Monthly Archives: February 2017

I first met the Rebbe in 1962, as a result of my association with Rabbi Nachman Sudak.

I had recently become religious in 1958 and connected with Chabad in London, where Rabbi Sudak worked as the Rebbe’s emissary. I have a very inquiring and skeptical mind, and Rabbi Sudak knew how to speak to me. He never tried to pacify me with simplistic answers, and I really appreciated the time and care he took in answering my questions.

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It was Rabbi Sudak who told me about the Rebbe. He said that the Rebbe was a very holy man who had a deep understanding of secular matters as well.

At first, I was not interested in meeting him. The rumors I heard that the Rebbe could work miracles made me suspicious – was he a charlatan or a trickster? But my curiosity got the better of me.

I remember walking into 770, the Chabad World Headquarters, and the Rebbe turning to look at me. It was as if he saw right through me, and I felt like such a fool for having had the thoughts I’d had about him. I almost wished that the earth would open up to swallow me whole.

But that didn’t happen. The Rebbe smiled at me, and I sensed an aura of spirituality around him but, even more than that, an aura of goodness.

When I went in for my personal audience with him, I had with me the piece of paper on which I had been instructed to write my questions. My first question concerned my Hebrew name, which is Betzalel; I was supposedly named after my grandfather whose name was Solomon, so I wanted to know if I was using the wrong name.

The Rebbe invited me to sit down, and even before I handed in my questions, he asked me, “What is your Hebrew name?”

“It is Betzalel, but I think that must be wrong,” I said, and I explained about my grandfather.

“If you were called up to the Torah with the name Betzalel and on your marriage contract it said Betzalel, then there is no question that your name is Betzalel,” he responded. (more…)

During the 1930s, the Previous Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn – who was then living in Poland and quite ill after his ordeals in Russia – would often visit a health clinic in Paris. And, on Shabbos, he would stay at the home of my parents, Reb Yankel and Baila Lax.

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Our home was on Boulevard Saint Denis, very close to the synagogue of the diamond dealers and furriers, of which my father was one. After services, the Previous Rebbe would remain in the synagogue until the afternoon. When he would finally return, I would help him put away his prayer shawl, and I would see that it was wet with tears. He was really a holy man.

At the time I was about twenty years old, and I clearly recall the Previous Rebbe’s son-in-law, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, who would later become the Rebbe, visiting him often in our home.

The Rebbe and his wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, were then living in a district in Paris where no Jews lived in those days. But the rents there were cheaper, much cheaper than in the center of Paris. This location suited him very well, as it was close to where he was studying mathematics and engineering, and it allowed him to make it home for Shabbat on Fridays.

Once I met him at the Sainte-Geneviève Library, where I went to translate something from Greek into French for school. This was the biggest library in Paris, located in the Latin Quarter, near all the universities. At this library they had handwritten editions of the Jerusalem Talmud, as well as the letters of Maimonides in his own handwriting. Indeed, theirs was one of the biggest collections of Judaica in Europe, which is undoubtedly why the Rebbe was there.

I sat down not far from him and began laboring over my translation, which was very hard. After a time I got fed up – what did I need this Greek for? I decided to tear out a page from the book and take it home, in order to continue at my leisure. As I started to do this, I saw the Rebbe motioning to me. He was wagging his finger in disapproval. So I stopped.

Some years later, just when my father finished the mourning period for his own father, my brother passed away. He had gone swimming with some friends and drowned. When the Previous Rebbe heard of this, he came to console my father who was naturally bereft, having lost his father and his son in such a short period of time. (more…)

From the time I reached marriageable age, I’d been seriously searching for the right match. Although I grew up in a strong Lubavitch family and was educated in religious schools – in a Bais Yaakov High School and Seminary – I had also pursued a university education, and I wasn’t sure that the right shidduch for me would be found in Chabad yeshivah circles. Of course, I wanted a husband who was a Torah scholar, but who also had a broad knowledge of the world.

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My grandmother used to tease me, “What do you want – a rabbi, a doctor, and a lawyer rolled into one? He hasn’t been born yet!”

I went out on dates that initially looked promising, but I wasn’t sure if any of the suggested prospects were really right for me. These failures were filling me with anxiety, so at a personal audience with the Rebbe, I voiced my concerns. The Rebbe’s response reassured me: “Ihr zolt mir nit fargssen einladen tzu der chassunah – “You shouldn’t forget to invite me to the wedding.” I understood him to mean that it was going to happen soon.

One day my brother, who was studying at the Chabad yeshivah in 770 Eastern Parkway, came home and said, “There’s a new student – a young man from England who is very learned and who also has a good English education. Would you like to meet him?” I agreed, and my father went to speak with this young man’s spiritual mentor, Rabbi Mendel Futerfas. However, Rabbi Futerfas informed him that the young man in question was not dating as yet since, for the time being, he was committed to Torah learning. In any case, there was already a queue of families interested in him. My father answered jokingly, “Well then, we will join the queue.”

About a year later, a friend of mine, Gitty Fisher, called me up. “If you are not dating anyone,” she said, “I would like to recommend a shidduch for you.” Then she mentioned the young man’s name – Binyomin Cohen. And I remembered that this was the same person my brother had talked about, so I agreed to meet him.

On the third date, my husband was ready to propose but I needed more time, not being quite as decisive as he was. While I was deliberating, my life went on as usual. One evening before Purim I went to a Torah lecture and returned quite late. I went up the stairs quietly so as not to awaken anyone, but was surprised to find my parents and brothers still up and sitting around the kitchen table.

“What’s happening?” I asked. (more…)