A College Graduate In A Yellow Mini-Dress Walked Into A Chabad House….50 Years Ago

by Aliza BasMenachem

I wasn’t being disrespectful. It was Elul, aka August. The weather was hot. And I didn’t know there was a dress code. If I didn’t even know there was a dress code, what was I doing there? Let’s just say that G-d stretched His anthropomorphic hand from heaven, pointed to me, and said ‘This one’. Kindly and without pressure I was offered random pieces of clothing and I began to fit in. I arrived at the Chabad House on 15 Montcalm Court in S. Paul, MN as the summer program for clueless women was finishing up. But there were still a few classes to attend. I attended a class by

Rabbi Moshe Feller. He spoke about the number of people at Har (Mount) Sinai as G-d announced the Ten Commandments. Sixty thousand men between the ages of 20 and 60 were there. Rabbi Feller said they had wives, children and parents. He figured there were roughly three million people in attendance. He explained that the way to transmit the Har Sinai experience was for parents to tell their children. Parents wouldn’t lie to their children. It was an un-broken chain until today. It could be that the giving of the Torah never happened. That people decided to make up a story about it and say it was true. But he argued that people would push back and say that it can’t be true or my parents or grandparents would have told me. Afterall, the claim was that The Torah would be handed down from parents to children. It could not have been freshly composed fiction, or privately discovered, engraved on golden plates, it had to be true. I agreed with what Rabbi Feller said. In fact, my father used to host a Seder every year. He did it the way his father and grandfather had conducted their Seders. At our Seder we took turns reading from the Haggadah about the Jews leaving Egypt to receive the Torah, at the same Har Sinai that Rabbi Feller was speaking about.

I also attended a class by Rabbi Manis Friedman. He struck me as being a scrawny guy with a wispy beard. His clear eyes made up for it. He described a robber who, before making his heist, would stop for a moment to pray. Manis asked us if he was a good person or a bad person. He robs. But he also prays. The lesson turned out to be about Chochmah, Binah and Daas. In brief, it was about connecting what you know to be right, through your Chochmah (intellect), with your Binah (deeper understanding and emotions), to the level that leads to Daas (the depth of intellect and emotions that leads to action).

Weeks later I was walking down Kinston Avenue in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, the hub of the Chabad Lubavitch movement, and I was stopped by the one of the only people who could possibly have recognized me, Manis Friedman. He asked me what I was doing there and was quick to tell me I was not ready for this. I accepted what he said and told him I would leave. But he changed his mind, saying, “If you’re here already, it’s Beshert. Don’t go”.

I stayed.

I went to 770 Shabbos morning. Unlike the few Shuls I had been to in my life, I noticed how shabby it was. I noticed the rapid movement of the lips of those Davening around me, as I struggled to read syllable by syllable. I got carried away by the beautiful, soulful singing. Especially the song during the repetition of Musaf. One of my favorite parts of Davening until this day.

Leaving 770, I turned towards Brooklyn Avenue and became part of a flow of Chassidim up down the block. Then, without warning, I was alone. All at once, without saying anything, everyone else ran and hid. They ran down driveways and hid behind houses, they hid behind trees or they jumped the short supporting walls in front the houses and crouched behind the brickwork. Confused, I looked around. I saw the Rebbe. He was walking in my direction with a strong, steady pace that did not break as he passed by. He turned to me as he passed and wished me Good Shabbos. His smile was uplifting… to say the least. His eyes were smiling. It felt like his soul was smiling at my soul. As he continued walking forward I was struck by a strange realization. I knew the smile and greeting were momentary. But it felt like it was entire experience that lasted longer than the time I consciously knew that it took place.

I was now on my way to adopting a Chabad Chassidic lifestyle. For the first time in my life, I was studying diligently. There was so much to learn and I wanted to learn it asap. I was living with a Chabad family where I was quickly picking up on how to run a Torah observant household, the foundation of a Jewish life. From here on in I was looking forward to happiness and peace, what could go wrong?

A popular story in the Talmud is about a man referred to as Nachum Ish Gamzu. His name was derived for his famous saying, “Gam Zu L’Tovah”, which means, this also is for the best. Notice it doesn’t say anything about, as Hashem makes things happen, everything is obviously the best. That’s because it is not obvious that everything is the best. Sometimes things are pretty horrible. That’s why ‘Gam Zu L’Tovah’ is such an oft used expression. We try to make the best of a horrible situation and Nachum Ish Gamzu’s expression gives us the perspective that helps us cope. More times than I like to remember I have told myself that even when things are rough, this too is for the best, and I add on that it is a Mitzvah to serve Hashem B’Simcha, with joy. My name Aliza means Joy.

I was not alone on my journey. I would guess there were a few dozen women who had come to Crown Heights in the previous few years. We were at different stages in learning our new lifestyle, ancient as it is. We were all vulnerable to the Chabad-born, Russian- accented, establishment. Because of our ignorance, we would act according to how we were instructed. It took me awhile to distinguish my American/Canadian self from the cultural traits of my mentors. I would never be fully like them, which is fine, because they would never fully accept me. I believe that has changed over fifty years, as generations of newcomers and establishment have intermarried.

I gave up my yellow mini-dress. It was really cute, but it wasn’t for me anymore. I did have a few homemade ankle length skirts. I used to wear jeans like all my friends. Then in college I got the idea to switch to skirts. Then I got the idea to switch to ankle length skirts – but stores didn’t sell them, so I made them myself. One was made from beautiful material I bought in the openair market in Chichicastenango, Guatemala, South America. I thought long skirts would be perfect in Crown Heights, but I got pushback from women in the community. The dress code had to do with being modest, and they said that my long skirts attracted attention, since I was the only one wearing them. So I went to Rabbi Yisroel Jacobson, one of the chief rabbis in Crown Heights who helped the rest of us apply Torah by resolving our questions. I told him that I was being told that my long skirts were not modest. He was surprised by my question and assured me that my appearance was modest. It would never have occurred to me that even Chassidic women were just being women and they were jealous of me.

It’s not that I want to belittle the women who were an example to me. I want to illustrate that it was a challenge to find my identity. I had graduated college. Now it was like I was back in elementary school struggling with reading Hebrew and figuring out what to do or not do on Shabbos. Me, with my dual US/Canadian citizenship, felt like a new immigrant. I had grown up with friends and neighbors who were not Jewish. I could still get together with them, but it was different. I was different. The foods we ate were suddenly different. The music we listened to was different. They had never heard of recording artists called Eli Lipsker’s Boys Choir. Remember, this was 1973. Avraham Fried had barely celebrated his Bar Mitzvah.

Things have changed over the years. My kids are much like the kids/grandkids/great grandkids of the original Chassidim to arrive in Crown Heights from the Soviet Union. Some of my kids and grandkids have embraced Yiddishkeit, some have rejected it, and some observe Torah their own way. It’s called Chabad Lite.

Much tougher than figuring out my relationships with my new community and my old community, was, and still is, figuring out my relationship with my close relatives.

By the time I walked into the Chabad House on Montclair Ct, my father had passed away three years before. I think that had he been with us, things would have been different. My mother was not prepared for what I was doing. My siblings may have had bumps along the road, but their roads were parallel to what was expected of them. I had found myself a tangent. Or you might call it an extreme. I was brought up with excellent values, and I took those values to the extreme.

In addition to being faced with my extreme behavior, my mother had a pre-conceived idea about Chassidim. Her grandmother considered herself a Reform Jew, part of the German Jewish communities in the Wisconsin, and had distain for the less ‘refined’ Jews who spoke Yiddish and studied ancient books. When I was thirteen years old we took a family trip to Eretz Yisroel. We were in Yerushalaim and the road was blocked. There was a stream of men walking so that they were filling the street that crossed in front of where we were headed. The flow of men kept on coming. We were told that it was the funeral procession for a famous Rabbi.

What struck me was how these men were dressed and that they all dressed the same. It was a hot day, but they were wearing long black coats and hats. And big black shoes. In the heat, everyone else was in shorts, short sleeved tops and sandals.

I asked my mother who these people were. My mother calmly, seriously, without sarcasm or hostility, told me: “There are three types of Jews. Reform, Conservation, that’s what we are, and Orthodox. And these people are Chassidim and they are crazy.”

I had a lot of struggles at the beginning of my transition, but the strength of my enthusiasm pulled me through. I was happy to have a purpose to my life. A direction to steer all my actions towards. Yeah, I had a college degree in business, but studying about Yiddishkeit was much more interesting and fulfilling.

In particular, I loved learning the Rebbe’s Sichos and Tanya. It would be years before the Sichos were available in English. Then there was Lessons In Tanya. First in Yiddish, then in Hebrew and finally in English. The number of English speaking ‘immigrants’ was increasing. And new books kept coming.
As my first year ended and it was Elul once again, I was already married and expecting my first child. When he was born, the mother in me was born. Who could have imagined I would go on to have six more? Bli Ayin Hara. I am very blessed.

Over the years I learned how to cook and bake. My grandchildren love my Challah. One likes it with chocolate chips, another needs it to be Spelt flour. Whatever they want, is what I make for them.
We lived a few years in Eretz Yisroel. Immigrants again. My older kids learned Hebrew. I got by with English. But it was wonderful to have experienced living there. We moved back to North America and settled into the Chabad community in Montreal. Nice community. Then my marriage broke up. For seven years I was a single mom. But I never really identified as a single mom. I had a vibrant household of kids and their friends. We shared our Shabbos table with a variety of guests. I never felt I was in a broken home. And did my best to help the kids feel that way.

Then I married again and moved to Crown Heights. There are pros and cons about marrying at this stage of life, but I do believe the pros outweigh the cons. The Rebbe encouraged being married. We’ve now been married more than twenty-five years. Let’s just say, so far, so good.

Being in the world-wide Chabad community made me into a reader, a writer and a speaker. In college, I took analytical courses, partially because I was not a good reader. But when I became religious, I searched out whatever English books I could, and just broke through any disability or resistance I had previously experienced. While living in Montreal, I started writing for the Nshei Chabad Newsletter, that was read by women, and their menfolk, around the world. I also co-created the Montreal Nshei Chabad Newsletter.

When the internet came into our lives I wrote articles that were posted on Jewish websites. Then I wrote a book. An historical novel about the evacuation from Gush Katif. Not only is it an historical record of the details of what happened, it also represents Chabad values and lifestyle, and it is a great story. The actual plot was written by what actually happened. That brings us to speaking. I think it’s because I am a writer that I am asked to speak. There have been times when I have had good responses. And I am grateful for the times I have been given the opportunities to speak. Among the many opportunities is one that stands out. Three times a year, the men leave the main Shul at 770, and the women have an event there. Before Gimmel Tammuz it was a Fabrengen with the Rebbe. Now it is a program. I have had the experience of being the MC on the platform downstairs in 770. It is an incredible experience and an honor that I may not be deserving of, but that does not keep me from appreciating those treasured moments.

I have had a number of jobs over the years. Mostly with Chabad Houses or affiliated Chabad institutions. The most exciting and adventurous was my ten years being part of the launching of Chabad of Hevron, while getting to know Hevron and writing about it. In addition to help setting up the 501c3 status, and the data base, and the website, I was responsible for press releases and the annual newsletter. And when I wasn’t writing specifically for Chabad of Hevron, I was writing about it for Chabad websites and magazines. I think adventure is part of life. I was lucky to have meaningful adventures and still come out safe.

The biggest adventure of all is being a mother and grandmother. I have been very blessed. My mother used to say that having children keeps you young. I agree. And I will add that grandchildren keeps your energy level from getting old.

Looking back over the years, with the challenges and satisfactions, I see that the Chabad lifestyle has worked for me.

I am happy I was rescued from a life that looked just fine on the outside, but only I knew was empty on the inside. I had graduated college at twenty years old. Upon graduation I traveled as far south as Santiago, Chile. At twenty-one, the world I lived in was not calling for me to be a wife and mother. It was not calling to me to anything. I was not someone who yearned to be a doctor or a pianist or anything. I was not a person who was motivated by material gains. I was susceptible to being lured astray.

I am glad and grateful Hashem pointed to me and said ‘this one’. And that the Rebbe prepared a safety network of Chabad Houses, to be on location and ready to rescue clueless wanderers like me.
It was Elul 1973. Now its Elul 2023. Ksiva Vhasima Tovah.

We should all share a wonderful New Year, full of wonders… with Moshiach Now!

AFTER THOUGHT: So many of us came to Chabad in the sixties and seventies. We all have stories we can share. You might have one particular story or a number of highlights. Once you start writing, more meaningful stories present themselves. It would be great if someone took the initiative to gather and organize the stories. I know many of us have had this idea. I hope a gatherer and organizer comes forward to the task. That would be a story in itself.