Rabbi Moishe New
I was all of ten years old in 1967, when the Rebbe sent the first group of six yeshivah students from 770 — “the bochurim” as we called them — to Australia.
There were venerable chasidim in Melbourne, my grandfather Reb Isser Kluwgant among them, but they inhabited a different world than us kids, and we didn’t personally relate to them or aspire to adopt their way of life. We loved and respected them, but they were distant.
And then along came these American boys, like a breath of fresh air. They were young outstanding Torah scholars who taught Torah at the yeshivah from morning to night and spoke in the synagogues on Shabbat. But beyond that, they brought Judaism to life for us, making it something we wanted to be a part of. They emanated joy, along with a deep fulfillment, and there was an innocence about them; they were wholesome and whole.
They also had a certain aura about them, a sense of something beyond our world. Later I understood it was the aura of 770, the fact that they were chasidim of the Rebbe. And so we were fascinated by them. We scrutinized their mannerisms, the way they spoke, their gestures — we absorbed it all. The Rebbe knew this would happen, which is exactly why he sent them.
Had these bachurim not come to Australia, it is quite possible I would have remained observant, but that I am a chasid and a shliach is a direct result of their influence and inspiration.
Living in Australia meant that when I eventually did travel to the Rebbe in 1975, for the month of Tishrei, I was able to have a private audience with him. I was nineteen years old at that time, and although yeshivah students were no longer able to meet with the Rebbe as they used to, a visiting student coming from overseas still could.
Going to see the Rebbe is a moment of deep truth and teshuvah. There’s no hiding or posturing, and you can express your deepest frailties and struggles. But, rather than being judged, you were guided. Maybe you felt a little embarrassed, but you were safe.
A few days before, I prepared a letter with some questions I had. Writing as a young, idealistic, yeshivah boy — I wish that I was as concerned today by the things that concerned me then — I described certain struggles that I had, seeking the Rebbe’s guidance and blessing. After considerable thought, I also decided to illustrate one of my challenges in the letter, as succinctly as I could, and then submitted it to the secretary’s office. Normally, when you entered the Rebbe’s room, your letter would be there in an ordered pile, and he would glance at it before answering your questions.
The night before, I had written an additional note listing the names of my family members and a particular request for the Rebbe’s blessing for each of them. After some deliberation, I discarded the note with the requests. I figured the Rebbe knows better than me what blessings they require so I simply listed their names instead.
