Monthly Archives: May 2013

When my friend Rabbi Daniel Moskowitz, now the Chabad emissary in Illinois, and I were young students in yeshiva, we volunteered for Merkos Shlichus – the Chabad Jewish outreach program by rabbinical students. In the summer of 1976, we were presented with an opportunity to go on a short trip to Sweden. We prepared everything that was needed, and we went to Sweden for about ten days or two weeks. We visited a few small towns, but mainly we stayed in the capital, Stockholm. We gave classes in the local synagogues and we distributed mezuzahs and tefillin.

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While there, we were told that about two hours from Stockholm was a very small town by the name of Vasteras, where a few Jewish families were living. So we decided to visit them.

The Jews in this town were not religious, except for one man. I remember his name was Gilinderman. He told us that his family had made aliyah to Israel in 1948, and for a time he had even learned in the Lubavitcher yeshiva in Kfar Chabad, Israel. Then his family went back home to Europe, and he ended up marrying a Jewish woman from this small Swedish town and settled there.

We were astonished by his story, and we spent some time with him. He told us about his life in this town. He said he was alone there in trying to keep Torah and mitzvos. He put on teffilin, and he would not eat unkosher meat. He slaughtered his own chickens in order to keep kosher as best as he could.

He also told us that all the Jews of the region get together for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in a place two hour’s drive from there. They hold services and, since he’s the only one who knows how to read Hebrew, he is the cantor – the chazzan and the baal koreh – the one who reads the Torah. He said that, unfortunately, he goes by car but, as he put it, “I am the only one… I have to save all these Jews. So on the High Holidays, I go there.” (more…)

The accident happened in the early morning of Tisha B’Av, 1982. As I opened my closet door to get ready to go to synagogue, I noticed an old stepladder and a carpet sweeper stashed there temporarily. We were in the midst of construction, and the plumber was running new pipes through my closet up to the attic.  I stepped on the rickety ladder to take a look, and I slipped.  The handle of the carpet sweeper went straight into my right eye. I screamed in excruciating pain.  My wife, Sharon, came running. We realized the severity of the injury: I might, G-d forbid, have lost the vision in my eye.

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We called our friend, Dr. Goldstein, an ophthalmologist in Long Beach, and fortunately we caught him before he left his house. “Meet me in my office at 8 o’clock, and I’ll have a look.”

Sharon drove us over, and after he examined me, Dr. Goldstein said, “Well, I’ve got good news – it seems like your globe, the eyeball, is intact, but it’s up in your head, and you injured the lower part of your eye muscle which controls the movement of your eyeball. I have to get you to an expert right away. A world renowned expert in eye muscles, Dr. Steven Feldon, happens to be at USC here in Los Angeles. We’ll get him to examine you.”

On the spot, Dr. Goldstein called Dr. Feldon at the Doheny Eye Institute. It normally takes months to get an appointment, and we heard him say, “No, no, no, this is an emergency. Dr. Feldon has to examine Dr. Lovitch today!”

Finally they said, “Okay, Okay, send him down.”

Dr. Feldon examined me, and after they took some tests, he said: “You have a major injury, and there’s nothing I can do for you right now.  I want you to wear a patch over your eye, and come back in a month.  We’ll check you again and see if there’s any improvement. We’ll see then what we have to do.” (more…)

In the 1950s, when I was a young man, I befriended Rabbi Moses Rosen, who was the chief rabbi of Romania. Whenever he came to New York, he prayed in my shul, which was the Fifth Avenue Synagogue, and when we discovered that we both spoke French, it brought us together. We became good friends, our wives became friends, and it was a great friendship for friendship’s sake, as the saying goes.

On one visit to the US, Rabbi Rosen said to me, “I’m going to see the Lubavitcher Rebbe, would you mind coming along with me?” I said, “Mind? I’d love to!”

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His appointment was for one o’clock in the morning, but nevertheless, when we arrived at the Lubavitch Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway, the street outside was crowded with people – dozens of chasidim were waiting there. When they saw Rabbi Rosen, they recognized him because he was famous – an Orthodox rabbi holding the position of chief rabbi in a Communist country was something very unusual – and they immediately made room for him.

Although we were early for our appointment, we were invited right in, and the Rebbe came out of his office and hugged Rabbi Rosen, whom he had known from before. Rabbi Rosen introduced me as a young rabbi from Belgium, a student of Rav Amiel, the spiritual leader of the Shomre Hadas Jewish Community of Antwerp. And the Rebbe started talking French to me, telling me that he had read Rav Amiel’s books, and he mentioned the Darchei Moshe in particular. He also asked me specific questions about the Jewish community in Antwerp, which he knew about very well.

When the Rebbe spoke with Rabbi Rosen, he also knew all the Romanian communities by name. Romania is a large country, with many towns with Jewish populations. I can’t remember their names, but the Rebbe remembered everything. He not only knew the names of the communities, but also exactly how many Jews lived where. And he wanted to know more. He asked Rabbi Rosen if there’s kosher food, if there are Jewish schools, whether the Jews want to leave Romania to go to Israel, or if they want to immigrate to America. He was very involved in this and interested in every aspect of Jewish life in Romania. (more…)

I was a yeshiva student on shlichus in Safed, Israel, in 1984. In addition to our own full-time studies, we were involved in many outreach activities across the city, including running a kindergarten program and giving Torah classes.

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On several occasions, the Rebbe had asked that his chasidim report on their outreach activities once a month, preferably at the beginning of each month, on Rosh Chodesh,. Usually, I would be the one to write the report of our activities on behalf of the yeshiva administration.

Writing a report to the Rebbe is no simple matter. Several days before, I would begin to to consider what I would report and how I would write it. And you don’t just dash off a letter to the Rebbe in half an hour. You need to find a block of several hours in order to prepare yourself, and then to write it properly. And then you need to decide what to write first, what deserves to be mentioned, and what to leave out. Of course, we used a typewriter – we didn’t have computers in those days.

The month of Adar had been hectic, with lots of activities. Suddenly we were in Nissan, and I still hadn’t written the report for Adar. There was so much to report: Purim celebrations, preparations for Pesach, many different outreach projects. (more…)

In the 1970’s, I used to come from Gibraltar to learn in yeshiva in New York. With no direct flights between the two cities, I would always travel through England. On one occasion in 1979, while I was on a layover in London, I decided to call “770” from the airport. There were many hijackings in those days, so I requested the Rebbe’s bracha to arrive safely.

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Usually, it took me quite a few tries to get through to the Rebbe’s office, but this time I got through right away. Rabbi Binyomin Klein picked up the phone. I explained that I was in London on the way to the yeshiva and that I wanted the Rebbe’s bracha for my trip. He responded, “Call me in exactly twenty-five minutes.”

I did as I was told, and exactly twenty-five minutes later I called back. Rabbi Klein told me that the Rebbe wished me a safe flight, and he also inquired how my sister was doing.

I had not seen my sister for a couple of days, but I assumed she was fine. So I told Rabbi Klein, “She’s okay. Tell the Rebbe she’s fine.”  “No,” said Rabbi Klein, “the Rebbe wants to know how she is right now. Call your sister.”

I hung up and I tried to call my sister, but there was no answer in her house. I called my parents next, but there was no answer there either. Just then my flight was being announced. I took my luggage, boarded the plane and I totally forgot about my sister and the phone call.

When I got to New York, my first stop was 770 to inform Rabbi Klein that I had arrived safely.

He told me to wait, as he wanted to tell the Rebbe that I had arrived. He went into the Rebbe, and I remember waiting quite a few minutes until he finally came out. He said, “You know, the Rebbe is really concerned about your sister; you haven’t told him how she’s doing.” There was a touch of irritation in Rabbi Klein’s voice and I was a little bit alarmed that I had forgotten. I ran out and immediately placed a call to my sister’s house, but again, I could not get through. (more…)