In the early 1950's, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, dispatched a number of Rabbis and their families to go out into the world on a mission to help guide Jews, who had drifted away from their roots, back toward a more Torah-centered life. These first few emissaries planted the seeds of a movement that has blossomed into the largest Jewish outreach organization in the world. These selfless men and women have introduced countless educational programs throughout the world that have helped hundreds of thousands of Jews rediscover their Jewish roots and traditions. Little did I know that 50 years after the first Shluchim left the comfortable surroundings of Crown Heights, New York, that the Rebbe's hope and vision for the Jews of the world would help the spiritual seeds of Torah flourish in my own family.
As a young boy growing up in Connecticut my family didn't have a lot of money, but the one currency that was abundant was love and affection. My Dad and I have always had a strong, close knit relationship. From an early age we did everything together. He taught me to ride a bicycle on the front lawn of our home. He taught me the proper direction to push a lawn mower when mowing the grass. He nailed a basketball hoop to an old oak tree in the front yard and taught me the fine art of shooting a foul shot. Later in life, when I became a homeowner, he showed me how to fix a leaky faucet, install a garbage disposal and paint the outside of a house. Mine has been a life filled with numerous memories of my father teaching me the secrets a son needs to know in order to effectively navigate the seas of life. As I write this I just tuned 50 and Dad is about to turn 76. As I look back on our journey, the one thing I can't remember is Dad and I going to Shul on Shabbos. As a child I can remember going to Shul on Yom Kippur, I know I played a great Mordechai during a Purim play and Dad was certainly there on my bar mitzvah. But other than those cherished memories I don't remember Dad and I ever going to Shul on Shabbos.
In 1983 I moved to Palm Springs, California and a friend of mine introduced me to a young Chabad Rabbi named Yonason Denebeim. It was Rabbi Denebeim who first planted the spiritual seeds that would eventual grow and flourish within me many years later. During the entire time I lived in Palm Springs Dad and I never went to shul together. When I moved to Wilmington, Delaware Rabbi Chuni Vogel lovingly cultivated the spiritual seeds that Rabbi Denebeim had carefully nurtured for the better part of ten years. My journey in Delaware awakened a spiritual awareness and joy that I previously would have thought impossible. During that entire time Dad and I never went to shul together. When I asked him if he'd like to go with me he would tell me that he supported my spiritual journey but his experience in shul as a boy had left him with a negative memory and he just didn't want to go and he didn't want me to press him on the issue. Respecting my Dad's wishes, I didn't push him.
When we moved to Salem, Oregon I'd ask him if he wanted to go to shul with me in Portland and meet Rabbi Wilhelm. He once again politely declined. While I was disappointed, I recognized that life is a journey and things can dramatically change right around the next bend. If I've learned anything from the Chabad Rabbis I've met, it's everyone travels at their own speed and one has to have patience as well as commitment. So I waited for a time when my Dad and I could go to shul together and he could experience the joy and fulfillment I've discovered over the years.
When we moved to Reno, Nevada my journey took me to the steps of Chabad of Northern Nevada and I met Rabbi Mendel Cunin. Since my parents spend summers with us, they are exposed to many Chabad sponsored activities. Sometimes they go and other times they don't, but the Rabbi always invites them. In addition, by virtue of their presence in our home, they either actively or passively watch and or participate in the Jewish activities in our home, i.e., saying Kiddush before dinner on Friday night, putting on Teffilin in the morning, walking to Shul on Shabbos, lighting Shabbos candles and more.
During their last visit we were all sitting around the Shabbos table one Friday evening when my Dad said he'd like to go with me to Shul the next morning. He told me that he had only one condition and that was he did not want an Aliyah. He said he was glad to go but under no circumstance did he want to get up in front of the crowd and have to do anything. Figuring, this was all part of the journey, I quickly agreed. The next morning we left the house, walked down the mountain and arrived at the Shul a few minutes before the start of services. When we walked through the front entrance I shared my Dad's wish with the Rabbi and he also agreed. As the morning davening progressed I was dismayed to see that the service would be one of the longest of the year because not only was that morning's parsha the longest of the year, we were also going to bless the new month. Since this was Dad's first time in Shul in many years, I was concerned the long service would negate his experience and this visit would be his last. To top it off, the temperature as we walked home was a blistering 92 degrees.
I figured that was it, no more Shabbos services for Pops. During lunch, to my delight and surprise, he said he thought he did pretty well for the first time and was confident he'd feel more comfortable next week. "NEXT WEEK," my mind screamed out! I didn't think there'd be a next year, let alone a next week. To make a long story short, the next week turned into many weeks as the summer progressed. Every Saturday morning Dad and I walked down the mountain, walked into the shul and Dad greeted Morris with a good Shabbos, and Ken with a good Shabbos, and Aaron with a good Shabbos and then took his seat.
As the men would go up to the bema to say the blessing before the reading of the Torah, I'd look over and see Dad reading the blessings found in his Chumash. Several weeks later I overheard Dad practicing the blessings out loud in his room. I ran in and yelled, "You're a sandbagger, you're a sandbagger." His rendition of the blessings was perfect. He had led me to believe that he couldn't read them very well but his rendition was perfect. We laughed as my Mother came into the room and asked why I was raising my voice. I explained and she joined in on the laughter. I said, "Pops, you told me not to push you, but you just read those blessings as well as anyone in Shul, I really wish you would reconsider your position on the matter." He smiled and said, "let's go watch the Olympics on TV."
The next week, Reno celebrated a momentous occasion. Almost a year before, our congregation had commissioned the creation of a new Torah. The scribe was due to arrive in a few days with our brand new Torah and the entire Jewish community was a buzz with the thought of its pending arrival. The day the scribe and the Torah arrived was one I will never forget. When my family and I arrived at the Shul the place was packed, the local newspaper was present and you could cut the excitement with a knife. When the sofer wrote down the last letter of the Torah, blew on the ink, and stood up from the table, the entire congregation burst into a joyous song. The rest of the evening is a blur as we danced with the Torah, celebrated and came together as a community.
That night we returned home Dad looked at me and said, "I can't believe I had such a good time. I am almost 76 years old and I've never seen a night like this. I feel really comfortable with this congregation." I had to smile because if I've learned one thing from the Chabad Rabbis over the years, it's everyone travels at their own pace on their spiritual journeys and when it is time to go to the next level, they will know it. I looked at Dad and said, "Well maybe its time for your first Aliyah." He said, "Maybe you're right." That was good enough for me. I went to see Rabbi Cunin the next day and told him Dad was ready.
That Shabbos morning I awoke full of anticipation and excitement. As Dad and I walked down the mountain we talked about anything and everything but we never mentioned the Aliyah. When we walked through the front door of the shul, Dad greeted everyone with a good Shabbos and took what was now his regular seat. As we worked our way through the first part of the service my heart was racing. When it finally came time to read the Torah my heart was pounding in my ears. The first man went to the bema and said the blessings and the Rabbi read the first Aliyah. The second man went up and he too said the blessings and the rabbi read the next Aliyah. The next thing I heard was Rabbi Cunin calling Moishe Pincus ben Eleazer to the Torah. Pops looked at me, stood up and walked to the bema. I followed and stood a few inches away to provide moral support. Looking like an old pro, Dad took the end of his tallis, touched the first and last word of the Aliyah, grabbed the handles of the Torah and chanted the blessing Jewish men have been saying for the last 3200 years. After the Rabbi completed the Aliyah, Dad once again brought the handles together and chanted the last blessing. When he was done he leaned over, and with a twinkle in his eye he said, "Piece of Kugel!"
More than 50 years after the Rebbe sent his first emissaries to plant the seeds of Yidishkeit in the hearts of Jews around the world, on one special Shabbos, in the Biggest Little City in the World, one of the millions of spiritual seeds planted long ago burst forth and brought a loving family even closer to Torah. There is no doubt in my mind that somewhere on high in heaven, the Rebbe and my proud Grandpas Charlie, Fritz, and Lou raised a glass and said "l'chaim."
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