Chabad

By Rabbi Jason Miller

Chabad Lubavitch has been getting a lot of press recently since the tragic murders of Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg (z"l), the Chabad shlichim (emissaries) in Mumbai, India who were killed by terrorists. Their story underscores the important mission of these Chabadnik leaders willing to relocate their families to far-flung corners of the earth for kiruv (Jewish outreach). I've heard from several young people who stopped at the Chabad-Lubavitch Nariman House while backpacking through India only to be treated so warmly by Rabbi Holtzberg and his wife. I experienced similarly warm hospitality when I visited a Chabad House in Sumy, Ukraine a few years ago with students from the University of Michigan.

I have always been amazed and impressed by Chabad's devotion to the Jewish people. Their marketing machine and political savvy are the envy of Jewish leaders everywhere. But I have also been skeptical at times about their approach and their agenda, especially on college campuses where the Jewish students are hyper-impressionable.

Due to their belief that Rebbe Menachem Schneerson (left) is the mashiach (messiah), many have cynically described Chabad Lubavitch as the closest religion to Judaism. Regardless of this belief, which is often denied by Chabadniks in large metropolitan Jewish communities where such a messianic tenet would not be well received, Chabad is doing important work throughout the globe.

In many Jewish communities, Chabad has taken on the important job of training young people to work with the developmentally disabled through The Friendship Circle. The program, now with over sixty chapters, matches teenage volunteers who become friends and mentors to children with special needs. Chabad has also pioneered important programs in the Former Soviet Union, including in the devastated community of Chernobyl.

If you're interested in a fair and in-depth study of Chabad Lubavitch, I would highly recommend Sue Fishkoff's The Rebbe's Army.

The most daring, insightful coverage of Chabad however can be found in last month's issue of New Voices magazine. The young columnists of the New Voices journal demystify Chabad, answering questions like: Why, unlike most ultra-Orthodox, do the Lubavitch reach out to rather than reject secular Jews? What do they get when you put on tefillin? Are they Zionist or anti-Zionist? What do they think of mainstream Jewish movements and what do those movements think of them? Do all Lubavitchers even share the same views on these issues?

A blogger on the Moment Magazine blog writes: "Takedown or not, New Voices has done what no other serious Jewish publication has dared do: subject Chabad to the same journalistic scrutiny every powerful, religious movement deserves."

The New Voices issue includes Chabad-related stories about the Agriprocessors Kosher meat scandal, an interview with a Reform rabbi about the place of Chabad in the religious life of secular Jews, a critique of non-Orthodox support for Chabad, and an exploration of the contemporary meaning of the Chabad headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway.

The interview with the Reform rabbi who shares his thoughts on Chabad is very interesting. The rabbi is Rabbi Rick Jacobs (left), Senior Rabbi of Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale, New York. I met Rabbi Jacobs last year at a STAR Foundation PEER Alumni retreat and was extremely impressed. Rabbi Jacobs tells a funny story in the New Voices interview:

I was in midtown Manhattan, and I'm walking down the street and this wonderful friendly warm Chabadnik stops me and says, 'Are you Jewish?' I'm walking along, I'm wearing a grey suit. I don't know, maybe I have curly Jewish hair. I said, 'Yes, are you?' And he looked at me and started to laugh and he pointed to his tzitzit and to his beard. I said, 'You know, appearances are not always reality.

Rick's story reminds me of another story: Two Jewish Theological Seminary rabbinical students (a man and a woman) were walking by the main gate of Columbia in New York's Upper West Side when a Chabadnik asked the man if he put on tefillin that morning. His response? "No, but she did!"

I'm not sure what the ultimate attraction to Chabad is for so many -- not just the impressionable Jewish college students who flock to Chabad houses for the Rebbetzin's homemade chicken soup and challah, whiskey shots with the rabbi, or hot cholent on Shabbat afternoon. For some college students it may well be that the Chabad rabbi looks, well, more authentically Jewish than his or her Reform or Conservative rabbi back home -- which means more Eastern European and more pious.

The bigger question for me is the new fad of contemporary, progressive Jewish families joining Chabad congregations (in many communities called simply "The Shul"). I know this is driving many rabbis crazy. In some cases, rabbis are seeing their congregants attend Chabad congregations to complement their other synagogue membership. They may go to Chabad for a Shabbat service or even a holiday service (e.g., Simchat Torah), but wouldn't think of not attending their ancestral synagogue for High Holiday services or to celebrate their child's bar or bat mitzvah. But in other cases, Reform and Conservative congregations are seeing their membership numbers decrease to the benefit of the Chabad shul down the street. Again, this could be chalked up to the "authenticity factor" or it could be something deeper. Perhaps it is the warmth that the Chabad rabbis display in their outreach efforts much like the warmth that was a trademark of Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, stationed in Mumbai and racking up all those "mitzvah points" through their generosity.

May their memories be for blessings.

Rabbi Jason Miller is a Conservative rabbi ordained by the Jewish Theological Seminary, where he was the first Gladstein Fellow. Rabbi Jason holds a master's degree from the William Davidson Graduate School of Jewish Education at JTS.

Rabbi Jason is interested in how modern technology affects Jewish life, particularly the impact of the Internet on Jewish education and the global Jewish community.

Chabad kinus concludes

Billionaire philanthropist Lev Leviev addressed the International Conference of Chabad-Lubavitch Shluchim.
Speaking in Hebrew before some 4,500 Chabad rabbis and their supporters in New York Sunday evening, Leviev, a Chabad benefactor, celebrated the shluchim, or emissaries, who he said work "behind enemy lines" building Jewish communities in the farthest reaches of the globe. The six-day conference concluded Monday. The annual gathering brought together nearly 3,000 Chabad emissaries from 72 countries for a series of workshops and seminars, where they shared their collective knowledge and experience and offered mutual encouragement to emissaries who often work in isolated communities with little or no Jewish infrastructure.
The international roll call, a high-point of the Sunday evening banquet, highlighted the extent of the organization's reach. Rabbis stood as the names of the countries where they operate were announced, a globe-spanning catalog from New Zealand to the Congo to Alaska. Good wishes were offered to rabbis opening new Chabad outposts this year in South Korea, northern Cyprus, Serbia and the Dominican Republic. Inspired by the teachings of the late rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Chabad emissaries have made lifetime commitments to open Chabad centers in areas where often they are the only established Jewish presence for hundreds of miles. In recent years they have made increasing inroads onto American college campuses and are the leading force for the revitalization of Jewish life in the former Soviet Union.

Mimi the mythbuster's Myth #7: Chabad Goes to the Middle of Nowhere

Visit mimi's blog at www.livefromthehilltop.com

Here is her latest essay:

Please visit her blog and leave a comment.

I was visiting some friends from a non-Chabad seminary and found myself in a class on the subject of Jewish outreach. The teacher was dispensing a lot of struggling advice and inspiration on the topic. In all her explaining and descriptions, she aimed to encourage the young women in the class to be involved in outreach in some form.

Then, she said something that I had hear many times before, but, in this particular context, caught my attention.

"However you want to reach out, you can do it" she said, "you don't have to be like Chabad and go out to the middle of nowhere."

Everyone looked at me - the Chabadnik in the classroom.

I cracked a smile, partially for the sake of some response, but mostly because I love nothing more than the feeling of being a notable Chabadnik.

Of course, the Chabad mention got my attention - but, inside, the teacher's words had me thinking.

Chabad goes to the middle of nowhere, eh?

Why are people who believe in a place called "nowhere" giving classes on spreading Judaism to the world?

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What the teacher meant to say is that she believes in a place called nowhere, and - never having visited a Chabad emissary herself - finds it very hard to suggest to her class to do such a thing.

But, the teacher is right.

Going to the middle of nowhere is indeed one of the most absurd things I've heard.

The truth is, I wouldn't suggest it to anyone myself.

I mean, if you are nowhere, you're going to have a pretty hard time reaching out.

So how, then, does Chabad do it?

The truth is, Chabad goes to places that everyone else thinks is nowhere, and shows the world how it truly is a somewhere .

Chabad does this because we can't tolerate that there is an actual place - not a "nowhere!" - without Jewish influence. It is our strong adversity to this nowhere concept that sends us into farm towns, ice worlds, and the seemingly empty spaces of the world.

It's like we have some insider information. While everyone walks around ignoring the reality of all kinds of hometowns by referring to them as "nowhere", Chabad just knows that there must be a house to buy, a building to turn int a shul, and Jews to invite for Shabbos - all in this place that everyone insists doesn't exist.

You refer to a place as "nowhere," and the Chabadnik doesn't get it. Nowhere just isn't in the Chabad language.

Nowhere is when you're lost in a car, and your friend asks you on the phone, "where are you?" You're completely lost and have to admit, "I'm nowhere."

Nowhere is the place you were when you walk in past curfew and your mother asks, "where have you been?"

But, really, nowhere is what you call other places when you think that where you are is the only place that is worthy of being on the map.

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When the Rebbe sent emissaries to various places, he was saying, "There exists a place. A somewhere. Go there."

Because Chabad doesn't go to the middle of nowhere, the most barren cities have Mikvahs.

Because Chabad doesn't go to the middle of nowhere, Jews in Fairfield, Iowa have pictures of the Rebbe next to their Menorah.

Because Chabad doesn't go to the middle of nowhere, there is Kosher meat for a growing Jewish "hick town."

Because Chabad doesn't go to the middle of nowhere, you can be stranded anywhere in the world and still have a place for Shabbos.

Because Chabad doesn't go to the middle of nowhere, a Shliach has to tell his visiting ambassadors to take a left at "Conshohocken Rd."

Around the world, Chabad emissaries are uprooting the notion of nowhere, even among the cities own inhabitants.

Dave has been living in his small southern town for quite some time now. Although he likes the quiet life, he often things about moving to a somewhere, a city bubbling with more life - and certainly more Jewish life. One day, he walks into the local dry cleaners and finds a Rabbi picking up his suit. They get to taking, and - you know the rest of the story. Later, he reports how awesome it was to run into a bearded Jew in the middle of nowhere. He recalls that, at that very moment, he realized that his little hometown is a somewhere. He doesn't have to move to New York now. There is a Chabad house right around the corner - he aint goin', well, nowhere.

In Eugene, Oregon, a Rabbi teaches the Parsha to college students. In Bellingham, Washington, Jews are being treated to the most celebratory holiday parties. In Guatemala City, traditional parents are able to send their children to a fun Jewish camp. In Aiya Napa, Cyprus, Israeli's are hearing Kiddush for the first time. In Amersfoort, Netherlands, family purity is becoming a reality for many Jewish women. In Omaha, Nebraska, Jews are getting answers to their biggest questions.

Meanwhile, an uninformd teacher in Israel is referring to such places as "nowhere."

Someone needs to clue her in to the fact that there are thousands of these so-called-nowheres that have Chabad houses open for visitation 24 hours, 365 days of the year.

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When our Rebbe sent the first Shliach to a place without a synagogue, without a Jewish school, and maybe even without a normal grocery store, the newly designated Shliach would pause in a moment of deep contemplation, unable to imagine the vacant scene in which he would soon arrive.

"Wow," he would think to himself as his eyes widened, "the Rebbe is really sending me somewhere."

From our own living rooms to the expanive fields in the south to the crowded streets in Bejing, the Rebbe's vision made every square inch of this world into a place where magic happens. He forced us to change the way we think of a happening place, a place worth being inhabited. He challenged us to spread holiness and give, no matter where we make our steps. The Rebbe saw a world where there was a home for every Jew - so that, when a Jew finds himself feeling like he is in the middle of life's nowhere, he will still find a Chabad house - somewhere.