Rabbi Naftali Porush
18 December 2024
My mother was a member of the Schneersohn family, a descendent of the Alter Rebbe, the founder of the Chabad movement. On the other side, my father was from the famous Porush family that moved from Lithuania to Jerusalem many generations ago. Their wedding was an interesting one, with guests from both of these very different groups in attendance.
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I myself was born in Jerusalem, in 1936, but was raised in Seattle, Washington. At the age of fifteen, I went to yeshivah in Chicago, at the Hebrew Theological College – which later became known as Skokie Yeshiva – where my maternal grandparents lived.
In yeshivah, I took my studies very seriously. At the same time, I also became active with Bnei Akiva, the Religious-Zionist youth organization.
Now, Chicago had Jews of all persuasions. Most were not Torah observant, but they were all Zionistic, and so their children would join Bnei Akiva and learn about Judaism there. As a youth group counselor, I would help bring these children together every Shabbat, to sing songs, play games, and tell stories. We made Judaism a joyful experience for them and our three-week summer camp, Camp Moshava, had a tremendous effect on the children.
However, as I grew older and advanced at the yeshivah, it occurred to me that I might be spending too much time with Bnei Akiva. Rather than being a youth counselor, maybe I should be learning Torah the whole time!
Along with this, I had another problem that was bothering me. As wonderful and unique as my yeshivah was, I knew that it wasn’t equivalent to learning in Israel. After all, the Talmud says that “the air of the Land of Israel makes one wise.”
When I was in New York for my uncle’s wedding, sometime around the summer of 1955, when I was still a teenager, I decided to take the opportunity to consult with the Rebbe.
And so, one Saturday night, I went to the Rebbe’s headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway. People were coming and going, and I recall seeing a farbrengen of chasidim taking place that night, with people sitting around a table and singing. I felt that the place was alive, and I wanted to be part of it. The best way to become part of it, of course, was by speaking with the Rebbe.
I ended up waiting until one or two AM to actually see him. Beforehand, the attendant outside the Rebbe’s office told me two things: “First of all, when you go in, remain standing. He will invite you to sit down, but you stand. Secondly, as soon as you come out, write down what he said, and keep the notes.”
With that, I went in. The large room was a little dark, and the Rebbe was sitting at a big desk, looking at me with penetrating eyes. The first thing he did, of course, was ask me to sit. Then, when I didn’t, he repeated himself several times. I felt awkward, but I continued standing.
I was a little frightened at first, but once we started speaking, I relaxed, and the meeting took on a very friendly and informal tone. At the same time, I appreciated the secretary’s advice, which helped me appreciate the gravity of that meeting. Our whole conversation was in Yiddish, which I knew from childhood; whenever my parents wanted to keep a secret from me, they said it in Yiddish, so of course I had to learn it.
“You’re learning well now,” the Rebbe told me when I asked about going to Israel, “and the time has not come for you to go to Eretz Yisrael. Stay where you are.”
With a bit of chutzpah, I pressed the point. “Why not? The air of the Land of Israel makes one wise.”
“Yes, it’s true,” he replied. “But you are not yet on the level where this will make such a difference for you. Now, you need to be in the familiar surroundings of Chicago.”
He also encouraged me to remain active in Bnei Akiva. “It’s a good thing for you to be a counselor, so that you can bring youth who are distant from Judaism closer to the tradition of their fathers.”
At the same time, however, he didn’t minimize my own learning. “You should learn very diligently,” he told me, “and that way you will succeed. You will succeed in both your studies and your other activities.”
We then discussed some other topics, including what I should be studying in yeshivah. In particular, he mentioned the Tanya, the seminal work of Chabad philosophy authored by the Alter Rebbe, and explained that it is just as important to study it as any other part of Torah. “Make a regular schedule to study it every day,” he advised, and I said that I would.
At the time, I didn’t know much about the Tanya, but I began to study it and I found other books that explain it. I discovered that it contains not only ideas of Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism, but also ethics, explanations of the Torah’s commandments, and a world of ideas I hadn’t known existed. One might not see it right away, but anyone who learns it diligently will see its great value.
When I came out of the office, I felt wonderful. I had gotten real answers to my questions and I conducted myself according to those answers for years after. As a result of this meeting, I continued my work as a youth counselor with Bnei Akiva for another eight years. I came in contact with many more students and, thank G-d, managed to have a good influence on them. Today there are a large number of people who are living a Torah lifestyle – including many who have moved to Israel and become Torah scholars – as a result of my meeting with the Rebbe.
Although I had asked the Rebbe personal questions, when he answered, I could see that he was concerned about the future of the children that I was working with, and he saw in me someone who could introduce them to a life of Torah.
As for the Tanya, I have tried to learn it every day, even though I don’t always succeed in doing so. Once I learned it, I knew that I had to teach it to my children, and to their children. And so my grandchildren have also benefited from the Tanya, and to this day I’m learning it with them.
For twenty-seven years, Rabbi Naftali Porush worked as a supervisor for the Department for Torah Culture within Israel’s Ministry of Education. He was interviewed in July 2014.
My mother was a member of the Schneersohn family, a descendent of the Alter Rebbe, the founder of the Chabad movement. On the other side, my father was from the famous Porush family that moved from Lithuania to Jerusalem many generations ago. Their wedding was an interesting one, with guests from both of these very different groups in attendance.
Click here for full-color print version
I myself was born in Jerusalem, in 1936, but was raised in Seattle, Washington. At the age of fifteen, I went to yeshivah in Chicago, at the Hebrew Theological College – which later became known as Skokie Yeshiva – where my maternal grandparents lived.
In yeshivah, I took my studies very seriously. At the same time, I also became active with Bnei Akiva, the Religious-Zionist youth organization.
Now, Chicago had Jews of all persuasions. Most were not Torah observant, but they were all Zionistic, and so their children would join Bnei Akiva and learn about Judaism there. As a youth group counselor, I would help bring these children together every Shabbat, to sing songs, play games, and tell stories. We made Judaism a joyful experience for them and our three-week summer camp, Camp Moshava, had a tremendous effect on the children.
However, as I grew older and advanced at the yeshivah, it occurred to me that I might be spending too much time with Bnei Akiva. Rather than being a youth counselor, maybe I should be learning Torah the whole time!
Along with this, I had another problem that was bothering me. As wonderful and unique as my yeshivah was, I knew that it wasn’t equivalent to learning in Israel. After all, the Talmud says that “the air of the Land of Israel makes one wise.”
When I was in New York for my uncle’s wedding, sometime around the summer of 1955, when I was still a teenager, I decided to take the opportunity to consult with the Rebbe.
And so, one Saturday night, I went to the Rebbe’s headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway. People were coming and going, and I recall seeing a farbrengen of chasidim taking place that night, with people sitting around a table and singing. I felt that the place was alive, and I wanted to be part of it. The best way to become part of it, of course, was by speaking with the Rebbe.
I ended up waiting until one or two AM to actually see him. Beforehand, the attendant outside the Rebbe’s office told me two things: “First of all, when you go in, remain standing. He will invite you to sit down, but you stand. Secondly, as soon as you come out, write down what he said, and keep the notes.”
With that, I went in. The large room was a little dark, and the Rebbe was sitting at a big desk, looking at me with penetrating eyes. The first thing he did, of course, was ask me to sit. Then, when I didn’t, he repeated himself several times. I felt awkward, but I continued standing.
I was a little frightened at first, but once we started speaking, I relaxed, and the meeting took on a very friendly and informal tone. At the same time, I appreciated the secretary’s advice, which helped me appreciate the gravity of that meeting. Our whole conversation was in Yiddish, which I knew from childhood; whenever my parents wanted to keep a secret from me, they said it in Yiddish, so of course I had to learn it.
“You’re learning well now,” the Rebbe told me when I asked about going to Israel, “and the time has not come for you to go to Eretz Yisrael. Stay where you are.”
With a bit of chutzpah, I pressed the point. “Why not? The air of the Land of Israel makes one wise.”
“Yes, it’s true,” he replied. “But you are not yet on the level where this will make such a difference for you. Now, you need to be in the familiar surroundings of Chicago.”
He also encouraged me to remain active in Bnei Akiva. “It’s a good thing for you to be a counselor, so that you can bring youth who are distant from Judaism closer to the tradition of their fathers.”
At the same time, however, he didn’t minimize my own learning. “You should learn very diligently,” he told me, “and that way you will succeed. You will succeed in both your studies and your other activities.”
We then discussed some other topics, including what I should be studying in yeshivah. In particular, he mentioned the Tanya, the seminal work of Chabad philosophy authored by the Alter Rebbe, and explained that it is just as important to study it as any other part of Torah. “Make a regular schedule to study it every day,” he advised, and I said that I would.
At the time, I didn’t know much about the Tanya, but I began to study it and I found other books that explain it. I discovered that it contains not only ideas of Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism, but also ethics, explanations of the Torah’s commandments, and a world of ideas I hadn’t known existed. One might not see it right away, but anyone who learns it diligently will see its great value.
When I came out of the office, I felt wonderful. I had gotten real answers to my questions and I conducted myself according to those answers for years after. As a result of this meeting, I continued my work as a youth counselor with Bnei Akiva for another eight years. I came in contact with many more students and, thank G-d, managed to have a good influence on them. Today there are a large number of people who are living a Torah lifestyle – including many who have moved to Israel and become Torah scholars – as a result of my meeting with the Rebbe.
Although I had asked the Rebbe personal questions, when he answered, I could see that he was concerned about the future of the children that I was working with, and he saw in me someone who could introduce them to a life of Torah.
As for the Tanya, I have tried to learn it every day, even though I don’t always succeed in doing so. Once I learned it, I knew that I had to teach it to my children, and to their children. And so my grandchildren have also benefited from the Tanya, and to this day I’m learning it with them.
For twenty-seven years, Rabbi Naftali Porush worked as a supervisor for the Department for Torah Culture within Israel’s Ministry of Education. He was interviewed in July 2014.
