An Appreciation to the Beloved Morah of Los Angeles

by Robin Garbose

​Have you ever been to a house of shiva that you didn’t want to leave? It must happen often. You want to hold on to the loved one whose neshama hovers nearby. You know that walking out that door, back into your life, carries with it an unwelcome hit of reality… separation.

But while there, in her home, sitting with her grieving family, you sense her presence with visceral aliveness. The walls radiate her countless mitzvos. An invisible tsunami of kedusha washes over, filling you with quiet awe. The magnificence of her holy life is revealed. You can perceive, as the Zohar explains, that a tzedekas is here with us after her passing even more than before.

​That was my experience last week when I went to say goodbye to our beloved Morah Mira Labkowsky. The Los Angeles Jewish community reels, stricken with heartache by her untimely passing. The blessings that descended from above through this noble woman, touching myriad lives, are infinite and eternal, and especially live on through her beautiful and gifted children and grandchildren.

​I can see her clearly in my mind’s eye; hear her smart, funny warmth and wisdom. When my daughter was three, Gan Chabad Rebbetzin Faye Yemini said, “Oh, Chaya Solika’s going to have the famous Morah Mira next year, the legend of Los Angeles!” True to the reputation that preceded her, Morah Mira planted in my children, and generations of children, seeds of love; love of Torah, Chassidus and our Rebbe, along with the passion to do good.

​At parent-teacher conferences, Morah Mira would light up with detailed reports of her students’ accomplishments. “Menachem is such a sweet boy. He plays so nicely with Shully and Yonah.” She’d been teaching pre-school for years, yet her thrill and delight were as fresh as if she’d just discovered her true calling. Hundreds of little ones from all walks of Yiddishkeit were zoche to pass through her hallowed classroom, permeated by her unique brand of encouragement, at the tender beginning of their journeys into Jewish life.

​I became a mother later than many women. I’d been on a career trajectory that prioritized and derived self-esteem from professional and financial success. As a baalas teshuva, I recognized in Mira the essential qualities that drew me to Yiddishkeit— intelligence wrapped in humility, wisdom and modesty.

​I admired her close-knit family. Her children valued their parents’ guidance and even wanted to live near them. When I was growing up, I was eager to leave home. I thought I knew it all. A family that wasn’t impressed with celebrity culture, wealth or fame inspired me. Their currency was mitzvos and hiskashrus to the Rebbe. Mira’s children were proud of who they were, confident, compassionate, but most of all humble, in a real way, derived from Yiras Shemayim, not the false humility I’d encountered in my Ivy-League bubble that was arrogance in disguise.

​Morah Mira could easily relate to people from different backgrounds. A thoroughly contemporary woman yet steeped in Chassidus, she fused old world with new world in a style entirely unique to Chabad.

​On a frigid Brooklyn morning twelve or so years ago, I spotted Mira walking down a Crown Heights street. I was in town directing a production for Ten Yad auction evening. Delighted to run into my friend from Los Angeles, I opened my arms, ready to give her a hug as I got closer. But oddly enough, Mira didn’t return my look of recognition. Why was she pretending not to know me? “Oh, you think I’m Mira, right?” she said. “I’m her twin, Zlata.” I burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe it! Hashem blessed us with two of them? A few months later, I ran into Zlata again in Crown Heights, this time walking arm in arm with Mira. They were a beaming vision to behold, their bond of sisterly love deep, almost otherworldly.

The last time I saw Mira, she was standing watch over the happy squeals of recess at her thriving pre-school, Zlata’s Little Lights. It was Rebbetzin Chana’s birthday and I had just led a program upstairs at Bais Rebbe. We talked about my stepson, Rabbi Shimon Garbose. With vivid recollection, Mira described teaching him more than 35 years ago! She recalled his determined character and schepped nachas about her nephew who had recently received smicha from Rabbi Garbose in Jerusalem.

​Dear Mira, the seeds you planted, tended to, nurtured with water and sunshine in the Garden of Chabad, will continue to blossom and bear fruit, now and forever, till the coming of Moshiach.

— Robin Garbose, a graduate of Brown University with a B.A. in Theater Arts and English Literature, is an Artistic Director, filmmaker and Acting Teacher who directed some 40 plays at theaters in New York and Los Angeles.