Could I create a library to serve as my son’s living legacy?
Growing up in Crown Heights during the prime years of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s leadership, my family and I enjoyed the excitement of being at the heart of the action and the beauty of sharing it with others.
On Friday and Sunday afternoons my friends and I would go out of Crown Heights and ask people on street corners if they were Jewish, distributing Shabbos candles if they were, and explaining the sheva mitzvos bnei Noach if they weren’t.
My parents, Rabbi Moshe and Rivka Kotlarsky, trained us in giving. We had a bedroom but rarely slept in it; the guests got our rooms, and we camped out in the basement on mattresses. My father, who is vice chairman of Merkos L’inyonei Chinuch, the central educational arm of the Chabad network, and chairman of the Conference of Chabad Shluchim, traveled the world frequently, and he and my mother always made us feel lucky to be involved in such meaningful work. The Yiddishkeit I knew wasn’t about restrictions, but about privilege and joy and connection.
I spent my summers volunteering in Chabad centers, visiting Arizona, Chicago, St. Louis, and other cities. When I was older, I went abroad as well, running camps in South Africa, Brazil, and Moldova. With that kind of background, it was a foregone conclusion that my husband, Zalman, and I would choose to go on shlichus.
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