Here’s My Story: The History of My Future

Rabbi Moshe Weiss

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My wife Ruty and I got married in 1983, and after a few years went by without any children, it became obvious that there was an issue. This began our long struggle with infertility; private, painful, hard — and amazing.

At first we hoped that it could easily be fixed, but the doctor we went to gave us the bad news that it was not so simple. I needed to undergo a couple of surgical procedures, which the Rebbe encouraged, and even though the results were negative, his encouragement gave us the belief that it would all work out.
At one point in this arduous journey, the Rebbe advised us to follow the counsel of “a doctor who is a friend,” and so we went to more doctors. We also tried various spiritual remedies, special food, and Kabbalistic prayers, but nothing seemed to work.

Once, I was complaining about all this to my father, Reb Berel Weiss, who had a very close relationship with the Rebbe, and he decided that we would make a special trip to New York to ask the Rebbe for another blessing for my wife and me. The holiday of Lag B’omer was coming up, and traditionally, on this auspicious day in particular, the Rebbes of Chabad would give blessings for couples to have children. There was also a large children’s parade being held that year, and my father had been asked to sponsor it.

And so, in 1990, we traveled together from Los Angeles, arriving on the morning of Lag B’omer. The parade, held in front of 770 and presided over by the Rebbe, was amazing, and when it was finished, he looked like he was in heaven. “You can’t approach the Rebbe right now,” one of his secretaries said. “It’s not an appropriate time.”

Shortly after, though, the Rebbe would be going to immerse in the mikveh, and so we stood in the driveway outside of 770, hoping to see him when he left.

When the time came and the Rebbe walked out, he went straight over to my father. “Did you get a medallion yet?” he asked.

That year, the Rebbe had given out a special commemorative coin in honor of Lag B’omer and by then we had already gone to his secretariat’s office to receive one.

I could see my father struggle to answer: Had he said no, the Rebbe would have handed him one of those special commemorative coins in person, but of course he couldn’t lie. “Yes, I got one,” he finally replied.
I answered the same when the Rebbe asked me, and then he went into his car — before we had a chance to ask him anything.

When we then tried to speak with him after the mikveh, there were other people waiting in front of the building to ask for his blessings and we couldn’t get a word in edgewise. After that, he went to pray at the resting place of the Previous Rebbe, and we wouldn’t disturb him there.
“It’s just not meant to be,” I told my father.

It was past 10:00 PM when the Rebbe came back from the Previous Rebbe’s resting place to 770. After the evening service, he proceeded to give out dollars for charity to the people in the synagogue. It was quite late, and because the Rebbe had been on his feet all day, everyone took the dollar and kept moving without stopping to speak with him. But my father stood firm. Feeling dejected, I didn’t even bother joining him in the line, but from a distance, I watched as he approached the Rebbe.

“Today is an auspicious day,” he said, “and I’ve come to ask for a blessing for my son.”

“But Rashbi is here,” the Rebbe replied, referring to the great sage Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, whose passing is commemorated on Lag B’omer. Today is his day, he seemed to be saying. Why are you coming to me for a blessing?

“I want to have a blessing from this Rashbi,” my father insisted, and pointed at the Rebbe.

The Rebbe smiled, and looking at my father, said “Amen. May there be sons and daughters.”
“Amen!” my father replied. His face lit up as he turned around and nodded to me, as if to say, “Moshe, you’re all set!”

But another year went by and nothing happened. Rabbi Shmuel Dovid Raichik, who was our family rabbi, saw my pain, and he encouraged me to go and meet with the Rebbe again. Although by 1991, the Rebbe no longer held any private audiences, he would meet with the major donors to Chabad’s central fundraising arm, the Machne Israel Development Fund, twice a year.

So when I felt I had the ability to do so, I made the financial commitment, and following Rosh Hashanah of that year, my wife and I went to the Rebbe, accompanied by Rabbi Raichik.

When the occasion arrived, and we were able to meet with the Rebbe face to face, it was a majestic scene. My wife asked for a blessing for children, and the Rebbe gave us a few dollars and pieces of honey cake — as is traditional in the period before Yom Kippur.

“Give these [dollars] to charity,” he said, “and you should have good news over the course of this year.”
I had been thinking long and hard before this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I told myself that I needed more than another blessing. I needed guidance. And so, instead of just answering Amen, I tried to have a dialogue with the Rebbe.

“The Rebbe told us to see a doctor who is a friend,” I began, “but the doctors say there’s nothing to do.”
“You should look for another doctor,” the Rebbe said, “until you find a doctor who is truly a friend, who will advise you.”

That was the last time the Rebbe met with the Machne Israel Development Fund before his stroke the following year.

Well-meaning people continued to tell us about doctors all around the world — we saw a doctor in Argentina, in Canada, and several in Israel — but after the Rebbe passed away in 1994, I struggled to continue.

One doctor in Herzliya told me that all these medical institutions were withholding the truth from me.

“The only reason that we’re taking you is because it pays to have American patients.” I was shocked.
While in Israel, I began to spend time with the Amshinover Rebbe, a saintly man whom I became quite close with.

“I came to say goodbye,” I told him one day. “I’m giving up all of the medical treatments, so I don’t know when I will be back in Israel.”

“How can you think of stopping?” he protested. “The Rebbe told you that you’re going to have children! I want you to go to Dr. Aby Levine in Hadassah Hospital in Ein Kerem. You must go. The Rebbe told you not to stop.”

Had the Rebbe not told me to keep going until we find a doctor who says we can do it, I would certainly have given up. I don’t even know where we found the energy to continue.

But finally, less than a year after that introduction to Dr. Levine — and eighteen years after our wedding — my wife gave birth to twin boys, and then, a year after that, to a little girl. The Rebbe’s guidance and his blessings were finally fulfilled in a beautiful way.

Rabbi Moshe Weiss serves as the director of Chabad of Sherman Oaks, California, while also involved in numerous business and investment ventures. He was interviewed in September 2011.