Monthly Archives: September 2024

My mother came from a Munkatcher chasidic family, and a long line of Hungarian rabbis. Both her parents and some of her siblings were killed in the war but she survived Auschwitz and came to the US in 1946. She always was a woman with strong and pure faith. I remember her praying Mincha on Shabbat afternoons for half an hour, all the while wiping her tears with a handkerchief.

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She and my father lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where I was born. But after a few years, my father sold our house and moved to an apartment at 848 Park Place, near the corner of Nostrand Avenue, in Crown Heights. At the time, many Jews were living in the neighborhood but they were mostly non-observant. As a result, my mother missed Williamsburg, where the streets felt Jewish and she was surrounded by familiar faces.

One day in the early fifties, she walked up to Eastern Parkway with her baby carriage and was happy to catch sight of a few chasidic looking young men.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“They’re from Lubavitch,” she was told. “The Lubavitcher Rebbe lives nearby.”

“I would like to speak to him,” she said, and she made an appointment to meet the Rebbe.

After explaining to the Rebbe what had been bothering her since the move, she told him that she wanted to convince her husband to go back to Williamsburg.

“One should never go backward,” the Rebbe told her. (more…)

My parents – Rabbi Gershon Mendel and Rebbetzin Bessie Garelik – married in the summer of 1958. Almost immediately after, they began writing to the Rebbe that they wanted to become his emissaries, serving a Jewish community somewhere in the world. Back in those days, there were very few such shluchim, and it was still a novel concept even within the Chabad community.

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One day my father was walking down the hallway in 770 when he met the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Mordechai Hodakov.

Now Rabbi Hodakov may have looked somewhat naive, but he was an unbelievably shrewd man who was always on the ball and knew how to handle any situation that came up. But usually, people didn’t just stop Rabbi Hodakov to talk with him; he was very orderly, and you had to make an appointment if you wanted to speak with him.

But on seeing my father he remarked: “You and your wife keep writing that you want to go on shlichus. You have to understand that the Rebbe cannot send people like you.”

“Why not? What did I do wrong?” my father exclaimed.

Rabbi Hodakov explained that he hadn’t done anything wrong. The issue was that, even before getting married, my father had been teaching in the Chabad yeshivah in Newark, which has since relocated to Morristown, New Jersey. “The Rebbe will not take someone from one institution and send him somewhere else. It doesn’t work that way,” the secretary concluded.

“Well, if that’s the problem,” my father thought, “I can take care of it.”

As soon as their conversation ended, my father went up to the third floor of 770, to the office of the Rebbe’s brother-in-law, Rabbi Shmaryahu Gurary. Known as “Rashag,” he was in charge of the Chabad yeshivah network. (more…)

I was twelve years old when my father first took me from London, England, to visit the Rebbe. My Bar Mitzvah was coming up and we came a few months before then for the holiday of Simchat Torah. It was 1973, which meant that the Yom Kippur War had broken out just over a week before and was still going on.

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In his public addresses throughout the preceding summer, the Rebbe had paid an unusual amount of attention to the education of Jewish children, as well as to the spiritual power that children have to nullify any threats to the Jewish people. In this context, he repeatedly invoked the verse from Psalms 8:3, “From the mouths of babies and little children You have established strength… to put an end to the enemy and avenger.”

When children came back home from summer camp, he called for special gatherings to be held for them, where they would hear words of Torah and give charity. Since the month of Elul was coming up, he had also said that children should specifically be told the parable of “the king in the field.”

According to this chasidic allegory, first explained by the Alter Rebbe, the founder of the Chabad movement, G-d is compared to a king who can normally only be approached in his palace, and then only by his ministers and members of his court. But when he is returning from one of his travels, and passes through the fields outside the city, he is accessible to all people. Men, women, and children can come out to greet him, and the king receives them with a smile.

Similarly, during the High Holidays, accessing G-d is like encountering the king in his palace. However, during the preceding month, Elul, anyone can meet Him. As the Rebbe pointed out, this parable is not only something that children could understand, but it has a special relevance to them: One has to be an adult to become a minister in the royal court, and children cannot simply go into the palace to meet the king on their own – but they can when he is in the field. (more…)

We had been married for more than a decade, with five children and one more on the way. After our marriage in 1946, we had been working at the Chabad school in Providence, Rhode Island, and then spent eight years in Buffalo, New York, teaching and working with the local community, until we had to leave when the school there closed down. Throughout this time, my husband, Rabbi Yitzchak Groner, had made a couple of trips to Australia and New Zealand, connecting with local Jews and raising charity for recent immigrants from Russia. On his second trip, the community in Melbourne asked him to stay on as a rabbi, but he had responsibilities and we weren’t yet ready to make such a move.

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