“The rabbi in Harlem,” my editor replied. “There’s a Chabad there. The Jews are coming back to Harlem. Get the rabbi’s story for the paper.”
When I had joined the Columbia Spectator, I expected to be writing about Barnard President Debora Spar’s latest speech or how a Columbia professor trimmed his toenails during a lecture. Instead, I, a secular Jew from surburbia, was now the assigned Sherlock Holmes of campus religion, starring in “CSI: Columbia’s Spiritual Investigations.”
My mission was to seek out the Chabad’s head honcho, Rabbi Shaya Gansbourg, to report on the rising number of Jews in Harlem. Like a timid pioneer, I crossed into unfamiliar land, hoping to find a billboard announcing, “Chabad of Harlem – next right.” There was no such billboard. In fact, there was no Chabad sign on the building, and most definitely not a black hat or beard to be found.
I found a few locals hanging out on the stoop of a weather-beaten stone building across from a bodega. “Is this the Harlem Jewish Center?”
“Yeah.” One of the girls jerked her thumb at an iron-grated door. I was buzzed into the building and knocked on the one door with a mezuzah on the first floor. The door opened and a man bearing a distinct resemblance to the Vilna Gaon nodded to me. I had entered the Chasidic twilight zone – two blocks past Morningside Park. This wasn’t Harlem; it was Poland!
“Welcome,” the Rabbi said in a husky voice. I stepped forward and extended my hand to shake his. The rabbi kept his firmly in his pockets, looking at mine as if it was covered in dairy and meat, mixed. An awkward silence ensued. The rabbi gestured to a tall young man behind him. “My nephew. He will go get some Starbucks. Would you like some?”
I paused. I had been told that Chasidic introductions to young men were often courtship rituals. One latte with the Rabbi’s nephew and I could be wearing a wig and head-scarf, wheeling a stroller, with five kids following in yarmulkes and destined to wear a skirt every day.
I whipped out my laptop and my fingers scurried over the keyboard as the rabbi answered my questions. I thanked him, kept my hands to myself, and rushed back to campus to write the article. Next time on “Columbia’s Spiritual Investigations” this roving reporter would interview the head of the Muslim Students’ Association. Hey, nobody told me I’d get into trouble when I asked him his views on Israel!
