In 1987, the shlichus “business” was booming. Every kollel yungerman was eager to find their place and get to work. My parents were no different. Their choice was clear when Rabbi Kotlarsky announced they’d be sending shluchim to five new states and offered my parents Maine.
It was my privilege to be born into shlichus, and I couldn’t be prouder that my wife and I are carrying on my parents’ legacy, assisting them to help Chabad of Maine continue to grow.
In the 50’s and 60’s, Portland’s strong Jewish infrastructure earned it the moniker “Little Yerushalayim of New England.” There were many shuls, a kosher butcher, and more. Unfortunately, Portland lacked a strong educational system. With no ground in which to plant new seeds, this flourishing Jewish community would inevitably die out. By the time my parents moved there, only remnants of “Little Yerushalayim” remained. All the youth had either moved to greener pastures, or assimilated. The older generation remained staunchly committed to their Yiddishkeit, but the shuls were falling into disuse, and there was no vibrancy or growth.
Although Merkos, the umbrella shlichus organization, had been sending bochurim to Maine for years, the community treated my parents with suspicion and hostility. They’d only barely heard of Chabad before, and couldn’t imagine what anyone could add to their well-established community. It took a long time to earn their trust, and prove Chabad could inject an infusion of enthusiasm and vitality.
Chinuch and Family Life
Proper chinuch is a challenge many shluchim face, and my family was no different. My siblings and I attended the Jewish day school until first grade, and from then on, were homeschooled. At just eleven years old, I left home to attend school in New York.
Baruch Hashem, our large family meant there was always someone to play with, even though Jewish friends were few and far between.
Our lives were completely intertwined with shlichus. Our home also functioned as our shul and Chabad house. When we woke up on Sunday mornings and padded to the breakfast table, we found ourselves sharing our eggs and pancakes with the early minyan shul goers.
For us, it was a matter of course to accompany my father on his mivtzoyim route, visiting friends and strangers all over the city. In retrospect, I can see how including us in this aspect of shlichus enriched both our passion and commitment for the Rebbe’s mission, but also brought excitement and joy to the people we met.
In our home, shlichus was a family project. We were all equally invested in the success of every shiur, program, and event, and threw ourselves into preparations however we could.
The Maine Spirit
Mainers live life at a different pace. The people here are mostly simple, hardworking folk, and years of frigid temperatures and difficult conditions have taught them to adopt a hard exterior. They’re friendly enough, but like to keep to themselves, especially as winter weather drives everyone indoors.
I knew what I was signing up for when I joined my parents’ shlichus. One distinct advantage I possessed was the title of “Mainer.” As one born and bred in the state, I automatically earned a higher level of trust and respect from my fellow statesmen, who look upon outlanders with some disdain.
So far, in addition to my parents and ourselves, two more of my siblings have established Chabad houses throughout Maine. With 13 of us, kn”h, you never know when another Wilansky will show up on your doorstep to open another Maine Chabad house!
Second Generation Shlichus
Being a second-generation shliach in the same city in which I grew up adds extra dimension to our mission. Since Maine is one of America’s least densely populated states, everyone lives miles apart. Instead of one central Hebrew school hub, we offer a traveling Hebrew school. If there are a certain number of children in an area, we’ll travel there and teach in one of their houses.
My mother taught Flora* as a child in Hebrew school. Now, Flora’s son, Ray*, is my student, in one of our Hebrew school pods. This year, Ray was Maine’s representative at JewQ, an international Jewish trivia bee for Hebrew school students. His face shone with pride, and he answered every question with ease. Ray won gold, and brought home multi-generational nachas for us all.
Stories of Connection
Eddie’s* connection began with the famous, “Excuse me; are you Jewish?” on the streets of Manhattan. Although he was running late to catch a bus back to Maine, he turned to the two bochurim outside their mitzvah tank and answered, “Half-Jewish. My mother was.”
“Well, that’s the right half!” the bochurim answered. “Would you like to put on tefillin?”
Eddie agreed, and allowed the boys to wrap the black leather straps around his arm for the first time in his life. He didn’t expect such a strange ritual to affect him so deeply, but he couldn’t help but admit how moved he felt. The minutes-long interaction had changed something monumental in him.
When he got home, he began researching. He faithfully put into practice everything he’d read about, but somehow, the Shabbos he’d tried to create in his dining room felt different than the Shabbos described in the article.
Eddie is a shy and reticent man by nature. It took him a few years to work up the courage, but he finally called for the guidance he so desperately needed. The office immediately contacted me. Looking up his contact info…
