Pumped with Flavor

When Moish Blaustein of Chicago married Risa Shore from Toronto, it was a moment of destiny that was likely discerned by all who knew them. Both had already earned acclaim as rising stars in the world of Jewish summer camp, and their complementary personalities reflected a shared and rare passion for chinuch.

After the Blausteins married, they settled in Stamford, Connecticut, and Rabbi Blaustein commuted to Bridgeport where he taught at the day school (they later relocated to Bridgeport to live closer to the school). His class was small, and some of the students knew little about Judaism. Rabbi Blaustein once shared that he was driving the first time he heard the “Zeidy” song composed by Moshe Yess. The song describes a Zeidy whose grandchildren strayed from the path of Torah and concludes with the words, “Who will be the Zeidies of our children… who will be their Zeidies if not we?”

When he heard that line, he pulled over to the side of the road and burst into tears.

He would do anything he could to bring out the Zeidy in his students.

And then he received a call from Rabbi Shneur Weinberg, principal of Toronto’s Eitz Chaim school: Would Rabbi Blaustein be interested in a third-grade rebbi position?

Rabbi Blaustein accepted, and the family made plans to move to Toronto.

During the drive north, Rabbi Blaustein turned to his wife. “We’re leaving a small town where we were someone and moving to a big town where we will be no one.”

Famous last words. He was so wrong.

The Blausteins were the farthest thing from no one.

Rabbi Blaustein began teaching in Eitz Chaim, proving himself to be as dynamic, energetic, fun, and lovable as a rebbi could ever be.

For those who never met him, you might gain an inkling into his presentation by recalling the voice of Shlumpy Shapiro in The Marvelous Midos Machine, or Borozov in The Golden Crown, both of whom were played by Rabbi Blaustein.

Cute and warbly, fierce and fearsome, he could do it all and more, and his students were daily recipients of this wholesome, one-man-show entertainment.

When he taught parshas Toldos and reached the part about Eisav guzzling down a potful of lentils, he would open his drawer and produce a newspaper clipping depicting a football team that had just won the Super Bowl. The picture featured one player pouring a bucket of Gatorade down the throat of a teammate.

“This!” exclaimed Rabbi Blaustein, “is what Eisav looked like!”

When he taught the halachos of Pesach, he produced a toonie (the Canadian two-dollar coin). “Okay,” he said. “For the next fifteen minutes I am going to talk. Whoever does not learn anything new will not get this toonie.”

For 15 minutes the students listened with rapt attention, hoping to earn the two-dollar prize.

In his classroom were two seemingly out-of-place items: A pump and a salt-shaker. When asked, Rabbi Blaustein would explain.

“The salt shaker is because chinuch is about bringing out the flavor of Yiddishkeit. The pump is because we must pump the talmidim with confidence!”

He cared about every individual student on a level that touches them to this day.

There was a student named Yehoshua who Rabbi Blaustein sensed could use some encouragement. One day, he approached the boy and said, “My name is Moshe and your name is Yehoshua. Yehoshua was Moshe’s favorite student — you are going to be one of my favorite students.”

Rabbi Blaustein’s bentshing remained etched into the minds of all who witnessed it. He would roar each word, his face aflame, and hundreds of campers or, in school, dozens of talmidim, would do their best to roar back in response.

“Before anyone knew of his diagnosis,” says Rabbi Yehoshua Krames, menahel of Eitz Chaim, “a few students approached me and said, ‘We think something is wrong with Rabbi Blaustein. He wasn’t bentshing with his usual energy.’ ”

He was the rebbi on lunch duty, and in the afternoon, he was the gym teacher, pitching baseball games and refereeing dodgeball games — “You’re out! You’re safe! No head-safeties when you duck!”

But, says Rabbi Krames, he wasn’t really a gym teacher. “He was a mechanech in the gym. He was teaching derech eretz, teamwork, how to make a kiddush Hashem even when playing sports.”

Twice a week, he would stay after hours for boys who wanted an extended sports session. He would then wait for every kid to be picked up — no matter how late their carpool might be.

“He never got upset about it,” a son comments, “no matter how long he had to wait.”

When Eitz Chaim began a Thursday night mishmar program, they asked him to lead it. Of course, he complied.

With time, his role as mechanech would extend far beyond Eitz Chaim.

Rabbi Blaustein was a fixture at Toronto’s Agudah shul, led by Rabbi Moshe Mordechai Lowy. He ran the Shabbos afternoon Pirchei, distributing tickets, asking parshah questions, moderating contests, and, of course, telling stories.

“I was once with him in a Judaica store and he came across a book of 1001 Jewish Riddles,” recalls a son. “He got so excited. He said, ‘I can bring this to Pirchei and, instead of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire we’ll have a game called Who Wants to Be a Talmid Chacham!’ ”

After Pirchei, Rabbi Blaustein presided over the children’s Shalosh Seudos. He would distribute extra tickets to any kid who said a devar Torah — successfully facilitating a first “public address” for dozens of children.

When Eitz Chaim began its own Motzaei Shabbos Pirchei program, Rabbi Blaustein was the natural pick to serve as its leader. This meant that, after spending his afternoon running Pirchei and Shalosh Seudos in the Agudah, and then cleaning up on Motzaei Shabbos, the Blausteins would dash home for Havdalah and then, almost immediately, Rabbi Blaustein would leave again, this time, for the 15-minute drive to Eitz Chaim to run yet another Pirchei program.

“He made sure to be early,” recalls a son, “because he knew that there were some people who would show up early and he didn’t want them to have to wait.”

When bein hazmanim came around, the Agudah held a bein hazmanim seder which ran until 11:30 a.m. Of course, it was led by Rabbi Blaustein.

“There was no going on a Chol Hamoed trip until our father came home from the program,” recalls a son.

Rabbi Blaustein’s love for chinuch charged him with energy until the very end of his life. Once he was evidently too unwell to continue as rebbi, Eitz Chaim hired a new rebbi to take his place. But periodically, Rabbi Blaustein would come into the classroom, simply to sit and observe the most beautiful scene in the world.

When he was unwell, he began a special storytelling program called “Halaylah Hazeh” where, twice a week, he would share stories over Zoom to hundreds of children around the world.

Even as his influence was felt far and wide, his impact remained most prominent within his own home. The Blausteins’ eight children, Michal (Hartman), Tzippi (Jankelovits), Yossi, Menashe, Hadassah (Levita), Yisroel, Yehuda, and Menachem a”h were privileged to be raised by the most wonderful parents who were also the most wonderful mechanchim.

Eitz Chaim’s report cards came with three pages, each in separate colors. The first was for limudei kodesh, the second for limudei chol, the third for middos and skills.

“My parents would quickly glance at the academic sections,” recalls a daughter, “then turn to the final page. My father would say ‘Your brains are a gift from Hashem. Your middos are where you need to excel.”

And, adds Mrs. Blaustein, he would never read a report card on Erev Shabbos. Should there be a disappointing grade, it would disturb the child’s Shabbos.

“Once, a group of friends were going out for an activity that my father felt was beneath our standards,” says a son. “He told me not to go. But then he said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find you something else. You shouldn’t lose out because of our standards.’ ”

Four Weeks and a Lifetime

Camp Agudah Toronto and Rabbi Moish Blaustein were synonymous with each other.

Campers spanning several decades can easily conjure the image of Rabbi Blaustein standing at the helm of every event and activity, bellowing into a microphone with an already naturally amplified voice.

Rabbi Blaustein was once asked how it was that he managed to do so much. As a proud descendant of Gerrer chassidim, he replied with an insight from one of the Gerrer rebbes.

“When Klal Yisrael fought Amalek, they got chizuk by looking toward the yedei Moshe — Moshe Rabbeinu’s hands. But,” asked the Rebbe, “what gave Moshe chizuk?”

“The answer,” said the Rebbe, “is that Moshe got chizuk by looking at Klal Yisrael.”

“You want to know how I do it?” Rabbi Blaustein concluded. “I do it by looking at the campers. They give me the chizuk.”

His wake-up calls each morning were legendary — sometimes it was Shlumpy or Borozov, but it could just as easily be a Chinese fellow singing his native national anthem or a Russian broadcaster sharing the news. And then the sing-song Up-diddi-up-diddi-up-up-up, Up-diddi-up-diddi-up-up-up….

He was a role model for the counselors as much as he was for the campers. Rabbi Tzvi Seidman had been a counselor for many years as a bochur and returned as a division head the year he got married.

“I was working overtime to prove myself,” he shares, “I was really overdoing it.”

One day, Rabbi Blaustein approached him, car keys in hand.

“Take my car,” he said, “and go out with your wife. I don’t want to see you here for the next few hours.”

“I don’t know how he knew it,” says Rabbi Seidman, “but that is exactly what I needed at that precise moment.”

When Rabbi Blaustein once noticed that a counselor wasn’t wearing tzitzis, he didn’t chastise him.

“Your campers look up to you,” he said simply. “You have to wear tzitzis to set an example for them.”

While his boundless energy permeated every activity, it reached its zenith when it came to anything related to learning.

There’s a well-known anecdote about Rav Yitzchak Hutner, who once said that he attended Moetzes meetings for the sake of hearing Rav Aharon Kotler say the word “Torah.” It had that much reverence, that much love.

There was something about the way Rabbi Blaustein said “Torah,” “Mishnayos,” “cocoa club,” or “halachah contest” that made you want to learn. You wanted to explore what it was that made this giant of a man so excited.

His love for Torah was reflected by his unshakable subservience to daas Torah.

Two years ago, I called Rabbi Blaustein and asked if he’d be willing to be interviewed for the magazine. His immediate response was, “I have to ask my rav.” The interview never panned out but, in that one line, I got the whole story.

Throughout the year, his rav was Rav Moshe Mordechai Lowy, and the Blausteins were all raised with the very frequent refrain, “call Rabbi Lowy.” Whatever he said was final. In camp, the rav was Rav Avrohom Turin a”h, the late mashgiach of the Scranton yeshivah where Rabbi Blaustein had learned as a bochur. There was no questioning Rabbi Turin — and the entire staff knew that.

Watching Rabbi Blaustein humble himself before Rabbi Turin was to watch the power of humility crush all physical stature. There he’d stand, his enormous figure stooped over to hear his rebbi’s words, nodding in undoubting consent and walking dutifully away.

“The staff once wanted to take the camp on a certain activity, I think it was paintballing,” a son remembers. “My father asked Rabbi Turin if they could go. He said no and so my father returned to the staff members and said, ‘Sorry, Rabbi Turin said no.’ Some protested, ‘But why? Can you explain to him that….’

“My father smiled and said, ‘Rabbi Turin said no. He’s daas Torah. There’s nothing more to ask.’ ”

Rabbi Blaustein once felt that certain campers hadn’t afforded Rabbi Turin the full kavod he deserved. Anyone in the room at the time will still remember the lion-like roar, “KAVOD HATORAH!”

The respect was mutual. As Rabbi Turin aged, he was no longer able to continue coming to camp, and he was replaced by Toronto’s Rabbi Aryeh Schuster.

“I called Rabbi Turin before heading to camp,” Rabbi Schuster shared at the levayah. “He said, ‘You have nothing to worry about. Moish is in charge. The camp will be run al pi ruach haTorah.’ ”

The campers will be inspired by the yedei Moshe.

It was Rabbi Blaustein’s subservience to daas Torah that led him to Camp Agudah in the first place. He was a bochur learning in Scranton and had accepted a position at a certain camp. It was nearly summer when he shared his plans with his rosh yeshivah.

“I don’t think you should go,” the rosh yeshiva responded. “The camp is not for you.” Though literally in tears at the thought of his derailed summer plans, the young Moish Blaustein did not question the directive.

Then, a friend approached him.

“We have a van going to Camp Agudah Toronto,” he said. “Should we call and ask if there’s a job for you?” Moish nodded. The friend placed the call and was told that the only open position was rotating counselor.

“Would you want that?”

“I guess so,” Moish reluctantly agreed.

And so Moish Blaustein joined the staff at Camp Agudah Toronto.

And never left.

This decision would bear further fruit. Rabbi and Mrs. Moshe Weinberg were the directors of Toronto’s Camp Eitan. A few months before the summer season, they were enjoying a lunch meeting with the head counselor, a young lady by the name of Risa Shore, when a tall, strapping bochur walked into the restaurant.

Rabbi Weinberg, who had previously worked as a head counselor in Camp Agudah, recognized him immediately. “Moish! What are you doing here?” Moish explained that he had traveled to Toronto to help with recruitment for camp. When he left, the Weinbergs resumed their conversation with Risa. Then Rabbi Weinberg looked at his wife, and she looked at him.

It was a match made in Heaven — or in a restaurant.

The yedei Moshe would be held up by the unwavering support of a most dedicated partner.

Together, Rabbi and Mrs. Blaustein would inspire thousands of campers.

Finding Meir

Camp Agudah functions as both a girls’ and a boys’ camp — servicing the girls in July and the boys in August. While formally Mrs. Blaustein runs the girls’ season and her husband ran the boys’, both were actively involved in each part. “We don’t realize how many girls’ lives my father impacted,” comments a son.

This past summer, Rabbi Blaustein delivered a message to the counselors at the start of the girls’ season. While his illness had clearly sapped him of his boundless energy, he summoned the strength he had and shared yet another story, this one about a boy named Meir who went to Camp Munk. While he didn’t like sports much, the director, Rabbi Eliyahu Munk, noted that he had some artistic skills. He had Meir work in the camp’s arts and crafts room and watched as Meir thrived.

Time passed and Meir pursued a job as a desktop publisher. More time passed and, ultimately, Meir Zlotowitz channeled his talents to create one of the most monumental movements in Jewish history: ArtScroll.

“Meir is responsible for millions of hours of limud haTorah, because the director of Camp Munk saw the talent!” Rabbi Blaustein declared.

A roar then emerged from his exhausted vocal cords. “Are you going to find that Meira and bring out all she is? Because that’s what camp is all about. Bring out the Meir. Bring out the Meira. And b’ezras Hashem we’ll be zocheh to the ArtScrolls in this world.”

Many owe entire careers to the confidence instilled in them by Rabbi Blaustein’s vision.

Years ago, a friend of Yisroel Blaustein worked as a learning rebbi in camp for one summer. Following Rabbi Blaustein’s petirah, Yisroel received a call from this friend who expressed how devastated he was by the loss.

“But you were only in camp for one summer,” Yisroel wondered aloud. “Did you get that close to him?”

“True,” the friend answered, “but that summer, I spoke at the color war banner presentation. It was the first time I had ever spoken in public. Afterward, your father came over to me and said, ‘You really have a knack for this. You have to pursue it!’ Today, I work for a kiruv organization and speak often. Whenever I begin to feel nervous before a speech, I remind myself — ‘Rabbi Blaustein said I have a knack for this. Rabbi Blaustein said I can do it.’ ”

Yosef Shmuel Gestetner is a highly sought after singer. As a native Torontonian, he recalls how it all began. “Every single year, Rabbi Blaustein pushed me to join the choir. I never wanted to but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was those singing opportunities that gave me the confidence to pursue singing as a career.”

A refrain every camper remembers is “Zeier [very] emotional.” Rabbi Blaustein loved to use that comment when reflecting on stories or experiences that left an impact on him — “it was zeier, zeier emotional,” he would say.

Nothing made Rabbi Blaustein grow zeier emotional more than a child robbed of his potential.

A camper shared that he once informed Rabbi Blaustein that one of the boys in camp was set to complete all of Mishnayos Maseches Shabbos. But this same boy would be attending public school the coming year.

“Rabbi Blaustein walked away and I saw tears rolling down his face.”

A lost future. A lost Meir.

He became “zeier emotional,” too, from seeing boys receive the attention and encouragement they needed to grow.

“One year when I was learning in Eretz Yisrael, I was unsure whether or not I would make it to camp,” says Rabbi Tzvi Seidman. “Ultimately, things worked out and I came.”

One day, Tzvi was walking down a hill alongside a boy who wasn’t particularly popular in camp. The two were talking and laughing, and Tzvi noticed Rabbi Blaustein, standing on the side and watching. Later, Rabbi Blaustein approached Tzvi.

“You see how good it is that you came?” he said. “Imagine if you hadn’t come — who would have put a smile on that boy’s face?”

Even when he had to administer tough love, he never lost sight of the need to preserve a child’s dignity. Every now and then, a camper would have to be sent home for a few days.

“Before even informing the camper or his parents,” says Rabbi Seidman, “Rabbi Blaustein would work out an alibi to tell the bunkmates that would explain the boy’s absence. Even if the camper deserved suspension, he didn’t deserve humiliation.”

Rabbi Blaustein’s last ever Shabbos in Camp Agudah was surreal. He had hardly been in camp all summer but harnessed every ounce of waning strength to make it for the summer’s final Shabbos.

“I drove him there,” says Mrs. Blaustein, “but before we entered camp, I parked and we switched places. He took over the driver’s seat and drove slowly into camp. A few boys came by curiously to see who was driving into camp so close to Shabbos. When they saw who was in the driver’s seat they cried out, ‘Rabbi Blaustein! It’s Rabbi Blaustein!’ Boys came running, some with tears rolling down their cheeks.”

That Shabbos, they all lined up to wish him good Shabbos, and then the boys broke out into a huge dance around him.

Chizuk from the yedei Moshe.

Chizuk from the campers.

Spreading Happiness

You didn’t have to be a student or a camper to be to be on the receiving end of Rabbi Blaustein’s love, care, and concern.

He was once driving down Bathurst Street with his son Yisroel in the passenger’s seat. Suddenly, they spotted a chasiddishe young man dressed in a shtreimel and beketshe. Rabbi Blaustein rolled down the window.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

“I got married last night,” the man explained, “and I haven’t davened Shacharis yet. I heard that I would be able to get a minyan in the Boat Shul.” The newlywed chassan was from out of town and had no way of knowing that the Boat Shul was a 20-minute walk from where he was. Rabbi Blaustein invited him into the car and drove him to the Boat Shul.

But he didn’t drive away.

“We davened Shacharis as well,” says Yisroel, and afterward, my father said, ‘We’re going to wait for him to finish. He’ll need a ride back.’ ” When the chassan finished Shacharis, Rabbi Blaustein motioned for him to reenter the car and asked for the address of the apartment where he was staying. Rabbi Blaustein drove him to the given address and dropped him off. Then he turned to Yisroel. “We’re going to buy him breakfast,” he said.

Half an hour later, he returned to the apartment carrying several grocery bags filled with food.

His benevolence took humbler forms as well. He was once in a busy grocery store together with his son Menashe when a child approached.

“Rabbi Blaustein, can you do a Shlumpy Shapiro voice?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Rabbi Blaustein and he proceeded to speak in the boyish, quavering impersonation that had gained worldwide recognition. When the giggling boy left, Menashe turned to his father.

“Abba, why here? There are so many people around. Couldn’t you tell the kid to come back some other time?”

Rabbi Blaustein shook his head. “Why do you think I did The Marvelous Midos Machine? Only to make Yiddishe children happy. If I don’t do that, then what was the point?”

He wanted others to be happy and made every effort never to cause anyone pain.

“On Friday night I would approach him for a brachah,” said Menashe during his hesped. “He would take me to the side, out of all the campers’ sight, and give me the brachah. He explained that among the campers are yesomim or children who are deeply homesick, and it would hurt them to see a father giving his son a brachah.”

As his illness progressed, Rabbi Blaustein worked to finetune his will. All seemed in order but then, on Chanukah, he turned to his son-in-law with urgency. “I forgot something in my will!” he exclaimed, “I need to add it in!”

“Okay,” said his son-in-law, “what is it?”

“There’s a fellow named Stan who owns a print shop. He has a color printer and every week, he prints out the Pirchei bulletin for me. He never takes money, so twice a year, I bring him chocolate and wine. I need to put this in my will — someone will have to continue this.”

After Rabbi Blaustein’s passing, Mrs. Blaustein went to Stan’s office to pick up the Pirchei bulletin. Stan pointed to the wall where a picture of Rabbi Blaustein hung. “When my workers heard that he had passed away they were so broken,” he said. “They asked me to hang up a picture.”

Rabbi Blaustein had a deep appreciation for Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein’s seforim, which pose obscure questions that beg creative answers. Just two days before his passing, one of the Blaustein boys shared one such question with his father.

“Abba, Rav Zilberstein was asked, does one get a mitzvah for giving a penny — less than a shaveh prutah — to tzedakah?” Rabbi Blaustein thought about it and then, almost too weak to talk, said, “Even if not, he is still giving. And that makes him a better person.”

The charm and benevolence that Rabbi Blaustein exuded captured the hearts of non-Jews as well. Rabbi Blaustein lived with the dictum of Pirkei Avos, “Hevei makdim shalom l’chol adam — extend a greeting to every person,” and as Rashi explains, even to a non-Jew. Creating a kiddush Hashem was a value that Rabbi Blaustein personified and insisted upon. Whenever camp went on a trip, his order was, “We must leave this place cleaner than it was when we came.”

“When the garbage collectors found out that Moish had passed away, they started to cry,” says Mrs. Blaustein. “All the non-Jewish neighbors cried as well.”

Rabbi Blaustein was once on the bus from Eitz Chaim heading back home when he overheard a student speak disrespectfully to the bus driver. When the boy alighted, Rabbi Blaustein turned to the driver. “You’ll be hearing from this boy,” he said.

“Aw, Rabbi,” the driver responded, “boys will be boys. Let ’em go.”

“No,” said Rabbi Blaustein, “you’ll be hearing from him.”

That night Rabbi Blaustein called the boy’s parents and insisted that he apologize.

A few days later, Rabbi Blaustein was sitting in Sam’s Barber Shop, whose glass window is visible from the Bathurst and Lawrence bus stop. Suddenly, the door to the shop flew open and in rushed the bus driver.

“Rabbi!” he cried. “I recognized you from the bus! I gotta tell you — you Jews are something else! That kid — he sent me an apology letter!”

When Rabbi Blaustein entered the ICU, the orderlies who transported him from one hospital to the other came by to visit.

“Rabbi, we are praying for you,” they said.

Hands Toward Heaven

In 2001, the Blausteins were blessed with a baby boy whose neshamah was almost too pure for this world. Menachem had Down syndrome and his birth was a defining moment in the Blausteins’ lives. To observe Menachem’s parents tending to him was to watch two mountains of care, concern, love, and dedication, all channeled toward one single child.

Once on Purim, after several drinks, Rabbi Blaustein turned to his good friend, Reb Tuly Neger. “Tuly,” he said, “I don’t know what I did to be zocheh to such a special son.”

This went on for 22 years; exalted people charged with an exalted mission. And then he was gone. On the tenth of Nissan, 2023, Menachem’s pristine soul escaped to a place where it could soar unhindered by his body’s physical limitations.

Could a heart as enormous as Rabbi Blaustein’s break? Of course it could — but his spirit could not.

“When Menachem was niftar,” Yehuda Blaustein shared at his father’s levayah, “my father said, ‘you know what we do now? We say Baruch Dayan HaEmes. And then we say, ‘Yisgadel v’yiskadash Shemei rabba.’ ”

It wasn’t long after Menachem’s petirah that Rabbi Blaustein was diagnosed with a dreaded illness. As time progressed, his condition worsened and those who knew him and loved him were desperate to do what they could to reverse the gezeirah. On a Tehillim chat where people would post which perakim of Tehillim they would say, the numbers would escalate rapidly — all of Tehillim was recited more than five hundred times. On another chat, people would post various kabbalos that they took on as a zechus for a refuah sheleimah. Woman arranged challah bakes in his zechus. All around the world, even in Europe, challah was baked as a zechus for Moshe Shmuel ben Yitzchak Meir.

Hundreds asked. And begged. Please Hashem, let the man who radiated life continue to live.

For months he held on, using whatever strength he had left to do what he had done his whole life.

The yedei Moshe don’t relent easily.

But on Erev Rosh Hashanah, they slipped away.

Rabbi Blaustein said goodbye to a world made better because of him.

His neshamah soared upward, powered by the zechus of a million mended hearts, and the smile placed upon a single — any — child.

And now, the yedei Moshe are no longer visible but they continue to inspire.

“I was speaking to their talmidim. and to their talmidim as well!”

Yes, you were.

In a big town where you became a someone.

And a little bit of everyone.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1036)