Shliach By Day, Aviation Expert By Night

From Soviet Moscow to the forefront of drone innovation, Rabbi Daniel Stoller’s journey is anything but typical. Today, he serves as shliach to Ashkelon’s Russian-Jewish community, while pioneering breakthrough research that could reshape aviation.

By Mendy Cortez – Chabad.org

In late 2016, Rabbi Daniel Stoller was deeply immersed in mechanical engineering studies—a field that had fascinated him since childhood. He had plans, aspirations, and professional goals all mapped out.

Then came the phone call that would change his life.

“It was Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Wagner from the ‘Chabad Aliyah’ department,” recalls Rabbi Stoller of Ashkelon. “At that time, there was a surge in outreach activities for immigrants across the country, and he asked if I was interested in becoming a Chabad emissary and working with Russian speakers in our city.”

He did not rush to accept the offer.

“A few days later, I came across a video of Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsaltz, of blessed memory, recounting an answer he received from the Rebbe,” Stoller continues. “He explained that he had been busy with two projects when he was offered a third—one that no one else was equipped for. He asked the Rebbe which of the two projects he should sideline in light of the new offer, but the Rebbe replied that he should take on the third project as an additional commitment. When I saw that, I understood that I had a mission that I was uniquely positioned to fulfill, and I knew I had to answer the call.”

He accepted the challenge.

Nine years have passed since then and he is busier than he could have ever imagined. The war in Ukraine, which began a few years after he started his work, sent a wave of Russian-speaking refugees into the city. The Jewish community of Zhytomyr, along with their leaders, settled in Ashkelon and became an integral part of the community.

Recently, against the backdrop of ongoing conflict and the rise of combat drones, many have taken an interest in both his research and his remarkable personal journey. He travels across Israel giving lectures—accompanied by his electric guitar—sharing his unique story.

A Typical Russian-Jewish Childhood

His journey began thirty-nine years ago in Moscow, in 1986.

“I was born in the capital of Russia, to a family where Judaism had unfortunately been almost completely erased,” he explains. “My maternal grandmother came from a traditional Jewish family in Belarus, but when her family fled the Nazis the connection to Judaism was severed.

“My maternal grandfather’s family had been living in Moscow since the Tsarist era. His mother was the Soviet Union’s chief chemist, who created a special paint used to cover up Stalin’s name during the de-Stalinization era.

“This is what we learned in childhood—to erase; to erase G‑d, the past, our identity, Judaism, whatever would get in the way of progress.”

Escaping the Soviet Union

Just before the fall of the Iron Curtain, when Stoller was four years old, his parents decided to immigrate to Israel.

“My father was an outstanding student, but he was not even considered for university acceptance because too many Jews had applied,” he recalls. “So when my parents had the opportunity, they renounced their Soviet citizenship, received deportation orders, and finally came to Israel.”

The family settled in Ashkelon, in an area where many other soviet Jews lived.

Daniel was a mischievous child, always testing the boundaries.

“At night, I would annoy children and adults with a laser pointer,” he remembers. “One of my favorite pastimes was sitting on a friend’s balcony and throwing water-filled bags at passersby. We carried on for months and were almost never caught. There was just one problem: every now and then, we just had to peek to see the results, and that’s how we’d get caught.”

This was also when his passion for engineering began to emerge.

“In my young mind, I came up with a solution that would allow us to enjoy the fruits of our labor without getting caught. It involved building a cannon that would launch the water bags further into the street, allowing us to watch the fun from a distance. I thought that if I placed the bag on a tray attached to a spring, the bag would gain momentum and fly, so no one would see us during the actual throw. I started sketching it in detail. But my promising engineering project was cut short when my father caught wind of it.”

The project was curtailed, but not the passion. Daniel, now almost a teenager, developed a love for building model airplanes and aviation. It was an expensive hobby and he remembers how his father saved up for it. A family friend who noticed his interest suggested that he attend the Air Force’s technical high school in Tel Aviv.

He seized the opportunity. More than just a new school—it was a gateway to a new world.

“In Ashkelon, where I grew up, there were many Russian-Jewish families, but also Sephardic families of Middle Eastern descent. As a kid, I noticed the differences. The Sephardic kids came from traditional homes, and I was jealous of the faith, the joy. I wanted that too. That opportunity came to me in Tel Aviv. It was a new environment, and I started asking questions and shaping my identity.

“At one point, we had to fill out a questionnaire. One of the questions asked about tefillin. I wanted to be part of the traditional crowd, so I indicated that yes, I wore them regularly.

“It was a lie, and it tormented me for months. How could I lie like that? I did have a pair of tefillin, which I received at a bar mitzvah event for kids from low-income families, organized by the welfare department in Ashkelon, and the torment I felt from my lie led me to start putting them on.”

One Mitzvah Leads to Another

It didn’t stop at tefillin. When Stoller discovered a daily mincha minyan at school, he began attending.

“I started observing more and more mitzvot. I wanted to connect. It excited me. When I’d return home to Ashkelon, I looked for a place to pray and study, and I started going to synagogue. I met the rabbi, Chabad emissary Rabbi Menachem Mendel Gorelik, and we formed a close bond. I began to help him with his outreach work, including helping at the local tefillin stand every Friday.”

“The tefillin stand was run by students from the Chabad yeshiva in nearby Kiryat Gat. Toward the end of 12th grade, I started visiting their yeshiva often.”

In the winter of 2005, after completing his military service, he became a full-fledged yeshiva student.

“It was an intense time. I remember sleeping maybe four hours a night. The rest of the time, I sat and studied, read and learned. I felt like I had so much to catch up on.

“At first, my parents didn’t understand what was happening to me and didn’t appreciate my choices. Today, they respect and appreciate my way of life.”

At the yeshiva in Kiryat Gat, Stoller studied for his rabbinic ordination. Then, in late 2008, he married Chaya Ira, who shared his passion for Judaism.

“After the wedding, I joined my father’s business, looking to support my new family. On my wife’s advice, I began to seriously pursue my childhood passion for aviation and enrolled in a mechanical engineering program.” This led to his research into drones.

Pioneering Research

As he explains it, drones are inherently unstable. His research shows how adding flexibility to a drone, which at first glance might seem to jeopardize its stability, actually enhances it and acts as a shock absorber.

Rabbi Stoller holds up one of the models at the center of his research. It’s a small, black drone with flexible arms on all four sides that constantly move—unlike a regular drone, which remains stable.

“Usually,” he explains, “flexibility is considered a negative in robotics. It introduces uncertainty into a system, so researchers and developers try to avoid it. We, however, took this seeming disadvantage and turned it into an advantage, aiming to stabilize the drone. My research examines whether this drone’s flexibility allows it to fly more smoothly and reduces its susceptibility to winds and air currents. So far, it looks promising.

“After I published my first paper on the topic,” he says, “my advisor, who attended a conference in Europe last year, showed me that another researcher is trying to follow in my footsteps and work in this area too. If the research succeeds, it could be groundbreaking, perhaps even changing the entire aviation industry, including passenger planes. This is pioneering, precedent-setting research.”

One of the goals of the research is to enable the flight of large drones, not just small ones bearing cameras, but also heavy objects, and perhaps even animals and people. “Things that need stability and can’t afford to shake,” he emphasizes.

At this stage, the drone he designed is undergoing simulations and preliminary tests. “I believe that by the end of next year, we’ll be able to fly such a drone in lab conditions, with control over all six directions. If we succeed in flying a relatively small flexible drone within a year, then within two years, G‑d willing, we can present a large drone with arms several meters long.”

From the way he speaks, one would imagine that he is fully immersed in aviation.

But he also serves as a busy Chabad emissary.

Serving Ashkelon’s Russian-Jewish Community

He speaks enthusiastically as he recounts his work in the city where he grew up. “Before COVID, they started building a mall in the marina area. I remember walking by and imagining a vibrant Chabad House in the mall. I tried to make it happen, but the prices were too high. Way too high.”

But then a twist came. Thousands of kilometers away, a war broke out. Ukraine was bombed. Thousands of Jews fled. A large group from the Chabad community in Zhytomyr, led by Rabbi Shlomo Wilhelm, along with the local orphanage, arrived in Ashkelon.

“They reached out to me for help with the logistics and I dove in. Together we managed to enroll all the children in schools. I brought in lawyers and notaries to handle declarations, translations, and whatever else was needed.

“From the moment the group from Zhytomyr arrived, I started searching more intensely for a large space for activities.”

Last year, the dream became reality.

“One of the emissaries from Zhytomyr spoke with a city official and raised the issue of the need for a space for activities in the marina area. That official was the right person in the right place at the right time, and thanks to him, we secured two adjacent stores in the mall. We bought one, rented the other, and broke down the wall between them. The Chabad House that we built is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful in the country.”

An estimated 40,000 Russian-speaking families live in Ashkelon.

The Chabad House itself operates in Russian. The sermons are in Russian, the classes are in Russian. The style is tailored to the target audience. “What characterizes Russian speakers living in Israel,” explains Stoller, “is that in most cases, they are not a traditional crowd actively seeking a connection with a Chabad House or a rabbi. Sometimes, it’s the opposite.

But over the years, a community has formed around the Chabad House, and we have a personal, close connection with several hundred families. The Chabad House is active every day of the week and on Friday nights we host Shabbat meals at our home. Every week, about twenty people join us.”

Rabbi Stoller has plans to reach even more people.

“Most of the people I work with are around my age, late 30s and early 40s,” he explains. “I’m thinking of bringing another emissary to focus on the youth. The second-generation Russian immigrants need a unique approach because unlike other Israeli kids their age who may have absorbed tradition at home, they often have no outward connection to their Judaism despite living in Israel. They feel lost, and we need to gather them, one by one. We need to open the door for them and show them the beauty of Judaism.”