Monthly Archives: February 2022

When my parents emigrated to the Land of Israel and settled in Haifa, I was two years old. In the 1940s, I attended the Chofetz Chaim yeshivah in Kfar Saba, which was headed by Rabbi Aharon Yehuda Leib Shteinman and later spent eleven years studying in the Ponevezh yeshivah in Bnei Brak.

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Although educated in the premier Lithuanian yeshivot, I was young, wanted to be open, and was interested in Chasidut. A few of my friends in Ponevezh were from Chabad families, and from time to time I would attend gatherings held by a Chabad chasid who lived nearby. I especially remember a farbrengen led by Rabbi Refoel “Foleh” Kahn who had returned from a visit to the Rebbe’s court, and related his experience to us Ponovezher students.

At the age of twenty-eight, while still unmarried, I was offered a rabbinic post in the Ramat Remez neighborhood of Haifa. My teacher Rabbi Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, the esteemed head of the Ponevezh yeshivah, told me to accept the position on the condition that I open a yeshivah in the neighborhood and lecture there every day. Members of the local community were enthusiastic about the idea and even pledged their support. In addition, then-mayor of Haifa, Mr. Abba Chushi, agreed to designate a suitable plot of land for a building, and even gave us a grant of half a million liras. To complete the construction, however, we would need several million more.

In the late 1960s, I decided to travel to the United States to raise funds from Jewish philanthropists there. At one point in my tour, someone put me in touch with the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Leibel Groner, who arranged an audience for me with the Rebbe. (more…)

I was born in Crown Heights in 1952, and met the Rebbe for the first time eight days later; my parents invited him to my brit and honored him to be sandek – the one who holds the baby during the ceremony. During that period, the Rebbe only acted as sandek for three babies, and I had the privilege of being the last of the three.

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At the ceremony, the Rebbe delivered a talk, and gave my father five dollars towards my future yeshivah tuition. This was, he explained, a custom he had learned from the Previous Rebbe, whom I was named after.

I am told that I cried a lot. Most babies cry at a brit, of course, but they tend to calm down after a few moments, but I didn’t stop. When my great-uncle told this to the Rebbe, he remarked that it was a good sign: When the Previous Rebbe had also cried as a baby at his brit, his grandfather, the Rebbe Maharash, declared that he would go on to teach people Chasidut. So that is something I’m still trying to fulfill, as much as I can.

A little over twenty years later, in 1973, I was studying at the yeshivah in 770, when I was among six yeshivah students who were chosen to go to Australia. We were the fourth group of student-emissaries sent to the Yeshiva Gedolah in Melbourne, and teaching Chasidut to the other students and community members was going to be a major part of our job.

Before heading out, we had an audience with the Rebbe. The way it worked was that each group would leave around Passover time, and would return two years later. So, when we walked into the Rebbe’s room, we went in along with the group that had just come back. The six of us who were going stood on the left side of the room, and the six who were returning stood on the right side near the door. Rabbi Hodakov, the Rebbe’s secretary, was standing next to him. (more…)

A fuller version of this story has previously appeared in the book My Story Volume 1. Available at www.jemstore.com.

My first Chabad encounter with Chabad came about in 1960 when I was seventeen, and a friend invited me to a farbrengen where the Rebbe spoke. From that moment, I was totally smitten with the movement. It was a very cold winter day, and I remember feeling that although my body was frozen, my soul was on fire.

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I began to study chasidic philosophy, and when I graduated high school, I enrolled in a highly regarded institution of advanced learning for young Jewish women, the Bais Yaakov seminary in Williamsburg.

Every day, after school, I worked as a nanny in the home of a prominent rabbinic educator. While tending to the children, I unknowingly drew the attention of an older couple who lived nearby. They approached me and explained that they had noticed my love for Torah and offered to pay my way to Israel to meet a young man who headed a Kabbalistic seminary there. They were convinced we would be a good match for marriage.

At the time, I had no one to ask for advice about such a serious matter. The offer sounded exotic and interesting, but I wasn’t sure it was suitable for me. Besides, I was only eighteen years old. The well-meaning couple really didn’t know me or know what I was looking for in a life-partner. How could they suggest a soul-mate for me? The more I thought about it, the more distraught I became, but I didn’t know whom to ask for objective advice.

It was then that I decided to go to the Rebbe. I didn’t know the proper protocol, so I just arrived at Chabad Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway, sat down on the steps outside the building and, not knowing what else to do, started to cry. (more…)

In 1939, during the Nazi invasion of Poland, the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe was living in Warsaw, and once they occupied the city, he was trapped. After high-level political and diplomatic efforts, the US State Department enlisted the help of Germany’s Abwehr military intelligence service – the United States hadn’t yet entered the war – to smuggle the Rebbe out from under the eyes of the Nazi SS.

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But the US was reluctant to let the Rebbe into the country without proof he could support himself or that he had a sponsor to vouch for his financial independence. Today, you could walk down the street and grab ten people who would sponsor the Rebbe. But we’re talking about 1939. People didn’t have money, and even fewer people were ready to stick their necks out and take on that kind of financial responsibility. This is how my father, Julius Stulman, first became connected with Lubavitch.

My father was an extraordinary man. He had minimal education – Jewish and secular – and was probably dyslexic too, although he never wanted to be categorized that way. But, he had a brilliant mind and was a brilliant businessman who managed to make money every year of the Depression. At one point, he acquired some real estate on the Brooklyn waterfront, which put him in contact with a real estate lawyer named Sam Kramer. In addition to becoming his lawyer, Sam also became a friend.

Now, Sam was an early friend of the American Lubavitch establishment, serving as their legal counsel, and he apparently talked with my father about bringing the Rebbe over. I only found this out after he died, but it was my father who signed the affidavit allowing him and his family to immigrate. (more…)