Stories

“Rabbi Fraenkel, my mother is set to be cremated, her body burned and pulverized, her soul never to find peace,” her voice cracked in obvious desperation.

It wasn't about until a year after meeting Elliot that I found out that he was Jewish, and that his name was Elliot Cohen. Although my Jew-radar failed me, the connection that Jews have when they find another Jew kicked in, and I tried to reach out in a more personal and meaningful way to Elliot.

“It’s just not the same anymore without him . . .” She bows her head. I nod in agreement, but inside I’m singing.

Yisroel stood in the doorway, cheeks and nose bright red from the cold, snow encrusting his thick brown bangs. “My mother is still not here, and I’m frozen. Can I wait inside?”

I suppose every twenty-year-old should have an eighty-eight-year-old friend

Fresh snow covers the ground, thinking I’m too young to know. On the other side of the pit four Russians dressed like railroad or construction workers look me up and down. I try not to look back.

“And although he could not respond, if you could communicate with him and send packages to him,” the Rebbe continued, “would you do so?” “Of course,” I answered....

Mrs. Lipchitz had been advised by Jewish leaders that the phoenix is a non-Jewish symbol. How could it be placed in Jerusalem, no less? I was standing near the door to the Rebbe's office that night, when he called for me and asked that I bring him the book of Job from his bookshelf.

I was at my father’s side in the empty prep room. The room was silent; just the two of us. Suddenly—this could happen only in Israel—someone swung open the door and jabbed his head in. “I’m looking for my friend . . .”

For two hours every day he would lock himself in his room and no one, not even the King himself, was allowed to enter or disturb him in any way. It was on this condition that he accepted the task of teaching the prince...