland in freezing weather on his yahrtzeit? Especially considering that, at least according to the polls I have conducted, virtually no one knows anything about him. When he lived, what he accomplished — even his last name (Wajcblum, for the record). The yahrtzeit of the shevatim — buried in Israel — cannot draw a fraction of such a gathering!

The inscrutability of it all gave me no rest, despite the fact that I am an outsider to the world of chassidus. I had to find out more about this person and the role he played.