Rabbi Pinchas Cohen - Panama - Part 1

00:18 Speaker 1 Tell us, Reb Pinchas. We’re with you.

00:21 Speaker 2 Okay, I’ll start with my childhood. I grew up in Tel Aviv. I went to schools that weren’t Chabad schools—they were Litvish. At the time, the Chabad community in Tel Aviv hadn’t yet reached the point of building a school and so on. So the most religious school there was Yesodei HaTorah, an elementary school in north Tel Aviv.

00:44 Speaker 1 What was it called?

00:45 Speaker 2 Yesodei HaTorah.

00:46 Speaker 1 Ah.

00:48 Speaker 2 At 2 Hadera Street in Tel Aviv. That was the school back then.

00:52 Speaker 1 Roughly what years are we talking about?

00:55 Speaker 2 We’re talking about ’83, ’84.

01:01 Speaker 1 Okay.

01:02 Speaker 2 Something like that. If I’m... something like that. Yes, ’84, ’85, around then. I studied at that school. When I reached bar mitzvah age, my father—you might know my father. He managed the Reshet for many years. Aharon Cohen.

01:24 Speaker 1 Oh, another—

01:25 Speaker 2 My father.

01:26 Speaker 1 Of course I know him.

01:26 Speaker 2 You know my father?

01:27 Speaker 1 Of course! Who doesn’t?

01:31 Speaker 2 Well, there you go. My father, may he be well, managed the Reshet, and... So at that time, when I was studying at that Litvish school, we always felt a sense of shlichus. Shlichus started at a young age. You knew you were in a school where the people weren’t opposed to the Rebbe, G-d forbid, but there was still that sense of shlichus: whatever you did, they saw you as a Chabad child. They saw you as someone representing the Rebbe. And from that time, the Rebbe was always in my mind. I lived and breathed the Rebbe, and my dream was to see him, to meet him. That was everything. How can I put it? Everything I saw on video—I wanted to see it in real life. The holiness, that light, that incredible thing. You want to see it for yourself. When my bar mitzvah came around, my father, may he be well, said to me, “Look, you have two options. We can make you a very lavish bar mitzvah, but then we’ll be less able to fly to the Rebbe. Or, if you want to fly to the Rebbe, we’ll make a more modest bar mitzvah. Something simpler, and then we can fly to the Rebbe.” Plane tickets were expensive in those days; the whole trip cost quite a lot. So of course I told my father that, no matter what, I wanted to go see the Rebbe. Even if I didn’t have a bar mitzvah celebration, that was fine. I wanted to fly to see the Rebbe. So we flew to the Rebbe. My bar mitzvah actually falls on Seder night,

03:20 Speaker 2 so we couldn’t go to the Rebbe for Seder night. We flew for Shavuos. And how can I put it? I was so, so excited—the whole flight, everything. I remember that for two months beforehand I could hardly sleep, just thinking about flying to see the Rebbe. When, boruch Hashem, we finally arrived, seeing the Rebbe felt like a dream to me. I came as a child, and of course we went to the yechidus for bar mitzvah boys. This was in 5750, 1990. I remember passing by the Rebbe at the dollar distribution, and the first thing I said was, “Rebbe, I want to be your soldier.” The Rebbe looked at me with those piercing eyes and gave me a dollar. He said, “This is so you’ll be a chossid.” Then the Rebbe gave me another dollar and said, “This is so you’ll be G-d-fearing.” Then he gave me another dollar and said, “This is so you’ll be a scholar.” I was so overwhelmed at seeing the Rebbe that I grabbed his hand and kissed it. I wanted to feel that I wasn’t dreaming, that this was real. Seeing the Rebbe was... His eyes seemed to penetrate right through me, through all 248 limbs and 365 sinews. From that moment, from that meeting, I knew I wasn’t leaving the Rebbe. No matter what happened, that was it. Deep down, I had already decided I was staying there with the Rebbe. I wasn’t going back to Israel. Shavuos was only two days, so the visit was short. Every time I passed by the Rebbe, he gave me two dollars. And when I went up to give Birchas Kohanim in the Rebbe’s presence, I think—this is what my father tells me; I don’t remember it myself—the Rebbe said to me afterward, “Yasher koach, Kohen,” or something like that. People later asked my father what the Rebbe had said to me. I took it for granted that the Rebbe said “Yasher koach, Kohen” to everyone. I don’t know exactly how it worked then, but my father told me, “Listen, the Rebbe said ‘Yasher koach, Kohen’ to you. Maybe [unclear] on the Rebbe’s platform, with all that concentration.” It was an enormous awakening. That was also when the incident with the Dabur boat was happening in Israel, when they tried to infiltrate through Israel’s coast. The Rebbe kept asking the secretariat, “What’s new? What news is there from Israel? What’s new? What’s new?” The Rebbe went to the Ohel, and I remember that he didn’t come back for Minchah. To me, as a child, that was unbelievable. The Rebbe wasn’t there for Minchah in 770? That couldn’t be right. The Rebbe returned to 770 very late at night, and we were all waiting outside for him to come back from the Ohel. The next day there was the incident with the Dabur boat, when they tried to reach the coast of Israel, where the beach was full of Jews.

05:14 Speaker 2 He tells the story—I don’t remember exactly. He says the Rebbe said to me, “Yasher koach, Kohen,” or something like that, afterward. Then people asked my father what the Rebbe had said to him. So I just assumed the Rebbe said “Yasher koach, Kohen” to everyone. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but my father told me, “Listen, the Rebbe said to you, ‘Yasher koach, Kohen.’ Maybe you said Birchas Kohanim [unclear] up there on the Rebbe’s platform with real feeling.” And that was it. It was an enormous awakening. This was also around the time of the incident with the Dabur boat in Israel, when they tried to infiltrate through Israel’s coastline. The Rebbe kept asking the secretariat, “What’s new? Vos iz do nayes mit Yisroel? What’s new? What’s new?” The Rebbe went to the Ohel, and I remember that the Rebbe didn’t come back for Mincha. For me as a child, that was something extraordinary. I mean, the Rebbe didn’t—didn’t... The Rebbe didn’t come to Mincha at 770? You must be mistaken. The Rebbe returned to 770 very late at night, and we were all waiting outside for him to come back from the Ohel. The next day came the incident with the Dabur boat, when they tried to reach the Israeli coastline, where the beach was full of Jews.

06:21 Speaker 3 Yes.

06:22 Speaker 2 And I remember... yes, yes, I can still picture the Rebbe’s face to this day. As he got out of the car and headed toward 770, his face was simply blazing like a torch. It was a sight I had never seen in my life. It was incredible. By the time the Rebbe arrived, it was late. I don’t know, maybe around eleven or twelve at night. It was very late. We went inside and waited for the Rebbe for Minchah, and the Rebbe davened Minchah and, of course, Maariv afterward. And then, of course, after all those experiences, you have to take everything—all those lessons—and put them into practice. As a child, I didn’t understand much. I said, “Dad, listen, I’m staying here to study near the Rebbe.” I had no idea where I would study or how anything would work. No idea at all. But I said it, and my father looked at me and said, “Listen, I understand that you’ve just had an extraordinary experience here, but you should know we have no family here, no one. You’re young, only thirteen or fourteen. What would you do here? It’s not as though...” But deep down I said to myself that as soon as I was a little older, I would find a way, make every effort, to come back to the Rebbe. Some time later, the Rebbe had the stroke, and I entered the Chabad yeshiva in Lod. I studied there my first year, then my second, and I remember we would get up early every morning so it would line up with the Rebbe’s farbrengens. There was someone named Segal. Today he’s a mashpia in [unclear]. His name is,

08:13 Speaker 2 I don’t remember his first name anymore. Segal. He would organize all the boys and everything. We’d sit in some tiny room and listen to the Rebbe live, and that’s how we followed everything happening at the farbrengens. Then, when the Rebbe had the stroke, deep down I felt, wow, in a way I’m going to miss out on the chance of a lifetime: seeing the Rebbe at all those farbrengens. I had seen the Rebbe for the first time when he was already in that condition. Who knew when there would be another opportunity, or what would happen? Nobody knew. I was in my second year of yeshiva ketanah. I sat down to write a letter with my mashpia, Rabbi Levitin of Lod—may Hashem grant him many long, good years. He was my mashpia then, and I told him the whole story: my lifelong dream was to be near the Rebbe. At first, he tried to talk me out of it. He said, “Listen, you have no family there. You’re a young boy, and it’s very cold there. There won’t be anyone to look after you.” He tried all sorts of arguments to stop me. But I’m a very stubborn person by nature, and he said, “All right, I see how determined you are. Come on, let’s write a letter to the Rebbe.” So we wrote, and I asked the Rebbe whether I should continue studying in Eretz Yisroel or come study near him. I was actually sure the Rebbe would tell me to stay in Eretz Yisroel, because in the Rebbe’s Igros Kodesh, he was always in favor of students from Israel studying there, where their learning would be better. Not much time passed—a week or two—and Rabbi Groner called our house. I remember my mother saying, “Rabbi Groner is on the phone,” and he told me:

10:01 Speaker 2 “The Rebbe said you should come study near the Rebbe.” Wow. I remember dancing all around the house. Such excitement, such tremendous joy. Wow, I had an opportunity. I had an answer from the Rebbe. Now it was really happening. The Rebbe understood how I felt. The Rebbe understood that we had to be together. Then, with a child’s way of thinking, I wondered: Okay, what do we do now? I spoke to my mashpia, and he said, “Yes, but there are several yeshivos there. There’s Morristown and there’s 770. Which yeshiva does the Rebbe want you to attend?” So we sent in another letter: Did the Rebbe mean Morristown or 770? And the Rebbe wrote that I should come study at Oholei Torah. Fine. Then I went, in all innocence, to the American consulate with my passport. I asked for an interview; it was easy to get one in those days. The Rebbe had told me to come, so of course I would get a visa. I had no idea what an affidavit for a visa was—I know now. I was just a yeshiva bochur, simply going to study near the Rebbe. What else was there to it? I arrived, and the interviewer greeted me. I told him I was going to study near the Rebbe. He said, “Study there? You haven’t been approved for anything.” And he stamped my passport with a black stamp.

11:23 Speaker 4 What are you saying?

11:23 Speaker 2 I came home in tears. I couldn’t believe such a thing could happen to me. What do you mean, it could happen? It couldn’t happen! Then I spoke to a few people, and they said, “Set that passport aside, go back and apply again, and this time say you’re going to visit the Rebbe. Don’t say you’re going to study.” So that’s what I did. Some time later—a week, two weeks, perhaps a month—I went back and said this time that I was going to visit the Rebbe in Lubavitch. Praise be to Hashem forever, they gave me a visa. They gave me a visa! I was so happy. I really had no idea where I was going. Looking back, I see it was the innocent perspective of someone who didn’t understand how worldly matters work. I understood that everything was in Hashem’s hands. To me, it was simple. The laws of nature exist, but the world is renewed at every moment.

12:14 Speaker 4 That settled it.

12:15 Speaker 2 The Rebbe had said yes, and that was the end of the matter. No questions. So I packed my suitcases and everything. I remember boarding the plane. My father, may he be well, came with me. On the one hand, it was very hard for him to let me go. I was fifteen or sixteen—about sixteen, sixteen and a half—traveling to the Rebbe, heading into the unknown. I honestly didn’t know where I would sleep. I had no idea what I was doing, no idea about anything. I just knew what the Rebbe had said. I didn’t know anything. I even remember trying to find money for the plane ticket here and there. In the end, boruch Hashem, my father took me to the airport, and off I went with my suitcases. It was the Tishrei season; I arrived on 18 Elul. Rabbi Moslevsky, a”h, was there then—Rabbi Moslevsky’s father, who has since passed away. He was in charge of hachnosas orchim, hospitality for visitors.

13:14 Speaker 4 Yes.

13:14 Speaker 2 Reb Moishe, Reb Moishe, Reb Moishe, Reb Moishe. So I went to Reb Moishe and said, “You know, I’ve just arrived, and I have no idea where I’m sleeping or where I’m eating.” Reb Moishe immediately took me in and gave me a bagel. “Come, sit down and eat.” He made me feel at home. You know, when you arrive somewhere and there’s someone who genuinely cares for you—that’s the first step. The first step. Afterward, of course, he arranged a place for me to sleep through hachnosas orchim. To me, the next thing was perfectly simple: I went to the Oholei Torah administration and said, “Listen, the Rebbe said I should come study here, and here I am. Please accept me.” Just like that, in all innocence. Of course, I had also brought a letter from Rabbi Segal, who was then the rosh yeshiva in Lod. He gave me a letter saying that I was coming and should be accepted into the yeshiva. So I arrived at the yeshiva, really without a clue. I didn’t speak English, and I didn’t know a word of Yiddish. Nothing at all. I went straight to Rabbi Friend Pikarsky [?]. He was the rosh yeshiva then—or, more precisely, the mashgiach in practice. I told him, “Listen, Rabbi Friend Pikarsky, I’ve arrived, and I have a letter from the Rebbe. He said I should come study here.” His answer came as a bit of a shock. He said, “Listen, the answer the Rebbe gave was an answer to you, not to us.” That’s what he told me. Yes, yes. In my innocent mind, I thought it was obvious:

15:04 Speaker 2 It was settled. One basic principle: if the Rebbe said it, that was it. Years later, I understood better. It’s like a groom saying he wants to marry a particular girl, but she hasn’t agreed. Both sides have to agree. At any rate, that was how I thought then. I said, “But the Rebbe said...” The month of Tishrei passed, though, and they still hadn’t accepted me. I met my mashpia from Lod again, and we decided to write another letter to the Rebbe, this time with more detail. “Rebbe, I’ve arrived here...” At the time, they wanted six thousand dollars for a year’s tuition. That was an astronomical sum, certainly for my father, who had a family of eleven children. Six thousand dollars. My father had always told me, “If you want to study here, I have connections in Eretz Yisroel and you can study at any yeshiva. If you want to study near the Rebbe, you’ll have to work it out.” He was happy for me. He knew I would find a way. Anyway, with my mashpia’s help, I wrote the Rebbe a letter raising three points. First, I had arrived, but I didn’t have the money to pay the yeshiva. Second, I didn’t speak the language. And the real issue was that the yeshiva was packed when I arrived: two hundred boys. There wasn’t room to squeeze in another person. So I wrote that there was no room and that I didn’t know the language. I asked the Rebbe whether I should go back to studying in Eretz Yisroel as before, or keep trying to get into the yeshiva. Rabbi Groner told me, “The Rebbe said you should keep trying to get into the yeshiva, not go back to Eretz Yisroel.” So, quite simply, I went to the yeshiva, attended all the sedorim, and sat and learned.

16:43 Speaker 2 The problem was that I had nowhere to sleep and nowhere to eat. I could go into the zal, sit down and learn. But I had nowhere to sleep and nowhere to eat.

16:55 Speaker 5 There was no pull back then in...

16:58 Speaker 2 Yes, there was, but it was more for the boys in the group, not for younger guys of sixteen or seventeen. They wouldn’t let them in. The truth is that Kuti Rapp, a”h, also helped me a lot with the visa back then. Kuti Rapp, a”h, was a very dear Jew, very dear. It really touched his heart. You know, he always had a heart of gold. He has since passed away, and... I wrote to the Rebbe about it. In short, the Rebbe told me to keep trying, and I kept trying, through Chanukah and so on. Meanwhile, in Tishrei, I saw a little boy at the entrance to a seminary, crying and crying and crying, and nobody seemed to be paying attention. The boy, about three years old, was lying there at the entrance, crying. You know how it is when children cry—people figure someone will come in a minute. But time passed and nobody came. So I picked him up and asked him, “Where’s your father? Where’s your mother?” He could barely mumble, barely speak, but he took my hand. We walked down Eastern Parkway, all the way to Utica, to the area where all the Black people lived. He showed me where his house was. At the entrance, I saw his mother shouting, “Where’s my child?” and searching for him. It turned out he’d walked all that way completely alone. We sat and talked, and I told her about my situation with the Rebbe. She said, “Listen, you won’t have a problem finding a place to sleep. You can sleep here with us.” They didn’t really have a room for me, but I slept on the sofa in their living room. Of course, at five in the morning her husband, how should I put it, threw me out of the house so there wouldn’t be a problem of yichud. So by five I was already on my way to the mikveh, and then, thank G-d, I’d sit and learn. And that’s how it went for a year.

18:31 Speaker 2 But my father wasn’t comfortable with my not being officially enrolled in the yeshiva. He said, “Listen, the Rebbe wants you to be officially enrolled. You have to do something about it.” He kept sending different shluchim to me. “Listen, you have to figure out what you’re doing. You can’t...” And every time I wrote a letter to the Rebbe, the Rebbe wrote back that I shouldn’t leave, that I should continue, and so on. At the time, my chavrusa at Hadar Hatorah was Shneur—Shneur Schneerson. Do you know him? On a very deep level. Shneur Schneerson. The legendary one. The legendary one.

19:10 Speaker 5 Yes.

19:10 Speaker 2 So through all of this, I was together with Shneur. We’d talk, and Shneur, with his sweetness, would say, “Don’t worry, everything will be all right. If the Rebbe said so, it’ll work out.” Each time he’d give me encouragement here and support there. Then one day Shneur said to me, “Listen carefully. You need to go to the administration of Hadar Hatorah and tell them, ‘Listen, I need to do what the Rebbe told me to do.’” I hadn’t said where I would sleep, or where I would eat. I hadn’t said anything. I just wanted to do what the Rebbe wanted. So he told me to go. The administrator of the yeshiva then was Rosenfeld; he has also passed away. Rosenfeld. He handled the practical side. Shneur said, “Speak to him about the practical side. For the spiritual side, go to Rabbi Talboim [unclear].” Rabbi Talboim [unclear] founded Hadar Hatorah. He was a true chossid. He founded Hadar Hatorah when he was already older.

19:58 Speaker 5 Yes.

19:59 Speaker 2 Yes, yes, yes—an extraordinary soul. He was also somewhere in New York; I don’t remember where. He had a shul there where he did shlichus in his later years, making sure there was a minyan. I think about that. Sometimes on Shabbos he himself would complete the minyan. I learned a great deal from him about the simplicity of a chossid—an incredible simplicity. Anyway, I went to see him [unclear], and he said to me, “Listen, I founded the yeshiva. As far as I’m concerned, if you want to be officially enrolled, you’re officially enrolled. You’re a yeshiva student. I’m giving you permission to go into the kitchen. When the boys go to eat, you can eat too.” There was plenty of food, huge amounts. There was abundance there. And that’s how my first year went.