Here’s My Story: A Fleeting Glimpse of Greatness
Rabbi Moshe Orenstein
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It was Shabbat, in the summer of 1991, and I was a student in the yeshivah at 770 Eastern Parkway. My close friend, Rabbi Zalman Notik, was getting married that week, and so we were also celebrating his “aufruf,” when the groom is called up for the reading of the Torah — the portion of Naso.
At 1:30 PM, the Rebbe held a farbrengen — as he did every Shabbat in those years — after which we went to celebrate with the groom in a home in Crown Heights. It was around 8:00 that evening when suddenly someone burst in shouting, “Farbrengen!” — the Rebbe is holding a farbrengen!
Another farbrengen, unscheduled, and so late in the day!? Most of us thought it was a prank. But I decided not to take any chances. I ran toward 770, and as I got closer, I saw others teeming hurriedly in the same direction.
The scene that greeted me when I entered 770 was like no farbrengen I had seen before. The Rebbe was sitting at the edge of the platform at the front of the synagogue, where he normally prayed, speaking to a few dozen chasidim clustered around him. Usually at farbrengens the Rebbe sat behind a long table to the side of the room, set off from the crowd, with the elder chasidim positioned closest to him. Now, there was no table at all — just the Rebbe on a chair, encircled mostly by yeshivah students.
I later learned that only minutes before sunset, the Rebbe had suddenly walked into the synagogue from his room upstairs, holding his prayer book in one hand and a cup of water and towel in the other. The Rebbe washed his hands, made the blessing for bread, and — once the few people who happened to be in the room at the time recovered from their shock — the farbrengen began.
By the time I had weaved my way towards the front, the Rebbe was finishing the first of three talks. He then asked that we sing the chasidic melodies associated with each of the Rebbes of Chabad, starting with the Three Stanzas, composed by the Baal Shem Tov, the Maggid of Mezritch, and the Alter Rebbe.
“Through this,” he said, “we will leave the Exile!”
The Rebbe’s words had an electrifying effect, and the atmosphere soared with emotion and excitement — everyone felt something extraordinary was happening. The Rebbe strongly encouraged the singing, but for the most part his face was serious and there was a certain intensity to his demeanor.
In the second talk, the Rebbe noted that according to the mystics, Shabbat afternoon is when the full “divine delight” of the holy day is revealed. He went on to speak about serving G-d with joy and pleasure, especially through Torah study. This message, he emphasized, was particularly directed at the yeshivah students — who made up most of the crowd.
As news spread of the surprise farbrengen, people poured in. We could feel it in the pressing of the crowd, which soon had the capacious room filled to overflowing. A little after 10:00 PM, the Rebbe announced that it was time to conclude. Then, after the Havdalah service, he stayed to distribute wine from his cup. This was known as Kos Shel Bracha, and typically it would only take place at the conclusion of festivals.
Only after midnight did the distribution end. The chasidim then carried with a farbrengen of their own, singing and dancing deep into the night, exulting in this otherworldly experience they had just witnessed.
As it happened, I had personally witnessed a vivid example of the “delight in Torah” that the Rebbe urged during that farbrengen earlier that week — on the evening following the holiday of Shavuot.
The entire preceding week leading up to Shavuot had been relentlessly demanding for the Rebbe, starting with the preceding Sunday, when the Rebbe stood for over six hours distributing dollars for thousands of people to give to charity. Less than an hour later, he came down to the main synagogue to deliver an hour-long address to the international convention of the Lubavitch Women’s Organization.
The next day, Monday, he went to visit the resting place of the Previous Rebbe. On such days the Rebbe would not eat; he stood there in prayer for hours, and upon returning — after the evening service — he again stood distributing dollars to those present.
The Rebbe also went to the Previous Rebbe’s resting place and repeated that exhausting schedule on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. On Friday, he returned to 770 barely fifteen minutes before Shabbat candle-lighting. Two of the Rebbe’s Torah publications came out in that same time period — a scholarly discussion about the laws of the Counting of the Omer and a profound chasidic discourse on Shavuot.
Both had been personally edited by the Rebbe, which meant reviewing and correcting every line by hand, while making notes and additions. I remember wondering: How does the Rebbe find the time for all this?
Then came Shabbat, with the usual farbrengen filled with deep Torah talks and spirited singing, immediately followed by the first night of Shavuot, when the Rebbe remained awake the entire night to read the traditional Tikkun.
On the second evening of the holiday, chasidim would go out to visit communities and synagogues across New York, to bring joy and words of Torah. Once everybody returned to 770, close to midnight, the Rebbe came out to greet them and deliver another talk. A reference he made to some individuals “who recite the Tikkun on both nights of Shavuot” suggested that the Rebbe may have been staying awake to study Torah for a second consecutive night.
The next day brought yet another farbrengen, lasting until nightfall, and then thousands of people passing before the Rebbe, who stood and distributed wine to all of them. It was already after 2:00 AM when Kos Shel Bracha ended, and the Rebbe — then eighty-nine years old — left the hall briskly and went up to his room.
We, young students of nineteen and twenty, were completely exhausted; after the all-night learning, the visits to those communities, and hours of standing during the farbrengens, we just wanted to sleep. But first, I stepped outside for some air. Standing outside 770, opposite the Rebbe’s room, I noticed something odd: The curtain that covered his window was slightly drawn aside.
In all my four years studying at 770, I had never seen the curtain moved. The windows themselves were frosted, but just translucent enough to see through. I couldn’t resist — I looked.
Mere moments had passed since the Rebbe entered his room, yet there he was, seated at his desk, still wearing his kapota and hat, leaning over a large open volume — possibly the Talmud or the Tur Code of Jewish Law — completely immersed in learning. After ten relentless days, after six hours of farbrengen and Kos Shel Bracha, the Rebbe had not paused for even a sip of tea or a moment’s rest. He went straight to his Torah books, as if pouncing at the opportunity to study them.
After a few minutes, someone entered the room and closed the curtain. I suddenly felt a little guilty, as though I’d intruded on something private. But the sight was seared into my heart.
For a brief moment, I had peered into the Rebbe’s inner world. The Rebbe often spoke about studying Torah with passion and inner joy — and now I had seen it.
Dean of the Chabad yeshivah in Netanya and rabbi of the local Yeshurun synagogue, Rabbi Moshe Orenstein had also authored several collections of stories about the Rebbe. He was interviewed in May 2024.
