A Letter to My Bubby, Gita Ceitlin

By Blumi Mishulovin – Nshei Chabad Newsletter

You were unassuming, gentle, and yet, a powerhouse. Born in Gomel, Belarus, to Yechiel Yosef and Shaina (Azimov) Rivkin, you and your siblings were raised with real chassidishe warmth and tremendous mesirus nefesh.

Your father, Reb Yechiel Yosef, famously resisted the Communists’ efforts to cut off his beard by telling them they could cut his head off first. The boys learned Torah in a cellar, while the girls made up creative excuses so as not to be mechalel Shabbos in school.

When the Germans invaded Russia, you fled with your family to Tashkent. Twenty cousins, aunts and uncles were living in a one-room Uzbeki home with no floor. Men and women slept on scattered straw on opposite sides of the room. The hunger was unbearable.

At the end of the war, Lubavitcher Chassidim used false Polish passports to escape Siberia via Lvov. You and your family spent two weeks in Poland, then Czechoslovakia, before being smuggled to Austria in closed trucks where you lived in a D.P. camp. Eventually, you arrived in Paris where the Joint had a hotel for refugees.

In Paris, you married Zaidy, Reb Yehuda Leib Ceitlin, z”l, son of the chossid and activist Reb Aaron Eliezer Ceitlin HY”D, who passed away in Siberia al mesirus nefesh. You wore a plain dress since there were no white chassunah gowns available. The wedding celebration lasted many hours, with the families celebrating b’simchah.

Two years later, your parents and siblings moved to Eretz Yisroel, but you remained with your husband. Your sister Freida will never forget the haunting, heart-wrenching image: a young married woman, standing and waving goodbye as the train filled sped away.

An eishes chayil, you followed your husband to far-away Canada. You appreciated the strong connection between your shviger and her two surviving sons and understood the importance of living in close proximity. And yet, you never saw your father again; you didn’t see the rest of your family until 25 years later in 1975.

You arrived in your new hometown of Montreal, becoming a pioneer of our beautiful Lubavitch community. Together with Zaidy, you built up Yiddishkeit, especially the chassidishe kehillah. You looked past your personal challenges – there was too much to do!

Zaidy left boxes of groceries at the homes of those in need. Every Shabbos, he led long farbrengens in Shul. Since Zaidy refused to work on Shabbos, money was scarce. But that didn’t stop you from offering the finest hachnosas orchim. Despite your delicate health, you cooked large meals and hosted strangers for weeks at a time. Your home was an address for meshulachim, bochurim and the underprivileged. Your children would give up their beds and sleep on mats in the living room, feeling fortunate.

Seeing a need for Jewish education in Montreal, Rabbi Zalmen Gurevitch, Zaidy and you founded Beth Rivkah Academy. At one point, the phone company threatened to cut the school’s service due to an outstanding bill. Zaidy found a way to pay for it: Every Shabbos, he went to lein the Torah an hour’s walk away, earning six dollars a week. B”H, Beth Rivkah has grown into a top-notch girls’ school.

Zaidy was very involved in Yeshiva Tomchei Temimim Lubavitch as a mashpia. He farbrenged with the bochurim, caring for them b’lev vanefesh (with heart and soul). Both your sons, Rabbi Aaron Eliezer and Rabbi Yechiel Yosef, later taught there, instilling their students with the values they absorbed at home.

You stood behind Zaidy’s holy work, continuing even after his untimely passing at 57.

Whenever the Rebbe instituted a new mivtza, you immediately got working on it. You arranged committees and volunteers to go door to door, rallying to get others to buy a letter in a sefer Torah. You wrote down the names of the participants to ask the Rebbe for his brachah.

You led the shir hamaalos campaign, arranging for the distribution of shir hamaalos cards with kapitel 121 from Tehillim to protect mother and baby during labor and at home. You always carried extras in your purse to distribute to pregnant women you encountered; your daughters continue to do the same.

Heeding the Rebbe’s call to expand seniors’ programming, you founded an organization to share the joys of Yiddishkeit with the elderly. You put together Yom Tov parties replete with live choirs and little bentchers. Some of the shiurim you set up are going strong today as part of Sunshine Club.

You were particularly active helping Russian immigrants integrate into Montreal’s Jewish community. When you would go loaded with neshek or shalach manos, menorahs or matzos, the women would gather around, asking for your advice. You would speak to them in Yiddish or Russian, remembering the details of their personal lives. You found furniture and clothes for the new arrivals. They loved you.

You were so devoted to one older Russian couple; they became like family. You phoned their doctors, helping out any way you could. After their only son was married for many years without any children, you helped them write to the Rebbe for a brachah. B”H, they were blessed with a grandson who attended Jewish Day School.

You sent family, friends, yungeleit and seminary girls to distribute Shabbos and Yom Tov paraphernalia, to affix mezuzos, to teach Torah classes and to visit the elderly. You made sure to send in a duch to the Rebbe with the details of your peulos.

Thousands of Canadian children were not receiving any Jewish education, so you sent your daughter Sima to search the public schools to tell them about ongoing classes and holiday programs, which were held in your home. You sat up nights preparing the little Yom Tov party packages for the children. Today, almost 40 years after that humble beginning, Free Hebrew for Juniors has successfully touched the lives of tens of thousands of neshamos.

In addition to heading N’shei Chabad, you served as one of Montreal’s mashpios, as per the Rebbe’s directive that every city needs three mashpios. During shivah, many women described how you took them under your wing in a way that each felt a unique and special bond.

You brought L’Chaim pamphlets and mivtza’im kits everywhere: to the supermarket, the bank and the doctor. You would jot down the name of any lonely lady you met into one of your little telephone books and befriend her.

Like Cilia. You met Cilia in a van on the way to voting Saulie Zajdel in as city councilor. (You made sure to vote for whoever would be better for the community, and roused us to go too.) Cilia was an elderly woman who had never had a chance to study Torah.

For years and years you called daily to daven with her. You would say Modeh Ani, Shema Yisrael, the twelve psukim and Pirkei Avos, adding another few words each day, until Cilia poshut knew it all by heart – Yiddish pronunciation and all. Bubby, you were Cilia’s best, and only, friend.

When Cilia’s brother put her in a non-kosher nursing home, you became very upset. You tracked down her brother in Toronto, and convinced him to move her to Maimonides Day Center, where she lived out her days in a kosher environment.

You were a true oved Hashem. You would make sure we washed netilas yadayim again if it didn’t fully cover our hands. You burned your nails on the stovetop. You kissed every mezuzah you passed. When you finally sat down, it was with a Tehillim in hand, never wasting a precious moment.

When there were special additions in davening, you called someone to make sure you got it all right. You said bentching and bedtime Shema from a siddur. You were so careful to do all the inyanim on your birthday. Every day, your daughter Freidy called you from Detroit to learn Sefer Hamitzvos together.

You inspired us to know Mishnah, Tehillim, and Tanya by heart to purify the air by saying it in the streets. I was astonished when I saw your yahrtzeit Hayom Yom was about reviewing Mishnayos in the streets to bring Moshiach.

You fed us grandchildren delicious food and covered us in warm wool blankets when we slept over. You kept chocolate in your purse for us. You made sure we said our brachos, loud and clear, before we took a bite.

Every time you said goodbye, it was with, “Zei gezunt, zei matzliach, breing Moshiach!” (Be healthy, be successful, bring Moshiach!)

On your last Yom Kippur, you insisted on walking to shul for Ne’ilah, wishing you could walk faster because, “tzum shul, darf men gayen shnel.” (To shul, one should go quickly.) You were so eager to hear the baal tefilah Rabbi Leibel Kaplan proclaim Shema Yisroel with his whole heart.

At simchas, you sat quietly on the side with a shy smile, your small frame so regal and tzniusdik. You stayed away from any attention or kavod. You would never agree to speak at events, or accept any honors. When people would compliment you, you changed the subject back to how special they were.

The stories that people told of your last few days reflect the values you lived by.

Chaya Sara prepared the nail clipper and you stopped her, reminding her that it was Thursday. Sima was reading you a dvar Torah when your face suddenly contorted in pain, yet you insisted on listening until the end before dealing with the pain. One day, you didn’t want to eat Bikur Cholim’s hot soup. When your daughters tried to convince you, you pointed to the label on the thermos. It wasn’t toiveled.

Holding on to life by a thread, you noticed a Jewish-looking woman being wheeled in. You insisted Chaya Sara ask her for her name.

The woman answered, “Mein nomen iz Anye, ober in Yiddish s’iz Chana.”

Chaya Sara reported, “Yeh, Mamme, takeh zi iz a Yiddishe frau, ir nomen iz Chana.” (Yes, she is a Jewish woman; her name is Chana.)

Bubby, you weren’t satisfied: “Gey freg eib zi bentcht Shabbos licht.” (Ask her if she lights Shabbos candles.) When the woman answered that she certainly did, you still weren’t satisfied. Now it was: Go ask if she needs a calendar for the Shabbos candle lighting times. Of course, you had Shabbos candles and calendars in your hospital room. Your specialty was attending to the fine details, ensuring a mitzvah was done in the ideal way.

When my brother Zalmen Lison was sitting next to your hospital bed, you suddenly woke up and insisted he eat something. You went back to sleep only after he had finished the applesauce from your tray.

Three days before your passing, you received a visit from your great-nephew Shimon Posner. You gave him a beautiful smile, spoke to him and urged him to make a brachah. He was astonished how you kept track of the details of his life, your graciousness and hospitality, despite your frail state.

The next day you awoke with a start and asked Freidy, “S’iz minchah tzeit, nein?” (Isn’t it minchah time?) It was right before sunset and your neshamah just knew. You took the big siddur I gave you and davened minchah with Freidy word for word. It was Yud Tes Kislev and you watched a video of the Rebbe’s farbrengen, pointing out many elter chassidim and paying close attention, as always, to the Rebbe’s words.

You had the merit of seeing all your children become grandparents; your baby Yaisef became a Zaidy a few short days before you passed away.

Shabbos morning, 21 Kislev 5772, you said Modeh Ani, asked Freidy and Mommy (your daughter Rochel) to help you rinse your mouth and put on a fresh gown. Then, Bubby, you got into bed, closed your eyes and returned your heilike neshamah in kedushah and taharah. Your children said Tehillim. The non-Jewish orderlies were asked not to touch or move you until the Chevra Kadisha could come Motzoei Shabbos. They said it was the first time they took someone directly from a room – the hospital staff held a special respect for you.

Your daughters continue your legacy. Chaya Sara heads the Sunshine Club for seniors along with your daughter-in-law Chanie. Sima runs Free Hebrew. Mommy (Rochel) leads mivtza shir hamaalos and mivtza neshek for hospitals in Montreal with the help of daughter-in-law Adina. Freidy lives in Detroit on shlichus.

Bubby, your name is your essence: Gita means gutzkeit, goodness.

I will never forget our last conversation!
Me: Voss machstu, Bubby? (How are you?)

Bubby: Baruch Hu ubaruch Shemo! (Blessed is He and blessed is His Name!)

Me: Bubby, ich benk noch dir azoy fil. Ich hob dir lib. (Bubby, I miss you so much. I love you.)

Bubby: Ich oichet, mein sheinkeit. Zei gezunt un shtark un shtark gezunt. (Likewise, my sweetheart. Be healthy and strong, and strongly healthy.

With all my heart,
Your Einekel Blumale

To receive a full-length copy of this article, or if you have a story to share about Rabbi Leibel or Mrs. Gita Ceitlin, please email [email protected].

This article is reprinted from the N’shei Chabad Newsletter’s latest issue, currently on sale in Crown Heights stores.