Little Moshe has passed through the time of danger. He is healthy and clever, and if he’s sometimes clingy, that’s fine with Rivki. Staying busy with him, with all her work, keeps difficult thoughts at bay. Such as: Why are she and Gabi here, amid the stench and chaos and otherness of Mumbai? They could have been in Brooklyn or Israel instead, with family and comforts nearby to ease their sadness.
But why think about what can’t be helped? They are here because that’s what the Rebbe inspired them to do. And look at the blessings their sacrifice has brought them, just as he said it would: Moshe, their miracle, and now another child on the way. God willing, the family will grow and bring honor to their mission.
Sixth of eleven,the middlest of middle children, Rivka Rosenberg, born in 1980, grows up in Afula, Israel, in a Lubavitcher home: a smiler, a laugher, knowing how to fit in yet managing to be heard. Everyone calls her Rivki. “Not meek,” a friend says. “Not recessive. Full of life. Always looking to connect. That’s the secret.” The friend pauses. “And that’s the problem.”
The peninsula of Mumbai juts into the Arabian Sea, a beckoning finger. It is the Western face of India: a short flight from any trouble spot you can name, yet not particularly troubled itself, except by extremes of poverty and wealth. It is where others, including filmmakers, come to make a point. They find Bollywood stars and goats in the street, luxury retail and beggars like flies, and, if they are Jewish, a Chabad House for kosher food and a sense of identity in a city where it is easy to get lost. Located almost invisibly in the last crook of the last joint of the beckoning finger, on a narrow, congested alley in a neighborhood called Colaba, the house waits for those who know about it and can find their way from their hostel or five-star hotel near the Gateway of India monument, welcoming all from the sea.
Gavriel Noach Holtzberg shows up mid-fall at Oholei Torah, a Lubavitcher yeshiva in Crown Heights. He is 9, not as well off as some of the boys, already a scholar in Yiddish and Hebrew but—having just moved from Israel with his parents and six siblings—almost completely lacking in English. Nevertheless, within a year, he has emerged at the top of his class, in not just scholarship but influence. If he can’t afford the right sneakers, plays no sports, he still commands respect from the boys; in the schoolyard they speak Yiddish with him, even after he learns to speak English with them.
His family knows from the start that something is different about Gabi. At 3, he is already punctilious in his observance of Jewish law, washing his hands the second he gets up, making sure everyone says the central prayer of Judaism, the Shema. His brothers and sisters are astounded by this, but his father, Nachman, a rabbi and ritual slaughterer, or shochet, is not. Rabbi Holtzberg’s family lived for eight generations in Safed, Israel, a center of mystical Judaism as far back as the sixteenth century. His own father “davened like he eats”—prayed naturally, as a form of sustenance. Gabi, too, has the quality of relentless piety. At 17, he walks to Teaneck, New Jersey, and back, six hours, to share a Torah thought at a synagogue there. His feet are covered with blisters.
Even earlier, he has a mission. “He told me, at maybe 10 or 11, ‘I want to sharpen the knives,’ ” says Nachman. A shochet’s knives are prized tools, requiring perfect care to prevent animals from feeling pain. “I said he was too young: He didn’t know how. He said, ‘I don’t care,’ and took a knife and sharpened it. He did a good job. But good wasn’t enough for him. It had to be ‘beautiful good.’ ”
Rebbe is the Yiddish for rabbi—in the Orthodox tradition, a learned male who receives a smicha, or certification, upon finishing his religious studies, regardless of whether he goes on to lead a congregation or live a relatively ordinary life. There are thousands of rabbis, many without portfolio. Those affiliated with Lubavitcher Judaism—so named because from 1813 until 1940 the movement was centered in the Russian town of Lubavitch—are easily met in Crown Heights, often wearing black hats and bushy beards, with their wives in wigs and their boys sporting side-locks like unwound ribbons.
But the Rebbe (or “the Grand Rebbe” or “the Lubavitcher Rebbe”) has in recent history meant only one man: Menachem Schneerson. Descended from the founders of Hasidism in the 1600s, he led the Lubavitchers from 1950 until his death, in 1994. During his tenure, he turned the movement, never a monkish sect, further outward, emphasizing practical acts of spirituality and engagement with the world, as befits a man who studied at the Sorbonne and, upon escaping from Europe, became an electrical engineer in the U.S. Navy.
Next: The couple's first date.
In particular, Schneerson expanded the Lubavitcher concept of Chabad (a Hebrew acronym for the words wisdom, understanding, and knowledge) to include outreach to all Jews anywhere. The network of Mitzvah Mobiles, roving rabbis, Chabad Houses, and married emissaries called shluchim that he fostered has, since his death, grown even bigger, so that Chabad-Lubavitch, as it is sometimes called, is now the fastest-growing—and most visible—Jewish movement in the world.
The chance to meet Schneerson as a prize for memorizing lengthy rabbinical tracts leaves some boys frozen in terror. Most shuffle quickly by the awesome personage, receiving a dollar from a stack of bills to give to charity, barely lifting their faces. But Gabi stops the line dead to ask a question, and even when the Rebbe answers (“You should have a blessing in everything you need”), he keeps talking. Is the Rebbe amused, surprised beneath his whiskers? In any case, Gabi gets what he came for: a blessing on his family.
The Rebbe speaks in Crown Heights: “Don’t convince yourself that you can live off the fat of the land and reside in these few blocks. Here you have radio and television, fresh milk every day, you can shower twice a day; there is no shortage of kosher milk and kosher bread, and you can serve God here and remain here. Listen! There is a ‘desolate land,’ which is thus far undeveloped spiritually. There are Jews there who don’t even know that they lack anything. You had the unearned privilege to be brought up with Torah and mitzvahs: ‘How lucky we are, how good is our lot.’ Be there for a day, a week, a month, a year, ten years. You won’t have nice clothes and a comfortable home? The Jews in the places you are going also manage without them. Why should you be better? Perhaps they’re better than you. If you have not used your treasures for this, it must bother you. And if you are not pained, then you are lacking in your love of God.”
Rivki Rosenberg’s yeshiva life, like that of most girls, is less about standing out as a scholar or analyzing the brilliant debates of the sages than about candles and purity and making a Jewish home. She is naturally inclined to do good: She helps girls who fall behind in their studies. But she is looking for a challenge. Every summer she can she travels, always within the context of Jewish works. When she attends a wedding—and there are many weddings—she loves to dance, as if to shake off the desire for something she can’t name. At one of these weddings, in 2001, when a cousin of hers marries one of the sons of Nachman Holtzberg, Nachman has a thought. “I see this girl, a very special girl. Maybe now Gabi”—who is in Israel to complete his rabbinical training—“will take the cousin?”
They are each other’s first date. Gabi is not as handsome as Rivki is pretty, but Chabad valorizes the nerd. The boy who in secular society would be the outcast—the most studious, least athletic, shyest around girls—is here the star. It’s he who is asked to go furthest into the world to represent Jewish values. Gabi immediately explains to Rivki the crazy kind of life he is seeking as an emissary. He says, “I want to tell you I’m a special meshuggener. What I need to do, I will do. Are you ready to do?” And she says, “I’m the same way,” as if relieved.
They marry in 2002. She is 22, he 23. In wedding pictures she is ethereal, wisplike, shining; with his sketchy fluff of reddish beard and pink cheeks, he looks boyish, surprised by his good fortune. For the first time, she dons the sheitel—the wig Hasidic women wear in public as a sign of modesty. Friends will soon notice that she always adorns it with a clip of some kind and that she is always fiddling with the clip.
To be an emissary, a man must first have his smicha and his wife. Though he must also be spiritual, that isn’t enough. “You need a certain resourcefulness,” says Yosef Kantor, head of a Chabad House in Bangkok and regional director for the area. “Your head not up in the heavens, but able to function on Earth.”
Gabi is one of the best he’s seen: a brilliant scholar and also, like his father, a shochet and (not unrelatedly) a mohel. But where to place him? Chabad outposts in Boise and Bondi Beach and the suburbs of Paris are not what Gabi is looking for. It is, in a way, a shittach, a matchmaking job. “There’s a certain element of providence,” Kantor says. “You think you can know everything about a prospective partner and hope you’ll find out pleasant things, but the opposite sometimes happens.” Nevertheless, the cleaving of shluchim to their posts, like spouses to a marriage, is taken seriously; it’s not like opening a foreign bank branch. No couple is forced to accept a posting, but once they do, they are expected to hold it for life.
Next: Why Gabi's mother doubted the world’s hospitality.
Lubavitchers do not proselytize, certainly not to Gentiles; they model a form of Jewish spirituality—through scholarship, prayer, and good deeds—that they hope will challenge other Jews to do the same. But in order to reach Jews, they must first find Jews to reach. The Chabad leadership continually studies patterns of Jewish settlement and travel for places to expand. As a result, the movement now has a presence in 72 countries, with more than 4,000 couples or families serving as shluchim worldwide.
But until recently Chabad had sent only the occasional roving rabbi to India, where about 5,000 Jews remained, mostly around Mumbai, after waves of settlement going back 2,000 years. Faith was burning out, with leaderless synagogues forced to pay poor Jews in order to corral the required minyan. Addressing these local needs was enough of a reason to consider sending shluchim. But Chabad also had its eyes on foreign Jews, who, since the Indian financial “miracle” of the nineties, were visiting in greater numbers. Some were businessmen. Some were Israelis freshly liberated from army service, on their way to nonmilitary pleasures in Goa. Others were young Americans on the first leg of spiritual journeys, often pursued by worried parents.
Rabbi Kantor and his superiors decide they have found the right couple to serve such people. They know it will be a difficult job—which, in a way, for Gabi if not for Rivki, makes it even more attractive.
Still, Frieda Holtzberg is worried. Her family escaped the Nazis in Hungary—she named Gabi for a neighbor’s child killed in the Holocaust—so she has good cause to doubt the world’s hospitality. She tells her husband to change their son’s mind. It’s the Third World: Think how uncomfortable it will be for them. Think of the children, so far away. For by now Rivki has given birth to a son, Menachem Mendel, named after the Rebbe.
But Nachman doesn’t want to intervene. “I loved the idea he could be the big guy in India,” he says. Anyway, Gabi hasn’t asked their permission.
Just before Hanukkah 2003, Gabi and Rivki arrive in Mumbai with little in tow but his knives and her wigs and Menachem Mendel, not yet 1. They set up shop in a rented room at the three-star Shelley’s Hotel on the water in the main tourist area: not an ideal situation, with no kitchen, little space, and a highly disagreeable owner. Still, they get to work, offering Torah study, officiating at bar mitzvahs and weddings, serving meals, and, because there is no kosher meat to be had—and no beef, of course; it’s India—slaughtering hundreds of chickens a week.
Life isn’t easy, and visitors, whether they come for dinner or a three-night stay, are not the same as friends. But together the Holtzbergs form a defense against the world, even as they throw themselves into it. They are each other’s lifeboats. “There is no Gabi without Rivki and no Rivki without Gabi” is how her mother puts it—and even though they behave modestly in public, as Orthodox standards require, it’s apparent to everyone who meets them that they are in love. “To say they are enamored,” Rabbi Kantor says, “would be an understatement.” Indeed, Rivki looks forward to teaching women visitors about the beauty of marital intimacy in Judaism, suggesting the zeal of one who experiences it. Like many new husbands, Gabi has a small smile playing on his face all the time, though maybe that’s also because he is finally getting to be what he always meant to be. He especially enjoys lighting a 25-foot Hanukkah menorah at the Gateway of India, where the whole world, it seems, can see it.
Rivki flies frequently to Israel. On one trip back, in 2004, she meets Chani Lifshitz in the airport. A Chabad emissary in Kathmandu, Chani, along with her husband, is famous for making the largest Seder in the world, serving 2,000 people in the heights of Nepal. In the airport, she and Rivki recognize each other as fellow shluchim “by the face,” Chani says. They become friends “like that.”
Every six months or so, they meet in Bangkok for three days of shopping. Rivki dresses “simple but classic”: T-shirts, slim skirts, cute, trendy glasses, a “big, big smile and a small, small necklace.” When you give her a compliment, “she doesn’t say no—she doesn’t fight with herself.” In between, they communicate electronically. Chani often leaves her Instant Messenger open, waiting for a ping. They discuss the decoration of their premises, share ideas for new programs and recipes. (Rivki is teaching herself to make soy milk from scratch.) They commiserate about the difficulty of their work, but not too much. Chani, with three children and another on the way, talks of their progress. Rivki doesn’t.
Chani knows why, but few others do. Menachem Mendel is dying in a hospital in Israel.
Next: The Chabad House opens in Mumbai.
Babies with Tay-Sachs, a genetic disease found among Eastern European Jews, seem normal at birth. Only after several months do symptoms appear: motor weakness, sensitivity to noise, and a telltale cherry-red spot on the retina. By 10 months, seizures have usually begun; soon after that come blindness, deafness, and brain atrophy. The disease is without exception fatal, usually by age 4.
Gabi and Rivki probably knew they were carriers, and certainly do by the time a second son, Dov Ber, is born with Tay-Sachs in 2004. He too is sent, after a while, to an Israeli hospital. This is why Rivki sometimes excuses herself from guests who wonder at the sight of an apparently childless young Lubavitcher woman: She goes to another room to cry. (“Why should I make them feel badly?”) It’s also why she flies home so often. After much painful discussion and rabbinic consultation—Rabbi Kantor says that Chabad made the decision that the Holtzbergs would not be easily replaced—they choose to stay in Mumbai and visit Israel as often as necessary. In any case, the visits are more for Rivki than the babies: Eventually, they do not seem to sense her presence even when she’s there. If she feels the same about God, she doesn’t let on.
Even after they move to a bigger space within Shelley’s Hotel, the situation is untenable. More and more people are seeking their services. Meals are difficult. Also, Shelley’s is being turned into a Planet Hollywood.
With the help of a large donation from investment banker George Rohr, Gabi is able to procure, for $1.5 million, a rundown five-story concrete office building on an alley called Hormusji Street. He has big plans for it: a kitchen, dining room, and restaurant on the first floor; a library, a synagogue, and an Internet lounge on the second; guest rooms on the third and fourth; their own apartment on the fifth. On the ground level, which has a wide blue gate but no walls, a guard will sit at a table in front of the elevator and stairs. On the roof, they will hold parties and special events on a terrace designed to catch the breeze and the view of the sea.
By the time the building is dedicated as India’s first permanent Chabad House, in 2006, Menachem Mendel has died at age 2 and Dov Ber is dying. Streams of pain wash over Rivki daily, Chani says. And—both terror and joy—she is pregnant again.
Thanks to the Chabad website and Google, there are now 20 to 30 businessmen, backpackers, and students arriving for 8 p.m. dinner each night; as many as 70 come on Shabbat. Rivki doesn’t attend to them alone: She has hired a fortyish Mumbaikar named Sandra Samuel to help clean and a young man from Assam named Zakir Hussain to help cook. Visitors who stay overnight notice that the guest rooms are outfitted with new toothbrushes, bottles of shampoo, Israeli hand soap: amenities of a nice hotel. But the Holtzbergs’ apartment is dilapidated and bare, little more than a bed and bookshelf. Paint is peeling from the walls. Only the empty blue child’s room is decorated, with the aleph-bet, pictures of ducks, and a portrait of the Rebbe.
To a Chabad crew filming them, Rivki hoarsely says of the work, “It’s fun.” Certainly it is for Gabi, who is ambitious for his faith and, like ambitious men everywhere, seeks success where it will stand out best. Besides running the Chabad, he is serving all of Mumbai’s synagogues and supervising kashruth for the region. He is “impressed by his own genius,” one guest observes. He leads each new roomful of Jews in loud renditions of all the old songs, even though he can’t carry a tune. “Adon Olam,” again? another guest thinks. When his sermons go on, or when people do not pay adequate attention to a video of the Rebbe he sometimes shows, he is peremptory. “If the girls don’t want to watch this, they can leave the room,” he says. The boy who insisted on sharpening knives until they are “beautiful good” is not deterred by trivialities. When terrorists attack Ahmedabad, some 300 miles north, and a visitor asks if Gabi is worried, he says, “I don’t care, they can come, be my guest, I’m not leaving.”
The talk one night turns to meditation. Gabi insists there is something parallel in Judaism: It’s called self-control. “If there are two apples in a bowl, personally I would always take the bad apple,” he says. “That’s my way of submitting.”
Next: Moshe, the “miracle” child, is born.
“What are you saying?” Rivki interrupts—she is not afraid of contradicting her husband, even in public, and he seems to enjoy it. “I would never take the bad apple, that’s crazy!”
Like believers in any faith that promises a joyful reward when the Messiah comes, Hasidim have well-developed mechanisms for ignoring, or even relishing, personal discomfort in deference to a greater mission. Perhaps it is a good feature of good works that they are exhausting, but to make a home in a Mumbai alley after growing up in Israel and Brooklyn is something more: a form of self-abnegation. Your stipend covers a respectable standard of living—but you have to raise the money yourself. You will not get rich being shluchim.
The issue of submission to fate is rendered moot that November, their first in the new Chabad House, when their third son is born. They name him Moshe. Perhaps they have him tested; in any case, by the time he is 6 months old, they know he does not have Tay-Sachs. He is their “miracle” child, their malach, or angel; when someone later says that he and Rivki seem like best friends, Rivki says Yes, my only friend.
Sandra is promoted to nanny. It is not just because she is low caste and poor that she is grateful for the job. The Holtzbergs are kind, and Moshe is an adorable baby, “very precious to me.” Her own two boys are, at 16 and 23, too old for mothering, but Sandra sleeps in Moshe’s room, itself a privilege. Hussain, whom everyone calls Jackie, sleeps on a mat under the stairwell and at one point must be gently told by Rivki to take down the pictures of naked women taped to the low ceiling above him.
The day breaks hot and humid, as usual, but Rivki is looking forward to it anyway. The air-conditioner works; there are no special events. Only a few visitors are expected that evening. Two rabbis—Bentzion Chorman and Leibish Teitelbaum—are in town to supervise Kosher certification for a mushroom-packing plant. Chorman likes breaded chicken, so Rivki will prepare it for dinner. Yocheved Orpaz, from Israel, is visiting her daughter and grandchildren; Olga Daniella Bakayeva—Daniella, they call her, a volunteer from Seattle—said she’d come back after enjoying her Shabbat meal last week. (Even now her Facebook page is bragging about the best cholent she’s eaten in ages.) And Norma Schwartzblatt-Rabinowitz, from Mexico, will be here on the way to making aliyah: immigrating to Israel. Rivki will bake her an apple cake.
But Rivki’s mind drifts from immediate matters. It’s Wednesday, November 26, 2008: Moshe’s 2nd birthday is on Saturday. Could two years have passed so quickly? He is thriving and, now that Sandra is with him, can finally sleep through the night without his ema—Hebrew for “mother”—at his side. Otherwise, how could Rivki be pregnant with his little brother or sister? She is five months along, expecting in April.
Taking a quick break from dinner preparations around 7:30, Rivki e-mails her friend Chani. With the baby coming, what color should they paint the upstairs?
Four days earlier—at 8 a.m. on Saturday, November 22—ten men leave Karachi in a small boat. Soon they meet up with a larger ship, which takes them on another leg of their journey. Their leader is a 25-year-old Pakistani named Ismail Khan. Khan receives orders by satellite phone from handlers in Lashkar-e-Taiba, a Lahore-based terrorist group that seeks to establish Muslim rule throughout South Asia. In Urdu, the group’s name means Army of the Pure.
On Sunday, the men hijack an Indian fishing trawler, killing four crew members and eventually its captain. Another 550 nautical miles’ sail on the Arabian Sea brings them within sight of Mumbai. By now, it’s Wednesday afternoon. They wait for darkness. At about 8:30 p.m., they board a dinghy and head for land, leaving behind their shaving cream, laundry detergent, and a bottle of Mountain Dew. They disembark just south of the Gateway of India. Telling anyone who asks that they are students, they divide up into five teams and disperse into the night: to the central railway station, to the Taj Mahal and Oberoi hotels, to the touristy Leopold Café, and to the house on Hormusji Street.
Chani, in Kathmandu, has an idea for what color Rivki should paint. She opens her Internet Messenger and waits for the ping.
Dinner is over, but the two rabbis and Gabi are still on the second floor, probably discussing Torah, as Gabi is wont to do late into the night. It has been a quiet evening. A few visitors dropped by but left. Norma and Yocheved are already upstairs. Sandra and Jackie are in the first-floor kitchen; perhaps Rivki is with them, helping to clean up. Or perhaps Rivki is with the men. It will be hard, in retrospect, to piece this information together. But Moshe is asleep in his blue fifth-floor bedroom.
Next: Attackers arrive at the Chabad House.
At 9:30, the two men assigned to attack the Chabad House arrive at the gate with their Kalashnikovs, pistols, hand grenades, and bombs. The guard, mysteriously, is gone. A taxi, waiting to take the rabbis to the airport after dinner, speeds away as the shooting begins. It sounds to Sandra like hundreds of explosions; she and Jackie lock themselves into the pantry among the meat freezers and jars of olives and pickles. “Like cowards,” she says later. Gabi, on the phone with the Israeli consulate, says, in Hebrew, “The situation is not good,” and the line goes dead.
Sandra and Jackie spend the night in the pantry. They do not know what is happening in the rest of the house. On Thursday morning around eleven, they hear Moshe crying: Ema! Ema! Not knowing whether the gunmen are still in the building (they are), Sandra dashes upstairs, as Jackie escapes down. She finds the boy standing next to the bodies of his parents—dead or dying, she doesn’t know. She grabs him without thinking and runs as fast as she can into the street. His clothes are spattered with his parents’ blood.
By the time Indian commandos, airdropped into the building, get control of the situation, as Shabbat begins on Friday evening, Gabi, Rivki, Norma, Yocheved, Chorman, and Teitelbaum all are dead. (Daniella Bakayeva decided not to come for dinner after all but took a walk instead.) The timing of the killings, and possible torture, is unclear. According to some reports, someone was still alive as late as Friday morning to wave a prayer shawl from a window. But who was waving, and what did it mean? Was it a gunman, trying to surrender? In transcripts of intercepted phone calls, handlers back in Lahore instruct one of the terrorists to kill the hostages in order to “spoil relations” between India and Israel. “Brother, you have to fight,” they say, as if he were wavering. “This is a matter of the prestige of Islam.”
“I waited for you to connect to the Messenger,” says Chani.
Addressing a conference of 2,000 women emissaries at the New York Hilton in February, she is speaking as if it were still November and she could still talk directly to Rivki. “I waited for you to connect to the Messenger so that we could have coffee and a croissant together in front of the screen, as we’ve done for the last four years. A sort of private virtual joke. You prepare the morning pastry on a plate, with a detailed description of taste and texture. And always something different: one day apple pie, one day jelly cookies with cream. I prepare the drinks. In the summer, I would offer you fruit juices, and in the winter, I would roll tea leaves from Dodover Square and Geiyah Bazaar market. I’m waiting for you with the tea, Rivki. Waiting for your cake … But you’re not coming, Rivki, and your tea is getting cold.”
Instant messenger, Facebook, cell phones: The technology that made the Holtzbergs’ life in Mumbai less lonely also helped to explain its end. It is largely because Ismail Khan made the mistake of leaving his satellite phone in the dinghy that we know what we do about the terrorists’ movements; Khan and eight of the others were killed in the fighting. The sole survivor, Muhammad Ajmal Kasab, went on trial last month in Mumbai. His interrogation suggests that the attacks were part of a far broader scheme, some of which fizzled.
As it was, more than 170 people were killed in Mumbai. Many were tourists, enjoying a bite at the Leopold or settling in for an evening at the Oberoi. Others were locals, including doctors in a hospital that was, it seems, attacked as an afterthought.
The Holtzbergs were neither tourists nor locals. They were emissaries from one world to the other. Perhaps it’s more relevant to say they were Jews. In any case, to those who believe they died with the words of the Shema on their lips, their death is but another moment in their lives. What they endured in those last hours—did they know that Moshe escaped alive?—does not invalidate what they enjoyed of life beforehand, and suffered of it, too. Many in the community are therefore torn about discussing “the tragedy.” Some speak anyway, in thousands of posts to Chabad’s website. Others have commemorated the family by naming babies for them; Nachman Holtzberg has reports of 70 new Gabis and 60 new Rivkis—one of them Chani’s daughter, born this month. And others have contributed to the Chabad Mumbai Relief Fund, which will eventually continue the Holtzbergs’ mission.
For Chabad has made it clear that it is not retrenching. In December, the Holtzbergs’ parents flew to Mumbai to light the 25-foot Hanukkah menorah at the Gateway of India and another in front of the ruined house on Hormusji Street. Though no decision has yet been made about the building itself, teams of young rabbis have spent time in the city, teaching and officiating and offering meals at locations that are no longer Googleable. (Security measures have been upgraded at Chabad Houses worldwide.) Rabbi Kantor, in Bangkok, says he has even begun interviewing couples who, unsolicited, have sought to be the next shluchim in Mumbai.
Next: How Moshe is doing now.
Nachman Holtzberg has retrieved Gabi’s knives—the only personal items not held as evidence. Back in Brooklyn, he says he’d be proud if his other children became shluchim too. “I would be happy, absolutely.”
And his wife?
He sighs. “Not everyone can be the same.”
A few weeks after the attacks, in late December, Dov Ber dies at age 4. (It is later learned that the baby Rivki was carrying had tested negative for Tay-Sachs.) Nachman Holtzberg does not want to discuss it: “It’s not important,” he says. He means we must focus on what is ongoing, which means Moshe. Now he, too, is an emissary; the only Jew to survive, he accompanied the bodies of the six victims on an Israeli Air Force flight from Mumbai. His parents are buried next to his brothers on the Mount of Olives.
Many have noted that Moshe, like his biblical namesake, was rescued by a non-Jew; Sandra, now taking care of him at Rivki’s parents’ home in Afula, has been mentioned as a possible recipient of Israel’s “righteous Gentile” designation. That would allow her to remain with him, she hopes, at least until he is “fully normal.”
But what will that mean? For months, Moshe has been “very nervous,” Nachman Holtzberg says. “Nobody knows what he knows.” Things that remind him of India—a toy, a visitor—seem to bring it all back, and he wails. But Sandra, in a recent phone conversation, says Moshe has forgotten what Urdu he knew and has not asked for his parents in fourteen days.
“It’s a good thing,” she adds. And maybe it is. The world is a painful place to get to know.
At which point Moshe, who has been giggling in the background, grabs the phone. “Shalom?” he inquires.
Showing posts with label Moshe Holtzberg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moshe Holtzberg. Show all posts
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Moshe's grandfather wants him to be India's Rabbi
Rabbi Gavriel's parents are in India on a two-week trip to collect funds
for rebuilding Nariman House, the place where the terrorists killed his son and daughter-in-law Rivka.
His father says Baby Moshe, who was saved by his Indian nanny is doing much better now. And he hopes that one day he will become the Rabbi for India.
"Chabad House will be just like before. I hope a lot more stronger, bigger and that would be a victory against the terrorists. They think it is a victory to kill innocent people, women and children. Our answer to them is just more stronger: to come back and to help more people," said Rabbi Nachman Holtzberg, father of killed Rabbi Gavriel.
On being asked how is Baby Moshe doing now, Rabbi Nachman Holtzberg said, "Thank God a lot better from what he was before. Sometimes he calls out for his parents because he sees something and remembers what happened in Bombay."
Rabbi Holtzberg emphasised that one day Baby Moshe will be the Rabbi of India.
for rebuilding Nariman House, the place where the terrorists killed his son and daughter-in-law Rivka.
His father says Baby Moshe, who was saved by his Indian nanny is doing much better now. And he hopes that one day he will become the Rabbi for India.
"Chabad House will be just like before. I hope a lot more stronger, bigger and that would be a victory against the terrorists. They think it is a victory to kill innocent people, women and children. Our answer to them is just more stronger: to come back and to help more people," said Rabbi Nachman Holtzberg, father of killed Rabbi Gavriel.
On being asked how is Baby Moshe doing now, Rabbi Nachman Holtzberg said, "Thank God a lot better from what he was before. Sometimes he calls out for his parents because he sees something and remembers what happened in Bombay."
Rabbi Holtzberg emphasised that one day Baby Moshe will be the Rabbi of India.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Chabad orphan lights Hanukkah candle
Anat Shalev
Father of Rivkah Holtzman, who was killed along with her husband Gavriel in Mumbai, holds menorah-lighting ceremony. Murdered couple's son plays with dreidel under a Chabad flag.
The father of Rivkah Holtzberg, who was killed along with her husband Gavriel during the terror attack on the Chabad house in Mumbai, India last month, held a menorah-lighting ceremony at his Afula home Sunday evening.
Moshe Holtzberg, the murdered couple's 2-year-old son, lit the first Hanukkah candle.
Rabbi Shimon Holzberg spoke to Ynet about the emotional event: "We conducted the ceremony along with friends and members of my congregation, and Moishe lit the first candle, an honor that was usually reserved for his father.
"We recited the prayer 'He who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time', which has a special meaning now in light of our own Hanukkah miracle – that Moishe is here with us today," he said.
Rabbi Holzberg said Moshe played with a dreidel while those on hand ate Sufganiot (Hannukah doughnuts); a Chabad flag retrieved from the house in Mumbai hung in the background.
"When we were in India we managed to recover four Torahs from the Chabad house," he added. "Three were kept in a safe at the Israeli consulate, and we brought the fourth back home with us and it served us tonight. We also brought Gavriel's silver menorah and Rivkah's Shabbat candlesticks."
Father of Rivkah Holtzman, who was killed along with her husband Gavriel in Mumbai, holds menorah-lighting ceremony. Murdered couple's son plays with dreidel under a Chabad flag.
The father of Rivkah Holtzberg, who was killed along with her husband Gavriel during the terror attack on the Chabad house in Mumbai, India last month, held a menorah-lighting ceremony at his Afula home Sunday evening.
Moshe Holtzberg, the murdered couple's 2-year-old son, lit the first Hanukkah candle.
Rabbi Shimon Holzberg spoke to Ynet about the emotional event: "We conducted the ceremony along with friends and members of my congregation, and Moishe lit the first candle, an honor that was usually reserved for his father.
"We recited the prayer 'He who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time', which has a special meaning now in light of our own Hanukkah miracle – that Moishe is here with us today," he said.
Rabbi Holzberg said Moshe played with a dreidel while those on hand ate Sufganiot (Hannukah doughnuts); a Chabad flag retrieved from the house in Mumbai hung in the background.
"When we were in India we managed to recover four Torahs from the Chabad house," he added. "Three were kept in a safe at the Israeli consulate, and we brought the fourth back home with us and it served us tonight. We also brought Gavriel's silver menorah and Rivkah's Shabbat candlesticks."
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Moshe Smiled..
Moshe smiles.. Feels so much better..
I was waiting for this.. Moshe… Keep smiling all your life..
May god compensate you million times more than he has taken away from you..
I was waiting for this.. Moshe… Keep smiling all your life..
May god compensate you million times more than he has taken away from you..
My heart goes to you..
Moshe’s mom and dad were killed in the terrorist attack on Nariman house. He was saved by his Nanny.. He spent the whole night inside Nariman house before his rescue in the middle of flying bullets and blasting granades.
After he was out, he still kept waiting for his emma (Mother) to hold him and celebrate his second birthday on Saturday, 29 November..
They were never back.. And now Moshe has flown to Israel with his grandparents.. He had to go.. leaving behind his home and streets and niche where he was born and grew up..
We couldn’d hold him back in our town, in his own nest.. which is now turned into a blood painted haunted house..and almost collapsed..
The wound on heart is too deep.. I am waiting and surfing hard to see a smile on Moshe’s face..
I remember the old song.. I sing for baby Moshe to the world..
… Heal the world.. Make it a better place..
For you and for me and the entire human race..
There are people dying..
If you care enough for the living..
Make a better place for you and for me… And for Moshe..
My heart goes to you Moshe….!!!
Live long and don’t cry.. I have cried a lot on your behalf inside my heart..
After he was out, he still kept waiting for his emma (Mother) to hold him and celebrate his second birthday on Saturday, 29 November..
They were never back.. And now Moshe has flown to Israel with his grandparents.. He had to go.. leaving behind his home and streets and niche where he was born and grew up..
We couldn’d hold him back in our town, in his own nest.. which is now turned into a blood painted haunted house..and almost collapsed..
The wound on heart is too deep.. I am waiting and surfing hard to see a smile on Moshe’s face..
I remember the old song.. I sing for baby Moshe to the world..
… Heal the world.. Make it a better place..
For you and for me and the entire human race..
There are people dying..
If you care enough for the living..
Make a better place for you and for me… And for Moshe..
My heart goes to you Moshe….!!!
Live long and don’t cry.. I have cried a lot on your behalf inside my heart..
Friday, December 12, 2008
N.Y. fifth graders thank Indian nanny for saving 2-year-old Moshe from Mumbai terrorists
"Dear Sandra, Thank you for saving Moshe," wrote Daniel Smith, a fifth-grader at Solomon Schecter Day School of Nassau County, to express his appreciation to the Indian nanny who saved two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg from the terrorist attack on the Chabad House in Mumbai, India two weeks ago.
The boy's parents, Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, were both killed in the attack.
Smith's fifth-grade classmates wrote individual letters to the nanny, Sandra Samuel, which were presented to the Israeli Consulate in New York for delivery to Israel.
Smith was joined at the Consulate by his fifth grade classmate, Jennifer Lipman, their principal, Dr. Cindy Dolgin, and their Judaic Studies teacher, Lizet Romano, who initiated the project. The two represented the entire fifth grade in delivering the letters that recognized Samuel for her heroic act based on the Jewish tradition that "One who saves one person saves an entire nation."
In their letters, the students thanked Samuels for her bravery and assured her that her good deed did not go unnoticed in their community. Lipman wrote, "Everyone at my school thinks you are a hero. Thank you for all you've done."
Administrators felt there was a valuable pedagogical reason for this exercise. Dolgin commented, "What could our young students do under such terrifying circumstances taking place half a world away? As a class, the children and their teacher decided to write letters to Sandra Samuel to express their gratitude, their amazement and their awe for her bravery and courage in rescuing little Moshe, not unlike the rescue of another baby Moshe they had learned about in the Book of Exodus."
In addressing the students, David Saranga, Consul for Media and Public Affairs applauded the students' desire to express their thanks. ?The right way to transmit our thanks as the State of Israel is to welcome her into our community, as we have done. Samuel did the right thing by saving Moshe. She demonstrated that human life is valuable regardless of religion or ethnicity."
The students' letters have been passed for delivery to Chabad in Israel. Rabbi Shmuel Butman, Director of Lubavitch Youth Organization, noted, "Moishi was calling 'Mommy, mommy.' Sandra heard Moishi's cry and she brought him to safety totally sacrificing her own safety. She will be eternally remembered for her selflessness and heroism."
The Solomon Schechter Day School of Nassau County, located in Jericho, NY, is a Jewish Day Elementary School affiliated with the Conservative Movement and provides a dual curriculum in Judaic and secular education. The school also has a wide-ranging Israel studies program that stresses appreciation for Israel as a democratic and multicultural society.
The Consulate has prepared a short video of the event highlights, which can be viewed online at www.israelpolitik.org.
The boy's parents, Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, were both killed in the attack.
Smith's fifth-grade classmates wrote individual letters to the nanny, Sandra Samuel, which were presented to the Israeli Consulate in New York for delivery to Israel.
Smith was joined at the Consulate by his fifth grade classmate, Jennifer Lipman, their principal, Dr. Cindy Dolgin, and their Judaic Studies teacher, Lizet Romano, who initiated the project. The two represented the entire fifth grade in delivering the letters that recognized Samuel for her heroic act based on the Jewish tradition that "One who saves one person saves an entire nation."
In their letters, the students thanked Samuels for her bravery and assured her that her good deed did not go unnoticed in their community. Lipman wrote, "Everyone at my school thinks you are a hero. Thank you for all you've done."
Administrators felt there was a valuable pedagogical reason for this exercise. Dolgin commented, "What could our young students do under such terrifying circumstances taking place half a world away? As a class, the children and their teacher decided to write letters to Sandra Samuel to express their gratitude, their amazement and their awe for her bravery and courage in rescuing little Moshe, not unlike the rescue of another baby Moshe they had learned about in the Book of Exodus."
In addressing the students, David Saranga, Consul for Media and Public Affairs applauded the students' desire to express their thanks. ?The right way to transmit our thanks as the State of Israel is to welcome her into our community, as we have done. Samuel did the right thing by saving Moshe. She demonstrated that human life is valuable regardless of religion or ethnicity."
The students' letters have been passed for delivery to Chabad in Israel. Rabbi Shmuel Butman, Director of Lubavitch Youth Organization, noted, "Moishi was calling 'Mommy, mommy.' Sandra heard Moishi's cry and she brought him to safety totally sacrificing her own safety. She will be eternally remembered for her selflessness and heroism."
The Solomon Schechter Day School of Nassau County, located in Jericho, NY, is a Jewish Day Elementary School affiliated with the Conservative Movement and provides a dual curriculum in Judaic and secular education. The school also has a wide-ranging Israel studies program that stresses appreciation for Israel as a democratic and multicultural society.
The Consulate has prepared a short video of the event highlights, which can be viewed online at www.israelpolitik.org.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Chabad nanny: I should have done more
In the night between Wednesday and Thursday, while explosions and gunshots shook the walls of the house, Samuel said she attempted to reach the rabbi and his wife who were located on the second floor.
Thursday afternoon, Samuel heard Moshe calling for her and found him in tears, standing beside his parents, who were laying on the ground unconscious, but appeared to be alive.
Samuel said the marks she found on Moshe's back indicated that he had been hit hard buy the terrorists and she believes he may have lost consciousness for some time.
"First thing is that a baby is very important for me and this baby is something very precious to me and that's what made me just not think anything - just pick up the baby and run," Samuel said.
In CNN interview, Sandra Samuel who saved two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg from terror attack on Jewish center in Mumbai gives her account of horrific event, says does not view herself as a hero
Ynet
Sandra Samuel, the Indian nanny that saved Holtzberg toddler Moshe from the terror attack on a Chabad house in Mumbai last week, said she was no hero.
In an interview to CNN on Thursday, the nanny said she regrets not doing more for Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka, two-year-old Moshe's parents.
"Even today, I am thinking I should have sent the baby and done something for the rabbi and his wife," Samuel told CNN in an exclusive television interview in Israel, where she now lives.
Six people were killed in the Chabad house massacre, and Sandra and Moshe were the sole survivors.
Samuel recounted the terrifying moments, "I saw one man was shooting at me - he shot at me," she said. Samuel then slammed the door and hid in a first floor storage room.
"When I hear gunshot, it's not one or 20. It's like a hundred gunshots," she added. "Even I'm a mother of two children so I just pick up the baby and run. Does anyone think of dying at the moment when there's a small, precious baby?"
Samuel said the child still calls out for his mother, but is learning to play again, with her by his side. The nanny said she would stay in Israel as long as she was needed. "Yes, yes, they said it is important I am here," she said. "Me, I just take care of the baby."
At least 179 people were killed in the Mumbai terror attack, that lasted some 60 hours, and over 300 people were injured.
Ten terrorists barricaded themselves in several spots in the city, armed with guns and grenades. Indian officials have pointed the finger at neighboring Pakistan, and estimate the attack was meant to be even larger.
Thursday afternoon, Samuel heard Moshe calling for her and found him in tears, standing beside his parents, who were laying on the ground unconscious, but appeared to be alive.
Samuel said the marks she found on Moshe's back indicated that he had been hit hard buy the terrorists and she believes he may have lost consciousness for some time.
"First thing is that a baby is very important for me and this baby is something very precious to me and that's what made me just not think anything - just pick up the baby and run," Samuel said.
In CNN interview, Sandra Samuel who saved two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg from terror attack on Jewish center in Mumbai gives her account of horrific event, says does not view herself as a hero
Ynet
Sandra Samuel, the Indian nanny that saved Holtzberg toddler Moshe from the terror attack on a Chabad house in Mumbai last week, said she was no hero.
In an interview to CNN on Thursday, the nanny said she regrets not doing more for Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka, two-year-old Moshe's parents.
"Even today, I am thinking I should have sent the baby and done something for the rabbi and his wife," Samuel told CNN in an exclusive television interview in Israel, where she now lives.
Six people were killed in the Chabad house massacre, and Sandra and Moshe were the sole survivors.
Samuel recounted the terrifying moments, "I saw one man was shooting at me - he shot at me," she said. Samuel then slammed the door and hid in a first floor storage room.
"When I hear gunshot, it's not one or 20. It's like a hundred gunshots," she added. "Even I'm a mother of two children so I just pick up the baby and run. Does anyone think of dying at the moment when there's a small, precious baby?"
Samuel said the child still calls out for his mother, but is learning to play again, with her by his side. The nanny said she would stay in Israel as long as she was needed. "Yes, yes, they said it is important I am here," she said. "Me, I just take care of the baby."
At least 179 people were killed in the Mumbai terror attack, that lasted some 60 hours, and over 300 people were injured.
Ten terrorists barricaded themselves in several spots in the city, armed with guns and grenades. Indian officials have pointed the finger at neighboring Pakistan, and estimate the attack was meant to be even larger.
Little Moshe, unborn sibling held hope for the parents
Unlike the over 175 other victims of November 26, there was no folly of fate involved in the handpicking of Israeli national Rabbi Gabriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka, who are quickly turning into the global face of India’s most brutal Terror attack yet. And, while nobody will ever know for certain just how much information the terrorists had on the hostages especially selected for them at the Chabad House in South Mumbai’s most popular tourist district, tragedy had stalked the Holtzbergs.
Little Moshe, now back in Israel, will some day confront the gruesome tale of his orphaning but his older brother Dov will never know. Dov, 4-5 years old, suffers from Tay-Sachs disease, among the most common genetic disorders affecting Jewish babies. A terminal condition, the disease is degenerative and debilitating, with patients losing all motor skills as well as hearing and sight by the time they attain the age of five or six.
Sources close to the family said Dov is in palliative care in Israel. He is in the same facility where the Holtzbergs’ first-born, Mendy, died a couple of years ago of the same disease.
“It is a double tragedy for them,” says Dr Isaac Balbin, a Melbourne-based friend of the Rabbi and frequent visitor to Mumbai’s Chabad House. “For Moshe is free from the genetic disorder, as was the baby Rivka was bearing.” Balbin says Dov couldn’t recognize his father when the latter was in Israel last. “The child was on oxygen but this young couple chose to continue their mission in India, such was their commitment to their cause.”
Mumbai’s Jews agree that the selection of Nariman House was perfectly calculated — not only were the Rabbi and his wife Israeli Jews, but their influence among Indian Jews was on the rise. Gabriel was assisting the nascent Chabad house in Bangalore and was in touch with those running similar services in Manali and Goa.
Jews across India were writing to the Rabbi, in touch with him on various topics of religion and education. At the Kenneth Eliyahoo Synagogue in Fort, worshippers recollect that the quorum for prayers would often be completed as soon as the rabbi walked in with his wife and troupe of backpackers. Rabbi Gabriel was also a sort of guide for Israeli tourists on the heritage of Indian Jews, the Bene Israelis.
Balbin, who scouts for deserving Indian and Asian students who may need scholarships to study information technology at the RMIT College, Melbourne, where he is a professor, found out about the Colaba Chabad House five years ago. “It used to be almost impossible to get kosher food in Mumbai and elsewhere in India, and I used to pretty much carry food for 10 or 12 days while I lived at the Taj. That changed about five years ago when I heard of the Chabad centre and dropped in one day, unannounced.”
The centre was then being run out of the top floor of a ramshackle hotel in Colaba, not far from the Taj. Two years ago, a Ukrainian Jew bought out Nariman House, a Parsi-owned bungalow redeveloped into a six-storey building five years ago, as a donation to the institution. The new building was a transformation: Even if the narrow building was tucked away in a back lane in Colaba amid crumbling chawl buildings, from its terrace one has an uninterrupted view of the Gateway of India seafront on one side and, on the other, of the Cuffe Parade seafront where the terrorists are believed to have landed.
“Israeli tourists and Jews could walk in at any time for a meal, pay nothing and spend the night too. It was a place to sing together, observe holy days and interact,” says Balbin. “The Rabbi had grown into a young man of tremendous influence. He was almost the de facto chief rabbi of India,” Balbin says, recollecting how friendly Indians with “not a smell of anti-Semitism” would merely be curious about the Rabbi’s black coat and hat on a boiling hot Sabbath, but asked no questions, simply assuming he was “a Guru Maharaj ji of Jews”.
The new Chabad House had big plans: A meeting space for visitors, a dining space, an even larger library of religious books and Jewish texts, an Internet room to be used for free and rooms for visitors and staffers.
When Balbin was in Mumbai three weeks ago, he spent some time speaking to Rivka and showing her pictures of his own children. “She should be a bride,” Rivka said when she saw his oldest daughter’s photograph. A day after his daughter got engaged to be married, Balbin says, “She blessed me.”
Little Moshe, now back in Israel, will some day confront the gruesome tale of his orphaning but his older brother Dov will never know. Dov, 4-5 years old, suffers from Tay-Sachs disease, among the most common genetic disorders affecting Jewish babies. A terminal condition, the disease is degenerative and debilitating, with patients losing all motor skills as well as hearing and sight by the time they attain the age of five or six.
Sources close to the family said Dov is in palliative care in Israel. He is in the same facility where the Holtzbergs’ first-born, Mendy, died a couple of years ago of the same disease.
“It is a double tragedy for them,” says Dr Isaac Balbin, a Melbourne-based friend of the Rabbi and frequent visitor to Mumbai’s Chabad House. “For Moshe is free from the genetic disorder, as was the baby Rivka was bearing.” Balbin says Dov couldn’t recognize his father when the latter was in Israel last. “The child was on oxygen but this young couple chose to continue their mission in India, such was their commitment to their cause.”
Mumbai’s Jews agree that the selection of Nariman House was perfectly calculated — not only were the Rabbi and his wife Israeli Jews, but their influence among Indian Jews was on the rise. Gabriel was assisting the nascent Chabad house in Bangalore and was in touch with those running similar services in Manali and Goa.
Jews across India were writing to the Rabbi, in touch with him on various topics of religion and education. At the Kenneth Eliyahoo Synagogue in Fort, worshippers recollect that the quorum for prayers would often be completed as soon as the rabbi walked in with his wife and troupe of backpackers. Rabbi Gabriel was also a sort of guide for Israeli tourists on the heritage of Indian Jews, the Bene Israelis.
Balbin, who scouts for deserving Indian and Asian students who may need scholarships to study information technology at the RMIT College, Melbourne, where he is a professor, found out about the Colaba Chabad House five years ago. “It used to be almost impossible to get kosher food in Mumbai and elsewhere in India, and I used to pretty much carry food for 10 or 12 days while I lived at the Taj. That changed about five years ago when I heard of the Chabad centre and dropped in one day, unannounced.”
The centre was then being run out of the top floor of a ramshackle hotel in Colaba, not far from the Taj. Two years ago, a Ukrainian Jew bought out Nariman House, a Parsi-owned bungalow redeveloped into a six-storey building five years ago, as a donation to the institution. The new building was a transformation: Even if the narrow building was tucked away in a back lane in Colaba amid crumbling chawl buildings, from its terrace one has an uninterrupted view of the Gateway of India seafront on one side and, on the other, of the Cuffe Parade seafront where the terrorists are believed to have landed.
“Israeli tourists and Jews could walk in at any time for a meal, pay nothing and spend the night too. It was a place to sing together, observe holy days and interact,” says Balbin. “The Rabbi had grown into a young man of tremendous influence. He was almost the de facto chief rabbi of India,” Balbin says, recollecting how friendly Indians with “not a smell of anti-Semitism” would merely be curious about the Rabbi’s black coat and hat on a boiling hot Sabbath, but asked no questions, simply assuming he was “a Guru Maharaj ji of Jews”.
The new Chabad House had big plans: A meeting space for visitors, a dining space, an even larger library of religious books and Jewish texts, an Internet room to be used for free and rooms for visitors and staffers.
When Balbin was in Mumbai three weeks ago, he spent some time speaking to Rivka and showing her pictures of his own children. “She should be a bride,” Rivka said when she saw his oldest daughter’s photograph. A day after his daughter got engaged to be married, Balbin says, “She blessed me.”
True Jewish feelings
By Joseph Aaron
(12/05/2008)
"Mommy, mommy."
Add that to the heartbreaking list of unforgettable words uttered by Jews throughout history.
A few years ago, it was "My father is a Jew, my mother is a Jew and I am a Jew." Those were the last words journalist Daniel Pearl chose to utter, just seconds before he was murdered by terrorists.
Now, we have a new sentence to penetrate our souls.
"Mommy, mommy."
Just days after six Jews were murdered inside the Chabad House in Mumbai, India, a memorial service was held for the victims at the Knesset Eliyahu synagogue in Mumbai.
Among those attending the ceremony were Israel's ambassador to India, U.S. embassy officials, Indian Jews, aging Holocaust survivors, Israeli backpackers.
And Moshe Holtzberg, the two-year-old son of Rabbi Gavriel and Rivkah Holtzberg, who ran the Chabad House and who were both killed in the attack.
It was during the ceremony that little Moshe cried out, "Mommy, mommy."
There was no one to answer.
And so Moshe Holtzberg joins the too long list of Jews whose entire life will be colored by unspeakable tragedy and pain.
I need to interrupt myself now because sadly, writing a column like this is all too familiar. For I have had way too much practice.
I have been working in Jewish journalism for more than 30 years and, alas, have written too many columns mourning the loss of too many Jews in too many crimes of hate.
Sadly, all of us, all Jews, are all too familiar with the aftermath of tragedy, know all too well how to respond, what to do. Prayer services and sorrowful sermons and community gatherings and fund-raising campaigns and talk of solidarity.
All of that is as it should be, and all of that demonstrates the strength and compassion of the Jewish community and the amazing connection that bonds all Jews.
But why must we see that, do that, feel like that, act like that, only in times of grief? Why must we do such good things only when things are bad?
In the wake of the Mumbai massacre, Jews have acted like Jews. We have put our differences aside, we have felt the pain of Jews very different from us, we have felt a sense of solidarity with our Jewish brothers and sisters. We have said all the right and good and meaningful things about doing more mitzvot and bringing more light into the world.
But why do we feel that way, respond that way in response to tragedy and not all the time, everyday?
Why do we not value every Jew, no matter where, no matter what, no matter how unlike us, every single day?
During the horror in Mumbai, seven Jews lost their lives. Alan Scherr, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, Rivkah Holtzberg, Rabbi Aryeh Leibish Teitelbaum, Rabbi Bentzion Chroman, Yocheved Orpaz, Norma Schvartzblat Rabinovich.
We mourn them all. We ache for the loss of each. We pray that each of their memories be for blessing.
We don't focus on, don't care about what kind of Jews they were. Don't care that Alan Scherr was a spiritual seeker with some meditation place in Virginia, while the Holtzbergs were ultra-Orthodox Lubavitchers, and I have no idea what part of Judaism, if any, Orpaz and Rabinovich identified themselves with.
Who cares what kind of Jews they were. It doesn't matter.
They were Jews, they were our brothers and sisters, they were part of us. We mourn them because they are family, because each of us is truly diminished by the loss of each one of them. Alan and Gavriel and Rivkah and Aryeh and Bentzion and Yocheved and Norma, each a precious Jewish neshama.
Why don't we see that, feel that, act like that, all the time, when times are good, when there is no tragedy, just because. All Jews are our brothers and sisters no less when there is no bad news, when it's just everyday life.
I mourn the loss of these wonderful Jewish souls. I ache for their families and friends who survive them and whose lives will never be the same. I weep for little Moshe Holtzberg, who celebrated his second birthday the day after his parents were killed and whose parents were not there to celebrate that birthday with him and will not be there for all his birthdays to come.
There are many things we can do in response to the Mumbai tragedy, but I will leave it to the rabbis to guide us in that.
There are two things I pray the Jews of the world won't do in response to the tragedy.
I pray we won't get mad. I pray we don't get scared.
Sadly, that is the automatic reflex that too many Jews have when something like this happens.
We get mad, mad at the world, mad at all non-Jews, see the world as a hostile place out to get us. Feel it is just the latest proof of how hated we are, how under threat we are, how alone we are.
See how they targeted the Jews, we say. See how the Indian authorities wouldn't let the Israeli commandos move in. See how long it took for the raid on the Chabad House to take place. See how the world treats Jews. Same as it always was, same as it always will be.
And we get scared. See, Jews can never feel safe. See, Jews are always vulnerable. See, there is no one we can trust. See, disaster lurks behind every corner, it's just a matter of time until the next one.
We must resist those temptations, those responses. For they do us no good, for they, in fact, do us much harm.
Today's Jews live at an amazingly wonderful time to be a Jew. We have a sovereign state of Israel, strong and vibrant and open to every Jew everywhere in the world. We are respected and embraced in the most powerful country on earth, a country where a new president names Jew after Jew to high position and no one utters an anti-Semitic stereotypical peep. Jews everywhere on the face of the earth live in freedom and are free to be Jewish as they see fit. Our Jewish state has diplomatic relations with every single important country on earth, from Russia and China to the Vatican and Vietnam.
Too many Jews in too many places for too many years had to make the best of things. We, thank G-d, are blessed to be called to make the most of things.
If we get mad at the world, if we don't trust the world, if we are scared of life, if we feel ourselves threatened and under siege and vulnerable, we will retreat, regress, not advance, not progress. Not feel, as we should, confident to embrace and enjoy being Jews, not feel, as we should, secure to be as creatively and authentically Jewish as we can be.
And if we get mad at the world, if we don't trust the world, if we feel threatened and vulnerable, we will turn away our future, turn away young Jews who we would be giving no reason to want to be Jewish, be giving much reason to want to run away from being Jewish.
We cannot 'guilt' young Jews into wanting to be part of us, cannot scare them into it or force them into it. They have choices and when you're young, you want to connect with something positive and vibrant, not with something angry and scared, that trusts no one, fears everyone.
It is to desecrate Judaism, to deprive Jews of their birthright to portray being Jewish as something that makes one a target, makes one the object of hatred.
The glorious truth is that the era of pogroms and edicts and exiles and persecutions and restrictions and exclusions and expulsions is over. Over.
Yes, as the events in Mumbai all too vividly showed, that doesn't mean that bad things will never again happen, does not mean we will never again be targeted, does not mean we will never again suffer unspeakable tragedy. Jews will continue to give their lives just because they are Jews.
But we must see that reality in its proper context. See that we are no longer powerless, no longer helpless. Understand and feel and act knowing that now we are strong and powerful. Must see that the bad that comes our way does not change or diminish that.
We must not retreat, must not fear, must not get angry, must not despair.
Yes, we must mourn and yes, we must respond to what has happened. Respond by being better Jews individually, however you choose to define or do that, and respond by loving all other Jews, just as we so lovingly are able to when we lose some of our fellow Jews in a terrorist attack.
All that we have said to ourselves since Mumbai, all we have felt, all that our leaders have said and done during these horrible days, must not be forgotten as life inevitably moves on.
If, as a result of Mumbai, in your heart you felt love for Jews you did not know, Jews very different from you, if you felt tied to them in a way you can't describe with words, if you felt yourself very much part of the Jewish people, the greatest gift you can give to those who gave their lives is to keep feeling that way.
Every single day, for every single Jew, just because.
(12/05/2008)
"Mommy, mommy."
Add that to the heartbreaking list of unforgettable words uttered by Jews throughout history.
A few years ago, it was "My father is a Jew, my mother is a Jew and I am a Jew." Those were the last words journalist Daniel Pearl chose to utter, just seconds before he was murdered by terrorists.
Now, we have a new sentence to penetrate our souls.
"Mommy, mommy."
Just days after six Jews were murdered inside the Chabad House in Mumbai, India, a memorial service was held for the victims at the Knesset Eliyahu synagogue in Mumbai.
Among those attending the ceremony were Israel's ambassador to India, U.S. embassy officials, Indian Jews, aging Holocaust survivors, Israeli backpackers.
And Moshe Holtzberg, the two-year-old son of Rabbi Gavriel and Rivkah Holtzberg, who ran the Chabad House and who were both killed in the attack.
It was during the ceremony that little Moshe cried out, "Mommy, mommy."
There was no one to answer.
And so Moshe Holtzberg joins the too long list of Jews whose entire life will be colored by unspeakable tragedy and pain.
I need to interrupt myself now because sadly, writing a column like this is all too familiar. For I have had way too much practice.
I have been working in Jewish journalism for more than 30 years and, alas, have written too many columns mourning the loss of too many Jews in too many crimes of hate.
Sadly, all of us, all Jews, are all too familiar with the aftermath of tragedy, know all too well how to respond, what to do. Prayer services and sorrowful sermons and community gatherings and fund-raising campaigns and talk of solidarity.
All of that is as it should be, and all of that demonstrates the strength and compassion of the Jewish community and the amazing connection that bonds all Jews.
But why must we see that, do that, feel like that, act like that, only in times of grief? Why must we do such good things only when things are bad?
In the wake of the Mumbai massacre, Jews have acted like Jews. We have put our differences aside, we have felt the pain of Jews very different from us, we have felt a sense of solidarity with our Jewish brothers and sisters. We have said all the right and good and meaningful things about doing more mitzvot and bringing more light into the world.
But why do we feel that way, respond that way in response to tragedy and not all the time, everyday?
Why do we not value every Jew, no matter where, no matter what, no matter how unlike us, every single day?
During the horror in Mumbai, seven Jews lost their lives. Alan Scherr, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, Rivkah Holtzberg, Rabbi Aryeh Leibish Teitelbaum, Rabbi Bentzion Chroman, Yocheved Orpaz, Norma Schvartzblat Rabinovich.
We mourn them all. We ache for the loss of each. We pray that each of their memories be for blessing.
We don't focus on, don't care about what kind of Jews they were. Don't care that Alan Scherr was a spiritual seeker with some meditation place in Virginia, while the Holtzbergs were ultra-Orthodox Lubavitchers, and I have no idea what part of Judaism, if any, Orpaz and Rabinovich identified themselves with.
Who cares what kind of Jews they were. It doesn't matter.
They were Jews, they were our brothers and sisters, they were part of us. We mourn them because they are family, because each of us is truly diminished by the loss of each one of them. Alan and Gavriel and Rivkah and Aryeh and Bentzion and Yocheved and Norma, each a precious Jewish neshama.
Why don't we see that, feel that, act like that, all the time, when times are good, when there is no tragedy, just because. All Jews are our brothers and sisters no less when there is no bad news, when it's just everyday life.
I mourn the loss of these wonderful Jewish souls. I ache for their families and friends who survive them and whose lives will never be the same. I weep for little Moshe Holtzberg, who celebrated his second birthday the day after his parents were killed and whose parents were not there to celebrate that birthday with him and will not be there for all his birthdays to come.
There are many things we can do in response to the Mumbai tragedy, but I will leave it to the rabbis to guide us in that.
There are two things I pray the Jews of the world won't do in response to the tragedy.
I pray we won't get mad. I pray we don't get scared.
Sadly, that is the automatic reflex that too many Jews have when something like this happens.
We get mad, mad at the world, mad at all non-Jews, see the world as a hostile place out to get us. Feel it is just the latest proof of how hated we are, how under threat we are, how alone we are.
See how they targeted the Jews, we say. See how the Indian authorities wouldn't let the Israeli commandos move in. See how long it took for the raid on the Chabad House to take place. See how the world treats Jews. Same as it always was, same as it always will be.
And we get scared. See, Jews can never feel safe. See, Jews are always vulnerable. See, there is no one we can trust. See, disaster lurks behind every corner, it's just a matter of time until the next one.
We must resist those temptations, those responses. For they do us no good, for they, in fact, do us much harm.
Today's Jews live at an amazingly wonderful time to be a Jew. We have a sovereign state of Israel, strong and vibrant and open to every Jew everywhere in the world. We are respected and embraced in the most powerful country on earth, a country where a new president names Jew after Jew to high position and no one utters an anti-Semitic stereotypical peep. Jews everywhere on the face of the earth live in freedom and are free to be Jewish as they see fit. Our Jewish state has diplomatic relations with every single important country on earth, from Russia and China to the Vatican and Vietnam.
Too many Jews in too many places for too many years had to make the best of things. We, thank G-d, are blessed to be called to make the most of things.
If we get mad at the world, if we don't trust the world, if we are scared of life, if we feel ourselves threatened and under siege and vulnerable, we will retreat, regress, not advance, not progress. Not feel, as we should, confident to embrace and enjoy being Jews, not feel, as we should, secure to be as creatively and authentically Jewish as we can be.
And if we get mad at the world, if we don't trust the world, if we feel threatened and vulnerable, we will turn away our future, turn away young Jews who we would be giving no reason to want to be Jewish, be giving much reason to want to run away from being Jewish.
We cannot 'guilt' young Jews into wanting to be part of us, cannot scare them into it or force them into it. They have choices and when you're young, you want to connect with something positive and vibrant, not with something angry and scared, that trusts no one, fears everyone.
It is to desecrate Judaism, to deprive Jews of their birthright to portray being Jewish as something that makes one a target, makes one the object of hatred.
The glorious truth is that the era of pogroms and edicts and exiles and persecutions and restrictions and exclusions and expulsions is over. Over.
Yes, as the events in Mumbai all too vividly showed, that doesn't mean that bad things will never again happen, does not mean we will never again be targeted, does not mean we will never again suffer unspeakable tragedy. Jews will continue to give their lives just because they are Jews.
But we must see that reality in its proper context. See that we are no longer powerless, no longer helpless. Understand and feel and act knowing that now we are strong and powerful. Must see that the bad that comes our way does not change or diminish that.
We must not retreat, must not fear, must not get angry, must not despair.
Yes, we must mourn and yes, we must respond to what has happened. Respond by being better Jews individually, however you choose to define or do that, and respond by loving all other Jews, just as we so lovingly are able to when we lose some of our fellow Jews in a terrorist attack.
All that we have said to ourselves since Mumbai, all we have felt, all that our leaders have said and done during these horrible days, must not be forgotten as life inevitably moves on.
If, as a result of Mumbai, in your heart you felt love for Jews you did not know, Jews very different from you, if you felt tied to them in a way you can't describe with words, if you felt yourself very much part of the Jewish people, the greatest gift you can give to those who gave their lives is to keep feeling that way.
Every single day, for every single Jew, just because.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Berlin Chabad to open account for Moshe Holtzberg
BERLIN (JTA) -- A Berlin bank account will be opened for donations to help raise the orphaned son of the slain couple that ran the Mumbai Chabad Center.
When "a 2-year-old child cries 'Ima, Abba,' " the whole Jewish community has to come to the rescue, an emotional Rabbi Yehudah Teichtal, the director of the Jewish Educational Center-Rohr Chabad Center in Berlin, told worshipers at a memorial service Tuesday for Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg.
Moshe Holtzberg cried out for his parents at their funeral Tuesday in Israel. The Holtzbergs were among six Jews killed in the Chabad House during last week's terrorist attacks in Mumbai. More than 180 people were killed in 10 separate attacks in the Indian city.
Teichtal told JTA the account for Moshe would be opened Wednesday; information can be found at http://www.chabadberlin.de.
Speaking at the West Berlin Chabad center shortly after watching the televised funeral for the Holtzbergs in Kfar Chabad, Teichtal reported that the terrorists had actually spent the night at the Mumbai Chabad center a few months ago. Posing as visiting students, they joined the Holtzbergs for a Sabbath meal and then told them, "We have a problem, we have no place to stay," Teichtal said, standing in front of a large photograph of the Holtzbergs affixed to the Torah curtain.
The Holtzbergs then put up the strangers, who "used the chance to scope out the place," he said.
"The terrorists came into a synagogue in Mumbai in a conflict that has nothing to do with Jews. It happened in Berlin, too," Teichtal said, referring to the persecution of Jews in Nazi Germany. "But we survived because our life consists also of our spirit."
Israel's ambassador to Germany, Yoram Ben-Zeev, also spoke at the Berlin service, which featured psalms and prayers. A condolence book lay open on a table outside the sanctuary.
Teichtal said that when Chabad lights its traditional oversized chanukiyah at Berlin's famous Brandenburg Gate on the first night of Chanukah, the ceremony "will be dedicated to the Holtzbergs."
When "a 2-year-old child cries 'Ima, Abba,' " the whole Jewish community has to come to the rescue, an emotional Rabbi Yehudah Teichtal, the director of the Jewish Educational Center-Rohr Chabad Center in Berlin, told worshipers at a memorial service Tuesday for Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg.
Moshe Holtzberg cried out for his parents at their funeral Tuesday in Israel. The Holtzbergs were among six Jews killed in the Chabad House during last week's terrorist attacks in Mumbai. More than 180 people were killed in 10 separate attacks in the Indian city.
Teichtal told JTA the account for Moshe would be opened Wednesday; information can be found at http://www.chabadberlin.de.
Speaking at the West Berlin Chabad center shortly after watching the televised funeral for the Holtzbergs in Kfar Chabad, Teichtal reported that the terrorists had actually spent the night at the Mumbai Chabad center a few months ago. Posing as visiting students, they joined the Holtzbergs for a Sabbath meal and then told them, "We have a problem, we have no place to stay," Teichtal said, standing in front of a large photograph of the Holtzbergs affixed to the Torah curtain.
The Holtzbergs then put up the strangers, who "used the chance to scope out the place," he said.
"The terrorists came into a synagogue in Mumbai in a conflict that has nothing to do with Jews. It happened in Berlin, too," Teichtal said, referring to the persecution of Jews in Nazi Germany. "But we survived because our life consists also of our spirit."
Israel's ambassador to Germany, Yoram Ben-Zeev, also spoke at the Berlin service, which featured psalms and prayers. A condolence book lay open on a table outside the sanctuary.
Teichtal said that when Chabad lights its traditional oversized chanukiyah at Berlin's famous Brandenburg Gate on the first night of Chanukah, the ceremony "will be dedicated to the Holtzbergs."
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Chabad: Allow Indian nanny to immigrate to Israel
On Friday two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg was orphaned of both his parents, Chabad emissaries to Mumbai. Now both his family and the ultra-Orthodox organization are asking that his savior, Sandra Samuel, be allowed to come to Israel
Ynet
Chairman of 'Agudas Chasidei Chabad,' Rabbi Yosef Yitzhak Aharonov, has called for Israel to allow the Indian caretaker who saved toddler Moshe Holtzberg from the besieged Chabad center in Mumbai to immigrate.
Sandra Samuel grabbed the toddler, who turned two on Saturday, as terrorists stormed the ultra-Orthodox center and escaped with him in her arms. Both of Moshe's parents, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka, were murdered.
"I've spoken to the people in India, we've asked them to arrange the visa. The request has also come from the emissary's (Holtzberg) father and Rivka's mother. At this point she's the only one the boy is responding to," Aharonov told Ynet.
The Holtzberg family is keen to see the nanny, who is very close to the toddler, come back to Israel with him. Their only concern is the bureaucratic hurdle.
Chabad spokesman, Rabbi Menachem Brod: "Rabbi Aharonov spoke with the grandfather and grandmother, and they both feel the nanny should come with the child. But there is paperwork to arrange. We ask the government to work towards bringing her here.
Samuel is currently staying with Moshe at the home of Ehud Raz, the top security officer at the Israeli Consulate in Mumbai. The toddler's maternal grandparents are also with him, having rushed to India from Israel as news of the crisis emerged.
"In the evening his mother always puts him to sleep and now he doesn't understand what's going on," Samuel said. Regarding the attack on the Chabad center she said, "It was terrible, there were explosions everywhere, gunfire – they tried to shoot me.
Ynet
Chairman of 'Agudas Chasidei Chabad,' Rabbi Yosef Yitzhak Aharonov, has called for Israel to allow the Indian caretaker who saved toddler Moshe Holtzberg from the besieged Chabad center in Mumbai to immigrate.
Sandra Samuel grabbed the toddler, who turned two on Saturday, as terrorists stormed the ultra-Orthodox center and escaped with him in her arms. Both of Moshe's parents, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka, were murdered.
"I've spoken to the people in India, we've asked them to arrange the visa. The request has also come from the emissary's (Holtzberg) father and Rivka's mother. At this point she's the only one the boy is responding to," Aharonov told Ynet.
The Holtzberg family is keen to see the nanny, who is very close to the toddler, come back to Israel with him. Their only concern is the bureaucratic hurdle.
Chabad spokesman, Rabbi Menachem Brod: "Rabbi Aharonov spoke with the grandfather and grandmother, and they both feel the nanny should come with the child. But there is paperwork to arrange. We ask the government to work towards bringing her here.
Samuel is currently staying with Moshe at the home of Ehud Raz, the top security officer at the Israeli Consulate in Mumbai. The toddler's maternal grandparents are also with him, having rushed to India from Israel as news of the crisis emerged.
"In the evening his mother always puts him to sleep and now he doesn't understand what's going on," Samuel said. Regarding the attack on the Chabad center she said, "It was terrible, there were explosions everywhere, gunfire – they tried to shoot me.
Chabad hero nanny heading to Israel
Nov. 30, 2008
JPost.com Staff , THE JERUSALEM POST
Sandra, the nanny who rescued two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg from the Islamic terrorists that stormed the Chabad House in Mumbai, is expected to arrive in Israel on Monday and be granted entry by the Interior Ministry.
Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni said on Sunday that her office was working to arrange Sandra's visit to Israel.
Army Radio that the Interior Ministry was considering bestowing Sandra the 'righteous gentile' title, which would allow her to remain in Israel for an extended period of time.
The toddler was reunited with his Israeli grandparents, Shimon and Yehudit Rosenberg, on Friday.
Moshe's parents, Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, were killed in the Chabad House massacre together with at least four others.
Israeli media reported that some of the victims were found wrapped in prayer shawls, in accordance with Jewish burial tradition. The reports speculated that one of the hostages had wrapped the bodies before he was killed.
According to unconfirmed reports attributed to Indian security sources, most of the hostages were found bound and gagged by the commandos, and had been shot long before Indian forces landed on the roof from a helicopter on Thursday night.
Speaking from the Israeli Consulate in Mumbai, Foreign Ministry official Haim Hoshen told the Post on Saturday that there was no doubt the Chabad House was the target of a premeditated and planned assault.
Yaakov Lappin contributed to this report.
JPost.com Staff , THE JERUSALEM POST
Sandra, the nanny who rescued two-year-old Moshe Holtzberg from the Islamic terrorists that stormed the Chabad House in Mumbai, is expected to arrive in Israel on Monday and be granted entry by the Interior Ministry.
Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni said on Sunday that her office was working to arrange Sandra's visit to Israel.
Army Radio that the Interior Ministry was considering bestowing Sandra the 'righteous gentile' title, which would allow her to remain in Israel for an extended period of time.
The toddler was reunited with his Israeli grandparents, Shimon and Yehudit Rosenberg, on Friday.
Moshe's parents, Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, were killed in the Chabad House massacre together with at least four others.
Israeli media reported that some of the victims were found wrapped in prayer shawls, in accordance with Jewish burial tradition. The reports speculated that one of the hostages had wrapped the bodies before he was killed.
According to unconfirmed reports attributed to Indian security sources, most of the hostages were found bound and gagged by the commandos, and had been shot long before Indian forces landed on the roof from a helicopter on Thursday night.
Speaking from the Israeli Consulate in Mumbai, Foreign Ministry official Haim Hoshen told the Post on Saturday that there was no doubt the Chabad House was the target of a premeditated and planned assault.
Yaakov Lappin contributed to this report.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)