The holiness of the Skulener Rebbe formed the backdrop of my summers — and perhaps even changed the course of my life

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hen I was growing up, our family was zocheh to vacation in Rosen’s, the same Upstate New York bungalow colony as the Skulener Rebbe, Rav Yisroel Avraham Portugal. His holiness and avodah formed the backdrop of my summers.

On Friday nights, we’d stop playing and run to shul when it was time for Lecha Dodi. The Rebbe would dance, surrounded by all the little boys, and when he turned at “Bo’i beshalom,” we too got a glimpse of his radiance. Now, I sing that tune as I dance Lecha Dodi with my children.

We’d abandon our own seudah after the soup to make the pilgrimage to the Rebbe’s bungalow for his tish, straining to catch a glimpse through the throngs of men. My brother and his friends sometimes snuck in to join the Rebbe at the day seduah, too. To this day, our father uses the Rebbe’s singsong nusach to make Hamotzi on Shabbos.

Each week, I negotiated elaborate deals with my mother to let me stay up late enough to attend the Rebbe’s Havdalah. (Sometimes I just hid at the other end of the colony so she couldn’t call me inside.) The highlight of the summer was the special Shabbos Nachamu celebration in honor of the Rebbe’s release from prison back in Romania, where he was tortured, beaten, and imprisoned after the Holocaust due to his activities saving Jews.