By a grandson of R’ Tuvia Bloi a”h

Zeide R’ Tuvia had a constant emphasis on chassidishe pride, and this came through most strongly whenever he met chassidim from other circles, no matter which chassidus they came from.

He would always open the conversation by tracing the roots of that chassidic group: its Rebbes, its history, and its unique derech. He spoke with a sweeping, almost historiographical clarity, reaching down to the smallest details, details he had mastered in a way that was truly astonishing. But the conversation would always come back to Tanya, to the Rebbe, to learning Chassidus, and to the deep bond with Chabad.

When a Litvishe Yid would walk in, and there were many who loved him dearly, he would greet them warmly and inquire, “What nusach did your father daven? And your grandfather before him? You must have chassidishe roots somewhere. A yerei shamayim comes from chassidim,” he would often say.

He posited that the vast majority of Litvishe yeshiva bochurim, aside from those who were killed in the Holocaust (HYD), had either moved toward Zionism or left the derech altogether, and that the Ashkenazi charedi world today is deeply rooted in chassidus.

He would continue the conversation: “What sifrei chassidus do you have in your home?” Every conversation became an opportunity to connect a Yid with the world of Chassidus, guided by his incredible bekius and understanding.

He would often quote the words the Rebbe once wrote to him, praising him that the bnei hayeshivos were his “chutza.”

He would constantly encourage bochurim to prepare thoughts from the Rebbe that they could share. Every sicha in Likkutei Sichos, he would say, contains many points that can be communicated. He taught us how to look deeper, how to find those hidden insights, and how to always have something meaningful ready when speaking to another Yid on behalf of the Rebbe.

Repeating a sicha or a maamar Chassidus was, for him, a very serious matter and of extreme importance. As the rov and leader of the community, ensuring that there was a proper and organized schedule for Shabbos in shul was one of his greatest priorities. But it was never merely a communal responsibility; it was a personal mission.

He would sit and listen to a young bochur in mesivta repeat a sicha as if it had just been given at Har Sinai, even when he himself already knew the material inside and out, and even when the delivery was not particularly polished. He gave that bochur his full attention and made him feel the significance of what he was doing.

On the Shabbosim when his health prevented him from attending shul, the first things he wanted to know after davening were: Who repeated the sicha? What was it about? How many people came? Were there guests?

And whenever a grandchild or relative repeated a sicha, he would light up. He never hid how moved he was. He would ask again and again, “Nu, what did you say?” and then sit down with them and go through the ideas together, discussing the content with true excitement.

And for those Yidden he brought closer to the Rebbe, he pushed them to prepare and repeat a sicha of their own. At times, he would sit with them repeatedly beforehand, helping them prepare and understand the material properly.

Seeing them stand and deliver a sicha, especially those who went on to learn from him how to teach a sicha on a high level, in a way that created a true kiddush Hashem, brought him a joy greater than almost anything else.