Monthly Archives: January 2025

On an absolute lark, in the summer of 1972, I decided to go to Israel. I was a twenty-two-year-old public school music teacher from Niagara Falls, so this was a pretty way-out thing to do. My family, who was completely secular, didn’t even believe that I would go through with it.

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But I was dead set on going, and I ended up enjoying it very much, even staying on past the summer. One day, I was walking through the Tel Aviv central bus station when some yeshivah student came up and asked me if I wanted to do something.

“Alright,” I agreed, “how much will it cost?”

“Nothing,” he said, and the next thing I knew, he placed a kind of lemon in my one hand and some branches in the other. He instructed me to say some words and put the lemon and the branches together and then he began shaking them back and forth with me.

“What is going on here?” I thought to myself in embarrassment. And yet, somehow, that was the start of my Jewish observance. That student in the bus station might have gone home wondering what he had accomplished, but by helping me perform the mitzvah of lulav and etrog, he got the ball rolling.

When I got back to Niagara Falls, I began reading everything I could about Judaism, Israel, Jewish history – anything. I began taking Hebrew lessons from an Israeli, who told me about the Chabad House in nearby Buffalo. There I joined a Torah class led by a rabbi with a thick, straggly beard named Heschel Greenberg. We were just learning the plain text, without any deep explanations, but I was completely inspired. It felt real. (more…)

An enormous percentage of the photos and videos of the Rebbe that we have today were taken by my cousin, Levi Yitzchak Freidin – also known as “Levi Itche.” As Levi Itche passed away in 1992, I would like to relate here – from what I personally witnessed – how this came about and how a relationship between him and the Rebbe developed.

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Levi Itche lived in Holon, a largely secular city in Israel; he was not a Chabad chasid, per se, although he came from an illustrious line of Chabad chasidim in Russia. Because of this, the Rebbe asked Rabbi Efroyim Wolf, who ran the Chabad-Lubavitch network in the Holy Land to hire him as a photographer, which was his profession. In 1975, after working for Lubavitch for a couple of decades, Levi Itche decided to visit the Rebbe in New York. I got a call asking if he could stay with me; I agreed, and he arrived just before the High Holidays.

When he came, he had no idea what the place was all about and no idea what would be happening here during Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah. But he was a professional photographer and when he began to see the dramatic scenes taking place all around him, he was moved to record them. He was very enthusiastic, with a very lively personality, and he really responded to the Rebbe.

He began taking pictures as the Rebbe came and went, which got a rise out of the yeshivah students who would accompany the Rebbe, and who felt that photographing the Rebbe up close was not respectful. Indeed, in the early years of his leadership, the Rebbe largely avoided being photographed. Even later, when he became somewhat more amenable to it, it was not a common thing to do. However, Levi Itche wanted to take good pictures, not just snapshots, and to do this he would need to stand close to the Rebbe. This is why the students would give him a hard time and, at first, I had to accompany him to fend them off, and to advise him on when he could to take pictures without offending people.

To record the farbrengens, he used three-minute reels which were quite expensive and which then had to be spliced together. When he went home, he had a whole film put together of activities and celebrations from the month of Tishrei which he planned to show in numerous places in Israel. (more…)

After my wife and I got engaged in 1966, the Rebbe wished my father “Mazel Tov,” and then added: “They will be in Australia.”

My wife, Pnina, is from Australia – her father, Rabbi Chaim Gutnick, was a popular rabbi in Melbourne – but it was only after hearing those words that we knew our mission in life would be there.

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Before the wedding, the Rebbe told me to take the requisite tests on Jewish Law in order to receive rabbinic ordination. I had actually already been ordained the previous year when I was a yeshivah student in Israel. Still, now the Rebbe wanted me to seek as many additional certificates of ordination as I could, which I did: From the yeshivah in 770, where I was studying at the time, from Rabbi Pinchas Hirschprung of Montreal, Rabbi Berel Rivkin of Yeshiva Torah Vodaath, and Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, the foremost Halachic authority at the time.

The Rebbe also specified that our wedding should be in Melbourne, as a large, community-wide event tied to the opening of the local Yeshivah Gedolah.

In addition, at the wedding and each of the Sheva Brachot celebrations over the following week, I was to deliver a chasidic discourse, along with at least three in-depth Talmudic lectures overall. The Rebbe also wanted there to be one Sheva Brachot in Sydney. Ostensibly, this was because my wife’s grandfather, Rabbi Asher Abramson, was the head of the Sydney rabbinic court, but the Rebbe specifically requested that the event be held in a different synagogue – that of the “Yeshiva” community.

Now, at around that time, a few members of this community had written to the Rebbe with a request. Mostly Hungarian and Polish survivors, they had founded a small yeshivah – giving the community its name – and now they wanted a day school. Although they weren’t Lubavitchers themselves, they had seen the school founded by Melbourne’s Lubavitch community flourish under the direction of a young, charismatic American named Rabbi Yitzchok Groner. So, they asked the Rebbe to send someone who would likewise be able to connect with the younger generation in Sydney.

At first, the Rebbe didn’t respond to this letter, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t take notice of it. In fact, the Rebbe had a vision for Sydney that would start to unfold with this community. (more…)

It was the summer of 1968, and my father had helped me get a part-time job at a charity called Ezras Torah. Founded in 1902 to help rabbis experiencing economic hardship, Ezras Torah had since expanded to become a general relief society, handing out stipends and assistance to anyone in need. My job was writing out checks, getting them signed, recording who received assistance, and other administrative tasks.

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Ezras Torah was close to the heart of the old Lithuanian Jewish community, which had historically been at odds with the chasidic community, and so I was very much in unfamiliar territory. When people came in and recognized me as a Lubavitcher, they would sometimes make a snide remark that could border on verbal abuse. “Oy vey,” one person said upon seeing me. “Those people have even reached here!” It bothered me very much, and eventually, I wrote to the Rebbe.

“I’ve been at this job for two months,” I wrote, “and I keep getting these jabs about being a Lubavitcher. Debating and fighting aren’t in my personality, so I keep quiet. But I feel that my silence implies that their criticisms are correct. I want to leave the job.”

The Rebbe’s answer was quick in coming. He wanted me to keep the job, and he advised me on how to handle the comments: “We are commanded by our sages to distance ourselves from even the trace of conflict. Therefore, you should remain silent.”

After that, my work experience changed. I continued to get those jabs, but with my instructions to stay silent, they went in one ear and out the other. The atmosphere at Ezras Torah suddenly became much more comfortable, even congenial, so I ended up staying there for the next few years. (more…)