Here’s My Story: Guess Who I Prank Called
Mr. Moshe Gelber
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I used to love coming to 770 as a young boy whenever the Rebbe held a late-night farbrengen, because it meant that I could stay up instead of going to bed on time. I knew the Rebbe was a great man, but I was a naive kid and didn’t really understand all of the things he was saying. So while he would be delivering these groundbreaking talks about how we have to better our lives, I would be sitting under the bleachers with my cousins, tying people’s shoelaces together.
It was the 1970s, and although I was growing up in Flatbush, I attended the Lubavitcher Yeshiva in Crown Heights: My uncle, Dr. Moshe Feldman, served as a physician for the Lubavitch community and he influenced my parents to send me to that yeshivah. I would also get in trouble there, because I was a troublemaker.
My antics were mostly harmless practical jokes, which I did because I was trying to be funny, not to hurt anybody. They used to tell stories about a man named Reb Hershel of Ostropol, who was like the jester in the chasidic court of Rabbi Boruch of Mezhibuzh, and I think every generation has its pranksters. So I was just carrying on that tradition.
One of the ways my cousins and I would be mischievous was by making prank calls. One day in the early ‘80s, when I was eleven, we were playing in my uncle’s office, and saw a note. It said “Schneerson, 1304 President Street,” and underneath that was a phone number. We looked at each other. “Schneerson… that’s the Rebbe’s house!”
Then my cousin gave me another look. He wasn’t as mischievous as I was, but he was a good instigator. “I dare you to call it.” I called the number.
A sweet old woman answered the phone – and I got scared. Instead of saying anything, I just made some animal noises, mooing like a cow for a few seconds, and then I hung up the phone. Five minutes later, I did it again, although this time I made some goat sounds.
About six months later, it was Sukkot, in the intermediate days of the festival, and I was back at my uncle’s house. Our family was getting ready to have lunch together, so they were all outside in the sukkah when I was sent back into the house for some napkins and cups.
When I went back into the house, the red phone was ringing: Aside from the regular house phone, my uncle had a red phone reserved for medical emergencies. Only a few people in the community had the number for the red phone, and we children were instructed to never play with it, or even to touch it. But since it was ringing and no one else was in the house, I decided to answer it.
I also decided to answer it like an idiot: “Helloooooo, who is it?” I inquired, in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice. The woman on the other end was slightly taken aback. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have called the wrong number. I’m trying to reach Dr. Feldman.”
“But this is Dr. Feldman’s house,” I replied. “He’s just outside, in the sukkah, and I can go get him for you. Who’s calling please?”
“This is Mrs. Schneerson from President Street,” she said.
“Okay, hold on a minute.”
I went to my uncle and told him who was on the phone, and he ran into the house. A minute later, he came back out.
“How dare you?” he fumed. “I’ve told you so many times not to ever play games on the red phone. If somebody is calling that phone, it could be a life-threatening emergency and you could be delaying their medical care with your jokes. Do you know who was on the phone now?”
“Mrs. Schneerson from President Street?”
“Don’t be a wise guy! That was the Rebbetzin! She’s not feeling well and she asked me to come over. Now get your coat because you’re coming along. She wants to meet you.”
I was terrified. As we began walking, my uncle added: “And how dare you make prank calls to her!”
How does he know about that?, I wondered, but I got my answer before I could ask. “The Rebbetzin recognized your voice! ‘That’s the little boy who called me a few months ago, once as a cow and another time as a goat,’ she said!”
I’m going to be punished in ways I don’t even comprehend, I thought.
When we got to the Rebbe’s house, the door was unlocked. My uncle just turned the knob, we walked inside, and he started going up the staircase to the right, before turning back to me. “You stay right over there,” he warned. “Don’t touch anything!”
As he walked up, the Rebbetzin appeared at the top of the staircase. She looked down, smiled at me, and waved. I waved back, and she disappeared back into a room, with my uncle behind her.
That’s it? I wondered. She just wanted to wave? That’s not so bad.
Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a man standing there with a stern look in his eye. His name was Gansburg, as I later found out, and he worked as an assistant in the Rebbe’s house.
“Are you Moshe?” he queried.
“Yes.” A sense of dread came over me: He must be the executioner.
“Come with me, please.” Shalom Ber Gansburg led me though the living room, into the kitchen, past the bright orange and yellow floral trim on top of the kitchen wallpaper, and through a door at the back of the kitchen. The door led directly into a sukkah, where a table was set.
“The Rebbetzin prepared lunch for you,” he informed me. “Please sit down and enjoy.”
There were two challah rolls, salad, a piece of baked salmon, and a cup of orange juice – already poured and ready to drink. I still remember how delicious it all was. As I sat there and ate, I mused about this unexpected turn of events. I thought I was going to be severely punished for my little joke, and now I had been invited into the Rebbe’s private sukkah, to eat a meal that the Rebbetzin had prepared! I don’t know of anyone else in the community who had ever received such an honor.
I’m going to brag to all of my friends about this, I gloated inside. I’m the man!
But the moral of the story is about the character of the Rebbetzin. I was mischievous, but she saw the bigger picture and knew that I really wasn’t a bad kid; I was just trying to be funny. I think she had a sense of humor about it too. So even though she wasn’t feeling well, she went out of her way to make sure I had a nice lunch to eat.
Looking back, I’m still inspired by the act of kindness and love that the Rebbetzin showed me so many years ago. She was a great woman and she loved all of us, like a grandmother loves her grandkids even when they make trouble. Maybe that is how G-d loves all of us, even though at times we don’t do what we’re supposed to.
Mr. Moshe Gelber is a street photographer and audio-systems engineer. He was interviewed in November 2015.
