One might think growing up in Sydney, Australia meant I rarely saw the Rebbe. It’s a testament to my father’s deep connection with the Rebbe and his astounding penchant for going “lichatchila ariber,” disregarding challenges and forging ahead with single-minded determination, that I have many memories of time spent in 770.
My father paid no attention to the prohibitive costs, not to speak of the long, 20-hour flights, and made sure we all visited the Rebbe a few times a year. Once, at a local farbrengen, he encouraged everyone to visit New York for an upcoming chassidishe Yom Tov, and promised to buy tickets for anyone who wrote their names on the tablecloth, right then and there. On another occasion, one memorable Simchas Torah, he even scaled a wall to reach the Rebbe’s balcony and exchange a few words!
My father led by example, teaching me that nothing should stand in a chassid’s way while fulfilling the Rebbe’s mission.
After my wife and I got married, we moved to Australia for a while, before taking up her parent’s offer to join their shlichus in Brentwood, California. My in-laws, Rabbi Boruch and Channa Hecht, are truly dedicated shluchim, and have achieved amazing results throughout their years on shlichus. It was an honor and privilege to work alongside them for two years, and we learned a lot under their tutelage. After a while, we felt ready to strike out on our own.
We began with Chabad Youth, where we bring Judaism to life for kids with interactive shows and experiences. There are certain workshops more connected to Yomim Tovim, such as the olive press demonstration, live matza bakery, and shofar-making, but we have many other fascinating experiences throughout the year, including havdalah candle-making, Sefer Torah writing, and more. As a professional educational director, our programs appeal to a much wider audience than a traditional shliach can access. We’re asked to set up in schools of all denominations, so we can impact Jews from every walk of life throughout the city.
In 2020, my wife’s uncle, Rabbi Tzemach Cunin, passed away. It was a tragedy that moved the entire community, not least of all my wife’s grandfather, Rabbi Shlomo Cunin, the head shliach of California. To honor Tzemach’s short, but fruitful 43 years in this world, Rabbi Cunin announced that Chabad of California would be starting 43 new Chabad houses and organizations. We were honored to be one of those, and moved to beautiful, beachside Playa del Rey.
Our apartment was in a complex of sedate middle-aged and elderly retirees. They didn’t appreciate having young - and loud - children around, so we knew it was time to look for another place. It wasn’t easy to find a place that fit our needs, but the pressure to move was mounting, and we were starting to get desperate.
One day, we decided to take our kids to the park. As we walked across the lot to the swings, we saw a flier tacked up on a nearby lamppost: House for rent. Call Stanley*. The listed rent was an incredible price for Los Angeles, and I immediately punched the listed number into my cell phone.
“Hi Stanley! My name’s Aron. I saw a flyer about the house you have for rent, and I’m very interested! I’m willing to sign the lease now, sight unseen!”
But Stanley was eccentric, and refused to let the house without showing it to me first.
“Come on Sunday at noon,” he told me. “But I have to tell you - you’re the fourth person to call me. I’m showing the house in order of the calls I received, and offering it on a first-come, first-served basis. If the first three people don’t want it, then it will be up to you.”
We need this house, I thought to myself. I sat down and penned a letter to the Rebbe, explaining the necessity, and advantages of the house. I placed my letter on a random page in a volume of Igros Kodesh, a collection of letters from the Rebbe. On that page, the Rebbe was answering someone about moving to a new location, and gave many brachos as they began anew.
With the Rebbe’s brachos and assurance in mind, we went to see the place on Sunday at noon.
Stanley had double-booked. He was in the middle of showing it to the first couple on his list, and as we waited at the door, we could hear the excitement in their voices as they oohed and ahhed over the large backyard, and how much they loved the layout and location. Our hearts sank as they turned to Stanley and said, “We’ll take it!”
“I’m sorry, but it seems like these good folks will be renting this house,” Stanley told us.
I pushed my card into his hands. “Please call me if anything changes,” I told him.
We were disappointed, but the Rebbe’s bracha gave us hope that not all was lost.
I called Stanley to check in a few times, but he didn’t answer. A few weeks later, he finally picked up.
“Aron! It’s good to hear from you. Are you still interested? That first couple seemed all excited, but they never came back with a deposit, and I haven’t heard from them since. If you still want the house, it’s yours!”
Stanley was a terrific landlord, and we were even able to buy the house after he passed. It was a clear miracle, a fulfillment of the Rebbe’s promise that he would take care of his shluchim.
The summer was fading into autumn, and schools were polishing their floors to welcome students back on the first day. I was busy preparing my first ever Shofar Factory, but I took advantage of the dwindling summer days to take my kids to the park.
My son sat on the swing, squealing for me to push him “higher, higher Tatty!” As I laughingly obeyed his re-
