Mrs. Esther Sternberg
7 August 2024
Today, it has become quite prevalent for American girls to study abroad for a year, but in 1961, people rarely flew and nobody went to Israel. But that year, after an early graduation, when I was just sixteen and a half, my father decided to send me to learn in Israel for a few months.
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I was so excited, not just because of everything I’d learned about the Holy Land, but also because this was an opportunity to have a personal audience with the Rebbe. About a week before I was due to travel, I walked into the Rebbe’s room filled with trepidation, together with my parents.
At first, the Rebbe spoke with my father about my accommodations and my course of study. Then he looked at me and asked what my travel route was.
“I’m going through England,” I answered. In those days, there were no direct flights.
“Not through France?” the Rebbe inquired.
I thought the question odd – the Rebbe knew that France and England were different countries. But luckily, I have an older brother who was always trying to teach me about being a proper chasid: “Esther, there’s a reason for every word that the Rebbe says; nothing is accidental.”
“If the Rebbe wants me to go through France, we can change the ticket and I will go to France,” I quickly replied, figuring that there must be something he wanted me to do there.
“Yes,” he said. “I want you to be my emissary.” The Rebbe wanted me to pay a visit on his behalf to a Chabad girl’s school in the city of Yerres, just outside of Paris, where I could tell the girls about what was happening back in New York.
I was very shy in high school – inhibited, unsure of myself, and with a low self-esteem – so I found the idea baffling. What could I say to a group of high school and seminary girls from a different country?
As I looked on in wonderment, the Rebbe added, “There’s just one problem.”
Only one? I thought to myself.
The Rebbe noted that since I didn’t speak French, I would have to communicate with the French girls in Hebrew. But seeing as I was only accustomed to the Ashkenazi dialect of Hebrew, I would need to practice a proper Israeli-accented Hebrew, which the girls there spoke fluently, in advance.
He then went on: “When you get to Israel, I want you to start a B’nos Chabad there.” The Rebbe gave me the names of two women who would help me set up Israel’s first branch of this organization for Chabad girls. I just nodded my head.
The Rebbe then began looking for something in the drawers of his desk, before going over to a metal cabinet on the wall opposite his desk.
Finally, he sat back down. “I wanted to give you something, but I don’t have it with me, so please come back tomorrow.” He gave me some blessings for the trip, and wished me success.
I walked out with my head spinning.
The next day, I went back to the Rebbe, and he handed me a prayer book with a book of Psalms in the back. After instructing me to recite at least the first chapter of each day’s portion of Psalms, he again wished me a good trip.
Despite my disbelief, I had learned from my father that if the Rebbe wants something, no matter how hard it is, we’re going to do it. But I had to get ready quickly. I got copies of the Rebbe’s recent talks and asked an Israeli cousin to use them to write up several Hebrew speeches. My father would wake me up at 5:30 AM every morning, when my mind was fresh, to practice reciting those speeches in front of a mirror.
Soon, I was on my way to France. At the airport I was greeted by the director of the school, and then at the school by 150 singing and cheering girls. Later I learned that most of them had come from Morocco, and many of their parents were still there. They felt it was a great honor that the Rebbe had thought about them and had sent somebody to them.
That evening, I recited one of my speeches. I thought that was that. But after lights-out at 10:00 PM, girls from the other rooms in the dormitory suddenly began coming over to me. They didn’t just want a speech; they wanted me to really tell them about 770 and the Rebbe.
And so every night of that week, I would break my teeth answering question after question in the best Hebrew I could muster. I marveled at the reverence the girls had for the Rebbe, despite never seeing him and barely even hearing any recordings of his voice. One night, I even taught them the song Ata Vichartanu, which the Rebbe had taught a few months earlier, and we stayed up all night singing it.
After coming to Israel, I contacted the two women the Rebbe had mentioned. The seminary I was attending, Jerusalem’s Bais Yaakov, was not too friendly toward Chabad, and so their Lubavitcher students were afraid to be seen as such. Therefore, our organization was clandestine at first, but we ended up having a beautiful B’nos Chabad, and we brought some wonderful teachers to come and teach Chasidut, which was something those girls had never had before.
Throughout my stay in Israel, I wrote to the Rebbe a lot, and he remained very involved in my life and activities. When school finished, I got a message from the Rebbe that I should go to a summer camp in Kfar Chabad, as a counselor, which also ended up being a wonderful experience. Finally, close to Rosh Hashanah, I came back to New York.
The day before Yom Kippur, the Rebbe used to give out lekach, honey cake, to all of the men, and the men would normally share the cake with the rest of their families. But that year, my father suggested I go myself, since I had served as an emissary of the Rebbe.
“Women don’t go!” I protested, feeling that I wouldn’t belong.
But a couple of hours later, feeling guilty about not listening to my father, I decided to walk over to 770. Just as I neared the building, I saw my father running out. When he had asked the Rebbe for lekach to bring back for me, the Rebbe had said: “Esther should come herself!”
And so I went. My father took me back in, past thousands of men, until we were in front of the Rebbe.
“I told your father you should come!” the Rebbe said to me with a big smile. And with that, he gave me some lekach, and the traditional blessing for a sweet new year. Since then, I would go back every year for lekach, ever since I fulfilled that mission from the Rebbe.
Years later, I was speaking with some women who remembered me from my visit to Yerres. “You were such a lively girl, and so full of interesting information,” they reminisced.
Really? I was lively back then? But it was true: From being an introverted high school girl, I ended becoming a much more outgoing woman, and that was when my evolution began. By appointing me as his emissary, the Rebbe transformed me.
Mrs. Esther Sternberg is an activist and educator who for many decades has worked on behalf of N’shei Chabad, the Lubavitch Women’s Organization, and directed the Shabbat Candle Lighting Campaign. She was interviewed in Crown Heights in 2012 and 2017.
Today, it has become quite prevalent for American girls to study abroad for a year, but in 1961, people rarely flew and nobody went to Israel. But that year, after an early graduation, when I was just sixteen and a half, my father decided to send me to learn in Israel for a few months.
Click here for full-color print version
I was so excited, not just because of everything I’d learned about the Holy Land, but also because this was an opportunity to have a personal audience with the Rebbe. About a week before I was due to travel, I walked into the Rebbe’s room filled with trepidation, together with my parents.
At first, the Rebbe spoke with my father about my accommodations and my course of study. Then he looked at me and asked what my travel route was.
“I’m going through England,” I answered. In those days, there were no direct flights.
“Not through France?” the Rebbe inquired.
I thought the question odd – the Rebbe knew that France and England were different countries. But luckily, I have an older brother who was always trying to teach me about being a proper chasid: “Esther, there’s a reason for every word that the Rebbe says; nothing is accidental.”
“If the Rebbe wants me to go through France, we can change the ticket and I will go to France,” I quickly replied, figuring that there must be something he wanted me to do there.
“Yes,” he said. “I want you to be my emissary.” The Rebbe wanted me to pay a visit on his behalf to a Chabad girl’s school in the city of Yerres, just outside of Paris, where I could tell the girls about what was happening back in New York.
I was very shy in high school – inhibited, unsure of myself, and with a low self-esteem – so I found the idea baffling. What could I say to a group of high school and seminary girls from a different country?
As I looked on in wonderment, the Rebbe added, “There’s just one problem.”
Only one? I thought to myself.
The Rebbe noted that since I didn’t speak French, I would have to communicate with the French girls in Hebrew. But seeing as I was only accustomed to the Ashkenazi dialect of Hebrew, I would need to practice a proper Israeli-accented Hebrew, which the girls there spoke fluently, in advance.
He then went on: “When you get to Israel, I want you to start a B’nos Chabad there.” The Rebbe gave me the names of two women who would help me set up Israel’s first branch of this organization for Chabad girls. I just nodded my head.
The Rebbe then began looking for something in the drawers of his desk, before going over to a metal cabinet on the wall opposite his desk.
Finally, he sat back down. “I wanted to give you something, but I don’t have it with me, so please come back tomorrow.” He gave me some blessings for the trip, and wished me success.
I walked out with my head spinning.
The next day, I went back to the Rebbe, and he handed me a prayer book with a book of Psalms in the back. After instructing me to recite at least the first chapter of each day’s portion of Psalms, he again wished me a good trip.
Despite my disbelief, I had learned from my father that if the Rebbe wants something, no matter how hard it is, we’re going to do it. But I had to get ready quickly. I got copies of the Rebbe’s recent talks and asked an Israeli cousin to use them to write up several Hebrew speeches. My father would wake me up at 5:30 AM every morning, when my mind was fresh, to practice reciting those speeches in front of a mirror.
Soon, I was on my way to France. At the airport I was greeted by the director of the school, and then at the school by 150 singing and cheering girls. Later I learned that most of them had come from Morocco, and many of their parents were still there. They felt it was a great honor that the Rebbe had thought about them and had sent somebody to them.
That evening, I recited one of my speeches. I thought that was that. But after lights-out at 10:00 PM, girls from the other rooms in the dormitory suddenly began coming over to me. They didn’t just want a speech; they wanted me to really tell them about 770 and the Rebbe.
And so every night of that week, I would break my teeth answering question after question in the best Hebrew I could muster. I marveled at the reverence the girls had for the Rebbe, despite never seeing him and barely even hearing any recordings of his voice. One night, I even taught them the song Ata Vichartanu, which the Rebbe had taught a few months earlier, and we stayed up all night singing it.
After coming to Israel, I contacted the two women the Rebbe had mentioned. The seminary I was attending, Jerusalem’s Bais Yaakov, was not too friendly toward Chabad, and so their Lubavitcher students were afraid to be seen as such. Therefore, our organization was clandestine at first, but we ended up having a beautiful B’nos Chabad, and we brought some wonderful teachers to come and teach Chasidut, which was something those girls had never had before.
Throughout my stay in Israel, I wrote to the Rebbe a lot, and he remained very involved in my life and activities. When school finished, I got a message from the Rebbe that I should go to a summer camp in Kfar Chabad, as a counselor, which also ended up being a wonderful experience. Finally, close to Rosh Hashanah, I came back to New York.
The day before Yom Kippur, the Rebbe used to give out lekach, honey cake, to all of the men, and the men would normally share the cake with the rest of their families. But that year, my father suggested I go myself, since I had served as an emissary of the Rebbe.
“Women don’t go!” I protested, feeling that I wouldn’t belong.
But a couple of hours later, feeling guilty about not listening to my father, I decided to walk over to 770. Just as I neared the building, I saw my father running out. When he had asked the Rebbe for lekach to bring back for me, the Rebbe had said: “Esther should come herself!”
And so I went. My father took me back in, past thousands of men, until we were in front of the Rebbe.
“I told your father you should come!” the Rebbe said to me with a big smile. And with that, he gave me some lekach, and the traditional blessing for a sweet new year. Since then, I would go back every year for lekach, ever since I fulfilled that mission from the Rebbe.
Years later, I was speaking with some women who remembered me from my visit to Yerres. “You were such a lively girl, and so full of interesting information,” they reminisced.
Really? I was lively back then? But it was true: From being an introverted high school girl, I ended becoming a much more outgoing woman, and that was when my evolution began. By appointing me as his emissary, the Rebbe transformed me.
Mrs. Esther Sternberg is an activist and educator who for many decades has worked on behalf of N’shei Chabad, the Lubavitch Women’s Organization, and directed the Shabbat Candle Lighting Campaign. She was interviewed in Crown Heights in 2012 and 2017.
