David Goldberg, 80, CIA Officer Turned Poet, Touched by the Rebbe
by Menachem Posner – chabad.org
Dave Goldberg never set out to be a poet. But then, neither did he envision himself becoming a religious Jew.
Following a career as an intelligence analyst and economist that spanned the U.S. Navy, the CIA and decades in the private sector, Goldberg, who passed away last week at the age of 80, took to writing poetry. Together with paintings by his late wife, Gail Pinchot-Goldberg, his work has been shining new light on time-hallowed Judaic and Chassidic concepts, most recently in a joint exhibition in downtown Milwaukee’s “art | ovation” program.
His journey to Judaism was long and personal, involving pain and discovery, loss and growth, as well as an encounter with the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—in whom he found a source of spiritual guidance.
Goldberg’s story begins in Chicago’s western suburbs, which were solidly middle class but not very Jewish. His parents kept a kosher home, in part to please his grandmother, and he would occasionally accompany his father to synagogue, though he didn’t see Judaism as a big part of his life.
In 1961, he graduated from the University of Chicago in just three years with a major in economics. While there, he had rubbed shoulders with the likes of economists Milton Friedman and George Stigler. Even as he scaled the peaks of academia and saw the promises of financial success, he knew that something was missing. Only years later would he recognize that the missing piece was the soul, the Divine element that is at once within everything and beyond it all.
In the words that he would pen much later in life:
Without a soul, what is man?
Nothing but an ant in kind
Whose life has no purpose or meaning
Thus, he turned down an offer to join the university’s prestigious Committee on Social Thought, which would support him through his Ph.D., on the condition that he “produce a significant contribution to human thought.” Instead, he turned to the U.S. Navy, where he joined a reserve program located in Glenview, a suburb of Chicago, and then Denver. His primary focus was on helping stave off the threat posed by Soviet submarines.
“At that time,” he recalled in a conversation with Chabad.org shortly before his passing, “I had no interest in either Yiddishkeit or the arts.”
One day, he received a call from his high school sweetheart, Gail Pinchot, an art student at the Art Institute of Chicago. In 1964, following his term of duty, he returned to Chicago, and the two married the following year. “We were living the life of the young married—the time of our lives—and we anticipated kids as a matter of course,” said Goldberg.
But a first pregnancy that ended in stillbirth tempered their expectations.
The couple then moved to Washington, where David took a job with the CIA, and Gail became a bartender and a sales clerk at a hardware store.
Upon learning that they were once again expecting a child, they chose to make their home in Southeast Washington, primarily because there was a synagogue there, Southeast Hebrew Congregation, and they wanted to raise their child in a Jewish atmosphere.
As David climbed the ranks in the agency, Gail also took a job there, using her artist’s eye to prepare briefing boards for the director.
But that pregnancy also resulted in stillbirth, and Gail’s mental and emotional health was suffering. And their home remained empty. After months of soul-searching and draining doctor’s visits, they decided to adopt and returned to Chicago so that they could do so with the benefit of family nearby.
The couple settled in the city’s Hollywood Park neighborhood and prepared to become adoptive parents.
“We had been told that before we adopt, we should speak to a rabbi about it,” said Goldberg, “and Gail’s brother, Roy Pinchot, recommended that we meet a Chabad rabbi named Solomon Hecht, whose congregation was nearby.”
After Goldberg introduced himself and laid down his plans, the rabbi invited him to return to his home weekly to learn more about Judaism.
A Fateful Meeting With the Rebbe
As to Goldberg’s query regarding adoption, his reply was simple: “I want you to meet a rabbi in New York.”
The rabbi was “the Rebbe.”
“He did not tell me this was the world-famous rebbe—one of the most profound thinkers and social architects of Judaism, a man revered all over the world,” said Goldberg. “Just a ‘rabbi in New York.’ ”
And so, in December of 1969, accompanied by Hecht’s father-in-law, Rabbi Israel Jacobson, the Goldbergs flew to New York to meet the Rebbe.
Half a century later, he still recalled the culture shock of learning that their overnight accommodations would be an outdoor porch with just sleeping bags and space heaters for warmth.
But they were there for a purpose.
Their appointment was scheduled for well after midnight, and as the delays continued, they feared that they would soon miss their early-morning flight back home.
Finally, their turn came to meet the Rebbe face to face. Clutching a Hebrew note Hecht had written outlining their challenge with starting a family, they entered the Rebbe’s wood-paneled office crowded with Torah books.
“The Rebbe looked at us, and it felt like he was looking right through us,” said Goldberg. “He was looking at our souls; there is no other way of describing it.”
The Rebbe’s words to them, as Goldberg recalled it, were: “You will have a boy, and you will have a girl. Conceive them in love, raise them in Yiddishkeit, and come back to me in one year with good news.”
An economist by training, Goldberg calculated the odds of the Rebbe’s words materializing and termed them as “very long odds!”
Nevertheless, they soon discover that Gail was pregnant, and confident in the Rebbe’s assurance that they would have a boy, they began discussing boy names.
Feeling that their son was a gift from Above, they wanted to name him after a Jewish leader, but Hecht encouraged them to select a name that spoke to them and which reflected their son’s soul.
In August of 1970, a little more than nine months after their visit to the Rebbe, a boy was born; they chose to name him Lev Yitzchak. They were shocked to discover that the Rebbe’s father, who had died while exiled for his heroic stand for Judaism in the Soviet Union, was named Levi Yitzchak.
And as promised, they made sure to send word to the Rebbe that his blessing was actualizing.
In 1974, he was followed by a sister, Batya, which means “daughter of God.”
“I continued to wrestle with Jewish belief and practice for years,” said Goldberg, “mostly because I was ignorant of the basics. But in time, my life began to revolve around Torah study, synagogue attendance, kosher and living a meaningful Jewish life.”
The Goldbergs chose to raise their young family in the suburb of Skokie. There, together with Gail’s brother, Roy Pinchot, under the influence of Hecht, they were among the founders of the new Orthodox synagogue, Or Torah. Also encouraged by Hecht, Goldberg was active in sharing mitzvah observance with others.
“For decades, I was among the group of Or Torah men who would walk to the hospital on Rosh Hashanah to blow shofar for the patients,” he recalled. “By the end of the day, my lips would be drooping, but for me, it was enjoyable and rewarding.”
In 1982, when Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie was founded, it was officially launched with a farbrengen in the Goldberg home, and Goldberg became a stalwart participant, attending almost daily to pray and study.
‘My Experiences Gave Me Something to Say’
He said that many of his Jewish-themed poems are an attempt to articulate his journey to belief and serve as a clarion call for others to do the same.
This is most evident in Coming Full Circle, a slender volume of poetry and art. Unlike previous volumes, which did not speak in overtly religious terms, this one contains a series called “Poetry of Chassidus.”
In it, Goldberg distilled lofty Chassidic concepts formulated by the Chabad rebbes into poetry that can be read and understood by both longtime students of Chassidic thoughts and neophytes.
Perhaps The Life to Choose, the opening poem of the collection, best articulates the turning point in Goldberg’s own life in the following lines:
Miracles are strange events
With happy endings at long odds
Like life itself amid the void,
Given by a gracious G‑d.
The book was dedicated in memory of his wife and co-collaborator, who passed away in 2021.
As to why he chose to write poetry as he approached his ninth decade of life, he stated in the book’s preface that “until the last two years I never considered myself a poet. I had been a Naval Reserve Officer, an industrial engineer, an intelligence officer with the CIA, and a business executive. Poetry was ‘merely’ a self-taught hobby. But my life experiences gave me something to say. And I found poetry the best way to say it.”
Goldberg, who is survived by his two children, passed away on Friday, July 14, less than two weeks after releasing his final book of poetry, Finding the Light of G‑d.
