Monthly Archives: September 2022

My father, a survivor of Auschwitz and a member of the Carpathian Jewish community of Chist, passed away shortly after my fifth birthday, and two years later, my mother married a Lubavitcher, Rabbi Refoel Wilshansky. It was 1972, and from then on, we became Lubavitcher chasidim. We moved from Boro Park to Crown Heights, where I was enrolled in a Lubavitch school, but acclimating to the way of life took some time.

Click here for full-color print version

Along with a new school and new friends, I also had three wonderful new step-brothers. One of them, Itche Wilshansky, (today the dean of a Chabad yeshivah in Tzfat) had a special warmth about him, and he took me to one of my first farbrengens when I was still seven. His regular spot at these gatherings was right near the Rebbe’s brother-in-law, Rabbi Shmaryahu Gurary.

The Rebbe would sit at a long table, and near the end of it was Rabbi Gurary’s place, where he had a little table of his own. There was a ledge on the bottom of this table, and not knowing exactly what to do, I sat on the ledge, just above the floor. From that vantage point, I had an uninterrupted view of the Rebbe, who was just ten or fifteen feet away.

Throughout the farbrengen, the chasidim sang with great joy, and at one point, I remember the Rebbe turned around, zeroed in on me, and started clapping. I didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, Itche grabbed me and lifted me up, helping me dance along to the tune the chasidim were singing. The Rebbe gave me a tremendous smile as he clapped, and when the Rebbe smiled, the whole room lit up.

The whole thing probably took just a few seconds, but that personal smile from the Rebbe has accompanied me all my life. Please G-d, it will last me until Moshiach comes and we’ll see the Rebbe again.

Five years later, on Yom Kippur of 1976, another unique experience brought me even closer to the Rebbe. (more…)

Whenever people hear that my family left Russia in 1964, they tell me that it’s impossible. As those who are familiar with Soviet history know, Jews weren’t able to leave during that period. But when our relatives in the free world – my grandfather and others – asked the Rebbe to pray for our release, he assured them that we would come out of Russia without a problem. Somehow, my parents, Reb Asher and Fraida Menia, and myself were indeed allowed to leave that year, along with a number of other chasidim.

Click here for full-color print version

When we arrived in Israel, my father wrote to ask the Rebbe whether he should immediately travel to New York – he had never seen the Rebbe before – but was told to first reunite with his relatives in Israel, whom he hadn’t seen in years. He eventually came for Tishrei, the month of the High Holidays.

In those days, guests who spent the holidays in the Rebbe’s court were granted two private audiences, one on arrival, and another before leaving. When my father came to the Rebbe for the first time, he brought a present from Russia: a carton of Kazbek cigarettes.

“I don’t smoke,” the Rebbe told my father, “but since this is something a Jew from Russia has given me, I will accept it.” He then took the carton and put it in the drawer of his desk.

The Rebbe also told my father something that, at the time, he couldn’t comprehend: The three families that had just left Russia had opened up the “pipelines,” and soon all the Jews of Russia would be able to leave. Standing there and listening, my father could not understand how this was even remotely possible, but he believed the Rebbe.

Just a couple years later, there was an earthquake in the city of Tashkent, in Uzbekistan, where we had lived. The houses in the city were built with mud-brick, not concrete, and almost all of them were destroyed. As a result, the Russian government decided that the Jews of Tashkent all had permission to leave. And only a few years after that, the ban on immigration to Israel was lifted entirely. (more…)

I had the great privilege of growing up around the Rebbe. My father escaped Russia together with the Rebbe’s mother, Rebbetzin Chana, and as a result he became close with the Rebbe’s family and even worked for them after coming to America.

Click here for full-color print version

When I was born, my parents wanted to name me after the Rebbe’s maternal grandfather, Rabbi Meir Shlomo Yanovsky, since Rebbetzin Chana didn’t have any descendants named after him. So my father asked the Rebbetzin for permission, and she said she would ask her son, the Rebbe, about it. The next day, she came back with the okay, which is how I got the name Meir Shlomo.

The first time I met Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, the Rebbe’s wife, was some time after my Bar Mitzvah in 1977, when my parents took our whole family for a visit. As little kids, we were all nervous. The table was set with these beautiful glasses and the Rebbetzin served us Boston cream pie cake, which she always gave to guests, and something to drink. She asked each of us children what we were doing or learning in school and made us all feel very comfortable. This was something that always impressed me about the Rebbetzin: Whenever you walked in there, she was totally focused on you. There might be a phone ringing, but she would give her full attention to the person before her.

Later, my brothers and I would help around the Rebbe’s home, as well as that of his brother-in-law, Rabbi Shmaryahu Gurary. As a result, I ended up having many more conversations with the Rebbetzin and spent hours with her on the phone. She would ask about my family and speak about current affairs in America, Russia or Israel. I remember telling her when President Reagan was shot; in another conversation, she expressed concern about rising anti-Semitism. (more…)

My family arrived in Australia, by ship, at the end of a five-week journey. After escaping from the Soviet Union, my father had written to the Previous Rebbe about the possibility of moving to Australia, suggesting that my brother and I stay on in Europe, studying in yeshivah. It was 1949, and I was seventeen years old.

Click here for full-color print version

The Previous Rebbe replied that the move was an extremely good idea, but wrote that my father should take along his family — including my brother, sister and me. He also instructed him to bring along any chasidic publications he could get. Our job, he wrote, was to be “day workers” — to bring light, the light of Chasidus, wherever we went.

We settled in Shepparton, a fruit-growing town about 120 miles from Melbourne. My father and older brother immediately went to work on the orchards, while I continued my studies. Shepparton was home to the Feiglin family, who were pioneers of Jewish life in Australia.

By Rosh Hashanah, less than two weeks after our arrival, my father had written to the Previous Rebbe with the idea of establishing a yeshivah in Australia. In his reply, the Previous Rebbe was extremely taken by the suggestion. He said we should start straight away, “without paying any attention, for now, to the number of students” who were available to join. So, at first, I was the yeshivah’s only student, learning all day long by myself, until two more boys joined seven weeks later.

Eventually we moved to Melbourne, which was the center of the Australian Jewish community, and very slowly, the yeshivah grew. In 1950, when the Previous Rebbe passed away, our Rebbe picked up right where his father-in-law left off and encouraged the continued growth of the yeshivah in every possible way. My father and I must have received hundreds of letters from the Rebbe full of support and detailed instructions. (more…)

It was 1960, I had just finished my Israeli military service and  came to the US to join the family jewelry business, which was partly run from there. I worked alongside my uncle in our Manhattan branch, where I had several customers from the Chabad community. One day, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka – the Rebbe’s wife – came by our office to buy some pearls. She came alone, driving her own car without any airs about her. I didn’t yet know who she or the Rebbe were, but after finding out, I thought it was an honor to have served her.

Click here for full-color print version

I don’t know how the Rebbetzin heard about us, or why she specifically chose to buy from us, when there were Chabad chasidim in the industry. My guess is that it had something to do with her deep sense of modesty and with her desire to avoid any special treatment or honor on account of her status. I believe she came to us precisely because we were not connected with Chabad.

I was impressed with our Chabad customers more generally: They were joyful people who always seemed to be radiating love. After a while, I decided that I would like to meet the Lubavitcher Rebbe. I had a cousin by the name of Aharon Shalomov who had himself become close to Chabad, and in 1962 he helped set up my first meeting with the Rebbe.

I arrived at the Chabad headquarters on Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, where I met the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Klein. He gave me my initiation, instructing me to write, in whatever language I was comfortable, a letter specifying my name and my mother’s name, as well as the area in which I was seeking the Rebbe’s blessing. Two or three hours later, I was called to enter the Rebbe’s room.

This audience with the Rebbe stirred up profound emotions within me. On walking in, I handed my letter to the Rebbe, which he read, looking up from time to time to gaze at me. When he finished, he gave me a blessing. (more…)