Фрагмент текста

M y grandfather, Rabbi Yerucham Fishel Avrutick, was an authentic Chabad chasid . He had a long beard and was a devoted disciple of the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe. When I was growing up in 1950s Montreal, I used to spend time in his house on Shabbat until he passed away. My parents wanted me to be a good Jew, so they sent me to the Chabad school, although they weren’t quite chasidim themselves. And so the sense of warmth I felt towards Judaism came from my teachers, from the environment of that school — and from my grandfather. After finishing high school, in 1961, a friend of mine named Yitzchok Mann suggested that we go work as counselors in a Chabad summer camp in the United States, but my parents didn’t let me. I was supposed to go to university the next year, and they thought that I should be getting ready. Still, we decided to go anyway, and I was already at the camp when I wrote a letter telling my parents where I was. They were upset, of course, but it seems they had also found out that I hadn’t done so well with my matriculation exams, and I wouldn’t be able to go to university yet anyway — so they didn’t make too much of a fuss. After camp, the same friend had the idea…