While I was enrolled as a graduate student at the University of Chicago – a time when I was just becoming religious – I faced a serious personal problem. Suffice it to say that it was an extremely difficult situation and I was in tremendous emotional pain, so I decided to write about it to the Rebbe. In my letter – which was about a dozen pages long – I detailed the entire background of the matter, its history, its issues, totally pouring out my heart.

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In short order, I received a response, dated the 11^th day of the Hebrew month of Sivan, 5744 or June 11, 1984:

The Torah of Life expects a Jew to do what is necessary in the natural order while placing complete trust in G-d for success. Thus, in matters of health, the Torah clearly instructs [one] to see a medical specialist and follow his instructions. At the same time, one must pray to G-d to send His blessings in this and all needs, as it is written “And G-d will bless you in all that you do.”

The Rebbe gave me his blessing for “substantial improvement” in my situation and concluded by pointing out that we had just celebrated the holiday of Shavuot, when we commemorated the Giving of the Torah and its commandments at Mount Sinai. These commandments, he wrote, are channels through which we receive G-d’s blessings both spiritually and materially.

In other words, the Rebbe was saying that, if I applied myself to keeping the Torah, I could expect to transform my life.

Truth be told, I was a bit disappointed by that response. I had been expecting some amazing blessing that would miraculously transform the situation without my input, so I went to mystics for guidance, which I followed until it became clear that doing so would lead to disaster. (more…)

Rabbi Adin Even-Yisrael Steinsaltz, of whom the Rebbe wrote, in 1970, “I found in him far greater capabilities than were told to me, written to me, and described to me,” passed away last week. He had a unique relationship with, and perspectives on, the Rebbe which he described in two JEM interviews – excerpts of which will be presented on this week’s Living Torah at 70years.com. Here we share several stories he recounted of his interactions with the Rebbe.

When I began translating the Babylonian Talmud from Aramaic into modern Hebrew, one of the basic decisions I had to make was the format of the Gemara.

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The problem I faced was that, when I added commentary to the translation, the pages became too long to publish with the traditional pagination. Back in 1965 when I first started doing this, the printing options were very limited, so I was struggling to find the right format.

It was the Rebbe who gave me the advice to keep the pages as they are but to cut them in two. And this was most helpful to me because I had an answer from a respected authority and I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Although I was the subject of some criticism for changing the traditional format of the Talmud, I wasn’t bothered since I knew that the Rebbe supported this choice.

As I completed each volume, I sent it to the Rebbe, but I didn’t want to bother him with everything. I didn’t agree with those who thought that they could exhaust the Rebbe with all manner of minutiae. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought that burdening the Rebbe with small matters was simply unfair. It bordered on violating the commandment to “love your fellow Jew as yourself.” (more…)

As a young man, while studying at Chabad’s Yeshivas Toras Emes in Jerusalem, I became curious about the Rebbe’s background. Of course, I knew that the Rebbe shared his surname with the Previous Rebbe – who was his father-in-law – and that he was the descendant of the famed Tzemach Tzedek, but I knew nothing beyond that.

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My fellow students also knew nothing more, and when I asked the elders in the yeshivah, I received no further details. The lack of information troubled me very much – it just didn’t feel right. “He is our Rebbe,” I thought, “so why don’t we know more about his roots?”

This matter continued to trouble me into adulthood, and I decided to do something about it. So I sent a letter to the Rebbe, telling him that I would like to write a book about his father – Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson – but I never received a response.

Nine years passed.

In 1974, during the month of the High Holidays and Sukkot, I traveled for the first time to New York to see the Rebbe. After the conclusion of Simchat Torah, when everyone approached him to receive wine from his cup – a ceremony known as Kos Shel Brachah – I went up as well. As the Rebbe poured the wine for me, he said, “You promised me a book about my father. Where is it?”

I was momentarily shocked that he should remember something from so long ago, but then I responded, “I sent the Rebbe a letter, but never received a reply.”

The Rebbe smiled and said in a voice loud enough for the people standing nearby to hear: “I don’t need to answer you. G-d needs to answer you.” (more…)

For the past forty-five years, I have directed Chabad’s Shabbat Candle Campaign, which the Rebbe started in 1974.

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It was very important to the Rebbe that all Jewish women – including young girls – be lighting Shabbat candles to illuminate this dark world we live in. And he devoted a great deal of time and energy so that all aspects of the campaign had maximum impact.

Just how important this was to him was made crystal clear to me when the Rebbe’s wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, passed away. This happened in 1988 – on Wednesday, February 10^th – more than a dozen years into the campaign.

That year, our main fund-raising event – a Melave Malka dinner – was to take place on Saturday night, February 13^th, when the Rebbe was sitting shivah in mourning for his wife. Of course, we had planned it months in advance, not knowing that any of this would happen. At first, we thought to cancel, but then we decided to go ahead and dedicate it to her memory. So we issued an announcement that we were establishing a special fund in the Rebbetzin’s merit to further promote the campaign. (more…)

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I was born in Shanghai, China, where my grandfather – Judah Abraham – served as one of the leaders of the Sephardic community. In 1948, when I was twenty-one, I moved to Hong Kong where I stayed until 1963 or so, and then I immigrated to London. That is where I got married and lived until moving to Miami nearly forty years ago.

Back in 1962, while still living in the Far East, I attended a Bar Mitzvah of a relative in New York, where I met a number of young chasidic rabbis, one of whom – I later surmised – must have reported to his Rebbe that a Jew from Hong Kong was in town. At that time, I was staying in Brooklyn with my friend Benny Fishoff, who had lived  in Shanghai during the war years, and a message came to his house that the Lubavitcher Rebbe would like to meet with me. I had no idea who this was – and I remember putting my hands over the telephone speaker and whispering to Benny, “Who is the Lubavitcher Rebbe?”

It was a surprising meeting. I recall that, when I walked into the Rebbe’s office, what immediately struck me was the simplicity of the room, which was dominated by a desk with a gentleman sitting behind it. As I entered, he rose to greet me and shook my hand.

He asked me questions about myself and he also spoke of his own background, and from that point, we began discussing our shared Jewish heritage and how that is observed by the different communities throughout the world.

While we were talking – he spoke an excellent English, by the way – I looked at my watch several times, not wanting to overstay my welcome. After hours passed – when it was eleven, and then when it was eleven-thirty, and then twelve – I got worried. But the Rebbe said, “Don’t worry about the time – we still have much to talk about.” (more…)

When I first came to New York from Montreal – in order to study at the Torah Vodaas yeshivah in Brooklyn – I became enamored with the chasidic atmosphere of the neighborhood and began visiting the courts of the various Rebbes. I was a curious kid, just past my Bar Mitzvah, and these visits didn’t really have an effect on me until I encountered the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

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I could tell with my teenage eyes that this Rebbe was different. I couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, but I knew that he was extraordinary.

When I would see him out on the street, he didn’t walk with a silver stick or an entourage around him; he walked alone with his hands in his coat pockets as if he was a simple Jew. I didn’t know much at that age, I was just a youngster, but this I noticed. And after I heard him speak at the farbrengens – for hours and hours – I understood that this man is holy; this man is a real tzaddik.

As a result, I was drawn to Lubavitch and, in 1959, I transferred to a Chabad yeshivah.

But even while I was still a student at Torah Vodaas, I joined a small group of students in a nearby synagogue for a class on chasidic teachings. The chasid who would teach us, also encouraged us students to take on a daily recitation of Chitas, which is an acronym for Chumash (the Five Books of Moses), Tehillim (Psalms) and Tanya (the seminal work of the Alter Rebbe, the 18^th century founder of the Chabad Movement). It is a Chabad custom to study passages of Chitas every day. (more…)

When I served in the Israel Defense Forces, I was only one of twelve Torah observant recruits in the Givati Brigade which, back then, numbered some three-thousand soldiers.

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We had kosher food – because, by Israeli law, all food in national institutions has to be kosher – but we had nothing else. We had no synagogue in which to pray (like they have today on every base), nor a Torah scroll to read from. But we tried to make the best of it.

One Friday, as Shabbat was approaching, I went to the other observant boys and said to them, “Come to my tent this evening and we’ll pray together. Let’s have our own Shabbat meal; we can sing and celebrate, and it will feel like a real Shabbat.”

They thought it was a fine idea and so that is what we did. We got the food from the dining room and brought it back to my tent, where we made Shabbat – just the twelve of us. We prayed, we sang, we ate, and it was beautiful. And nobody bothered us.

But then a new commander was put in charge of our base – the famed Brigadier General Abrashah Tamir. He went around inspecting everything and, one Friday evening, he came to my tent and found us sitting there and singing. (more…)

When I was three years old, my parents were told by doctors in Israel – where I was born and raised – that a valve in my heart was damaged and would eventually need to be replaced. However, I was able to lead a normal life, get married at age twenty, and give birth to two daughters.

It was not until my husband, Rabbi Moshe Moscowitz, and I moved to Chicago in 1983 – where we both accepted teaching offers – that my lingering health problems escalated.

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I started feeling extremely fatigued, and I ended up in the hospital for tests. That is when Dr. Ira Weiss, the Rebbe’s cardiologist who lived in Chicago, became my cardiologist as well.

After seeing the results of my echocardiogram, he told me, “Leah, my advice to you is to have your heart valve replaced immediately.”

Having a major surgery at the age of twenty-three was frightening. I also knew – having been told this before – that it would mean the end of my childbearing, and I could not fathom such a thing since I looked forward to raising a large family. I told Dr. Weiss, “Without the Rebbe’s blessing I will not agree to the surgery. You have the best connection, so please ask him for me. Whatever the Rebbe says, I will do.”

Shortly afterwards, Dr. Weiss got back to me: “The Rebbe said not to operate, but to treat you with medication.”

There was a risk of my damaged heart valve causing a stroke, so Dr. Weiss prescribed Coumadin, a blood thinner, to prevent this. But I was absolutely forbidden to become pregnant while taking this particular medication as it was known to damage the fetus. Furthermore, as a side effect, it caused me bleeding ulcers, and I was hospitalized several times.

Dr. Weiss often told me how the Rebbe took a personal interest in my health condition, asking him “How is your favorite patient?” and discussing with him my heart rate and other aspects of my condition.

After a year had passed, Dr. Weiss determined that I could discontinue the blood thinner. With G-d’s help, I started to feel much better and said I wanted more children, but Dr. Weiss felt that it would be dangerous for me to become pregnant. However, he promised to consult the Rebbe on this issue the next time he visited him. (more…)

Although I always intended to become a rabbi one day, when I went to college, I decided to major in physics instead of theology or philosophy.

I made that decision because a professor at Brandeis University where I was enrolled – the famed Alexander Altmann – had asked me what questions I wanted to answer through my studies. I said, “I want to understand the universe.” And he responded, “Well, then you want to study physics.” I protested, “No, I want to study mysticism.” His rejoinder was, “Oh, I thought you were serious.”

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I did want to be serious, and so I took up the study of physics. I thought I would become a better rabbi because of it – I would have a serious background.

In 1973, when I was twenty-one and about to graduate, I experienced a crisis in faith. As a result, I also lost my ability to concentrate during prayers, which had always been my mainstay. Concentration in prayers was very important to me then and remains very important to me today, but at this particular time I was leaving the familiar environment of the university and I was fearful about the future, which affected my faith.

So I went to my spiritual mentor, Reb Zalman Schacter, and confided my problem. His response was: “You should come to New York with me and meet the Rebbe.”

I took his advice and joined him for prayers at Chabad Headquarters the following week. I didn’t get to see the Rebbe in a private audience, I just got to meet him in the hallway as he was leaving his office. But that encounter was most memorable. In fact, it changed me forever.

As we were standing there, the Rebbe came directly over to me. I was startled by his piercing blue eyes and the intensity of his personality. Without any preamble, he asked me, “Do you think that protons decay?”

He didn’t inquire who I was, nor where or what I studied. Reb Zalman later said he never told him anything about me. Yet, there he was asking me questions about physics.

He continued: “Why do neutrinos spin in a counterclockwise direction?” (more…)

When I first became Torah observant, my husband gave me a hard time about it. He did not understand why I was suddenly doing some of the things I was doing – to him it seemed I was becoming a different person than the one he had married – and he did not like it.

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So I wrote a very self-righteous letter to the Rebbe, complaining, “I’ve decided to keep Torah and my husband won’t cooperate. But isn’t it true that I must do it despite what he says?”

I fully expected the Rebbe to respond, “Yes, you have to do what the Torah commands, no matter what your husband wants.” But the Rebbe did not say that. Instead, he gave me a two-part answer that basically said: “Don’t fight with your husband about religion, and find someone to influence him, someone whom he will respect.”

It was such wise advice, and fully in keeping with the Rebbe’s approach of finding a positive solution to every problem. And I wish I had immediately done what he said, but it took me a while to accept that harmony in the home – what Judaism calls Shalom Bayit – had to take precedence.

Generally, what happens when a wife fights with her husband about religion? Whether or not he gives in, he is not going to like her and he is not going to like religion, which he will see as a divisive force in their marriage. Furthermore, their children will be adversely affected when they see their parents fighting and they too will identify religion as the cause of the tension in the home.

As for the second part of the Rebbe’s advice, I had to accept that I wasn’t supposed to be my husband’s rabbi – I was his wife. He was Sephardi so the way to reach him was through a Sephardi rabbi, one who understood his background and knew how to speak to him about religious matters.

The moment I found such a person and took a step back, things started to improve.

There were further issues to be sure – some quite painful. In fact, there was a point in time that I considered divorce. At one stressful juncture, I wrote to the Rebbe that I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted a husband who would accompany me on my journey to become fully Torah observant, not one who was fighting me every step of the way. If we divorced, I reasoned, all this strife would go away, and we could both lead happier lives apart from each other. (more…)