IT

was the summer of 1979, just a few days before Rebbe Yoel (Yoelish) Teitelbaum ztz”l, founder and leader of the Satmar chassidic dynasty, passed away. He was extremely frail and visitors were prohibited, but one relative was granted access. This man had just returned from Argentina, where he had been collecting donations, and just had to share with the Rebbe his amazement at what he had seen.

He described a small but vibrant community, mostly of Sephardic origin, who had embraced Satmar chassidic customs and style of dress. As the stories unfolded, his loyal gabbai, Rabbi Ezriel Glick, noticed something extraordinary: The Rebbe’s vital signs seemed to stabilize. Rabbi Glick, astonished, urged the visitor, “Tell him more! Keep talking!”

For several minutes, the Rebbe absorbed the full scope of this unexpected chassidic South American enclave. When the visitor finally departed, the Rebbe turned to Rabbi Glick and asked, “Did I have anything to do with that community?”

“Anything? Everything!” Rabbi Glick replied. “That community wouldn’t exist if not for the Rebbe. They live by the Rebbe’s teachings and don’t make a single move without consulting you!”

The Rebbe began to weep. “I fear that when I reach Shamayim, I’ll be held accountable for all that we could have done for our Sephardic brothers.”

Forty-five years later, what was once a modest group of several dozen families has blossomed into a thriving kehillah, its members proudly retaining their Syrian surnames and singing the traditional piyutim of Aleppo, but if you walk through the streets of Buenos Aires on a Shabbos, you’ll see them wearing beketshes and conversing in Spanish. These families, with their warmth and laid-back nature, have embraced the customs of Rebbe Yoel of Satmar, adhering to his strictures with a contagious joy.

Yet their identities are a fusion. They speak more about the yeshivos in Monroe or Williamsburg than those in Jerusalem. They passionately defend their Halabi roots, but when it’s time to share stories at the Shabbos table, they’ll reach for tales of the Baal Shem Tov before recounting the wisdom of Aleppo’s great sages.

This community began as a small band of pioneers and has blossomed into a vibrant haven for thousands. For them, there’s no issue with the blend of Sephardic pride and chassidic minhag, and their influence has even spread across the world to the US, where enclaves of these Sephardic Argentine Satmar communities thrive.

The flame of chassidus can burn brightly wherever it is given space. Nearly 70 years ago, a core group of families made that space, dismantling prejudices along the way. Today, even Satmar’s traditional heartlands recognize their Sephardic “cousins” as no less chassidic than themselves.

Up to Level

From the mid-19th century and even before, South America became a haven for Jews. Ashkenazi Jews fleeing Russia set up kehillos and even became Argentinean gauchos (cowboys), while Jews from Syria established their own communities. The gates of immigration were open until 1938, and reopened again after World War II, during which time a group of Satmar chassidim from Hungary made their way to Argentina. They quickly gained a foothold in the local economy, became wealthy, and sought to establish a community rooted in their traditions. Small in number but resolute in their mission, these men — including communal leaders such as Yaacov Rappaport, Yoel Adler, Moshe Scheer, and Lipa Broch — knew that creating a kehillah would require bringing a rav to Argentina, someone with the vision and strength to build a community from scratch.

They found their candidate in Rav Kalonymus Eliezer Ekstein, a talmid chacham and visionary who had endured the horrors of the Holocaust and eventually settled in Haifa, Israel, where he led a kehillah of survivors. There, he founded schools, a mikveh, and a girls’ academy, an effort that plunged him into significant debt. As he was struggling with financial burdens, he received the offer to move to Buenos Aires. Not wanting to outright reject the proposal, Rav Ekstein responded diplomatically, saying he would consider it — on the condition that they paid off all his debts.

He was sure this would deter them. He was wrong.

The Argentinean chassidim consulted Rebbe Yoel, who was excited about the prospect. “If only you could bring him!” he told them. That was all the encouragement they needed. Reb Lipa Broch personally contributed $5,000 — a small fortune at the time — to clear Rav Ekstein’s debts.

Before departing, Rav Ekstein (who was not himself a Satmar chassid) sought a blessing from Rebbe Aharon of Belz. “May Hashem help you achieve great things for Yiddishkeit,” the Belzer Rebbe told him.

The Belzer Rebbe passed away a short time later, and that same week, in the summer of 1957, Rav Ekstein, his wife, and their eight children boarded a ship bound for Buenos Aires.

It would be unfair to say that the Eksteins arrived in a spiritual desert. Argentina was already home to observant Syrian Jews — primarily from Aleppo (Halabi) and Damascus (Shami), who had established numerous institutions. What was missing, however, was the culture of rigorous Torah study and strict observance.

While it was nothing short of miraculous that the Jews of Argentina still clung to tradition — praying with a minyan, keeping kosher, and observing Shabbos — the standards were lax. Except for a handful of families, laws of modesty were not strictly observed, kashrus was kept at its most basic level, and Torah study pretty much took a backseat. What the community needed was an infusion of leadership to bring it up to a new spiritual level.

Upon arrival, Rav Ekstein’s primary focus was on the small group of Satmar chassidim who sponsored him. Officially, the kehillah was named “Kehillas Chareidim,” but its practices followed Satmar tradition. He inaugurated a mikveh and worked tirelessly to nurture the fledgling community; yet within a few years, many of the original Hungarian chassidim had relocated to the United States.

This shift forced Rav Ekstein to expand his focus and forge connections with other communities, particularly Shuva Israel, composed mainly of Syrian Jews and one of Argentina’s most traditional congregations. Many in these more established circles began to view Rav Ekstein as a unique and inspiring figure, and those seeking greater intensity in their Torah study and mitzvah observance gravitated toward him.

“My father was originally part of the kehillah in Barracas, a Buenos Aires neighborhood where many Halabi Jews had settled,” Rav Yehuda Said, today the right-hand man to Rav Faivel Sofer, the current av beis din of Satmar Argentina, tells Mishpacha. “But he wanted more — better mitzvah observance, deeper Torah learning, stricter kashrut. He found all of that with Rav Ekstein.”

I

t’s a lesson every community has learned: No kehillah can survive long-term without its own school. Satmar’s challenge was twofold: Its numbers were small, and Rav Ekstein worried about the education of his own children. He began considering a move to the United States.

Seeking guidance, he traveled to America to consult with Rebbe Yoel, who implored him to stay. Drawing from his own experience of hardship upon arriving in America, the Rebbe encouraged Rav Ekstein to invest in the education of Argentina’s Sephardic youth, with the hope that they would eventually integrate into yeshivos in the US. The proposal seemed audacious, even far-fetched. But coming from Rebbe Yoel, it was a directive that would surely have siyata d’Shmaya.

Thus, the Talmud Torah of Satmar Argentina was born — fueled more by determination than by numbers.

“I remember when we first started — we were just a handful of boys of different ages, all studying in the same class,” says Rav Said.

Emphasis was placed on teaching Lashon Kodesh and building a solid Torah foundation, though initial attempts to send students to American yeshivos met with limited success.

Things began to change in 1967 with the arrival of Rav Binyamin Abdelhak as rosh yeshivah. Known simply as “Reb Binyamin,” he was a brilliant talmid chacham from London, handpicked to guide the transition of students to American yeshivos. His presence brought a palpable improvement to the educational standards. While Reb Binyamin later established his own community — an impactful legacy in its own right — his tenure marked a turning point for Satmar Argentina.

At the same time, the Satmar Rebbe sent Rabbi Shlomo Gaffen, a close disciple, to help strengthen ties between the Argentinean kehillah and Satmar institutions in the US. Gradually, it became more common for a few young men from Satmar Argentina to study in American yeshivos.

This focus on education proved critical for the community’s survival. While the parents had brought their diverse backgrounds into the kehillah, it was their children who fully embraced the Satmar way of life.

One of the most delicate challenges was establishing the nusach. With a predominantly Sephardic membership adopting chassidic customs, what approach should they take? The Satmar Rebbe gave a compromise directive: They would use the chassidic nusach Sefard, like the broader chassidic world, but retain Sephardic pronunciation.

“The Rebbe told Rav Ekstein that Sephardic pronunciation is actually more accurate and there was no need to change it,” Rav Said explains.

To accommodate those still attached to the classic Sephardic nusach, the community organized two minyanim. In the main shul, Rav Ekstein led nusach Sefard prayers, attended mostly by the younger generation. Nearby, a separate shul held Eidot Hamizrach services, attracting the older generation.

This duality became a bridge for the evolving kehillah, and helped bochurim who moved on to chassidic yeshivos around the world. Yet the language remained a hurdle.

“In my time, we learned Yiddish in yeshivah in the US,” Rav Said recalls.

Over time, the community began teaching the language locally, aided by young men returning from New York and speaking Yiddish with their families. Even today, students often leave Argentina with only basic Yiddish.

But as one avreich reassures, “It doesn’t take long to pick it up. Yes, the first few months are tough and you have to break your teeth, but within a year, you’re speaking and understanding enough to thrive.”

Did this fellow face any personal discrimination for being a Sephardic chassid?

“No,” he says. “Luckily, I never had any negative experiences. And that’s despite the fact that I went to London. Those who go to the United States nowadays find a more refined system, and everyone knows that a small group of Argentineans always shows up at Satmar yeshivot.”

All about Beginning

One of the most pivotal moments for the community came when Rav Kalonymus Eliezer Ekstein began searching for a match for his eldest daughter, Sheva. The Rav wasn’t merely looking for a learned individual, but someone with the leadership qualities to guide a community and, above all, the knowledge to render halachic decisions. As always, he sought the counsel of the Satmar Rebbe, who advised him to look for a bochur in Eretz Yisrael.

“An American boy won’t be willing to move to Argentina,” the Rebbe told him. “Israelis are bolder about such things.”

Following the Rebbe’s advice, Rav Ekstein heard about a young man from a Satmar family in Jerusalem named Faivel Sofer. Faivel had gained a reputation for being a masmid and a talmid chacham from a young age, and from the time of his bar mitzvah, was studying with bochurim three or four years older. When Rav Ekstein had a shadchan approach Faivel’s family with a proposal, they were assured that Faivel would be supported financially for the rest of his life and that his only responsibility would be to immerse himself in Torah study.

The young bochur found the proposition intriguing, but deferred any decision until he traveled to America to consult with the Rebbe.

“Are you willing to move to Argentina?” the Rebbe asked him.

“I can begin my life there and perhaps later move to the US or back to Eretz Yisrael,” Faivel replied.

“You must understand,” the Rebbe responded, “that life is always about beginnings.”

In time, Rav Faivel Sofer came to understand the profundity of this message: He was meant to remain in Argentina. Even years later, when opportunities arose to lead larger kehillos in the United States, Rav Sofer adhered to the Rebbe’s words. He had committed to begin in Argentina, and every stage of life, he realized, is another beginning.

Rav Sofer’s arrival brought a surge of energy to Satmar Argentina. Both he and his wife, Morah Sheva —as she is affectionately known until today — gradually took on increasing roles in the burgeoning community. While Rav Ekstein remained the ultimate authority, he began delegating responsibilities to his son-in-law, who was revered as the community’s talmid chacham. Sheva, meanwhile, led the growing girls’ seminary. As the years went on, the community saw an influx of alumni returning from yeshivos abroad, slowly cultivating their own home-grown rabbanim.

The community, initially regarded with a touch of bewilderment by the rest of Argentina’s frum Jews (a Halabi in a shtreimel?), slowly but surely earned the respect of the other kehillos. They had become pillars of a more conservative strain of observance and had begun producing their own talmidei chachamim.

In the fall of 1986, Rav Ekstein, who had served the kehillah for 29 years, passed away. For Satmar Argentina, this loss was more than the petirah of a rav. It was the loss of their founder, teacher, and leader. Filling his shoes would be no small task, and this became the focal point of contention for years.

For seven tense years, Rav Faivel Sofer — who was already serving as rosh yeshivah — and his brother-in-law Rav Avraham Ekstein, shared the helm. But the arrangement proved untenable. Around this time, Rebbe Aharon Teitelbaum — who at the time was the rav and rosh yeshivah of the Satmar congregation in Kiryas Joel — visited Argentina, attempting to mediate and broker peace between the split kehillah. Despite his efforts, no resolution was reached.

Ultimately, Rav Sofer assumed sole leadership of the kehillah, while Rav Avraham Ekstein relocated to the United States, accompanied by a handful of families. Today, Rav Avraham leads his own Sephardi-Satmar kehillah in Monroe with around 150 families, which has become a haven for those from Argentina who’ve relocated to the US. (Rav Sofer’s sons, who today live in Monroe as well, head their own Sephardi-Satmar community.)

T

he confirmation of Rav Sofer as the community’s undisputed leader coincided with a new era of growth for Satmar Argentina. Though he would undoubtedly deny it, Rav Sofer evolved into a kind of local rebbe. By then, the kehillah had matured into a multi-generational community of Sephardic families raised as chassidim, and Rav Sofer and Morah Sheva became the de facto patriarch and matriarch of this extended family.

Under Rav Sofer’s leadership, the community put an even greater emphasis on Torah study. With sons-in-law in the United States, Rav Sofer took measures to improve conditions for Satmar bochurim studying in American institutions, including appointing a representative from Satmar Argentina to oversee these young men.

While some avreichim choose to remain in kollel long-term, most, like many chassidim in other communities, go out to work after two years in kollel — although, as in mainstream Satmar tradition, one learning seder is non-negotiable.

One hallmark of Satmar Argentina is its rigorous adherence to tzniyus, even by chassidic standards. One young man shared that it wasn’t until he visited London that his wife realized that chassidic women elsewhere wore makeup — something nearly unheard of in Satmar Argentina.

In staying within the community’s strictures of modesty, they acquired a quinta, a vacation estate on the outskirts of Buenos Aires that includes a shul, a mikveh, a pool, and several acres of parkland, with hours and days divided for men, women, and families. This way, families can vacation without compromising on their standards, which is often inevitable in even the most remote locations.

Clothing, too, poses a unique challenge in a country without a chassidic infrastructure. Even in the Flores district of Buenos Aires where the Satmar kehillah is located, there are no stores selling kapotes, beketshes, or shtreimels; everything has to be sourced from trips to the United States, Europe, or Israel. For chassanim and kallahs, it’s understood that before the wedding, they’ll need to travel to one of these destinations to purchase the clothing necessary to begin their new lives. One chassid related that occasionally people bring chassidic garments to an Argentine tailor to replicate the design.

“It might pass,” he says, “but it’s just not the same.”

Another man shared how he sent a hat to a local hatmaker in an attempt to recreate the distinct style worn in Satmar. “It wasn’t ideal, but my son wore it until someone traveled and brought back a proper one.”

Satmar Argentina is known for its strict kashrus policies, so much so that it doesn’t permit the use of any product without its own supervision, even as its hechsher is accepted throughout Argentina’s kehillos.

And like in so many other kehillos, one of their biggest challenges revolves around smartphones and the Internet, which are essentially prohibited. A woman may not own a smartphone, and if a man needs one for parnassah, it must be approved and equipped with a kehillah-sanctioned filter. Rav Said says that Rav Sofer is frequently consulted about situations in which young chassidim marry spouses from other communities, where family members aren’t as strict.

“It’s a very delicate matter,” Rav Said explains. “We must respect other families, but our children may not have any access to these devices.”

Yet despite the strictures that might not apply in other kehillos, former students of Rav Sofer and Morah Sheva who’ve since joined other communities still maintain deep affection for and connection with their original mentors, and Rav Sofer, regarded as one of Argentina’s foremost talmidei chachamim, is frequently sought out by rabbanim from other kehillos for guidance on halachic matters.

When I asked an avreich about his memories of Rav Sofer, the first thing that came to mind was an episode from his days in yeshivah ketanah.

“There was one week each year when the entire yeshivah would head to the mountains in Córdoba province, and Rav Sofer would join us for Shabbat,” he remembers. “One Motzaei Shabbat, when the Rav was giving a shiur on the Ohr HaChaim Hakadosh, someone from a neighboring house started complaining about the noise. It was strange because the only sound came from the Rav speaking — and he wasn’t even raising his voice. But the neighbor wasn’t having it. He began shouting at us, and then, to chase us off, he placed a stereo system in his window and blasted music at full volume.

“Everyone stood up, ready to leave, but Rav Sofer motioned for us to sit back down. With just a wave of his hand, he signaled for us to stay put. And then, it happened. The stereo simply tipped over and smashed on the ground.

“We couldn’t believe it, and someone finally worked up the nerve to ask, ‘Rebbi, how did you do that?’ Rav Sofer chuckled and replied, ‘Me? I didn’t do anything. That was the Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh.’ ”

*

Rebbe Aharon’s visit coincided with a time of remarkable growth and blessing for the community. Satmar Argentina had recently moved to a much larger space, inaugurated a new beis medrash, and laid the cornerstone for a building that will house a new Talmud Torah. What began as a small group whose future many once doubted has somehow flourished into a vibrant community. Today, several hundred families with last names such as Salama, Caire, Zayat, Said, and Cuan, reflect the local flavor of the kehillah. Yet coursing through their veins are the teachings of Rebbe Yoel.

And yes, they’ve answered the last question he asked before his petirah: “Did I have anything to do with that community?”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1037)