In 1981, the Rebbe opened a yeshiva in Morocco, and Chabad bochurim came from all over the world. I joined them, and when they returned to New York afterwards, I followed them to study in 770. I was barely settled before I was asked to become a shliach in the Lubavitcher Yeshiva in Brunoy. I was one of only a couple of French-speaking bochurim at the time, which made me the perfect choice. I was honored to be hand selected by the Rebbe’s hanhalah.
After our marriage, we settled in Crown Heights for the kollel years. We wanted to go on shlichus, and wrote into the Rebbe about many different suggestions. When we brought up shlichus in Toulouse, the Rebbe responded with a bracha for hatzlacha. Throughout the entire process, we constantly asked the Rebbe for guidance, and were zoche to receive many brachos and instructions.
We joined Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Matasof, the head shliach of Toulouse, and have been working together for the past 38 years. We now have a large team of shluchim working in and around Toulouse. We serve the wider community, the youth, and the many college campuses in the city. For the past 20 years, I’ve also served as a chaplain for the air force base here.
Before moving, I received the Rebbe’s haskamah to teach in the local community school here, which I’ve continued to this day. Whenever I returned from a prolonged absence from school, I explained to my students why I’d been missing. When I described the annual Kinus Hashluchim to them, their eyes lit up.
“Rabbi, why can’t we take a trip like that?” they asked.
I thought about it. “You’re right!” I said. “Let’s do it!”
I’ve been leading a group of teens to New York every year since. Over the years, we’ve led hundreds of teen trips to the Rebbe, and have received much nachas from them! Many of them are now influential members of their own Chassidishe communities, and some are even shluchim, with Chabad houses of their own all over the world!
I once got a call from a very worried mother.
“My son, Chagai*, is studying in Toulouse,” she told me. “Could you invite him over, or get in touch with him in some way?”
“Of course!” I answered. I called her son a few days later and invited him to join us for Shabbos. I told him where we lived, and he told me he’d take the Metro.
“I’ll meet you at the station!” I told him.
That Friday night, I took my two little kids with me, and we walked to the station, hand in hand. They chattered away in childish innocence while we waited for Chagai. The people leaving the station all seemed to be middle-aged businessmen and women, hurrying home for the day. The only other commuter was an intimidating figure, dressed completely in black. His pants were laced with chains, and he had piercings in every available spot. His black makeup was eerie, and his big, clunky combat boots made his tread uneven and ungainly.
He can’t be coming towards me! I thought to myself. But the figure stopped just before me, lifted a heavily made up eye, and asked, “Rabbi Sebag?”
I quickly collected myself and greeted him warmly. As we walked towards my home, I could see every passerby eyeing the incongruous pair we made. My kids threw him wide-eyed side glances, and scuttled silently all the way home.
We had a few other guests that night, and I carried on as usual - singing the same niggunim, coaching my children to share what they’d learned about the parshah, and sharing some insights from the Rebbe.
When our unusual guest departed, my wife gave me a look.
“I think you went too far this time, Gavriel!” she said. “Did you see how terrified the kids were? They hardly said a word the entire time!”
I spread out my hands helplessly. “He’s a Jew! He’s a Jew, and I have to help him.”
A few years later, I was in 770 with a group of French youth, when I was approached by a neat-looking young man with a yarmulke and beard.
“Shalom, Rabbi Sebag!” he greeted me. “I remember the last time I saw you. I had the best chicken soup I’ve ever had!”
“That’s nice,” I said, politely. “When were you at my house?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember!” he chided. “I’m sure you can’t forget all the chains and makeup I wore!”
“That was you?” I asked, incredulously looking at his white shirt and pressed slacks.
“My mother nudged me so much about visiting you for Shabbos, I finally gave in,” he reminisced with a cheeky grin. “I put on every piece of clothing I owned that I thought would make you turn away in horror. I wanted to provoke you, so I could go back to my mother and show her what a fraud you were. Instead, you treated me with kindness. The inspiration you shared at that Shabbos meal made a deep impact on me, and I decided to do a little more digging in my own backyard. I started learning, and now I’m a mashgiach in a yeshiva!”
Every day, I made time to bring a hot, kosher meal to Mael*, a university student. The campus was far, and the trip cut a precious hour out of my day. Mael was an engineering student with a demanding workload, so every time I tried to make the food delivery a little more meaningful with an invitation to put on tefillin or learn together, he always turned me down, telling me he had to run to another class, or complete a pressing assignment. I soon started to wonder, was it really worth so much of my time, just to bring one student a kosher meal?
Mael finally had time to visit, and my son offered to teach him a Chassidic maamer. After that, Mael grew more and more involved, until he decided to adopt the Torah way of life as his own.
“Do you know what changed my mind about Yiddishkeit?” he told me, many years later. “I came to your house on a Shabbos Mevorchim. Your daughter was nine or ten years old at the time, and she had spent all morning saying Tehillim. She finally finished the entire sefer - her first time accomplishing such a feat! She was so excited and proud of her accomplishment, she ran around the table laughing and singing with glee. Her unrestrained joy for kedusha made a life-changing impression on me.”
As part of my chaplain duties for the Air Force, I was asked to join a military mission to the base on Cote d’Ivoire. Just before we boarded the plane, one of the soldiers approached me.
