Today (29 Adar) is the yartzeit of my grandfather Reb Moshe Rubin for whom our son Moshe is named. He passed away in 1996 in the period between my engagement to Raizy and our marriage. He was a unique Chassid, full of warmth and devotion, a master story-teller and fountain of inspiration and he loved Chassidic melodies. More than anything else, he loved to pray. My father once made him a bumper-sticker that read: “I’d Rather Be Davening.” You know, some cars say, I’d rather be skiing or fishing, or be someplace else… but not my grandfather.
Reb Moshe would rather be davening. He relished the words, said them with slowly, emphatically with much inflection and meaning. His ordinary morning blessings that most rush through he would say with the passion, devotion and sincerity usualyl reserved for Yom-Kippur. He was at home in his prayers, he had all the time in the world for them, which often caused him to be late for almost everything else. He actually repeated words often, tlo be sure he said them properly or with appropriate meaning. Actually it is told that once the Lubavitcher Rebbe poured him two pours of wine from his Havdalah cup (as wasthe Rebbe’s custom after a holiday Havdalah to keep refilling the cup and pouring “cup of blessing” to all present) because “you say each word of the prayer at least twice!”
My father told me that all this lengthy prayer was a little hard on him and he didn’t appreciate it until he got older. They would end up coming home late for Shabbos lunch, and even everyday prayer caused my grandfather to be tardy for all kinds of important things, like his job. And even once my grandfather finished praying he wasn’t finished. There was always some extra Psalms to say, some Torah to review aloud by heart. In fact the taxi driver who took all the Shochtim to work would call him “the mumbling Rabbi” and was usually quite upset with him because he was almost never ready on time.
On Shabbos afternoons on the walk home, even though he was walking home later than most, my grandfather was in no rush. He liked to stop in at area synagogues along the way, perhaps he could catch another Kedusha or Barchu prayer, hear a Kaddish and answer Amein, or hear a nice saying or teaching. He would detour and dilly-dally along the way. He would even stop inside Jewish-owned shops along the route, that were open and operated on the Sabbath (in violation of Jewish law) and wish the proprieters a good Shabbos. As a youngster my father hated those detours, he would constantly nudge and plead with my grandfather to come home already, but as he grew older he realized how much he benefitted from those meandering detoured walks home. It taught him to appreciate and value those who prayed or looked differently than he did, to learn something from everyone, to greet others and be friendly to others despite differences.
One davening story has to do with Albany, but quote some time before my father ever dreamed of moving to this area. They were on a train from Montreal to New York City, and there was a stop at Albany. My grandfather was in middle of prayer of course, and he used the stop as an opportunity to pray the Amidah, the silent standing prayer that is the climax of daily prayers, which can not be interuppted. My grandfather (who loved fresh air) went to pray on the platform connecting the two railcars. And he prayed as he would pray, oblivious and enraptured. It turns out that precisely these two railcars had to be decoupled at this stop. One was going on to New York, but the other was not. The train crew gathered round to see this strange sight of a man wrapped in a prayer shawl, swaying back and forth, singing. My father was a youngster and deeply embarrased. He mustered up enough courage to tell the train crew that his father was praying and would be done very soon. My father was also praying – for my grandfather to hurry up and finish. But my grandfather took his time, and the train crew waited. My father remembers saying to himself: “There better be a synagogue around here somewhere, so he won’t have to pray on the railcar again, if not I will make one here!” In deed in 1974 he moved here on a mission from the Lubavitcher Rebbe and established Shabbos House on campus, founded the local Orthodox day-school, and over the years nearly a dozen Chabad Centers in this area.