By Leon Cohen
of The Chronicle staff
At the very beginning of the Six Day War in 1967, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, decreed that Lubavitch Chasidim could help Israel by encouraging Jewish men to perform the commandment of putting on tefillin.
A student named Yoseph Samuels decided to begin at once. Across the street from his Brooklyn yeshiva was a bank that had a high level official who was Jewish. So there Samuels went, visited the man in his office and helped him lay tefillin.
Decades later, Rabbi Yoseph Samuels, now director of Chabad of Downtown in Milwaukee, still remembers that “great experience.”
It showed how the Rebbe’s directives “help us discover how wonderful a Jewish soul is; how if you approach them with love, they will open up,” Samuels said in an interview at The Chronicle office.
This March, Samuels will begin his 30th year of work in Milwaukee with his wife and partner, Chashy, to reach and teach the “wonderful Jewish souls” they have found in the Milwaukee area.
The Joseph and Rebecca Peltz Center for Jewish Life in Mequon will mark the occasion by honoring the couple at a “Celebration Dinner” on Wednesday, March 4, beginning at 5 p.m., at the center, 2233 W. Mequon Rd.
Other honorees are Pamela and Ron Kohlenberg, who will receive the Community Service Award, and Jan and Aaron Katz, who will receive the Pillar of Chesed Award.
Until Moshiach comes
Rabbi Menachem Rapoport, executive director of the Peltz Center, said he wonders “why hasn’t [Samuels] been honored” previously in the community.
“He’s one of the greatest scholars Milwaukee has today,” Rapoport said, but “what’s most phenomenal about him is his love for people and his dedication to people as individuals.… His connection is not via any medium, but is person-to-person.”
One reason may be Samuels’ own reluctance. The center had approached Samuels “several times” for honors, but “we couldn’t get him to agree.” Even for this 30th year milestone, “it took a lot of arm twisting,” Rapoport said.
Indeed, Samuels himself said that the Peltz Center actually is “honoring all these wonderful people who put on tefillin and study Torah and permit me to do the things I do. That’s whom they’re honoring.”
As for his wife, the rabbi said she “is my complete partner.” Moreover, “there are a lot of people she teaches and who consult with her and confide in her.”
Karen Forman, co-chair of the dinner with her husband Marty, said she has known Chashy Samuels for more than 20 years, when the Formans moved to the Milwaukee area from Chicago.
“She was the first person to welcome me at her home with a Shabbat dinner,” said Forman. “Every conversation I’ve ever had with her has really reflected her gentleness and sincerity and great faith.… She is the most understated and humble person with so much wisdom and spirituality.”
Rabbi Samuels has always regarded himself as primarily a teacher, ever since the Rebbe told him, “You should be involved in Jewish education” shortly after his marriage to Chashy in 1969.
He served as a teacher in a Lubavitch day school in Miami, Fla., and worked at the Chabad in Seattle, Wash. He had known Rabbi Yisroel Shmotkin, director of Chabad of Wisconsin, earlier, and when Shmotkin asked Samuels to come to Milwaukee in 1980, the Rebbe gave his blessing.
At first, Samuels was education director and taught at a community high school that didn’t last. In 1990, he opened Chabad of Downtown, creating an operation that is funded independently from the general Milwaukee Chabad operation, but that still coordinates with it, Samuels said.
In that operation, Samuels teaches classes and individuals, and is open for downtown workers who want to study or pray during their lunch hours. He also officiates at life cycle events; and he travels to Richland Center, about a hour’s drive northwest of Madison, “a few times a year” to meet with the small Jewish community there.
Yoseph and Chashy have seven children, of whom the youngest is still in high school and the oldest son directs a Chabad operation in Simsbury, Conn.
As for the future, Samuels said he plans to “welcome the Moshiach [Messiah] whenever he should appear, which hopefully will be very, very soon.” Until then, “there are always more Jews to reach, learn with and interact with.”
The celebration dinner costs $50 per person. For more information, contact the Peltz Center for Jewish Life, 262-242-2235
Showing posts with label tefillin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tefillin. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Dead Sea Chabad: 'Tefillin to Protect Us in Battle'
A team of Chabad activists led by Rabbi Shimon Elharar has begun a new initiative to protect Israel from her enemies: encouraging Jews to use tefillin (phylacteries). Jews are responsible for each other, Rabbi Elharar explains, according to the verse, “The entire people of Israel are guarantors for each other.”
A mitzvah (good deed) performed by one Jew can provide spiritual protection not only for the one performing it, but for all Jews, Rabbi Elharar says. “In our current situation, we must help our soldiers on the front of mitzvot and good deeds.”
Tefillin in particular is known for providing Divine protection and casting fear on Israel's enemies, Rabbi Elharar's team reminds the men they encounter as they work the crowds in the shopping malls at the Dead Sea hotel strip. The rabbis quote a verse from Devarim (Deuteronomy): “And the people of the land shall see that G-d's name is upon you, and they shall fear you.”
Activists tell a story from the Yom Kippur War that illustrates this principle. Following the war, an Israeli soldier wrote to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the head of the Chabad-Lubavitch Chassidic movement, describing an incident involving Egyptian soldiers.
In the middle of the war, Israeli soldiers saw a group of Egyptian soldiers approaching their position. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the Egyptians dropped their weapons and began a hasty retreat. The IDF commander was so surprised that he chased the Egyptian soldiers to see what had happened. The Egyptian commander said he had seen the Israeli soldiers wearing their “secret weapon”--a black box centered in the middle of their foreheads.
The Egyptians had mistaken the soldiers' tefillin for a secret weapon, the soldier told the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Tefillin is the soldiers' secret weapon, the Rebbe replied.
Rabbi Elharar is calling on all Jewish men to put on tefillin in order to provide Divine protection for the IDF soldiers and all Jews, and to cause Israel's enemies to flee in fear. He adds that Jewish women, who traditionally do not use tefillin, should light Sabbath candles and perform other mitzvot (good deeds) on behalf of the IDF and the Jewish people
A mitzvah (good deed) performed by one Jew can provide spiritual protection not only for the one performing it, but for all Jews, Rabbi Elharar says. “In our current situation, we must help our soldiers on the front of mitzvot and good deeds.”
Tefillin in particular is known for providing Divine protection and casting fear on Israel's enemies, Rabbi Elharar's team reminds the men they encounter as they work the crowds in the shopping malls at the Dead Sea hotel strip. The rabbis quote a verse from Devarim (Deuteronomy): “And the people of the land shall see that G-d's name is upon you, and they shall fear you.”
Activists tell a story from the Yom Kippur War that illustrates this principle. Following the war, an Israeli soldier wrote to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, the head of the Chabad-Lubavitch Chassidic movement, describing an incident involving Egyptian soldiers.
In the middle of the war, Israeli soldiers saw a group of Egyptian soldiers approaching their position. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the Egyptians dropped their weapons and began a hasty retreat. The IDF commander was so surprised that he chased the Egyptian soldiers to see what had happened. The Egyptian commander said he had seen the Israeli soldiers wearing their “secret weapon”--a black box centered in the middle of their foreheads.
The Egyptians had mistaken the soldiers' tefillin for a secret weapon, the soldier told the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Tefillin is the soldiers' secret weapon, the Rebbe replied.
Rabbi Elharar is calling on all Jewish men to put on tefillin in order to provide Divine protection for the IDF soldiers and all Jews, and to cause Israel's enemies to flee in fear. He adds that Jewish women, who traditionally do not use tefillin, should light Sabbath candles and perform other mitzvot (good deeds) on behalf of the IDF and the Jewish people
A Prayer Ritual Shared in Religion and Football
By COREY KILGANNON
The Martin Greenfield clothing factory on Varet Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is known for turning out sleek suits for presidents, mayors and star athletes.
But in addition to being a clothier for the power elite — customers over the years have had names like Eisenhower, Clinton and Bloomberg — the factory may well be aiding the success of the New York Giants, who face the Philadelphia Eagles on Sunday in a National Football League playoff game. At least the factory owners think so.
Jay and Todd Greenfield, the brothers who run the company founded by their father, Martin, made a deal last season with a rabbi in the Chabad Lubavitch movement, and the Giants have been successful ever since.
The rabbi, Israel Shemtov, who runs a rabbinical clothing store on Kingston Street in Crown Heights, visited the factory regularly to buy items for his business. Rabbi Shemtov had been trying to get Jay Greenfield, 50, to become more spiritual.
Mr. Greenfield had been resistant because, while he is Jewish, he does not consider himself observant. He says his real spiritual pursuit is the Giants. He has rooted for the team since age 6, and his family has had season tickets to home games for decades. He attends the games with his son, David, 15 — whose bar mitzvah, of course, had a Giants theme — and a group of friends from his hometown, Roslyn, on Long Island. They do the ritual tailgating at the Meadowlands at every home game, and often travel to see the team’s away games, too.
In the fall of 2007, the Giants’ record was dismal and Mr. Greenfield was a desperate man. His team had gone 1-3 in the preseason. The Giants then lost their first two regular-season games and confidence sagged in their quarterback, Eli Manning.
It was around this time that the rabbi, who acknowledges not watching television, let alone Giants games, visited. With Yom Kippur approaching, Rabbi Shemtov was trying to encourage Mr. Greenfield to do the tefillin prayer — which includes strapping a pair of black leather boxes containing biblical verses around the head and on the arm, hand and fingers and reciting a prayer declaring loyalty to God and a request for blessing. The rabbi told Mr. Greenfield that the ritual would help make it a good new year.
“I told him, ‘You’re talking about a good new year, but if we lose against the Redskins this Sunday, my year is over,’ ” Mr. Greenfield said in his factory on Thursday, recalling the moment.
It was then that Mr. Greenfield, who follows strict game-day rituals including wearing the same jeans, undershirt and jersey, got an idea. None of his rituals seemed to be working, and here was this persistent rabbi telling him that simply saying the tefillin prayer might be just the thing needed to help Mr. Greenfield get what he wanted for his team.
“I was at a weak moment, so I considered it,” Mr. Greenfield said.
“I told the rabbi, ‘I’m not asking for them to win every week — I’m not greedy — I just want them to make the playoffs.’ He said, ‘What’s the playoffs?’ I said, ‘You don’t need to know that now.’ ”
Rabbi Shemtov said in an interview on Friday, “I told him, ‘We know prayer goes a long way, and I can see that this Giants thing means a lot, so let’s go for the prayer.’ ”
Mr. Greenfield did, and he saw immediate results. The Giants beat the Redskins the following Sunday. Soon, Mr. Greenfield began praying three times a week with the rabbi, who in turn began keeping the fan group in his thoughts while praying at the gravesite in Cambria Heights, Queens, of Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the rebbe of the Chabad Lubavitch movement.
The Giants kept winning in 2007 and Mr. Greenfield kept praying. Soon, his brother, Todd, was also praying. So were many of their friends and relatives who attended the home games — and many games on the road. The tefillin prayers became rituals at the tailgating gatherings before games at the Meadowlands, and when some of the fans traveled to games on the road, the rabbi would contact Chabad rabbis in those cities to help Mr. Greenfield’s group with pregame prayers. One day, Rabbi Shemtov showed up with blue-and-orange yarmulkes bearing the Giants logo, and other ones bearing his name for the group, the New York Giants Tefillin Club.
The Giants went on to qualify for the playoffs and began their playoff run. Mr. Greenfield said he saw divine intervention during the playoffs in a dropped pass by a receiver for the Dallas Cowboys, which changed the tide of the game and allowed the Giants to go on to victory.
“When that happened, about 50 people jumped up and said, ‘Thank you, Rabbi,’ ” he said. “At that point, we really thought God was on our side.”
The Giants went on to win the Super Bowl, but even that did not get Mr. Greenfield to start attending synagogue or reading the Torah regularly — although he did agree to pray with the rabbi in the off-season.
The pregame tefillin prayers have gained momentum, and this season, Mr. Greenfield secured a parking pass for Rabbi Shemtov. Putting on tefillin in the Meadowlands parking lot drew stares and comments, but as the Giants continued to win, other fans — even some non-Jewish rooters — began doing it too.
“He thought he was converting me,” Mr. Greenfield said of the rabbi, “but I got a sector of his community interested in the Giants.
The rabbi said that he would probably never wind up watching a Giants game — although he plans on being in the parking lot Sunday morning at the Meadowlands — but “this means a lot to Jay, and each one should pray according to what he needs.”
“I may hear the score, but I still really couldn’t tell you if the Jets were playing the Mets — I don’t know the difference. But if it makes him happy, only good things will come out of it.”
The Martin Greenfield clothing factory on Varet Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is known for turning out sleek suits for presidents, mayors and star athletes.
But in addition to being a clothier for the power elite — customers over the years have had names like Eisenhower, Clinton and Bloomberg — the factory may well be aiding the success of the New York Giants, who face the Philadelphia Eagles on Sunday in a National Football League playoff game. At least the factory owners think so.
Jay and Todd Greenfield, the brothers who run the company founded by their father, Martin, made a deal last season with a rabbi in the Chabad Lubavitch movement, and the Giants have been successful ever since.
The rabbi, Israel Shemtov, who runs a rabbinical clothing store on Kingston Street in Crown Heights, visited the factory regularly to buy items for his business. Rabbi Shemtov had been trying to get Jay Greenfield, 50, to become more spiritual.
Mr. Greenfield had been resistant because, while he is Jewish, he does not consider himself observant. He says his real spiritual pursuit is the Giants. He has rooted for the team since age 6, and his family has had season tickets to home games for decades. He attends the games with his son, David, 15 — whose bar mitzvah, of course, had a Giants theme — and a group of friends from his hometown, Roslyn, on Long Island. They do the ritual tailgating at the Meadowlands at every home game, and often travel to see the team’s away games, too.
In the fall of 2007, the Giants’ record was dismal and Mr. Greenfield was a desperate man. His team had gone 1-3 in the preseason. The Giants then lost their first two regular-season games and confidence sagged in their quarterback, Eli Manning.
It was around this time that the rabbi, who acknowledges not watching television, let alone Giants games, visited. With Yom Kippur approaching, Rabbi Shemtov was trying to encourage Mr. Greenfield to do the tefillin prayer — which includes strapping a pair of black leather boxes containing biblical verses around the head and on the arm, hand and fingers and reciting a prayer declaring loyalty to God and a request for blessing. The rabbi told Mr. Greenfield that the ritual would help make it a good new year.
“I told him, ‘You’re talking about a good new year, but if we lose against the Redskins this Sunday, my year is over,’ ” Mr. Greenfield said in his factory on Thursday, recalling the moment.
It was then that Mr. Greenfield, who follows strict game-day rituals including wearing the same jeans, undershirt and jersey, got an idea. None of his rituals seemed to be working, and here was this persistent rabbi telling him that simply saying the tefillin prayer might be just the thing needed to help Mr. Greenfield get what he wanted for his team.
“I was at a weak moment, so I considered it,” Mr. Greenfield said.
“I told the rabbi, ‘I’m not asking for them to win every week — I’m not greedy — I just want them to make the playoffs.’ He said, ‘What’s the playoffs?’ I said, ‘You don’t need to know that now.’ ”
Rabbi Shemtov said in an interview on Friday, “I told him, ‘We know prayer goes a long way, and I can see that this Giants thing means a lot, so let’s go for the prayer.’ ”
Mr. Greenfield did, and he saw immediate results. The Giants beat the Redskins the following Sunday. Soon, Mr. Greenfield began praying three times a week with the rabbi, who in turn began keeping the fan group in his thoughts while praying at the gravesite in Cambria Heights, Queens, of Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the rebbe of the Chabad Lubavitch movement.
The Giants kept winning in 2007 and Mr. Greenfield kept praying. Soon, his brother, Todd, was also praying. So were many of their friends and relatives who attended the home games — and many games on the road. The tefillin prayers became rituals at the tailgating gatherings before games at the Meadowlands, and when some of the fans traveled to games on the road, the rabbi would contact Chabad rabbis in those cities to help Mr. Greenfield’s group with pregame prayers. One day, Rabbi Shemtov showed up with blue-and-orange yarmulkes bearing the Giants logo, and other ones bearing his name for the group, the New York Giants Tefillin Club.
The Giants went on to qualify for the playoffs and began their playoff run. Mr. Greenfield said he saw divine intervention during the playoffs in a dropped pass by a receiver for the Dallas Cowboys, which changed the tide of the game and allowed the Giants to go on to victory.
“When that happened, about 50 people jumped up and said, ‘Thank you, Rabbi,’ ” he said. “At that point, we really thought God was on our side.”
The Giants went on to win the Super Bowl, but even that did not get Mr. Greenfield to start attending synagogue or reading the Torah regularly — although he did agree to pray with the rabbi in the off-season.
The pregame tefillin prayers have gained momentum, and this season, Mr. Greenfield secured a parking pass for Rabbi Shemtov. Putting on tefillin in the Meadowlands parking lot drew stares and comments, but as the Giants continued to win, other fans — even some non-Jewish rooters — began doing it too.
“He thought he was converting me,” Mr. Greenfield said of the rabbi, “but I got a sector of his community interested in the Giants.
The rabbi said that he would probably never wind up watching a Giants game — although he plans on being in the parking lot Sunday morning at the Meadowlands — but “this means a lot to Jay, and each one should pray according to what he needs.”
“I may hear the score, but I still really couldn’t tell you if the Jets were playing the Mets — I don’t know the difference. But if it makes him happy, only good things will come out of it.”
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Orthodox Jewish group marks 50 years of outreach
"Hi, does anyone Jewish work in this office?"
Every Friday, that question is asked by 50 pairs of young men from an Orthodox Jewish group who fan out across metro Detroit to various buildings in a weekly mission to help nonobservant Jews get in touch with their faith. Marking 50 years in Michigan this month, the group -- known as Chabad Lubavitch -- has grown from just one center in Detroit to 18 institutions across Michigan, several schools and a network of emissaries who have brought alive Judaism in areas without any other Jewish centers such as Novi and Commerce Township.
And they do it in an affable manner that has endeared them to other members of the Jewish community.
Up to 40% of metro Detroit's roughly 72,000 Jews have taken part in some way in Chabad programs, say local leaders. The group is now in the process of building a new center for the Michigan Jewish Institute -- the latest addition to a $15-million plus complex in West Bloomfield that also features centers for disabled children and addicts of all backgrounds.
Chabad's efforts come at a time of concern among some American Jews that assimilation and intermarriage are decreasing their numbers and vitality. The group hopes to stem that trend with programs that reach out to Jewish people, no matter how out of touch they may be with their heritage.
"Chabad is nonjudgmental," said Jerry Beale, 65, of West Bloomfield, explaining the group's popularity. "They don't look at who's more religious, who's less religious; they look at everyone with dignity and respect ... there's a warmth there."
Chabad -- an acronym that contains the Hebrew words for wisdom, knowledge and understanding -- was a Hasidic sect started in Russia in the 18th Century that emphasized the importance of using the rational mind to control emotional instincts. Its 20th-Century leader, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, known as the Rebbe, expanded the group into a global movement. Based in Brooklyn, Chabad sends emissaries -- usually young married couples -- to communities around the world in up to 70 countries. The first couple sent to Detroit arrived in 1958.
On a recent Friday this month, two Chabad students were at Beale's real estate office in Southfield to distribute Chabad newsletters and to help men put on tefillin -- the leather straps and boxes containing sacred texts that are wrapped around the arm and forehead during prayers.
The Chabad movement puts a strong emphasis on laying tefillin, saying it's a potent part of Jewish tradition that links the mind, heart, and hands. And so during a break at the Southfield office, a group of Jewish men gathered in the conference room with the two students to put on the leather boxes and recite ancient prayers.
"They remind us how important it is," said Greg Newman, 36, as he got some assistance from a 19-year-old student dressed in the traditional black fedora and dark suit. "They bring awareness to the Jewish community."
That awareness changed the life of Matt Berke, 33, of West Bloomfield.
He grew up with Jewish parents, but was barely observant.
Berke ate bacon and shrimp -- both forbidden under Orthodox Jewish dietary laws. And he didn't even have seder dinners during Passover, a key holiday for Jewish people.
"I didn't practice the religion at all," Berke said.
But about eight years ago, a Chabad student visited his office.
"I was curious at first, intrigued," Berke recalled. And slowly he came back to his Jewish roots.
Step by step, he tweaked his lifestyle, adopting a kosher diet and then observing with his family the weekly Shabbat, or day of rest that starts at sundown Fridays. Today, he attends the Chabad's synagogue in West Bloomfield, known as the shul. Most of the members of the synagogue, including Berke, are not Orthodox.
"The idea is to make Judaism accessible," said the shul's head, Rabbi Kasriel Shemtov. "We wanted to have a place where Jews of all walks of life would feel comfortable."
Fifty years ago, it was Shemtov's parents who moved to Detroit to start Chabad's movement in Michigan. They were newly married and didn't know English well because they had grown up in Russia. Last Sunday, more than a thousand people gathered in Novi to celebrate the group's success, listening to a talk by the former Ashkenazi chief rabbi of Israel, Yisrael Meir Lau.
"Lubavitch is different," Lau told the crowd, because of its willingness to reach out beyond the Orthodox community.
Berke isn't fully observant yet. But both his kids are enrolled in a Jewish day school, and he sees himself at the start of a long journey back home, thanks to Chabad.
"They teach you to find that inner spark inside," he said.
Contact NIRAJ WARIKOO at 248-351-2998 or nwarikoo@freepress.com.
Every Friday, that question is asked by 50 pairs of young men from an Orthodox Jewish group who fan out across metro Detroit to various buildings in a weekly mission to help nonobservant Jews get in touch with their faith. Marking 50 years in Michigan this month, the group -- known as Chabad Lubavitch -- has grown from just one center in Detroit to 18 institutions across Michigan, several schools and a network of emissaries who have brought alive Judaism in areas without any other Jewish centers such as Novi and Commerce Township.
And they do it in an affable manner that has endeared them to other members of the Jewish community.
Up to 40% of metro Detroit's roughly 72,000 Jews have taken part in some way in Chabad programs, say local leaders. The group is now in the process of building a new center for the Michigan Jewish Institute -- the latest addition to a $15-million plus complex in West Bloomfield that also features centers for disabled children and addicts of all backgrounds.
Chabad's efforts come at a time of concern among some American Jews that assimilation and intermarriage are decreasing their numbers and vitality. The group hopes to stem that trend with programs that reach out to Jewish people, no matter how out of touch they may be with their heritage.
"Chabad is nonjudgmental," said Jerry Beale, 65, of West Bloomfield, explaining the group's popularity. "They don't look at who's more religious, who's less religious; they look at everyone with dignity and respect ... there's a warmth there."
Chabad -- an acronym that contains the Hebrew words for wisdom, knowledge and understanding -- was a Hasidic sect started in Russia in the 18th Century that emphasized the importance of using the rational mind to control emotional instincts. Its 20th-Century leader, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, known as the Rebbe, expanded the group into a global movement. Based in Brooklyn, Chabad sends emissaries -- usually young married couples -- to communities around the world in up to 70 countries. The first couple sent to Detroit arrived in 1958.
On a recent Friday this month, two Chabad students were at Beale's real estate office in Southfield to distribute Chabad newsletters and to help men put on tefillin -- the leather straps and boxes containing sacred texts that are wrapped around the arm and forehead during prayers.
The Chabad movement puts a strong emphasis on laying tefillin, saying it's a potent part of Jewish tradition that links the mind, heart, and hands. And so during a break at the Southfield office, a group of Jewish men gathered in the conference room with the two students to put on the leather boxes and recite ancient prayers.
"They remind us how important it is," said Greg Newman, 36, as he got some assistance from a 19-year-old student dressed in the traditional black fedora and dark suit. "They bring awareness to the Jewish community."
That awareness changed the life of Matt Berke, 33, of West Bloomfield.
He grew up with Jewish parents, but was barely observant.
Berke ate bacon and shrimp -- both forbidden under Orthodox Jewish dietary laws. And he didn't even have seder dinners during Passover, a key holiday for Jewish people.
"I didn't practice the religion at all," Berke said.
But about eight years ago, a Chabad student visited his office.
"I was curious at first, intrigued," Berke recalled. And slowly he came back to his Jewish roots.
Step by step, he tweaked his lifestyle, adopting a kosher diet and then observing with his family the weekly Shabbat, or day of rest that starts at sundown Fridays. Today, he attends the Chabad's synagogue in West Bloomfield, known as the shul. Most of the members of the synagogue, including Berke, are not Orthodox.
"The idea is to make Judaism accessible," said the shul's head, Rabbi Kasriel Shemtov. "We wanted to have a place where Jews of all walks of life would feel comfortable."
Fifty years ago, it was Shemtov's parents who moved to Detroit to start Chabad's movement in Michigan. They were newly married and didn't know English well because they had grown up in Russia. Last Sunday, more than a thousand people gathered in Novi to celebrate the group's success, listening to a talk by the former Ashkenazi chief rabbi of Israel, Yisrael Meir Lau.
"Lubavitch is different," Lau told the crowd, because of its willingness to reach out beyond the Orthodox community.
Berke isn't fully observant yet. But both his kids are enrolled in a Jewish day school, and he sees himself at the start of a long journey back home, thanks to Chabad.
"They teach you to find that inner spark inside," he said.
Contact NIRAJ WARIKOO at 248-351-2998 or nwarikoo@freepress.com.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Yosef Samuels: Binding Jews To Judaism
By: Mimi Notik
It all started 40 years ago.
One Monday morning, Yosef Samuels woke abruptly to his father’s announcement that war had broken out in Israel. The year was 1967, and Samuels was a young yeshiva student. He hurriedly made his way to 770 Eastern Parkway, the Brooklyn address of the Lubavitch World Headquarters, to join others in seeking guidance from the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
But when he got to the doors, he was halted by Rabbi Dovid Raskin, head of the Lubavitch Youth Organization. Addressing the student’s jumpiness, Rabbi Raskin simply told him, "You have to go put tefillin on people."
Indeed, in his public remarks on the previous Shabbat, the Rebbe addressed the mitzvah of tefillin with a unique vigor. Quoting various Talmudic passages, he spoke about tefillin ensuring the safety of our brothers and sisters in Israel. That Shabbat, the Rebbe gave specific instructions to go out and find other Jewish men to perform the important mitzvah. But his orders took some digesting.
"Nobody knew what the Rebbe wanted," said Samuels, "Who knew how to approach a stranger and tell him to roll up his sleeve? You can’t just do something like that!"
Samuels knew what he had to do. A bank stood across from 770; without delay, Samuels marched right in. With bravery he didn’t know he had, him, the yeshiva student went straight to the president of the bank. "You know there’s a war?" he asked him. The bank president nodded yes and, in an unimaginably ideal response, asked, "What can I do?"
Now, many years later, Samuels tells the rest of the story with wonderment in his voice: "Here was a banker looking at a penniless yeshiva boy. But when I told him about tefillin, he got up and took me upstairs to his private office." It was there in that office that Samuels put tefillin on someone for the very first time.
It was a moment that shaped the rest of his life.
Since that day in the small office atop a Brooklyn bank, Samuels has virtually never put his tefillin bag down, committed to a lifestyle that has by now touched close to a hundred thousand lives.
"Whatever I do is connected to tefillin," said Samuels. "It is the air I breathe."
Wherever he is, there are his tefillin: at community events, hospitals, shopping centers, on planes and anywhere else imaginable. When guests are expected for Shabbat, he phones them to ensure they come before sundown, lest they miss the opportunity to put on tefillin.
When he gives a class, his students often leave with more than new information – they take away a lasting inspiration from a mitzvah that, as he clearly sees it, effectuates a strong connection that rejuvenates their inherent bond with Torah and mitzvot.
"The Six Day War was a very powerful time," he said. "There was a massive spiritual awakening among the people."
He recalled visiting universities on Fridays. With a small group of friends, he would stand for hours putting tefillin on students. One time, at Queens College, they had a line that snaked down countless steps and into the cafeteria. Once, the swarms of people wanting to put on tefillin kept Samuels and his fellow yeshiva students there until they had to rush back home for Shabbat. They were still driving when sundown, and the onset of Shabbat, was moments away. They had no choice but to park, lock everything into the car and continue home by foot.
"Someone who puts on tefillin with others has the opportunity to really see the greatness of people, of their souls," he explained. "This affects the way he interacts with people, friends and family, bringing a renewed respect for everyone. When one rolls up his sleeves, you’re watching the greatness of a Jew."
"People often become serious and very emotional," he added. "No one wraps tefillin without some deep emotion. Nobody walks away from it apathetic."
Plenty of Jews have found their Jewish connection to Judaism through Samuels’s tefillin. One such person, Scott Heifetz, became close to the rabbi while mourning the loss of his father, a college professor who learned with Samuels. After the funeral, the son discovered his father’s tefillin bag and asked Samuels what he should do with them.
The rabbi’s natural response changed Scott’s life: "Well, you have to put them on." Today, Heifetz lives a religious life and testified that "putting on tefillin is certainly a catalyst for doing other mitzvot."
Samuels says he is still looking to inspire others. "There is so much to accomplish, we need more to join."
It all started 40 years ago.
One Monday morning, Yosef Samuels woke abruptly to his father’s announcement that war had broken out in Israel. The year was 1967, and Samuels was a young yeshiva student. He hurriedly made his way to 770 Eastern Parkway, the Brooklyn address of the Lubavitch World Headquarters, to join others in seeking guidance from the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
But when he got to the doors, he was halted by Rabbi Dovid Raskin, head of the Lubavitch Youth Organization. Addressing the student’s jumpiness, Rabbi Raskin simply told him, "You have to go put tefillin on people."
Indeed, in his public remarks on the previous Shabbat, the Rebbe addressed the mitzvah of tefillin with a unique vigor. Quoting various Talmudic passages, he spoke about tefillin ensuring the safety of our brothers and sisters in Israel. That Shabbat, the Rebbe gave specific instructions to go out and find other Jewish men to perform the important mitzvah. But his orders took some digesting.
"Nobody knew what the Rebbe wanted," said Samuels, "Who knew how to approach a stranger and tell him to roll up his sleeve? You can’t just do something like that!"
Samuels knew what he had to do. A bank stood across from 770; without delay, Samuels marched right in. With bravery he didn’t know he had, him, the yeshiva student went straight to the president of the bank. "You know there’s a war?" he asked him. The bank president nodded yes and, in an unimaginably ideal response, asked, "What can I do?"
Now, many years later, Samuels tells the rest of the story with wonderment in his voice: "Here was a banker looking at a penniless yeshiva boy. But when I told him about tefillin, he got up and took me upstairs to his private office." It was there in that office that Samuels put tefillin on someone for the very first time.
It was a moment that shaped the rest of his life.
Since that day in the small office atop a Brooklyn bank, Samuels has virtually never put his tefillin bag down, committed to a lifestyle that has by now touched close to a hundred thousand lives.
"Whatever I do is connected to tefillin," said Samuels. "It is the air I breathe."
Wherever he is, there are his tefillin: at community events, hospitals, shopping centers, on planes and anywhere else imaginable. When guests are expected for Shabbat, he phones them to ensure they come before sundown, lest they miss the opportunity to put on tefillin.
When he gives a class, his students often leave with more than new information – they take away a lasting inspiration from a mitzvah that, as he clearly sees it, effectuates a strong connection that rejuvenates their inherent bond with Torah and mitzvot.
"The Six Day War was a very powerful time," he said. "There was a massive spiritual awakening among the people."
He recalled visiting universities on Fridays. With a small group of friends, he would stand for hours putting tefillin on students. One time, at Queens College, they had a line that snaked down countless steps and into the cafeteria. Once, the swarms of people wanting to put on tefillin kept Samuels and his fellow yeshiva students there until they had to rush back home for Shabbat. They were still driving when sundown, and the onset of Shabbat, was moments away. They had no choice but to park, lock everything into the car and continue home by foot.
"Someone who puts on tefillin with others has the opportunity to really see the greatness of people, of their souls," he explained. "This affects the way he interacts with people, friends and family, bringing a renewed respect for everyone. When one rolls up his sleeves, you’re watching the greatness of a Jew."
"People often become serious and very emotional," he added. "No one wraps tefillin without some deep emotion. Nobody walks away from it apathetic."
Plenty of Jews have found their Jewish connection to Judaism through Samuels’s tefillin. One such person, Scott Heifetz, became close to the rabbi while mourning the loss of his father, a college professor who learned with Samuels. After the funeral, the son discovered his father’s tefillin bag and asked Samuels what he should do with them.
The rabbi’s natural response changed Scott’s life: "Well, you have to put them on." Today, Heifetz lives a religious life and testified that "putting on tefillin is certainly a catalyst for doing other mitzvot."
Samuels says he is still looking to inspire others. "There is so much to accomplish, we need more to join."
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Moscow to Get First Mitzvah Mobile
Moscow will soon be receiving its first Chabad "Mitzvah Mobile," according to an August 20th report on the Chabad.org website.
The large recreational vehicles -- mobile Jewish educational and outreach centers for areas not serviced by Chabad Houses -- are visible in cities all around the world, but this will be the first one in the Russian capital. The first such vehicle took to the road in New York City in 1974, as a means of reaching secular Jews and introducing them to Lubavitcher-style Chassidism.
Chabad hopes to have the vehice up and running by the High Holidays in September to distribute Shabbat candles, teach small sections of the torah and get Jewish men to don tefillin.
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