Mr. Kory Bardash
When I was seven, my family moved to Parsippany, New Jersey — a place that, at the time, lacked an organized observant community. Despite this, my parents took it upon themselves to establish an Orthodox synagogue in our home, the first in the area, while my siblings and I attended a nearby Jewish day school. With no religious neighbors and a limited support network, we were incredibly fortunate to be just ten minutes away from Morristown, New Jersey.
In Morristown, we found a lifeline in its vibrant Chabad community. Spending time with the students of the yeshivah and other members of this close-knit community, we deepened our understanding of what we were learning in school and integrated it into our daily lives. In the summer of 1977, just before my Bar Mitzvah, I attended Camp Gan Israel in Morristown, run by Chabad, and it was an experience that left a lasting imprint on my soul.
By then, our entire family had grown close to the Chabad community in Morristown. One evening, towards the end of that summer, we received an unexpected call at home.
“We’re heading to a private audience with the Rebbe tonight,” a family friend told my father. “If you join us, you too can meet him. Are you available?”
“Absolutely,” my father replied without hesitation.
They picked us up that evening and drove us to 770. I can still recall the thrill of sitting in the car with my father and brothers, each of us buzzing with anticipation. What blessing should we ask for? What would the Rebbe say to us? That alone left a profound impression on me, along with every other detail of the journey — driving into Brooklyn, parking the car, entering 770, and waiting outside the Rebbe’s door. We even practiced the blessing one recites before seeing a great Jewish sage. I had seen the Rebbe once before, as a young child, but this time, I was old enough to grasp the significance of the moment. (more…)