Rabbi Faivish Vogel: A tribute to a beloved Chabad rabbi - opinion

I was 15 years old when I met him for the first time.

I had gone with my parents to London to visit the Lubavitch girls’ high school, where I was supposed to start in September. I was afraid of leaving home so young, but I didn’t have much of a choice. The religious school in Milan went up to age 13, and then I could have continued at the main Jewish school, which is mixed. My parents decided to send me to London.

I was wearing a navy blue dress with a big white collar in the back. Rabbi Faivish Vogel showed me the school and proudly said, “Welcome to Lubavitch.” That was what they called it: one word – “Lubavitch.” It encompassed everything: school, life, world, system. I could see he was proud.

He then turned to his daughter, standing next to him, and introduced us. “This is Hindy; you will be in class together.” We were both shy. She had a high ponytail held together with a big scrunchie (remember those?), a cute face, and a nice smile.

From then on, Hindy and I were bound by a very strong friendship until today. We went through high school, a seminary year in Israel, living the single life, marriage, children, hardships, and amazing times. We are always connected. We know what the other thinks just with a look, we feel each other’s mood, we can laugh for hours, and we can sit for a whole day talking without realizing the day has passed.

I was supposed to live with the Vogel family during my stay in London for school. When my parents told me I would be boarding with a family of 10 children, I cried for two days. Hindy is number eight. When I finally agreed to this adventure, we were told it was not possible because the Vogels had boys more or less my age, so it was not a good idea.

Hindy and I ended up being neighbors; I lived two doors down from her house. We walked to school and came back together, and we stopped to get fresh cinnamon buns from Grodzinski and the salt and vinegar crisps I loved so much. We would buy the HELLO! magazine on Fridays before Shabbat and look for pictures of Princess Diana.

We did homework and studied for tests; I mean, she did the homework, and I copied. She studied for tests and would explain things to me. In class, we sat next to each other. She was the best student, while I was sent out of class pretty often. She would write down everything during class, while I had earphones on with music.

When I would raise my hand to ask a question, Hindy would gently push it down and whisper, “I’ll explain to you later…”

Hindy was the queen; everyone loved her, wanted to be close to her, respected her, and… she was Rabbi Vogel’s daughter, who had all the characteristics of nobility and royalty. Rabbi Vogel spoke with a stunning command of the English language, so much so that during my first year in school, I had to use a dictionary to understand him.

The legacy of Rabbi Faivish Vogel

He was one of the main leaders of Chabad in England. He met with royalty, politicians, and famous businessmen, and they were all enthralled by his magic. His knowledge was so deep and entrenched in his being that you could physically feel a love for Torah and Hassidut coming out of every pore.

He loved Judaism; he loved being Jewish, and he carried it so beautifully. Even though he grew up not being a Hassid, his meeting with the Rebbe brought him to where he belonged: Chabad and the Rebbe became his whole purpose in life.

I listened, fascinated, to stories of him being very close to my grandfather and his sister, the famous Ruth Lunzer, after whom our school was named. For us girls, he was the Hassidut teacher, and believe me, he was the only teacher for whom, when he came into class, I trembled. His was the only class I would prepare for the night before, terrified I would be picked to read a text out loud or answer a question.

He had a strong presence, charisma, and commanded respect without ever imposing. You felt you were in the presence of someone “big.” When I would go to Hindy’s house and her father was home, you could feel it – the kids loved him, respected him, and feared him, too. When he would call, “Hindy!” or “Yankie,” the baby of the family, it sounded like thunder. The kids would rush when they heard their names called.

He was definitely strict with them, but I also recall evenings in the salon with his children, when he’d be laughing and telling stories or teaching them about life and Torah.

Even though they lived in a simple area of London, the rich and famous would often be guests at the Vogels’ house and would not mind traveling from their huge mansions to this simple family home, just to be in his presence.

I think he always saw me as his daughter’s good friend rather than a super-smart student, and he probably knew I had a brief crush on one of his sons at the time. I was too scared to speak to him, ever.

As time went by and we kids became adults – mothers, each busy with our own lives – Rabbi Vogel and I met again through an email he sent me a little more than a year ago. It took me a moment to understand that it was Rabbi Vogel complimenting me on my career, as he admitted to reading my articles and watching my talk show.

In his exquisite English, as usual – which made me want to frame the letter on parchment paper in a gold frame – he strengthened me and encouraged me to believe in my powers and how each one of us can change the world for good.

As I read the email, I shed a tear, thinking about how incredible life is. The man I had regarded as a king when I was a girl was now acknowledging my capabilities, urging me to do more to spread Torah and the Rebbe’s teachings.

We exchanged letters, and he would not give up on telling me to keep fighting for shlemut ha’aretz, the sovereignty of the land. He wrote to me again and again, urging me to fight for it, encouraging me to write and talk about it. He wouldn’t give up; he would call me and wait for my responses.

Since the Rebbe passed away, he had never been the same; a part of Rabbi Vogel had gone. Yet to hear him talk or give a speech was still incredible.

I know he had not been well for a while. He had been in and out of the hospital, and in the last months he could not see or talk.

On Monday, Rabbi Vogel passed away, and my beautiful young years in London now have a melancholic taste. I see his charismatic face as images of his life go through my mind.

“It was very good speaking with you, being an ally where you will continue your good influence to bear,” said his last email, two years ago.

I cannot imagine him frail and old. I want to remember him like when I was a young girl.

A king. 

The writer, originally from Italy, lives in Jerusalem with her husband and four children. She heads HadassahChen Productions and hosts a weekly talk show on Arutz Sheva.