Hasidic Rebbes and Me (Mostly the Bostoner Rebbe)
Title
Hasidic Rebbes and Me (Mostly the Bostoner Rebbe)
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"The Bostoner Rebbe, the first American born Hasidic Rebbe, died Saturday, December 5, 2009, and it got me to thinking..."
Date
2009-12-28
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Coverage
1957/2009
Identifier
1957-2009_The_Bostoner_Rebbe_died_recently
Text
Hasidic Rebbes and Me (Mostly the Bostoner Rebbe)
The Bostoner Rebbe, the first American born Hasidic Rebbe, died Saturday, December 5, 2009, and it got me to thinking: about him, about his son who was our neighbor when we lived on Evans Road, and about the strange coincidence of my living in close proximity, first with the Lubavitcher Rebbe in Crown Heights, and then with the Bostoner Rebbe in Brookline.
In 1957, Sylvia and I had spent a year looking everywhere in Manhattan for a four room apartment that we could afford. We came up empty-handed. Out of desperation, we decided to look in Brooklyn, and lo and behold, there was a wonderful apartment in a wonderful apartment house, 960 Sterling Place, in Crown Heights, and at a wonderful price. We had no idea that we were just a few blocks away from the International Headquarters of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendl Schneerson.
We thought we were moving into a charming, integrated neighborhood, located between Bedford Stuyvesant and Flatbush. Saul Alinsky once remarked, cynically, that an integrated neighborhood was that moment in time between all-white and all-black. But Alinsky didn’t reckon with the Lubavitcher, nor with the staying power of young, white progressives. For the next eight years, the Hasidim, as well as young, white progressives, and middle class black families, were our neighbors. It was very easy to tell them apart. The three groups wore different hats.
The followers of the Lubavitcher Rebbe thought of him as “Meshiach,” the Messiah. And except for certain Jewish holidays, they didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother them. (On Succos, they would pounce on you with a lulav and essorg to get you to bentch essrog.) Another coincidence: When Schneerson died, he was buried in Montifiore Cemetery in Queens, where my father was buried.
Hasidic Rebbes are part of a dynasty, usually passed on from father to son. (Sometimes to sons-in-laws.) This was true of the Lubavitcher and the Satmar and the Bobover, and it is also true of the Bostoner. The Bostoner Rebbe’s father, Grand Rabbi Pinchas David Horowitz, came to Boston from Palestine in 1915, becoming the first Bostoner Rebbe. He then moved to Williamsburg, N.Y. in 1939 with his family. In 1943, his younger son, Levi Yitzhak Horowitz, returned to Boston and established the New England Hasidic Center, Beth Pinchas, becoming the next Bostoner Rebbe. . His older brother stayed in Brooklyn, taking care of business there, and was known as the Chuster Rav. .
I first heard of the Bostoner Rebbe from my friend Lou Brin. Lou and I were in the ILGWU together in 1950, but after a few years as an organizer, Lou left, and returned to Boston where his family owned the Jewish Advocate. He became its editor (The Bostoner Redactor.)
Lou received a visit at the Advocate office from a desperate young man who explained that he is from Denver, his mother had died, and he wanted to return home to attend the funeral. He had no money to pay for the fare. He promised to return and pay back the money. Can the Advocate help him? Lou explained that, unfortunately, the Advocate could not, but possibly the Bostoner Rebbe could. He told the young man to see the Rebbe, and that he would call the Rebbe to tell him of the young man’s plight. Lou called the Rebbe, and described the situation, saying that if the young man reneges, he would cover the loss. The Rebbe thanked Lou for sending the man to him, and added that he doesn’t want Lou to cover anything. If he did, the Rebbe observed, “Then where is the Mitzvah?”
In 1982, Fran and I, with our year old son, David, moved into a lovely home at 40 Evans Road. Little did we know that the modest building around the corner at Beacon Street and Williston Road, with a girl’s name—Beth Pinchas-- was the Shul of The Bostoner Rebbe. When the house next door to us was up for sale, it was bought by the son of the Bostoner Rebbe, Rabbi Mayer Horowitz, We became neighbors. (I once made the mistake of calling him Meyer. He was as offended as I am when someone calls me Jack.)
Soon after Mayer and his family moved to Evans Road, I was on the trolley coming home from work. A woman sat down next to me. As we approached Coolidge Corner, she asked me, out of the blue, where I live. I said Evans Road. She asked me if I knew the Bostoner Rebbe’s son Mayer. I said yes. She then told me that he has a very low sperm count, and that he married a second time because his first wife did not give him any children. I looked at her in amazement, but the trolley came to my stop and I had to get off.
When Mayer and his family moved next door, they redid the house; the old kitchen became two new kitchens: one milchik and one fleischik. Their daughter, Bat Sheva, was about four, a year older than David, and they became good friends, and played in each other’s homes. Her mother made herself “nisht visindik” (not knowing) since Bat Sheva was watching TV at our house with David, and reading his secular books, activities which she was not allowed to do in her home.
For the next couple of years, Bat Sheva and her cousins would come into our yard, usually on Shabbos, after Shul—we had a swing and a slide. One Saturday, Fran was watching the kids outside, when the phone rang. She went inside to answer. When she came outside, one of Bat Sheva’s cousins, a five year old, asked if she was Jewish. Fran answered “yes.” The little girl put her hands on her hips and demanded to know why, if she was Jewish, is she answering the phone on Shabbos. When I complimented one of Bat Sheva’s cousins on how pretty she looked, she replied: “It’s Shabbos.” David has a fond memory of accompanying Bat Sheva to her grandfather’s Shul before Pesach to watch them baking Shmurah Matzahs. There are not too many of us who have had that experience.
When we were sitting Shiva after Fran’s mother died, Mayer would come over each evening and ask us, “How many do you need?” It took me a while to realize he was asking about men for the evening service, since ten men are required. We would place our order—two, three, four. And he would supply them. Like a thoughtful and aware Rabbi, he would spend a few minutes sitting with Fran’s father, chatting with him each evening.
The Rebbe decided to expand his operation, and opened a Bostoner Rebbe’s satellite in Har Nof, a section of Jerusalem. He assigned Mayer to the job, so Mayer, his wife and daughter left Brookline. Naphtali, his brother, moved into Mayer’s house on Evans Road, and became our new neighbor and the heir apparent. Soon after, we moved from Evans Road to Greenough Street. We never got to know Naphtali and his family. It was only recently that we learned that The Rebbe also had two daughters; both of course, married to Rabbis, one in New York and the other in Jerusalem. For the past several years, the Rebbe began spending more and more time in Israel. However, his health was failing, and that is where he died, at the age of 88.
December 28, 2009
The Bostoner Rebbe, the first American born Hasidic Rebbe, died Saturday, December 5, 2009, and it got me to thinking: about him, about his son who was our neighbor when we lived on Evans Road, and about the strange coincidence of my living in close proximity, first with the Lubavitcher Rebbe in Crown Heights, and then with the Bostoner Rebbe in Brookline.
In 1957, Sylvia and I had spent a year looking everywhere in Manhattan for a four room apartment that we could afford. We came up empty-handed. Out of desperation, we decided to look in Brooklyn, and lo and behold, there was a wonderful apartment in a wonderful apartment house, 960 Sterling Place, in Crown Heights, and at a wonderful price. We had no idea that we were just a few blocks away from the International Headquarters of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendl Schneerson.
We thought we were moving into a charming, integrated neighborhood, located between Bedford Stuyvesant and Flatbush. Saul Alinsky once remarked, cynically, that an integrated neighborhood was that moment in time between all-white and all-black. But Alinsky didn’t reckon with the Lubavitcher, nor with the staying power of young, white progressives. For the next eight years, the Hasidim, as well as young, white progressives, and middle class black families, were our neighbors. It was very easy to tell them apart. The three groups wore different hats.
The followers of the Lubavitcher Rebbe thought of him as “Meshiach,” the Messiah. And except for certain Jewish holidays, they didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother them. (On Succos, they would pounce on you with a lulav and essorg to get you to bentch essrog.) Another coincidence: When Schneerson died, he was buried in Montifiore Cemetery in Queens, where my father was buried.
Hasidic Rebbes are part of a dynasty, usually passed on from father to son. (Sometimes to sons-in-laws.) This was true of the Lubavitcher and the Satmar and the Bobover, and it is also true of the Bostoner. The Bostoner Rebbe’s father, Grand Rabbi Pinchas David Horowitz, came to Boston from Palestine in 1915, becoming the first Bostoner Rebbe. He then moved to Williamsburg, N.Y. in 1939 with his family. In 1943, his younger son, Levi Yitzhak Horowitz, returned to Boston and established the New England Hasidic Center, Beth Pinchas, becoming the next Bostoner Rebbe. . His older brother stayed in Brooklyn, taking care of business there, and was known as the Chuster Rav. .
I first heard of the Bostoner Rebbe from my friend Lou Brin. Lou and I were in the ILGWU together in 1950, but after a few years as an organizer, Lou left, and returned to Boston where his family owned the Jewish Advocate. He became its editor (The Bostoner Redactor.)
Lou received a visit at the Advocate office from a desperate young man who explained that he is from Denver, his mother had died, and he wanted to return home to attend the funeral. He had no money to pay for the fare. He promised to return and pay back the money. Can the Advocate help him? Lou explained that, unfortunately, the Advocate could not, but possibly the Bostoner Rebbe could. He told the young man to see the Rebbe, and that he would call the Rebbe to tell him of the young man’s plight. Lou called the Rebbe, and described the situation, saying that if the young man reneges, he would cover the loss. The Rebbe thanked Lou for sending the man to him, and added that he doesn’t want Lou to cover anything. If he did, the Rebbe observed, “Then where is the Mitzvah?”
In 1982, Fran and I, with our year old son, David, moved into a lovely home at 40 Evans Road. Little did we know that the modest building around the corner at Beacon Street and Williston Road, with a girl’s name—Beth Pinchas-- was the Shul of The Bostoner Rebbe. When the house next door to us was up for sale, it was bought by the son of the Bostoner Rebbe, Rabbi Mayer Horowitz, We became neighbors. (I once made the mistake of calling him Meyer. He was as offended as I am when someone calls me Jack.)
Soon after Mayer and his family moved to Evans Road, I was on the trolley coming home from work. A woman sat down next to me. As we approached Coolidge Corner, she asked me, out of the blue, where I live. I said Evans Road. She asked me if I knew the Bostoner Rebbe’s son Mayer. I said yes. She then told me that he has a very low sperm count, and that he married a second time because his first wife did not give him any children. I looked at her in amazement, but the trolley came to my stop and I had to get off.
When Mayer and his family moved next door, they redid the house; the old kitchen became two new kitchens: one milchik and one fleischik. Their daughter, Bat Sheva, was about four, a year older than David, and they became good friends, and played in each other’s homes. Her mother made herself “nisht visindik” (not knowing) since Bat Sheva was watching TV at our house with David, and reading his secular books, activities which she was not allowed to do in her home.
For the next couple of years, Bat Sheva and her cousins would come into our yard, usually on Shabbos, after Shul—we had a swing and a slide. One Saturday, Fran was watching the kids outside, when the phone rang. She went inside to answer. When she came outside, one of Bat Sheva’s cousins, a five year old, asked if she was Jewish. Fran answered “yes.” The little girl put her hands on her hips and demanded to know why, if she was Jewish, is she answering the phone on Shabbos. When I complimented one of Bat Sheva’s cousins on how pretty she looked, she replied: “It’s Shabbos.” David has a fond memory of accompanying Bat Sheva to her grandfather’s Shul before Pesach to watch them baking Shmurah Matzahs. There are not too many of us who have had that experience.
When we were sitting Shiva after Fran’s mother died, Mayer would come over each evening and ask us, “How many do you need?” It took me a while to realize he was asking about men for the evening service, since ten men are required. We would place our order—two, three, four. And he would supply them. Like a thoughtful and aware Rabbi, he would spend a few minutes sitting with Fran’s father, chatting with him each evening.
The Rebbe decided to expand his operation, and opened a Bostoner Rebbe’s satellite in Har Nof, a section of Jerusalem. He assigned Mayer to the job, so Mayer, his wife and daughter left Brookline. Naphtali, his brother, moved into Mayer’s house on Evans Road, and became our new neighbor and the heir apparent. Soon after, we moved from Evans Road to Greenough Street. We never got to know Naphtali and his family. It was only recently that we learned that The Rebbe also had two daughters; both of course, married to Rabbis, one in New York and the other in Jerusalem. For the past several years, the Rebbe began spending more and more time in Israel. However, his health was failing, and that is where he died, at the age of 88.
December 28, 2009
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “Hasidic Rebbes and Me (Mostly the Bostoner Rebbe),” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 30, 2024, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/79.