Sue Fishkoff
By: ELLEN HARRIS Contributing Writer
Cleveland Jewish News
March 2005
High rollers at the Aladdin casino in Las Vegas were astounded a few
years ago when a Chasidic rabbi paraded his way through the blackjack
tables and slot machines carrying a Torah scroll aloft, followed by an
entourage of exuberant yeshiva students.
It was erev (the eve of) Yom Kippur, and the rabbi had just arrived in
town. Garbed in yontif (holiday) white, he was preparing to conduct
High Holiday services in a temporary shul adjoining the casino.
Many of the gamblers called out, "Pray for me, rabbi!" before turning
back to the gaming tables.
Writer Sue Fishkoff loves to tell that story, one that epitomizes the
remarkable success of the Chabad movement during the past decade, she
says. Author of The Rebbe's Army: Inside the World of Chabad-Lubavitch,
Fishkoff related the anecdote during a March 13 talk at the Solon of
Chabad synagogue.
When Rabbi Menachem Schneerson (the beloved Lubavitcher Rebbe) died 11
years ago at age 92, many observers believed that "Chabad would lose
its momentum," Fishkoff told her audience. Instead, it has blossomed
into a $1 billion empire operating in 80 countries with 4,000
emissaries (shlichim) dedicated to keeping the rebbe's teachings alive.
One way or another, Chabad has touched the lives of one in every 10
Jews worldwide, she estimates.
"Five years ago, I would have been astonished to learn I would be
writing about Chabad," the author observed. But Fishkoff became
intrigued by the movement's success, and she spent a year-and-a-half
crisscrossing North America, interviewing Lubavitch emissaries from
Anchorage to Miami. Each was determined to perpetuate Schneerson's
legacy by encouraging Jews to connect with their religion and by using
creative, sometimes controversial, ways to attract them.
Among her travels, Fishkoff observed Torah classes on Capitol Hill led
by a Chabad rabbi versed in law as well as religion. The rabbi did not
offer political advice; rather, he encouraged the lawmakers to find
their own moral compass and stick to it, especially when faced with
agonizing decisions.
One time, Fishkoff accompanied a Chabad rabbi to a prison in the Mojave
Desert, where he helped Jewish inmates resolve their differences about
their religion. "When they finally joined hands, the rabbi said to
them, 'Maybe one day you'll have a minyan (quorum of 10) here.'"
Suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence, aghast at his own words, Fishkoff
related humorously.
In attracting new Chabad members, "overwhelmingly, college-educated men
ages 40-65 who are former members of Reform and Conservative
congregations (represent) the strongest demographic," she pointed out.
"Many are embarrassed to admit they don't know Hebrew or have a strong
Jewish background."
Adult-education programs attract many of these men, as well as large
numbers of women. The fact that these programs are free adds greatly to
their appeal, Fishkoff noted.
In addition, young parents appreciate the welcoming, non-judgmental
atmosphere of the Chabad congregation. Although they are seldom
observant themselves, they know that the rabbi and his wife adhere to
strict halacha (Jewish law). Thus, young couples perceive these two as
"role models" who can teach children about Jewish traditions.
Despite her obvious respect for the Lubavitcher movement, Fishkoff
still worships at her Conservative temple in California and has not
joined a Chabad congregation. However, her research into the movement
has encouraged the author to delve more deeply into her spirituality,
and many of Chabad's teachings have rubbed off on her, she
acknowledges. Fishkoff now "watches her words more carefully" and has
become more sensitive to the feelings of others around her. Above all,
she said, "I feel more comfortable in my Jewish skin."