I was born in Holland to an Ashkenazi family whose ancestors emigrated from Poland. My parents were Holocaust survivors who went into hiding during the war years, and met and married after liberation. In 1964, when Rabbi Yitzchak Vorst founded Lubavitch of the Netherlands, they began their association with Chabad. And, through his influence, I went to study at the Chabad yeshiva, Tomchei Temimim, in Brunoy, France.

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After I completed my studies and got married, I was considering various ways of making a living. One option was to become a kosher butcher in Germany. Another was to become the director of a girls’ school in France. A third was to return to Holland – which is what Rabbi Vorst and my father were both pressing me to do – although there was no job for me there.

Unable to make a decision, I wrote to ask the Rebbe’s advice. His response –  “Speak with acquaintances in Holland” – suggested to me that this was where my future lay, since the “acquaintances” (my father and Rabbi Vorst) would only reiterate their opinion. But what should I do in Holland? Again I wrote to ask the Rebbe’s advice. This time, he responded that I should look for work in a place that offered “the best conditions.”

As it turned out, there was only one place in Holland that was prepared to offer me any conditions. But the job proved enriching in a way that I could never have imagined.

The rabbi of the small city of Amersfoort had passed away, and I was offered the pulpit. But it came as a package deal. I would have to become the rabbi of the community as well as the chaplain of the local psychiatric hospital, which was the only Jewish psychiatric hospital in Europe.

I had no interest in working with “crazy people” – that was the way I saw it at first. But when I learned more, I realized how wrong my original attitude had been. After nearly forty years, I am still there, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world. It is such a blessing to be able to be of service to people with serious problems – people traumatized by war, children with learning disabilities, innocent victims of mental and genetic defects. I feel enriched doing this work. This is what I consider the best possible conditions for any job. (more…)

The Rebbe shaped my life in many ways. He guided me regarding my marriage prospects, advised me on how to earn a livelihood, and set my rabbinical career on the right course. My gratitude to him is without measure, and I would like to take this opportunity to relate just a few personal examples that demonstrate his love and care for his chasidim.

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Back in the early 1950s, while I was still a student at the Chabad yeshiva in Brooklyn, I was in a quandary. People were constantly pestering me with dating suggestions, while my parents were reminding me every chance they got that I was now the right age for marriage. But I was not sure what to do. So, on my 23^rd birthday, which that year fell on January 8^th, I went to see the Rebbe for a blessing and asked him whether I should pursue any of the proposed matches. His answer to me was, “Why in the middle of the winter?”

He didn’t say “go forward,” nor did he tell me “it’s not for you,” he just hinted that I could wait until spring if I wanted to. When spring arrived I was selected, along with nine others, to go to Israel on a special mission. Shortly after Passover that year, terrorists had attacked the village of Kfar Chabad, killing five yeshiva students and one teacher, and the Rebbe sent us to help bolster the residents’ morale.

The Rebbe didn’t order me to go on this mission. He asked me, “Do you want to travel to Israel?” Truth be told, I didn’t want to go, because the journey was hazardous and I knew it would upset my parents, so I answered evasively, “If the Rebbe wants me to go, then I want to go.”

But that was not what the Rebbe wanted to hear, as he immediately made plain: “I am asking you.” So I said that I would go. This pleased him and he promised me, “If you go to Israel, you will find a marriage match.” (more…)

While I was studying at Yeshiva University – in YU’s rabbinical seminary, known as Yeshivat Rabbeinu Yitzchak Elchanan – I became friendly with another student who was a Chabad chasid. He urged me to join a weekly group that was studying the Tanya, authored by the 18^th century founder of the Chabad Movement, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi. At first I wasn’t interested, but he kept telling me how eye-opening the Tanya was and finally he convinced me.

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He was right – I found the material most absorbing. Previously, I had studied other classical works of Judaism, but I had never encountered any teaching like this in my life. As well, the teacher, Rabbi Berel Shemtov, was excellent; he explained this complex work in a most interesting way.

Then one day – I believe it was in 1954 – Rabbi Shemtov said to me, “Let’s go see the Rebbe.”

I demurred. “Why go see the Rebbe? What am I going to discuss with him?”

“You will see a great leader,” he replied, and before long he made an appointment for me.

I had previously been to a farbrengen, shortly after the Rebbe assumed the leadership of Chabad in 1951, but I hadn’t formed any kind of opinion about him. I remember that he spoke at length and that I didn’t understand everything he said because I was not familiar with the idioms of Lubavitch then.

But what I liked was that he related the topic – whatever it was, current events or another mundane matter – to Torah. That made a big impression upon me, because I had seen many Rebbes before, who modelled the way of G-d, but who didn’t relate the realities of modern life to Torah. (more…)

I am descended from a Misnagdic family – that is, from those who opposed Chassidism – and yet I am walking this earth because of a blessing from a Chasidic Rebbe, the Rebbe Rayatz, who was the Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch from 1920 to 1950.

This is what happened:

During the time that the Rebbe Rayatz was staying in Riga, Latvia, my grandparents were living on the outskirts of the city. In January of 1932, in the freeze of the winter, my grandmother went into labor with my mother, and things started to go wrong. She was rushed to the hospital where the doctors decided that it was necessary to abort the baby in order to save her life.

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My grandmother, Frieda Gisha, was unwilling to accept the doctors’ verdict but, fearing for her life, she asked her sister Leah to run to the nearest synagogue and pray for her. She said she would not make any decision until Leah returned.

So, in the middle of the night, Leah, my great-aunt, did just that – like her sister asked, she ran to the nearest synagogue and started praying. She went up to the holy ark, where the Torah scrolls are kept, grabbed onto the curtain and pleaded with G-d for the life of her sister and her unborn baby.

As she was praying and crying, a woman tapped her on the shoulder. Leah did not know who this woman was – perhaps the cleaning lady – but when this woman said, “Come with me,” she followed her.

Together they went to where the Rebbe Rayatz was staying at the time and asked for his blessing. They received it in writing, and I still have it – it is a treasured possession in my family. It says: “With the help of G-d, everything will go well. You will give birth to a healthy and living child.”

Leah took this blessing and rushed to the hospital, where she was informed that her sister had just been taken into the delivery room. A short while later Frieda Gissa gave birth in a totally normal way to my mother, Miriam, whom the doctors had recommended aborting.

Our family has kept the Rebbe’s note for these many years. It is preserved in a safe, and we take it out only when a relative is giving birth so she can take it to the hospital with her. I myself have a copy, and I carry it with me wherever I go. (more…)

The events I am about to describe occurred in 1969 – in the early hours of the 8^th day of Tammuz, which was Tuesday, the 24^th of June. This is what happened:

A friend, Rabbi Elchanan Geisinsky, invited us to his wedding, which was taking place in Boston on Monday night, and I – along with a group of Chabad yeshiva students – decided to attend. How could we not?

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Nine of us piled into a station-wagon and drove from New York to Boston, where we enjoyed the wedding celebration, and it was already past midnight, when we set off for home. As we were getting off the highway, slowing down to exit, a tractor-trailer going about seventy miles an hour hit the back of our car. The driver had tried to avoid crashing into us, but he was going too fast and couldn’t slow down in time. His truck clipped our back corner, which caused our car to flip into the air. I remember waiting for it to land so I could jump out of the back window, which I did.

As soon as the car was hit, it burst into flames. The middle doors jammed, and the three fellows in the middle seats were burned quite severely. One of those from the front who had managed to get out tried to help them to open the door but, as soon as he grabbed the handle, he burned all of his fingers. Eventually, he managed to open the door and everyone got out. Several of the guys had to roll on the grass to put out the flames still licking their clothes but, thank G-d, everyone was okay.

The state trooper who arrived at the scene was just amazed. He said, “I’ve been patrolling this highway for twenty-five years and I never saw a fire like this, with nine people packed into a car, and everybody coming out alive. And the fact that the gas tank didn’t explode was just miraculous.”

When this happened, seeing some of my friends severely burned, Rabbi Meir Minkowitz called the Rebbe’s office even though it was five in the morning. He spoke with his secretary, Rabbi Hodakov, and he pleaded with him to ask the Rebbe for a blessing. His response was that we should check with the doctors first. If they said that somebody’s situation was life-threatening, then he would call the Rebbe. If not, he would speak with the Rebbe first thing in the morning. (more…)

I was born in Williamsburg, Brooklyn in 1935, a few years before the start the Second World War. As I was growing up I witnessed an influx of Chassidim and their Rebbes – Satmar, Belz, Lubavitch – into Brooklyn. So I got a good taste of Chassidic life at that time.

However, I did not pursue Chassidic life. In fact, when it came time to go to yeshiva, I went to Telz in Cleveland where I stayed for 13 years – from 1950 until 1963. Telz is affiliated more with the non-chasidic “Lithuanian” style of Talmudic study. I left when my rabbis at Telz encouraged me to spend a couple of years teaching in South Africa, where there was a crisis in Jewish education.

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So I went, and along with a couple of others, helped establish the first religious school for Jewish children in Johannesburg. We started out with a primary school, then established a high school for boys and after three years, also a high school for girls.

In December of 1966, I began to plan a visit to the United States. One of the items on my agenda was to find someone to head the girls’ high school, and I was hoping to find a suitable candidate in the US.

While in South Africa, I had befriended the Chabad emissaries there, and they encouraged me to see the Rebbe. So I decided to make an appointment, and I hoped the Rebbe might also help me with a recommendation with regard to the position in the high school.

While meeting the Rebbe, I was most impressed with his overwhelming personality. There was no question that he was an intellectual giant – a truly great man. But he also had an ability to see through people that very few have. And when speaking to him, I had a sense of being acknowledged and understood. (more…)

I grew up in a Chabad home in Toronto where, at a very early age, I was influenced by the Rebbe.

Before I ever met him, I knew the Rebbe was a force in the life of my family. I remember letters addressed to my father coming from the Rebbe. My father never just ripped the letter open. He prepared for reading the Rebbe’s words. He would wash his hands and put on a gartel – the cloth belt worn by chasidim – and only then would he read the letter. Most of the times, he didn’t share with us kids what the Rebbe wrote, but whenever that distinctive envelope arrived, we felt a special excitement in the home.

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From time to time, we would travel to visit my grandparents in New York for Sukkot, and there was always such great anticipation, because we would be able to participate in the Rebbe’s farbrengens and possibly see the Rebbe in a private audience.

Even as a child, I distinctly remember the first time that happened. It was around 1954 and I was only five years old at the time, and although I certainly didn’t understand the importance of the Rebbe, I could plainly see his majesty. So I was in awe.

I recall that he asked me about my studies. The mere fact that he gave me any attention at all – and also to my siblings, whom he addressed each in a personal way – indicated a tremendous sensitivity toward children.

I remember that at the farbrengens around Simchas Torah time, the custom was for the young children to get up on a table and sing a song. Afterwards, the Rebbe would direct someone to give us grape juice so we could say L’Chaim. It was a beautiful thing – to give the children center stage in front of all the adults. More importantly, he was also sowing seeds that would flourish later. The Rebbe wasn’t just making a kind gesture by paying attention to children – the Rebbe was nurturing a future generation.

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When I was a boy, my father – an immigrant from Bialystok, Poland – accepted the post as a rabbi of a synagogue in Borough Park, Brooklyn. This was in the early 1940s, and this is when I first encountered the world of Chabad-Lubavitch.

I attended the Chabad elementary school on Dean Street, where my teacher, Rabbi Meir Greenberg – who later became my brother-in-law – was very concerned about my hearing. Indeed, I was nearly deaf and the doctors whom my parents consulted recommended surgery. So Meir decided to bring me to the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe for a blessing that the operation should go well.

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I remember the encounter vividly. I remember that the Rebbe’s gaze was very intense but that he also looked at me with great compassion. He smiled kindly and told me not to worry, that I would hear again. As it turned out, the surgery was successful, and I was able to hear quite well afterwards.

A few years later, my family moved to New Jersey, and although I came to Chabad Headquarters from time to time for farbrengens, I was not part of the Chabad world.

I got married and became a rabbi of a synagogue in San Antonio Texas, and later in Long Branch, New Jersey. While there, my oldest daughter became very sick, and I contacted the Rebbe – this time the last Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson – for his blessing. He urged me to go to California to see a physician there who was world renowned. This physician helped her, and she recovered for a time, but after five years – at age seventeen – she passed away.

When that happened, we decided to establish a high school in her name in Deal, New Jersey. But there were complications from the start, as some of the donors wanted a co-ed school, and we wanted a girls’ school. And then there was the question of the site itself. We found a beautiful mansion that was the perfect building for the school. But the Jewish neighbors opposed the idea, fearing the value of their properties would go down. (more…)

I would like to tell you the story of how my late husband, Dr. Rodney Unterslak, and I started on the path toward Yiddishkeit, and the role the Rebbe played in our journey.

In 1975, after a relationship of six years, Rodney and I married. At the time, we had absolutely no connection to Judaism, other than the fact that we both came from traditional Jewish families and both of our parents had made us very keenly aware of our roots.

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After we were married for about three years, Rodney was called up for military service in the South African army. At that time I was pregnant with our first child, and we decided to avoid the draft by immigrating to London, where Rodney was offered an attractive teaching position at a prestigious hospital.

Before we left South Africa, our daughter was born – this was in January of 1978 – and, on an impulse, Rodney decided to do something most unusual for someone not the least bit observant. He went to synagogue to name the baby during the Torah reading.

Six weeks later we arrived in London, where we opted to share a house with a couple – Alon and Rena Teeger – who were very dear friends of ours. They had emigrated from South Africa to England several years before us and had become religious there. In order to stay with them, we had to agree to keep the kitchen kosher and not to violate Shabbos in their presence, all of which we were happy to do in order to have their company and guidance in unfamiliar surroundings.

Indeed, when we arrived in London, I was a complete basket casebecause I never really wanted to leave South Africa, where my entire extended family resided. So I was very happy to move in with the Teegers. (more…)

During the war years, my father-in-law, Boris Gorlin, worked with the Rebbe – when the Rebbe was not yet the Rebbe but the son-in-law of the Rebbe, employed at the Brooklyn Navy Yard as an electrical engineer. It was in this capacity that he had frequent contact with my father-in-law who was also involved in the war effort.

After the war, their association ended, and it was not until 1977 that my father-in-law saw the Rebbe again. I was present at their meeting, and this is the story I would like to relate here.

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At that time, our Upper East Side synagogue needed a rabbi, and my father-in-law decided to ask the Rebbe for a recommendation. So, we made an appointment for an audience, prior to which we were briefed by the Rebbe’s secretary how to behave. We were to walk in and stand in front of the Rebbe, who would be sitting at his desk; we were to state our business, listen to what the Rebbe had to say and then excuse ourselves. The secretary would signal us to leave by opening the door; when the door opened we were to back out of the room.

But nothing went according to plan. When our turn came, the Rebbe came to the door, escorted us in and refused to sit down until we were both seated. He also offered us a drink, and then signaled to the secretary that he didn’t want to be disturbed. He seemed genuinely delighted to see my father-in-law after all these years, and it appeared he expected it to be more than just a brief visit.

He opened the conversation by saying, “Boris, you and I can speak in Russian, or French or Yiddish, but your son-in-law doesn’t understand those languages, so let’s speak in English.” Thus the rest of the conversation proceeded in English. (more…)