logo
A Chabad House for a Growing Family

A Chabad House for a Growing Family

New York Times03-03-2025

In 2019, Rabbi Yanky Bell was on one of his annual pilgrimages to the Ohel, the resting place of Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson in Queens, New York, when he realized it was going to take him a while to write his petition.
Usually, Rabbi Bell's formal requests include blessings, spiritual guidance and inspiration from people back in El Cerrito, Calif., the small city on the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay where he and his wife, Shternie, run a Chabad House. (Rabbi Schneerson, who died in 1994, was the founder of the Chabad movement, a sect of Hasidic Judaism.)
But this time, Rabbi Bell came with a strong ask of his own: His family needed a new place to live and serve.
'We'd been looking for six or seven months,' said Mrs. Bell, 31. 'I'd already looked at about 20 to 30 houses.'
It wasn't just that their family was expanding — their second son had just been born. Their community was growing, too. 'When we had services,' Mrs. Bell said, 'we had people inside, outside, people everywhere.'
They needed enough indoor space to accommodate an office for the rabbi and child care for at least 10 children — theirs and their supporters' kids — and to hold classes, meetings and other events. Outside, they needed space to build a sukkah, the temporary hut central to Sukkot, which celebrates harvests and gratitude.
For Rabbi Bell, 33, it was a complicated petition. 'It took me about two hours to write,' he said. 'We really needed a blessing.'
Just as he finished and was leaving the Ohel, his wife called. 'This house had just come up on Craigslist,' she said. 'And it was a dream house.'
The four-bedroom, two-bath home — two stories, with 1,700 square feet on each — would provide privacy upstairs for the family and lots of open space, indoor and outdoors, for their community events. The first floor, a converted garage and basement that extended the length of the house, could serve as a meeting room, a space for workshops and a study area.
'It's always hilly in El Cerrito,' said Rabbi Bell, 'but this place was really flat.' (El Cerrito means 'the little hill in Spanish.')
The house not only had an ample and level backyard with artificial turf, but the lot next door was included in the rent and had trees and other greenery that serve as a play area and meditation space.
But the $5,000 monthly rent was considerably more than they'd paid at any of their previous rentals. 'We didn't have that many supporters yet,' Mrs. Bell said. 'So we had to ask: This is what we're looking for, but is it affordable?'
Yanky Bell, 33, and Shternie Bell, 31
Occupations: He is a Rabbi; she is co-director, education and program coordinator
The mission: 'Most other very religious groups are also very insular,' Rabbi Bell said. 'The work we do, and the work the other 5,000 Chabad families do around the world, is the opposite of insular. We want people to feel loved, to feel seen.'
On future hopes: 'I'd love to see us have a place that combines nature, wellness, and Jewish learning,' Mrs. Bell said. 'To bring it all together so we have more of a connection to the earth, to nature, to animals and growing things.'
Before they moved to the Bay Area in late 2016, the couple had considered less expensive regions like north Florida and the Seattle suburbs to launch their own Chabad House.
'I remember I zoomed in on Google maps and put in 'Chabad' to see where there were no Chabads,' Rabbi Bell said. 'We looked at places with large Jewish populations that were underserved.'
About 350,000 Jews live in the Bay Area. When they asked a rabbi in Berkeley for guidance, he suggested El Cerrito — a city of about 25,000 just north of Berkeley, with steep inclines and panoramic views of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco.
Chabad runs on fund-raising from supporters, so the Bells, though young and scrappy, had a shoestring budget. Because neither is native to the Bay Area — Rabbi Bell is originally from England and Mrs. Bell is from Canada — they had to develop relationships, and raise money, from scratch.
'El Cerrito was the first place we came,' Rabbi Bell said. 'We spent two days walking around the plaza and asking people if they knew any Jews. Someone sent us to a mechanic who said he was Jewish but not religious.'
Unlike many Orthodox Jewish denominations, Chabad's mission is to reach out to all Jews, so strict observance isn't an issue. 'We help Jewish people connect joyously with their heritage,' said the rabbi.
After they moved into the house (the rent has since risen to $4,515 a month), the Bells' first event at Chabad of El Cerrito was for Hanukkah. They'd sent out a mailer and were stunned when more than 120 people showed up.
'There was a lot of excitement, but not all of that translates right away,' said Mrs. Bell. 'But we just kept doing it.'
They ran workshops on how to make challah, worked with a local Home Depot to teach children how to make menorahs, gave a family seminar on how to make and blow the shofar (the ram's horn used during Rosh Hashana services), taught online classes, held women's events and study groups, and hosted celebrations and religious services. The yard now houses a coop for a trio chickens the Bells recently acquired.
Even the nonobservant mechanic eventually came to their events and ended up becoming a friend.
'It's very typical of Chabad to run all these things out of the home,' Mrs. Bell said. 'It's Chabad House for a reason. Emotionally and psychologically, it should feel like a home, like a loving space. It should feel like what home feels like. This reflects our larger goal, to make this world a home for the divine by revealing the divinity in every person and everything.'
Though there is no official or formal membership in Chabad, the Bells said they now distribute matzos for Passover to more than 450 families in the area. Services draw more than 50 people each week.
'As we get older, maturity allows us to go deeper, to be more intentional,' Mrs. Bell said. 'So many people tell us they're not religious. But it's not required. It takes a while sometimes for people to believe us.'

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Quipu: The Inca's Mysterious Recording Device
Quipu: The Inca's Mysterious Recording Device

Yahoo

timean hour ago

  • Yahoo

Quipu: The Inca's Mysterious Recording Device

Long before Spanish colonization, the indigenous people of Peru kept track of important dates and numbers, and perhaps even stories, using a mysterious coding system of strings and knots called a quipu. When the Spanish invaded, they decided these bundles of strings and knots were idolatrous and pagan, in opposition to the Catholic Church. They burned them, hoping to quell any thought of resistance. Quipu means knot in Quechua, the dominant indigenous language in the region. You might mistake a quipu for a brightly colored necklace or headdress, but it is a communication device. Unlike their Mayan and Aztec counterparts, the Incas had no written language. They used quipu instead. Quipus consist of a series of colored, knotted cords made from cotton, wool, or other animal fibers. The knots and their placement on the cords represented numerical values. In some cases, it carried other information, such as dates or records of events. The use of the quipu dates back to 2500 BCE, long before the Inca Empire emerged. We still don't know how it originated. Deciphering quipus is tough. Its purpose and meaning can change depending on the length of the cord, the number of knots, the color, the way the cords are twisted and woven, the material, and the arrangement. While some historians think they were used almost exclusively to communicate numbers, others believe they were capable of storytelling and poetry. Certainly, the main purpose of the quipu was to track and manage the data of populations, goods, resources, and taxes. It was the administrative tool of the empire. Each knot on the cord had a specific value depending on its position, with different knot types (such as single knots, long knots, or figure-eight knots) representing different values. The Incas used the decimal system and knots to record 1s, 10s, 100s, 1000s, and so on. The colors of the cords could indicate categories like resources, people, or geographical locations. For example, red represented warriors or war, white represented silver, and yellow symbolized gold. The quipus were managed by quipucamayocs, which means "quipu authority." These administrators were the record keepers, accountants, bookkeepers, mathematicians, census takers, and historians of the empire. The smooth running of the empire rested almost entirely on their shoulders. The Incas had a complex road network called the Qhapaq Ñan. All these roads led to the capital of Cusco. Endurance runners called chasquis transported quipus along these roads, resting or passing them to other runners in supply stations called tambos posted every few kilometers. Messengers could quickly carry news of an Incan victory, the death of an emperor, or details of an enemy attack from province to province. After smallpox had killed the ruler Huayna Capac, his sons, Atahualpa and Huascar, battled for the throne. Atahualpa triumphed and killed his brother. To further legitimize his ascension, Atahualpa had all records destroyed. This meant burning quipus that recorded anything to do with his brother. Atahualpa even killed the quipucamayocs. "[It was] a total renewal, what the Incas called a pachakuti or a turning over of time and space," historian Mark Cartwright wrote. Later, a Spanish governor of Peru, Vaca de Castro, tried to find quipucamayocs to teach him about the land. Eventually, he came across two who had survived the purge. "They found them wandering in the mountains, terrorized by the tyrants of the past," according to historian John A. Yeakel. Though the Spanish destroyed many quipus, some chose to study them. Inca Garcilaso de la Vega was the son of a conquistador and an Incan prince, and acted as an intermediary between the two peoples. He learned about the quipu as part of his upbringing and wrote extensively about them: When my father's Indians came to town on Midsummer's Day to pay their tribute, they brought me the quipus; and the curacas [local leaders] asked my mother to take note of their stories, for they mistrusted the Spaniards, and feared that they would not understand them. I was able to reassure them by re-reading what I had noted down under their dictation. Likewise, a rogue Jesuit priest named Blas Valera advocated for learning from the quipus. Also half Spanish and half Inca, Valera proclaimed that the Incas were the real rulers of Peru. He died under house arrest in 1597. In 2015, anthropologist Sabine Hyland got a call from the remote Andean village of San Juan de Collata. This little village held some of the last remaining quipus. Villagers granted Hyland access to two quipus from the 18th century. They told her that for years, guarding the quipus was a coming-of-age ritual for local adolescent boys. After seeing one of Hyland's documentaries, the village elders had reached out, hoping she would visit. "Over the next couple days, we would learn that these multicolored quipus, each of which is just over two feet long, were narrative epistles created by local chiefs during a time of war in the 18th century," Hyland wrote. The elders recounted the story of a failed rebellion against the Spanish. A leader, betrayed by his associates, was imprisoned and eventually executed. He had used the quipu to tell his countrymen that he was the ruling Inca Emperor. Not far from the village of San Juan de Collata, Hyland was invited by a local schoolteacher to examine a hybrid quipu. The hybrid was set on a wooden board containing a ledger of names and multicolored quipu threads. "The board bears the names of villagers, while the quipu cord associated with each name indicates the contribution of labor and/or goods that the individual was expected to provide in a community ceremony," Hyland wrote. Much to Hyland's astonishment, quipus were used in the village until the 1940s for communal, administrative, and record-keeping purposes.

‘Keep Beaufort Beaufort' is a reminder and a rallying cry for us all
‘Keep Beaufort Beaufort' is a reminder and a rallying cry for us all

Yahoo

time4 hours ago

  • Yahoo

‘Keep Beaufort Beaufort' is a reminder and a rallying cry for us all

'Keep Beaufort Beaufort.' What beautiful marching orders from Cynthia Jenkins, who stepped down this month as the director of the Historic Beaufort Foundation after a-14 year tenure there. You'd think this is a group that looks back in time, sometimes to an aggravating degree, and it does. But since 1947, it has looked forward by doing its best to keep Beaufort Beaufort. I hope the foundation is the first one to capitalize on the 'Keep Beaufort Beaufort' T-shirts, if they haven't done so already. But really, that is the cry of our times all over the South Carolina Lowcountry — 'Save us, dear God, from ourselves.' And we're not the only ones in the fight. The most famous municipal rallying cry is probably 'Keep Austin Weird' in Texas, but it's easy to imagine a lot of T-shirt wishes closer to home. Keep Bluffton Eccentric. Keep St. Helena Gullah. Keep Hilton Head Over There. Keep Columbia Hot. Keep Myrtle Beach Kitschy. Keep Charleston From Sinking. A real one today is 'Keep Chelsea Rural,' a grassroots reaction to the kudzu vine of growth that is now reaching beyond Bluffton and Hardeeville to overtake Highway 462 in rural Jasper County. A similar new plea is 'Save the Euhaw.' As Hilton Head Island has grown from a few thousand residents to around 40,000 while luring 3.5 million visitors a year, some people even marched in the streets trying to 'save' things. We've had: Save Our Trees. Save the Sea Pines Deer. Save the Forest Beach Chickens. Save the Tiki Hut. Have all these people over all this time been asking too much? Cynthia Jenkins was in the best position to know what it means, and understand what it will take, to keep Beaufort Beaufort. All of these grassroots wishes implore us to know who we are. What is our soul? And why would we sell it to the devil? What is our birthright? And why would we sell it for a bowl of lentil stew? 'Keeping' and 'saving' our soul implores us to know who it is that is defining who or what we are. Is it the travel brochure or the poet? The Big Mac or the shrimp burger? Trader Joe's or Harold's Country Club? Beaufort can tell her own story, if we'll but have the sense to listen. It is older than the United States of America itself, and has somehow rolled with the tides and the times under six different flags. It serves today a feast of flavor brought by the Africans, Huguenots, Spanish, English, Scots, and, yes, plenty of damn Yankees. Best-selling author Pat Conroy, who was adopted by the people of Beaufort when he was just a sniveling Marine Corps dependent, came as close as anyone to capturing the allure of Beaufort in mere words. In 'The Prince of Tides,' Conroy wrote, 'To describe our growing up in the low country of South Carolina, I would have to take you to the marsh on a spring day, flush the great blue heron from its silent occupation, scatter marsh hens as we sink to our knees in mud, open you an oyster with a pocketknife and feed it to you from the shell and say, 'There. That taste. That's the taste of my childhood.'' Countless others have savored it over 400 years. We can thank Cynthia Jenkins for her years of attention to every detail of her unique home town. But we can also thank her for reminding us how important it is to 'Keep Beaufort Beaufort.' David Lauderdale may be reached at lauderdalecolumn@

Long Island firefighter who heroically saved Torah from fire brushes off praise: ‘I'm no hero'
Long Island firefighter who heroically saved Torah from fire brushes off praise: ‘I'm no hero'

New York Post

time2 days ago

  • New York Post

Long Island firefighter who heroically saved Torah from fire brushes off praise: ‘I'm no hero'

The Long Island firefighter who saved a sacred Sefer Torah from a burning Chabad on Wednesday said he was no 'super hero' and was just doing what he was trained to do. Firefighter Michael Farca, 54, was compared to a Hollywood action star by Greenvale residents for his heroic and holy rescue — but insists he was simply in the right place at the right time. 'I'm no hero,' Farca told The Post. 3 A sacred Sefer Torah was saved from a fire that happened inside a synagogue in Greenvale on Wednesday. Google Maps 'I saw the Torah inside and knew I had to get it out. That's it. The 70 other first responders who were there alongside me deserve just as much praise as I'm getting.' Farca, of Roslyn Heights, ran into the smoke-filled building as flames raged inside to make sure no one was inside and that is when he saw the Torah. Moments later, after clearing the building, he emerged out of the smoke holding the sacred scroll — a dramatic scene that brought some faithful witnesses to tears. Farca — who is Jewish — said he responded to the call as he would've any other, completely unaware that the building he was headed to was a synagogue. After breaking through the door in the Greenvale strip mall, Farca was caught by surprise as he realized that he was inside a house of worship — spotting the ark where the scroll is usually stored. 3 Firefighter Michael Farca, 54, from Roslyn Heights, came to the rescue to save the Torah from being burned, as he told The Post, 'I saw the Torah inside and knew I had to get it out. That's it.' Chabad of Greenvale 3 The Torah that was saved by Farca. Igor Shamalov 'I ran up to the ark and opened it to see if the Torah was in there, and sure enough, there it was,' Farca said. 'I embraced it, and took it outside.' Farca described the feeling of saving the Torah that morning as 'remarkable,' especially because the rescue came just a day after the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, which celebrates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai 3,000 years ago. 'To think that we're celebrating the Torah on Mount Sinai 3,000 years ago, and here I have a Torah in front of me that is in danger of damage or worse — it's an incredible thing,' Farca said. The sacred scroll was ultimately returned to members of the Chabad completely unscathed — though the building is no longer being operational. 'The Torah is more than a book, it's our heart and soul,' congregant Yuriy Davydov said. 'Seeing it carried out safely felt like a miracle.' But the message that Farca wants people to take away is that he is just a regular first responder, and that anybody can make an impact if they choose. 'My hope, really, is that I've inspired someone, I would like to inspire them to get up and do something for their community,' he said. 'I want people to do something selfless that allows them to give back to their community, to their neighbor, to whomever, in a selfless manner.'

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store