Monthly Archives: December 2015

I first met the Rebbe in the early 1950s, shortly after he had assumed leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch and shortly after I was appointed chairman of the Israel Commission of the Rabbinical Council of America. In this capacity I was involved with issues affecting religious life in the State of Israel, which were of great interested to the Rebbe. And so, we frequently met  to discuss the highly controversial issues of the day, such as religious women serving in the IDF, the place of non-Jews in the Jewish state, how the state should define who is a Jew, and so on.

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Many a time, I came to see him at about midnight and left at four in the morning. During those meetings, it became apparent to me that the Rebbe had a tremendous amount of knowledge of what was going on in Israel, including many minute details. He knew who was who in the Knesset and in every one of its subcommittees. He knew of every government meeting on every subject, and who was against and or for a particular position. It was quite an experience to listen to him speak about government meetings as though he was there.

As well, he knew what was going on with Jews everywhere, whether in Arab countries,  Eastern European countries, South Africa, or North and South America. He had to know in order to send his emissaries to shore up Jewish communities all over the globe. As far as I’m concerned, he is the individual most responsible for the re-construction of Jewish life after the Holocaust.

His efforts earned him admiration from the most unexpected quarters. For one, I can testify that David Ben Gurion admired the Rebbe. In my conversations with Ben Gurion, he expressed the greatest admiration for the Rebbe’s knowledge, for the fact that the Rebbe had studied at the Sorbonne and was as well versed in the sciences as in Torah. This was unheard of in a chasidic Rebbe, and it impressed Ben Gurion to no end. (more…)

While I was studying in the Chabad Yeshiva in Brooklyn – where I had the merit to spend three-and-a-half years in the early 1980s – I made it a point of observing the Rebbe as much as possible. As a result, I saw and learned some amazing things. But nothing impressed me more than the Rebbe’s sensitivity and love for little children.

It was the Rebbe’s practice to visit the Ohel, the resting place of his father-in-law, the Previous Rebbe, on a bi-weekly basis. Whenever he went, he went alone. And he would take sacks full of letters sent by people asking for blessings – for health, for livelihood, for marriage, for family, for success. He would spend many hours praying and reading those letters. Often he would spend the whole afternoon there, coming back only before nightfall to join the minyan for prayers.

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The one time of the year when people would join the Rebbe at the Ohel was the day before Rosh Hashanah and, in 1982, I decided to go as well.

I got there early in the morning, just before the Rebbe arrived, and I picked a good spot to stand – as close as possible to the tziyun, the tomb itself – from where I could see the Rebbe clearly.

First he prayed; then he opened the huge sack that he had brought with him and started pulling out letters one by one. He would read each letter very quickly, tear it and let it fall onto the tziyun. He read hundreds of letters – one after the other, one after the other, reading each one, tearing it and letting it fall. After a while, it seemed as if a cascade of paper was falling, falling, falling onto the Tziyun.

Here he was, a man in his 80s, standing for hours on end, reading an endless stream of letters that contained all the troubles of so many Jews – letter after letter.

As I was watching him, he pulled out a packet of papers – not white like the other letters, but colorful, like drawing paper – and started reading these colorful letters just as he did the others. When he tore them and they were falling before my eyes, I recognized from the big square letters and fanciful decorations that they were from children in kindergarten. A teacher somewhere must have told the kids to request blessings for the New Year, and then sent all their scribblings in one packet. (more…)

When I was twenty-one and newly graduated from Yeshiva University, I decided to join a group of friends and spend the next year in Israel, learning Torah at Yeshivat Har Etzion.

Before leaving, I went to see the Rebbe to ask for a blessing, and during that audience I also asked his advice about what course my career should take. I was very interested in psychology, as my brother had taken that path, but I was also considering Jewish education because I loved teaching kids and I was successful doing that during my college years.

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I arrived early for my appointment – this was in the summer of 1974 – in order to recite some Psalms in the Chabad Beit Midrash as my preparation for the meeting with the Rebbe, which I took very seriously.

As I was doing that, I remembered stories I’d heard about the famed 15^th century Kabbalist, Rabbi Yitzchak Luria, who could read people just by looking at their foreheads and knowing what they had done, both good and not so good. It occurred to me that the Rebbe might be able to do the same thing, and I began to tremble; I couldn’t stop trembling for several minutes. At that point, a thought entered my mind, “Why am I so concerned about what the Rebbe is going to think of me? Why am I not more concerned about what G-d thinks of me? Shouldn’t that be more important?”

I do believe that it was the Rebbe’s presence that led me to this understanding, and I felt grateful to him for the awe of G-d that he instilled in me at that moment.

When I saw the Rebbe in person, I discussed my career choices with him, and I asked what he thought of psychology versus education.

He was all for me going into education. He said that a psychologist often deals with emotional illness of some sort or another, but a teacher can prevent such illness. A Jewish teacher in particular is educating children in a healthy way of life, according to the Torah, which is the Tree of Life. (more…)

As a college student in the early 1960s, I had occasion to attend a psychology seminar in Bethel, Maine. Since kosher meat and bread would not be available, my mother prepared a large care package, including salami and some matzah. Fruits and vegetables I planned to purchase locally.

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When I arrived, I noticed that the majority of the three hundred participants were Jewish, but I was the only one with a yarmulke. Immediately, several students came over to ask me, “Where are you getting kosher food?”

I offered to share my salami with them, and together we figured out how to prepare our meals in the seminar’s kitchen.

Other students also came over to me to ask questions about Judaism. Although I was not brought up chasidic, I had admired Chabad’s outreach work among unaffiliated Jews and I had brought a packet of Chabad brochures with me. Within a couple of days, I had given them all out, so I wrote a letter to Rabbi Leibel Groner, the Rebbe’s secretary, requesting more. In my letter, I said that I’d been speaking with many Jewish students who had never seen an Orthodox Jew in their entire lives, and I expressed pessimism as to what effect I could possibly have on them since, once the seminar was over, they would return to their secular environments.

Rabbi Groner showed my letter to the Rebbe and, a short while later, he called me to convey the Rebbe’s message: “M’darf ton, der Aibershter vet upton – You need to do whatever you can. Leave the rest to G-d.” (more…)

In 1970, when my daughter was about two years old, she stuck a Q-tip into her ear and punctured a membrane, which caused a mastoid infection. We didn’t know what had happened until we saw pus coming out and realized that she was losing her hearing.

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She was operated on two times, but each time the surgery failed. We felt she was getting good care at the University of Alabama Medical Center in Birmingham where we lived at the time; the doctors there were highly competent, but their efforts did not succeed. As they say in Yiddish, “S’iz nisht gegeingen – It just didn’t go.” The pus was still forming and draining from her ear. Needless to say, we were very worried.

So I decided to write to the Rebbe to ask for a blessing. A short while later, I got a call from Rabbi Leibel Groner, the Rebbe’s secretary, instructing me to check the mezuzah on the door of her bedroom. He also said that the Rebbe suggested that we consult a doctor who specialized in ear surgery down south, near where we lived. He didn’t give me a name or precise location, but said that, if I did a little research, I would find him easily.

In response, I told Rabbi Groner that I had checked every mezuzah in our house about four months ago, and they were fine. I asked if I should do all that again, or just check the one on the door of my daughter’s room. He said, “That you checked them before is not relevant. The Rebbe says to check this one mezuzah – where the child sleeps – so that’s what you have to do.”

When I got this call, it just so happened that one of the Rebbe’s emissaries – Yossi Gerlitzky, who is now a rabbi in Tel Aviv – was visiting my house. We had known each other since childhood. So I told him what Rabbi Groner had said, and we both removed the mezuzah from the door. (more…)