Our Lives and Shlichus Were Transformed by Rabbi Lipskar

Five shluchim, Rabbi Dov Greenberg of Stanford, Rabbi Yossi Lew of Atlanta, Rabbi Moshe Levin of Los Angeles, Rabbi Ruvi New of East Boca, FL, and Rabbi Hirschy Zarchi of Harvard Chabad, share the life-changing impact Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar AH had on their lives and shlichus.

By Anash.org staff

Five shluchim, Rabbi Dov Greenberg of Stanford, Rabbi Yossi Lew of Atlanta, Rabbi Moshe Levin of Los Angeles, Rabbi Ruvi New of East Boca, FL, and Rabbi Hirschy Zarchi of Harvard Chabad, share the life-changing impact Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar AH had on their lives and shlichus.

We share them with you with their permission.

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My Non-Eulogy for Rabbi Shalom Dovber Lipskar

Rabbi Dov Greenberg – Chabad of Stanford University

In Chabad, we don’t do eulogies. Not because we don’t care. On the contrary—we care too much. We believe that if you have something beautiful to say about someone, say it while they’re alive. Say it when they can feel it in their heart—when they can hear it and say back, “Thank you.” A compliment at a funeral is a rose on a grave. It looks nice, but it’s too late to smell.

So, no eulogies in Chabad. But a farbrengen-eulogy? To speak about a soul. To remember the light, the laughter, the love. To tell stories not to bury someone—but to carry them forward? That’s a different story. And that, my friends, is a story Rabbi Sholom Dovber Lipskar would have loved.

So let me share a few reflections. For my teacher—and my friend: Rabbi Lipskar.

When the Torah records the death of Sarah, it does so in an unusual way. “She was one hundred years, and twenty years, and seven years.” It’s a curious construction. Why not just say 127? Rashi explains that the Torah is not merely measuring the quantity of her years—but the quality of her life. When Sarah was 100, she was as free of sin as a girl of 20. When she was 20, she had the innocence and beauty of a child of 7. And then Rashi concludes with three simple words: “כֻּלָּן שָׁוִין לְטוֹבָה” – All her years were in harmony—for the good.

But what does that mean?

Most people move through life in stages—leaving one behind to step into the next. At 7, you have innocence. Trust. Simple faith. At 20, you have fire—drive, ambition, the hunger to build. At 100, you have wisdom. Life has shaped you. You’ve seen things. You carry depth. But most of us live only one age at a time.

The innocence of childhood doesn’t usually survive adulthood. The fire of a 20-year-old cools long before old age. The greatness of Sarah was that she carried all of it—at once. The faith of a child. The energy of youth. The wisdom of age. Not in succession. In unison. “כֻּלָּן שָׁוִין לְטוֹבָה”—they blended together—in harmony.

And that, I believe, was the greatness of Rabbi Sholom Dovber Lipskar. He too lived all those ages at once. He had the pure faith of a child—to the end. Not naïve. Not simplistic. But pure. And unshaken.

He had the passion, the fire, the energy of someone half his age. He made things happen. A man of action—who touched lives from Miami to Montana, from Jewish prisoners to U.S. soldiers, from Jews who were searching to people who didn’t even know they were searching.

And he had the wisdom of years—a deep thinker, a creative force, a counselor to many.

Most people age by leaving things behind. He aged by carrying more within. In his life, faith, passion, and wisdom did not compete. They reinforced each other. Each quality deepened the others. But what unites those qualities—faith, passion, wisdom—is something deeper still.

And to understand it, let me share a story. One that he told. One that, I believe, reveals not just the man he was—but the soul that shaped everything he did. It was Shabbat day, several years ago, at a retreat in Florida. Rabbi Lipskar had just finished making Kiddush and began to farbreng. He told many stories that afternoon—stories of life, challenge, and faith. But one stayed with me.

He was reflecting on a moment from around 1980, a time of serious transition. The institutions he was building in Florida were struggling. He felt it might be better—for himself, the community, and the broader mission—to move elsewhere and start again. Other cities offered promising opportunities, ones that seemed more viable and perhaps better aligned with his strengths than what was unfolding in Miami.

So he wrote to the Rebbe. He laid out all the details: the difficulties, the options, the reasons he believed leaving would be best. A short time later, he received a call from the Rebbe’s secretary, Rabbi Binyomin Klein. The Rebbe’s message was clear:

“זאָג שלום בער, אַז איך נעם נישט אַוועק דעם בחירה פון קיינעם נישט. אָבער איך וואָלט געוואָלט אַז ער זאָל בלײַבן אין מיאַמי.”

“Tell Sholom Ber: I don’t take away anyone’s free will. But if it were up to me—I’d want him to stay in Miami.”

Without hesitation, Lipskar responded: “Do me one favor—please write a note immediately and give it to the Rebbe. Tell him: ‘The Rebbe took away my bechirah—my free will.’” Rabbi Klein was surprised. “Are you sure you want me to write that to the Rebbe?” Lipskar didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

A few minutes later, Rabbi Klein called back with the Rebbe’s reply. One word. In Hebrew: נִלְקַח – “It has been taken.”

When Rabbi Lipskar told that story at the farbrengen, he spoke with deep emotion. When he finished, I asked, “Why did you say that to the Rebbe—and what did his answer mean to you?” He smiled. “I’m not going to tell you.” And yet—I think he did tell me.

Because as the afternoon unfolded and the melodies deepened, something became clear. This was not a story of command. It was a story of love.

The Midrash tells us that when the Jewish people stood at Sinai, G-d lifted the mountain over their heads. The sages say it was as if they had no choice. But the first Rebbe of Chabad offered a deeper reading: the mountain wasn’t a threat—it was love. All-encompassing, overwhelming love. A moment so full of closeness that it left no room for distance.

And when love is that deep, you’re not being forced. You’re being drawn. Real love does not override your will. It transforms it. That, I believe, is what happened in that moment between the Rebbe and his chassid.

The Rebbe did not issue a command. He revealed his heart. And Lipskar, in turn, revealed his own. He said: “If that is what you want, then it is what I want.” And the Rebbe answered: נִלְקַח “It has been taken.” Because love, real love, is mutual. And that love animated Lipskar more than anything else.

Yes, he had deep faith. He had wisdom. He had strength. But what pulsed beneath it all—what carried him, what moved him, what gave his life its glow—was love. A burning, Chassidic love.Love for the Rebbe. Love for Torah. Love for his shlichus. Love for every Jew, no matter who, no matter where.

It was that love that gave his words their warmth, his leadership its light, and his presence its power. And now, that presence is gone. נִלְקַח. He has been taken. But a soul that sets others on fire with purpose, with hope, with holiness – is never really taken.

Because his light still burns. In the lives he touched. In the souls he stirred. In the stories that will be told for years to come. This world is a better, brighter, and holier place—because Rabbi Sholom Dovber Lipskar was here.

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Rabbi Yossi Lew – Atlanta, GA

I share something with you that may be a little personal, but I think that Rabbi Lipskar’s family, and us fans and admirers, will greatly appreciate this.

From 5730 (1970) till the late mems (the late 80s) when the Rebbe farbrenged on shabbos, the Rebbe would speak about a piece found in the Torah of Rabbi Levi Yitzchok, the Rebbe’s father.

Of all the varied topics and ideas the Rebbe would discuss on Shabbos, this topic was the most challenging without a doubt. The Rebbe’s father’s commentary chosen by the Rebbe to discuss was his writings on the Zohar, which was essentially unfamiliar with the crowds at the farbrengen. The commentary itself was written in dire exile, where the Rebbe’s father was severely limited in his writing ability – lacking paper and ink. The commentary was, therefore, filled with unfamiliar kabbalistic and esoteric terms.

This part of Torah was introduced by the Rebbe each shabbos farbrengen, and those charged with remembeing the Rebbe’s words would concentrate greatly, listening intently due to the nature of this part of Torah. Most of the others present would usually get a little lost during this time, relying on reading it later after it was transcribed by the ones who published these farbrengens in writing.

Personally, I had the great merit to be involved in the transcribing of the Rebbe’s farbrengens, and so I was somewhat more familiar with this section, as well.

Through my father, may he live and be well, I got to know Rabbi Lipskar well. They were close friends. As a result, Rabbi Lipskar would call me every Motzei Shabbos in the mid 80s, to inquire whether there was a Farbrengen that day, and if there was a Farbfengen, I would spend about 15 minutes or so with him (and others who called) delivering a brief synopsis of what the Rebbe had discussed. I would usually go through the Farbrengen systematically, sharing the main points of discussion, and fill in other details of the incredible experience of the Rebbe’s Farbrengen. The one topic I would usually not cover was the discussion about the Rebbe’s father’s Torah. I left that for the people to read about in the published version.

When all this first began (I think it was 1986), I had finished shareing with Rabbi Lipskar the points of the Farbrengen, he asked: can you please share what the Rebbe said about Likutei Levi Yitzchok?

That was an odd question. No one had ever asked me that before or after, and I thought that Rabbi Lipskar was hungry for yet another morsel of the Rebbe’s teaching. I duly shared with him what the Rebbe had said, and thought nothing of it.

The next time, Rabbi lispkar again asked me about this part of the Farbrengen which I had left out, and again I shared it with him. After this happened 3-4 times, I asked him what was going on, and what was his obssession with that specific part of the Farbrengen, which no one else ever asked about.

Rabbi Lipskar explained that when the Rebbe spoke about this topic, the Rebbe always, without exception, would teach how one can extrapolate a lesson in serving Hashem (א הוראה בעבודת השם). ”This is the one part of the Farbrengen”, said Rabbi Lispkar, ”when you can be sure that the Rebbe is giving us instructions in what to work on during the next week or two in being a Jew and a Chossid”.

Rabbi Lipskar, in addition to all the things he did for others and for the world, leaving behind a trail and a legacy that is larger than life, he really and truly constantly was working on himself, looking for ways to become even more. And he eagerly waited for the Rebbe’s weekly instructions – which many others overlooked – to find areas upon which to work on himself.

It was incredibly inspiring to me, as he was to so many all over the world.

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“Oh. Fancy Pants.”

Rabbi Moshe Levin – Los Angeles, CA

That’s what an elderly Chassid said to me when I returned to 770 after spending time in Miami. He looked me up and down—black hat a little sharper, jacket freshly pressed—and dropped the line like a gavel. “What happened to you in Miami?” he asked. I told him about Rabbi Sholom Lipskar. He smirked. “Ah. Fancy pants.”

At first, I was stunned. That’s what he saw? The sharp clothes? The polished look? But then it hit me: He wasn’t wrong. Rabbi Lipskar 𝗱𝗶𝗱 carry himself with elegance. But it wasn’t about vanity. It was about 𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆. This wasn’t dressing up for show—it was showing up for your mission. You represented the Rebbe. You didn’t just act the part. You 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 the part.

That moment stuck with me because it revealed something deeper: Rabbi Lipskar didn’t teach you how to play the role—he taught you how to live it. He made you feel like you 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 someone. Not someday. Now.

I met him in 2000, while learning in the Yeshiva in Miami. He invited a few of us over for Shabbos. From the moment he welcomed us in, he radiated strength—but not the kind that intimidated. His presence didn’t shrink you. It lifted you.

That Shabbos, they hosted a communal meal—a Shabbaton. You could feel the electricity. Everyone at the table had to speak. Share a mitzvah they took on. A Jewish experience that moved them. You didn’t sit at Rabbi Lipskar’s table to schmooze. You sat there because you were on a mission—even if you didn’t know it yet.

And then there was his Shul. One of the most stunning in America. But the real beauty wasn’t the architecture. It was the energy. The sense that this wasn’t just a synagogue. It was a launchpad. You didn’t walk in to observe—you walked in to 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴.

At one point that Shabbos, he introduced someone to perform a Tanya rap. Yes—a 𝗿𝗮𝗽. “There’s a war being fought, give it some thought, don’t get caught—24 hours a day…” Not exactly standard Yeshiva fare. But Rabbi Lipskar lit up. If it inspired someone—if it helped them connect—it was holy. That was his brilliance. He didn’t see your quirks as obstacles. He saw them as assets. You weren’t just tolerated—you were needed.

As Shabbos wound down, we were standing on the curb waiting for our taxi. Rabbi Lipskar turned to us and said, “The taxi’s coming in 15 minutes. What can I possibly give you in 15 minutes?” He wasn’t joking. He was serious. 𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗜 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧 𝗙𝗜𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥?

And he did.

He told us about a time he had written to the Rebbe, sharing his curiosity about science and wisdom beyond Torah. The Rebbe’s answer: “It’s all in there. Everything you’re seeking is in the Torah.” That clarity? That confidence? He handed it to us like a torch. Fifteen minutes—and he gave us something we didn’t even know we needed.

That question—what can I give in 15 minutes?—never left me. It became a way of life.

A few days later, he invited us to a birthday party. A man in his community, Mr. Hurary ע”ה, was turning 50—just beginning his Jewish journey. Rabbi Lipskar stood up and said, “This is the Rebbe’s 50th year of leadership. And your 50th. Let’s talk about what that number means.” In that moment, this man wasn’t a newcomer. He was a stakeholder. A part of something far bigger than himself. That was Rabbi Lipskar’s gift—he didn’t make you feel welcome. He made you feel 𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗔𝗟.

He carried that same approach in private, too. Years later, at the International Conference of Chabad Rabbis, I offered him a ride after his talk. I got another 15 minutes.

He told me how the Rebbe once called him in for a private audience and instructed him to take a full year—not to build, not to teach—but to 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻. To study how other synagogues functioned. The Rebbe didn’t just send soldiers into the field. He trained generals. And Rabbi Lipskar became one.

Another time, he told me about an invitation to a private audience with the Rebbe. Because it was an invitation, he didn’t request anything. He just wrote his name and his mother’s name. When he walked in, the Rebbe greeted him with a smile: “Good evening, Sholom Ber.” Then the Rebbe spoke about how some souls are born into circumstances that give them greater influence. That wasn’t praise. That was responsibility. Rabbi Lipskar didn’t see that as pressure. He saw it as purpose.

And yet, with all his stature, he was never out of reach. I once called him about a complicated situation—someone considering intermarriage. I had spoken to others. No one really helped. He did. Fifteen minutes.

He spoke about the family being united in their message, “We love you but no, this won’t ever be accepted.” Then he said, “Have coffee with them. Don’t lecture. Share with them what it means to be part of something eternal. Show them how when two people share a spiritual language, even big challenges feel small. But when they don’t—even small challenges feel impossible.”

And a key point: “Focus on one mitzva they can connect to”.

Then he told me a story. A man, living with a non-Jewish woman, had promised to start putting on Tefillin. With nowhere else to do it, he put them on in the bathroom. One day, she caught him. She said, “It’s me or the Tefillin.” He didn’t flinch. She left. And that moment—that choice—changed his life.

That’s what Rabbi Lipskar did. He made you realize that a single moment, a single mitzvah, a single decision—could change everything.

So yes—maybe I came back to New York a little more polished. Maybe I looked like “fancy pants.” But it wasn’t about the clothes. It was about the 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲. The clarity. The understanding that you were on a mission, and that mission deserved your best.

We lost a general. A force. A soul who didn’t just carry the Rebbe’s message—he 𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗗 it. But if Rabbi Lipskar taught us anything, it’s this: 𝗗𝗢𝗡’𝗧 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗗. “𝗚𝗢 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗣.” Show up. Speak with purpose. Walk with pride. Know who you are.

And never waste a moment. Fifteen minutes can change a life. He proved it.

May we soon, 𝗕𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗩 𝗠𝗔𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗛, be reunited with this giant in the Rebbe’s army. And we will. Imminently.

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TEN LESSONS I LEARNED FROM RABBI LIPSKAR

Rabbi Ruvi New – East Boca Raton ,FL

There’s an old cynical Jewish joke sourced in the names of this week’s Torah portions – “Acharei Mos/Kedoshim” – lit. “holy after death” – that some people are suddenly thought of and remembered as holy only after their passing. Not so much during their lifetime….

Such is not the case, as I and many around the world, reflect this week on the life of Rabbi Shalom D Lipskar OBM, who passed away this past Shabbos. His life was saturated in holiness and that was plain to see for anyone that knew him.

The Hebrew word “kedoshim” connotes not only “holy” but “unique,” distinct,” “special.”

It is in the spirit of that definition that I share with you what I learned from Rabbi Lipskar. Not because he wasn’t holy in the conventional sense of the word, but because holiness alone is not what made him so special. Holiness can sometimes mean abstract, abstruse, detached, totally transcendent. Rabbi Lipskar’s version of “Kedoshim” – holiness – was also very human. His idealism was grounded. His vision was practical.

I share my thoughts and reflections as a fellow Shliach/emissary of the Rebbe, a role Rabbi Lipskar excelled at in extraordinary ways, making him, for me at least (and I suspect many of my colleagues) an iconic Shliach. In many ways direct and indirect, he was my mentor, role model and inspiration.

Much has been and will be written and shared about Rabbi Lipskar. What follows are the life lessons I personally learned from him and perhaps you will learn from them too.

THE LEGEND

Before I ever met Rabbi Lipskar personally, I encountered his name on a… menu. In the eighties the go-to dairy restaurant in South Florida was Sara’s on 125th St, on the west side of the causeway that goes to Surfside/Bal Harbor. Sara’s was famous for, among other things, my favorite – the shmopper – a cheeseburger made with soy. On the salad menu of Sara’s was the “Rabbi Lipskar Salad.” Don’t ask me what the ingredients were, but I remember thinking, man, to have a salad named after you? – that’s next level. This man is a legend!

IT’S SERIOUS “BUSINESS”!

My first personal encounter with Rabbi Lipskar came in the early nineties when I was a rookie Shliach in Marietta, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta. Like many fellow Shluchim (of that time) I came to Georgia high on inspiration, anxious and excited to share the Rebbe’s vision with the world.

But I was pretty low when it came to the nuts and bolts of building an organization. There was no training for Shluchim in those days and you were expected to figure it out as you went along. Aside from lacking organizational skills, I was (and still am) a reluctant fundraiser. Making the “ask” never came easily or naturally. (Ok it’s gotten a little better over time BH)

When an invitation came from Rabbi Lipskar to attend a one-day fundraising seminar in Miami with himself and Mel Landow, a philanthropist that he had become very close with, (that was amazingly and Providentially featured in JEM’s My Story this past Shabbos on the day of Rabbi Lipskar’s passing) me and my brother Rabbi Yossi New, who was already a bit of a veteran but figured he could always learn more, jumped at the opportunity.

We flew down on Sunday morning and quickly settled into a modest storefront on Harding Ave that was The Shul of Bal Harbor, for the seminar. I can’t claim to remember all that much of the seminar, but what I do remember is the impression Rabbi Lipskar made on me. He evinced seriousness, that Shlichus (being a Chabad emissary of the Rebbe) was “serious business.” If you take the mission seriously, people will take you seriously. You have to be organized, strategic and accountable. Accountable to time and accountable to donors.

Mel led most of the seminar and I vividly recall him preaching about the yellow pad and the daily task list. Every day you should have a list of tasks written on your lined yellow pad and check them off as they are completed. Learn how to prioritize tasks and defer if necessary but never leave a task uncompleted. The daily task list, I later learned, was a strategy that my father strictly adhered to throughout his decades long business career.

OVER THE TOP – DARE TO THINK BIG!

The small storefront we sat in was in the shadows of The Shul that was under construction on Collins Ave. The sight of the shell of the building alone was awe inspiring – testament to Rabbi Lipskar’s big, bold vision and “over the top” attitude. The Shul was a game changer for Chabad worldwide, especially in the US. It was a trailblazer and model for Shluchim for whom Rabbi Lipskar had blazed a new path, broadened the scope of what is possible, daring every Shliach to think big. Much bigger than many would have ever thought to go. Today there are many Chabad Houses that actually call themselves “The Shul” modeled after The Shul of Bal Harbor. The awe, inspiration and aspiration I felt that day as I beheld this grand and majestic building never left me.

When I first contemplated a capital campaign in Boca and wanted to get buy-in from the community, I asked Rabbi Lipskar if he would come and speak. He readily agreed. I wanted people to hear from a real visionary and community builder, to expand their horizons and conceive the possibilities of what we could build. Rabbi Lipskar delivered the goods…

THINK… SMALL!

A story Rabbi Lipskar often shared at Shluchim conferences was how at a “Yechidus” – private audience with the Rebbe – together with his extraordinary partner Rebbetzin Chani Lipskar may she live and be well, he reported to the Rebbe on some of his successes, accomplishments and achievements in Miami. As the Yechidus drew to a close, he could sense that the Rebbe was waiting for something more. He couldn’t think of what else to share.

The Rebbe asked him “and what about the young girl you wrote to me about recently?” I don’t recall the exact circumstances but Rabbi Lipskar in one of his regular written reports to the Rebbe, had made mention of a certain young girl in his community and a struggle she was having. The Rebbe was waiting to hear how she was faring.

Rabbi Lipskar recalled how stunned he was by the Rebbe’s caring and sensitivity toward this girl and realized how the “big” programs, “big” accomplishments, and “big” building, should never eclipse being attentive and sensitive to a “small” young girl. In the Rebbe’s “big” worldview, every “small” individual is a world.

The story became a benchmark story for Shluchim. No matter how big your organizing grows, the big picture ought never eclipse the small one.

DON’T FORGET THE FORGOTTEN

In 1981 Rabbi Lipskar founded the Aleph Institute, an organization that provides material and spiritual support and advocacy for Jews in prison (and for Jewish military personnel). Jews in prison are a largely unknown, unheard of, and all but forgotten population. The Rebbe didn’t forget them and entrusted Rabbi Lipskar with the task of building an organization to support them.

The Aleph Institute leveraged the presence of Shluchim in cities, suburbs and small towns throughout the US. Like many other Shluchim, I found myself becoming a prison chaplain in a Federal prison and in state and county jails as well. Aleph supplied the names and locations of inmates, as well as support materials, and kosher food. For me, entering into this very unknown world was a life changing experience. It’s one thing having a Torah class and conducting a service in a Chabad House, it’s quite another doing it in a prison. For many of the inmates, I was the only visitor they had and many deep and strong bonds were forged between them and myself, and more importantly between them and G-d. On occasion Ahuva would join me when I visited women’s prisons resulting in her having some special correspondence with inmates who so appreciated that they were not forgotten. My experience as a chaplain reminded me to never forget the forgotten.

SELL SUBSTANCE. BE A CONTENT PROVIDER!

Back in the eighties, when the Lipskars first moved to Bal Harbor, the signature program of The Shul was Rabbi Lipskar’s Tuesday night Torah class. It became something of a legend in Chabad circles. Rabbi Lipskar was a trailblazing Torah teacher. Long before the Jewish Learning Institute changed the landscape of adult Jewish learning, Rabbi Lipskar understood that the real key to reaching the soul of a Jew is through Torah. Rabbi Lipskar was one of the pioneers of teaching Torah in a language that was relatable to the modern and sophisticated Jew. In many ways the Tuesday night class laid the foundation for what would become the revolution of Jewish life in Bal Harbor.

Rabbi Lipskar reminded me and many other Shluchim that our job is to sell substance – to be content providers – as in teach Torah. That people don’t need a Shliach to keep them informed of the news, to offer political commentary or be familiar with the latest crazes in pop culture. (He wasn’t advocating that a Shliach should be clueless as to what is happening in the world, but as I once heard him say: reading five minutes of headlines of the Wall Street Journal will provide you with all you need to know of what’s going on in the world). First and foremost the Shliach must be a teacher and purveyor of Torah’s wisdom, and use language that is relatable and resonant. Nothing penetrates the soul more deeply than Torah.

COMMUNICATE AUTHENTICALLY

Aside from his oratory skills, he had a deft pen. Long before AI, he was generating letters that were a fusion of meaningful content and at the same time had a decisive personal touch.

I always marveled how he knew of my own personal family Simchas or loss and took the time to write and convey a meaningful and personal message.

He would always sign his letter with: “ with Torah blessings I remain….” His consistency of always infusing correspondence with content, speaks of someone who was deeply and authentically connected to these ideas.

CHERISH THE MITZVAH

While Torah penetrates the soul, Mitzvahs envelop the soul and every Mitzvah creates a powerful and unbreakable connection between the person and G-d. The value of singular Mitzvahs was a core teaching of the Rebbe and theological basis for the Mitzvah campaigns. Perhaps the most ubiquitous of them is the Tefillin campaign, one that Rabbi Lipskar excelled at.

It’s not always easy or comfortable to ask someone to put on Tefillin. For most of us, our natural impulse is to mind our own business and leave others alone, especially when it comes to their spiritual life. To engage another in an unsolicited offer to do a Mitzvah, and to do it consistently and not relent as you grow older, you have to be coming from a place of deep seated conviction that this Jew’s singular Mitzvah really matters. Rabbi Lipskar lived and exemplified that conviction.

LIVE WITH MOSHIACH IN REDEMPTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS

In an interview about the coming of Moshiach, Rabbi Lipskar said: “In the past we were waiting for Moshiach, now Moshiach is waiting for us.” Start living now in Moshiach/redemptive consciousness, he said. He didn’t just preach it, he did it.

So what does that type of consciousness look like? For a Jew it means embracing our chosenness and bringing light, clarity and G-d consciousness to the world around us. At a Farbrengen in our Chabad House a few years ago, Rabbi Lipskar spoke about how even chance encounters with people can be impactful. Bring G-d awareness into everyday encounters and conversations, he said. When the person at the supermarket check out asks you how you’re doing, be sure to reply “thank G-d” and be sure to ask how they are doing and try to share something meaningful. Encourage people to be charitable and when possible teach the Seven Noahide laws to Gentiles.

Again, these were not Rabbi Lipskar’s original ideas per se, they all came from the Rebbe. But what was unique was the passion with which he lived and practiced these ideas, losing none of his passion and idealism with the passage of time.

Messianic prophecies speak of a world of plentifulness and abundance, so in very practical terms, living with Moshiach means living with an abundance mindset. Here’s a very practical illustration of that. On a number of occasions I met with Rabbi Lipskar to discuss projects I was working on, to have him weigh in on their merit and to ask if I could solicit some of the members of the Shul that I thought might be interested in supporting the project.

Rabbi Lipskar never restricted me from approaching his members for funding. In the world of nonprofits and fundraising that is huge and rare. Understandably, fundraisers are protective of their supporters. To gladly share a donor is to live in an abundance – redemptive mindset in the most real way.

CHASSIDIC CLASS

Rabbi Lipskar’s demeanor, down to the way he dressed, was a unique combination of Chassidic and class. Elegant but modest. Classy yet understated. He had a unique elegance and magnetism about him and demonstrated that you can be current without being compromising.

LOVE FOR THE REBBE

The first time I saw Rabbi Lipskar was probably around 1985 at Mincha services with the Rebbe in 770. It was just a regular mid week afternoon, no special holiday or occasion. The word among us Yeshiva students was that for Rabbi Lipskar, just to observe the Rebbe walking in and out of services, pray with him on a regular Wednesday, and fly right back afterwards, was worth the round trip flight from Miami and enough to recharge his battery.

In the late eighties when the Rebbe would receive thousands of people every Sunday at the famous “dollars” line, Rabbi Lipskar was often seen alongside supporters and members who he brought with him to receive the Rebbe’s blessing.

The Rebbe’s passing in 1994 did not diminish his love and connection to the Rebbe. He told me that he would often take the last flight out of Miami to New York, spend the night at the Ohel and fly back on the first flight out. He shared with me that his first annual board meeting with his executive board took place in a house near the Ohel. He was the first to bring large groups to the Ohel and trailblazed what has become a staple program for many Chabad House communities around the world. After I saw a video of one of his trips “Journey of Souls,” I too launched an annual trip for our community to the Ohel each year before Rosh Hashana which we dubbed Soul Trek.

His love for the Rebbe came from the core and was overflowing and evident to anyone who interacted with him. And seems to have only grown over time.

In one of the entries of Hayom Yom – a compilation of Chassidic mediations, it says that the greatest evidence of love is when you love what your beloved loves. Rabbi Lipskar loved what the Rebbe loved. He had a deep and passionate love for the Land of Israel, the People of Israel, the Torah of Israel and the G-d of Israel.

For me, hearing Rabbi Lipskar, being around him, always uplifted me to what Chassidim call being a “tefach hecher” – “one handbreadth” higher than the world. Less tethered to the world, more bound to why we are here. Less defined by the world around us. More defined by the One Above us. It is “Kedoshim” at its finest – holy/distinct/idealistic/visionary yet grounded, practical, transformative.

Rabbi Lipskar’s legacy will continue to guide, inspire, uplift, invigorate us all to live Over the Top – a tefach hecher.

May his relentless drive for redemption be realized now!

*

Rabbi Hirschy Zarchi – Chabad of Harvard University

Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar was a trailblazer in so many ways. Much is being unpacked now, but what’s amazing is that even more still hasn’t been.

My first encounter, and lasting impression, was as a young bochur. He had a deep conviction that the deepest teachings of Chassidus can and must be communicated to all audiences. I observed in awe the way he toiled in his early years and beyond, both personally and by challenging others, to articulate Chassidus to sophisticated audiences. I shared this reflection earlier this week with our students at Harvard when introducing a young lady who did exactly that. Sholom would have loved it. And I know that many of you will too, so I’ll include here separately.

L’chaim, Sholom Ber. This, and so much more, is for and because of you.

Among the so much more that I will forever treasure, came later. One very early example was the way he, and Chani – tzu langeh gezunteh yohrin – embraced us in the very early days of our Shlichus when visiting their community. We came to share in the Simcha of a Harvard alum that he introduced us to. It was at this occasion that he introduced me to Sami Rohr, Z”L. That fateful conversation was later recounted by Sami in his legendary address to the Shluchim, and changed the reality of world Jewry. Sami told how he phoned his dear son, George – tzu langeh gezunteh yohrin – later that evening urging him to fund Shluchim on every campus in America. It should come as no surprise that, this too, happened in The Shul and was facilitated by Sholom Ber.

Sending so much love to Rebbetzin Chani, Devorah Leah and Yanki, and Zalman and Chana. May you find comfort both in the outpouring of love and admiration from around the world, and in your continued leadership of, and over-the-top example for, not only your community, but for all communities.

💔Hirschy

PS: Lubavitch is about love. The most profound and enduring love. And Chabad is about ideas. The deepest ideas of the Torah. It’s these values, often in short supply, or not platformed and honored appropriately, that Sholom embodied as a Shliach. Perhaps the craving for this authenticity of Chabad-Lubavitch, and the success that came with it (which had been often sidelined), is another element that is being so profoundly mourned.