Yosef Samuels: Binding Jews To Judaism

By: Mimi Notik

It all started 40 years ago.

One Monday morning, Yosef Samuels woke abruptly to his father’s announcement that war had broken out in Israel. The year was 1967, and Samuels was a young yeshiva student. He hurriedly made his way to 770 Eastern Parkway, the Brooklyn address of the Lubavitch World Headquarters, to join others in seeking guidance from the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson.

But when he got to the doors, he was halted by Rabbi Dovid Raskin, head of the Lubavitch Youth Organization. Addressing the student’s jumpiness, Rabbi Raskin simply told him, "You have to go put tefillin on people."

Indeed, in his public remarks on the previous Shabbat, the Rebbe addressed the mitzvah of tefillin with a unique vigor. Quoting various Talmudic passages, he spoke about tefillin ensuring the safety of our brothers and sisters in Israel. That Shabbat, the Rebbe gave specific instructions to go out and find other Jewish men to perform the important mitzvah. But his orders took some digesting.

"Nobody knew what the Rebbe wanted," said Samuels, "Who knew how to approach a stranger and tell him to roll up his sleeve? You can’t just do something like that!"

Samuels knew what he had to do. A bank stood across from 770; without delay, Samuels marched right in. With bravery he didn’t know he had, him, the yeshiva student went straight to the president of the bank. "You know there’s a war?" he asked him. The bank president nodded yes and, in an unimaginably ideal response, asked, "What can I do?"

Now, many years later, Samuels tells the rest of the story with wonderment in his voice: "Here was a banker looking at a penniless yeshiva boy. But when I told him about tefillin, he got up and took me upstairs to his private office." It was there in that office that Samuels put tefillin on someone for the very first time.

It was a moment that shaped the rest of his life.

Since that day in the small office atop a Brooklyn bank, Samuels has virtually never put his tefillin bag down, committed to a lifestyle that has by now touched close to a hundred thousand lives.

"Whatever I do is connected to tefillin," said Samuels. "It is the air I breathe."

Wherever he is, there are his tefillin: at community events, hospitals, shopping centers, on planes and anywhere else imaginable. When guests are expected for Shabbat, he phones them to ensure they come before sundown, lest they miss the opportunity to put on tefillin.

When he gives a class, his students often leave with more than new information – they take away a lasting inspiration from a mitzvah that, as he clearly sees it, effectuates a strong connection that rejuvenates their inherent bond with Torah and mitzvot.

"The Six Day War was a very powerful time," he said. "There was a massive spiritual awakening among the people."

He recalled visiting universities on Fridays. With a small group of friends, he would stand for hours putting tefillin on students. One time, at Queens College, they had a line that snaked down countless steps and into the cafeteria. Once, the swarms of people wanting to put on tefillin kept Samuels and his fellow yeshiva students there until they had to rush back home for Shabbat. They were still driving when sundown, and the onset of Shabbat, was moments away. They had no choice but to park, lock everything into the car and continue home by foot.

"Someone who puts on tefillin with others has the opportunity to really see the greatness of people, of their souls," he explained. "This affects the way he interacts with people, friends and family, bringing a renewed respect for everyone. When one rolls up his sleeves, you’re watching the greatness of a Jew."

"People often become serious and very emotional," he added. "No one wraps tefillin without some deep emotion. Nobody walks away from it apathetic."

Plenty of Jews have found their Jewish connection to Judaism through Samuels’s tefillin. One such person, Scott Heifetz, became close to the rabbi while mourning the loss of his father, a college professor who learned with Samuels. After the funeral, the son discovered his father’s tefillin bag and asked Samuels what he should do with them.

The rabbi’s natural response changed Scott’s life: "Well, you have to put them on." Today, Heifetz lives a religious life and testified that "putting on tefillin is certainly a catalyst for doing other mitzvot."

Samuels says he is still looking to inspire others. "There is so much to accomplish, we need more to join."

The Chabad challenge

ANDREW SILOW-CARROLL , THE JERUSALEM POST

A few months back I attended the inauguration ceremonies for Arnold Eisen, the new chancellor of the Conservative movement's Jewish Theological Seminary. In a symposium preceding the main event, a distinguished panel of scholars discussed the future of the movement and American Judaism. Someone mentioned Chabad, and the roomful of rabbis and professors broke out into knowing titters.
Dr. Alan Cooper, the JTS provost, rode the titters into a wave of laughter when he repeated the old line: "Chabad is the religion closest to Judaism." There's nothing new about Chabad-bashing - the Chabad-Lubavitch Hassidic movement is mocked by fellow Orthodox for their messianism, by non-Orthodox groups for their aggressive proselytizing, by late-night comedians for the wacky mitzva tanks that roll through Manhattan streets. And there's nothing funny about Chabad's cozy relationship with Russian President Vladimir Putin, and their cynical use of religion and politics to dominate the Jewish revival in Eastern Europe.But considering the ubiquity of Chabad, and the warm reception they get among many marginally affiliated Jews, the movement becomes a living Yogi Berra line: No one takes them seriously - they're too popular.
Husband-and-wife pairs of shlichim, or emissaries, are dispatched from the Rabbinical College of America in Morristown to establish Chabad centers wherever there is a rumor of Jewish life. As far as their late rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, was concerned, Bangkok is Boston is Basking Ridge, if it means bringing even a touch of yiddishkeit to the Jewish margins.
Shlichim have begun operating Hebrew schools that are increasingly popular among Jewish families who might have no other Jewish affiliations. Chabad's successful outreach activities include well-run summer camps, unintimidating bar and bat mitzva ceremonies, and dozens of informal community events around the holidays. Still laughing?
A few weeks after the Eisen inaugural I was invited by some Conservative rabbinical leaders to discuss challenges facing their movement and synagogues in general. I focused on Chabad. And I described the movement as a challenge in the positive sense: a challenge to others to explore what Chabad does well and how their model can be replicated in non-Chabad synagogues and institutions.
SO WHAT'S Chabad's secret? They offer ease of entry. People taking baby steps into Jewish life are intimidated by institutions that seem to demand a deep commitment at the outset. Although individual Chabadniks are committed to "Torah-true" Judaism, the shlichim celebrate individual mitzvot, individual acts of belonging. One is fine, two is great, three's a mechaieh. No one joins Chabad on the installment plan. In fact, people tend not to "join" Chabad at all. Chabad houses tend not to have memberships. Chabadniks will say that the message is that individuals are valued for their participation, not their contribution to the building fund.
Chabad is pluralist. I know, I know - theologically Chabad has about as much respect for non-Orthodox, indeed, non-Chabad streams as Ann Coulter has for liberals. But shlichim operate their centers on a come-one, come-all basis, putting up fewer barriers of behavior and biology than even some Reform synagogues.
Chabad is friendly. Oy, is it friendly. I always compare the Morristown college to the old IBM in the way it is able to churn out ambassadors who so fully and consistently reflect the mission and values of the institution. I often can't tell various shlichim apart - not because I am a dolt or a bigot, but because so many are so similarly warm and good-natured.
Finally, Chabadniks are p.r. whizzes. They were early adopters of all the latest technologies, have an enviable dominance of the Jewish web, and manage to keep their branding cutting-edge.
When I presented these ideas to the Conservative rabbis, they bristled. Not because they don't see value in an open, pluralist, easy-entry, cleverly marketed Judaism. Rather, they recognized the structural differences that separate them from Chabad. One of these is accountability to a kehilla, a community. The American synagogue is a self-governed partnership among stakeholders and rabbis - employers and employees. It's a delicate dance, but in the tension between a rabbi's authority and the congregation's diverse needs, most synagogues reach an accommodation that reflects the values of their membership and movement.
You can't fire your Chabad rabbi. As a result, their flexibility and creativity often comes with a whiff of condescension.
And one rabbi's flexibility is another's lack of standards. Rabbi Eric Yoffie, head of the Union for Reform Judaism, recently wrote a column criticizing Chabad for offering to perform bar and bat mitzvot with few if any requirements. At typical synagogues, such requirements include religious school attendance, a commitment to study and worship, and a level of synagogue skills. Chabad "is the place that you go when you do not want to join a synagogue or subject your child to a meaningful course of study," wrote Yoffie.
The challenge for non-Chabad rabbis, then, is to bring some of the Chabad spirit into their programming without sacrificing their own and their movements' standards or identity or the expectations of their longtime and most committed members.
Which will lead to another debate, one that may well define Judaism in the coming decades: Are denominations necessary - are synagogues necessary - or has Chabad pioneered a model of American Judaism that transcends them?
The writer is editor in chief of the New Jersey Jewish News.

Chabad fires back at Yoffie

A Chabad educator took Rabbi Eric Yoffie to task for saying the movement is promoting Jewish minimalism.In an essay published last week on the Web site Lubavitch.com, Chana Silberstein defended her organization's willingness to grant any child a bar/bat mitzvah, a policy the Reform leader has criticized as enabling a party without any deeper significance."What Yoffie fails to consider is that Chabad’s willingness to offer all children a bar-mitzvah stems not from lowering of religious standards, but from a refusal to make children the pawns in a game of institutional extortion," wrote Silberstein, the educational director at the Chabad of Cornell University. Silberstein claimed that requiring synagogue membership and Hebrew school enrollment -- common requisites for bar mitzvah in Reform congregations -- has nothing to do with standards and everything to do with increasing revenue. She also noted that one becomes a bar mitzvah automatically on becoming an adult, and telling parents that standards must be met for their children to be considered Jewish adults is a "self-serving falsehood."

Dear Reader: The Good and Bad of Chabad

by Eric H. Yoffie

In last Winter’s column, I reflected on Chabad’s admirable hospitality (see “The Art of Welcoming,” Winter 2006). Indeed, throughout the world, in virtually every city where a Jewish community of even modest size is to be found, Chabad shelichim (emissaries) conduct religious services, visit hospitals, teach children, organize Jewish holiday celebrations, and offer Shabbat meals to lonely Jewish students and travelers. No other Jewish movement—Orthodox, Conservative, or Reform—has been able to produce a corps of similarly devoted young men and women who are prepared to serve the Jewish people with such personal sacrifice.
Unfortunately, other Chabad practices are less admirable. Here are two examples.
In Russia, Chabad leaders have established an alliance with the increasingly autocratic President Vladimir Putin. Such alliances have their purposes, but not when they are used to deny recognition and funding to other Jewish groups. Looking back at the history of eastern European Jewry, we all view with distaste those chapters that involve Jewish groups drawing close to ruling despots so that they can work against other Jews with whom they disagree. We do not need a modern version of that history in the Russian Federation today.
In North America, the issues are very different. Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox synagogues routinely require families that want their child to have a bar/bat mitzvah to meet certain requirements—the son or daughter must attend religious school for a year or more, and the parents must commit themselves to study and congregational worship. The reason is clear: absent Torah learning and familial involvement, the bar mitzvah will be without meaning, an excuse for a party. Chabad centers, however, generally provide a bar mitzah service with few, if any, requirements. Chabad says that no child should be denied a bar mitzvah, and the family—which is usually unaffiliated—may be drawn later into Jewish life. Perhaps. More likely, the lesson is that Judaism is not a serious endeavor and that even the most significant milestones require only a modicum of commitment.
Surely no family should ever be denied membership in a synagogue because of inability to pay. But we should protest when Chabad, or anyone else, becomes a purveyor of Jewish minimalism, lowering educational standards for our children and community.
Rabbi Eric H. Yoffie President, Union for Reform Judaism

At 47, a Son of the Commandments

Russian emigre celebrates his Bar Mitzvah at Congregation Toras Emes

Friday, February 23, 2007
By LESLIE PALMA-SIMONCEK
ADVANCE STAFF WRITER

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. -- Vitaly Benzion remembers eating matzoh for Passover as a child in the Ukraine and later in Leningrad. But that was about it for Jewish practice.

"In Russia, it was killed there," he said of religion. "Nobody really believed in God there. Those who believed were in jail."

When Benzion came to the United States in 1981, he met some people from Chabad Lubavitch, the Brooklyn-based Jewish outreach organization, and became interested in connecting with his Jewish roots.

He wrote a letter to the Lubavitcher rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, and received a letter back from a representative telling him the rebbe had given him a blessing.

For $5 a month, the organization provided him with tefillin for morning prayers and he sometimes attended Shabbos services at a Lubavitcher yeshiva in Morristown, N.J.

"I had some questions still," said the New Dorp resident. "The religion was new to me."

His religious journey took a giant step this week when, at the age of 47, he became Bar Mitzvah at Congregation Toras Emes, an Oakwood synagogue he has sometimes attended since moving to Staten Island from Brooklyn five years ago.

"I had some kind of inner feeling that it would support my future in Judaism," he said of the rite of passage usually celebrated at 13.

The ceremony took place Sunday, with cousins, his aunt, and friends in attendance. Morris Shuster, president of the United Association of Eastern European Jewry, spoke about the challenges the Russian immigrant community has in reconnecting with their Jewish heritage.

Fluent in Russian and English, Benzion admitted to some difficulty with the Hebrew.

While reading from the Torah, "I had to repeat after Rabbi Ivry," he said. "Hebrew I don't know very good."

When he became a U.S. citizen in 1986 he changed his name from Benzianov to Benzion because it sounds more Jewish. This week he chose Yeshaya for his Hebrew name.

"In Yiddish it means help," he said. "I try to help people as much as I can."

Rabbi Ivry said this was his first adult bar mitzvah.

"We were very excited and glad he chose our synagogue," said the rabbi, a Lubavitcher. "We feel it's a milestone."

Benzion said the ceremony was an emotional one for him.

"I feel kind of uplifted, energized," he said. "I feel quite different."

As he continues his journey of return to Judaism, the still-single Benzion said he would like to find a wife to accompany him.

"I certainly would like to have a companion."

Leslie Palma-Simoncek is the religion editor for the Advance. She may be reached at palma@siadvance.com.

© 2007 Staten Island Advance