After 2 Adar Chabad.org Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, the regional director of Lubavitch-Chabad of Illinois who helped to spur the growth of dozens of Chabad-Lubavitch centers in 21 cities across the state, passed away suddenly in Chicago on March 4. Learn More Chicago Trib Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz was an energetic force in Chicago's Hasidic Jewish community, overseeing the Lubavitch-Chabad movement in Illinois and helping to establish 37 Chabad centers around the state. Learn More Chicago Jewish News The People's Rabbi Remembering Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, whose sudden passing stunned the community, and whose life was devoted to bringing the joy of Judaism to every Jew Learn More Northbrook Tower Northbrook's Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz honored, remembered around Chicago Learn More Times of Israel By Sherwin Pomerantz I was stunned this morning to see a notice that Rav Daniel Moscowitz, the lead Chabad emissary in Chicago, had passed away Tuesday at the age of 59, leaving his widow, Esther and nine children. Learn More Kfar Chabad "אבא היה שליח בכל מהותו. כל מציאותו אמרה שליח, שליח של הרבי. אלו היו חייו. כל דבר, קטן כגדול, הוא היה שואל את עצמו מה הרבי היה אומר על כך" Learn More Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz Tribute Video Play Video

Memories Neil Steinberg Chicago Sun Times “Maybe some tangerines,” my wife said. “I don’t think fruit can be unkosher,” I replied. But we puzzled, unsure. “I’ll call Rabbi Moscowitz and ask,” I said, and she gasped. I had meant it as a sardonic comment on the void he leaves; he is no longer here to answer questions. She thought I was referring to his son, Rabbi Meir Moscowitz, following in his father’s footsteps. The confusion points toward the comfort in this tragedy. For Jews, our heaven is here on earth, our eternity is found in our children. Life and death are twins, we believe, brothers joined at the hip. It is ingratitude to celebrate one and decry the other. So we don’t rail at death. We accept it. Our good works live after us. Rabbi Moscowitz had nine children, countless friends, and achievements. His memory will radiate onward, a blessing. And yet. Were he here, I’d tell him, “Yes, yes, but it’s still very hard.” “Of course it’s hard!” he’d reply, his eyes twinkling. “But what choice have we?” Beyond Wisdom, Impact, Rabbi was Good Man There’s an old Jewish joke that goes like this: A revered rabbi, famous for his goodness and wisdom, dies and ascends to heaven. Such is his reputation that God Himself slides over to welcome the new arrival and ask him what heavenly reward he would like for a life well-lived. The rabbi considers this. “Well,” he says. “The journey was long, and I am hungry. So a roll. Yes, a fresh challah roll. That is what I want.” The Lord is amazed, and remarks to his angels: “See the pious simplicity of this holy man! He is offered the riches of heaven by God Almighty, and asks only for a roll.” The Lord turns back to the rabbi. “Truly, rebbe, is there nothing else you would like besides a challah roll?” “Well...” says the rabbi, musing, “a little butter would be nice.” That isn’t the funniest joke, but it’s sweet. Which is why it comes to mind when I think of Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, who was regional director of Chabad in Illinois, the Illinois representative of the Lubavitch movement. It wasn’t so much that he was learned — he certainly was — or active, both within his community and as a liaison to the world beyond, promoting his brand of faith in an endless chain of services, events, celebrations, seminars, lunches. He was important, a leader. He guided his community, got things done, built a new Lubavitch center in Northbrook. But many rabbis are wise, active and important. That wasn’t why I admired him. It’s that he was a good man, kind, patient, even dealing with weak-tea Jews like me, constantly badgering him with questions that any learned 6-year-old should know. He taught me that you can use faith as a bludgeon, you can beat people up with it. You can use it as a measuring stick, to find how far others fall short. Or you can use it as a beacon and say, “Look, I have this really good thing here. Why don’t you try a nibble? Maybe you’ll like it.” Rabbi Moscowitz was a beacon. We met 15 years ago under difficult circumstances. I had put a jokey passing reference in my column to Menachem Mendel Schneerson, leader of the Lubavitch movement, who had died a few years earlier but was deeply esteemed. Rabbi Moscowitz called, not so much to complain — what good does that do? — as to discuss, to illuminate. By the time he was done, we were friends in my estimation; maybe he was so skilled at what he did that I was just another media source to be kept in line. But if that was the case, he fooled me. When I got the bad news Tuesday — he died unexpectedly, after gall bladder surgery, at 59 — I flashed on all the memories over the past decade and a half that I only have because of him. Sitting at his house at Shabbos, the candles glowing, him quizzing my older son — a bright boy! Among a circle of Hassidic men, our arms interlocked, dancing wildly at the wedding of one of his sons. Sitting with Rabbi Moscowitz in intense conversation at their luncheons after services. When I stopped drinking eight years ago, he phoned — not many friends did, but he did —and in our conversation said that, because of his health, he had to cut back wine too. But what can a person do? We do what we must. We endure. Over the years I would call him to ask questions: Why do we display lights at Hanukkah? What does the Jewish calendar represent — 5,700 or so years since what? My family attended services at his center, and his sermons were wise, witty, brief. When my wife and I were getting ready this week to go to his house to offer our condolences, the question arose: what to bring? You make a shiva call, you bring food. But it wouldn’t do to drag treif into a rabbi’s house.

Multi-Media All Videos All Videos Play Video Share Whole Channel This Video Facebook Twitter Pinterest Tumblr Copy Link Link Copied Search video... Now Playing The Lamplighters of Lubavitch Chabad of Illinois 27:38 Play Video Now Playing Yartzeit of Rabbi Hershel Shusterman 5762 -2002 07:45 Play Video Now Playing Evening of Tribute in honor of Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 03:26:13 Play Video Chof Daled Teves - Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 00:00 Chinuch Lecture - Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 00:00 Yud Shvat - Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 00:00 Prep for Gimmel Tammuz - Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 00:00 Taxi Driver - Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz 00:00 To play, press and hold the enter key. To stop, release the enter key.

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About Biography A Chassid Made in America! This is the story of a chassid, a chassid whose life begins and ends in Illinois, a chassid who devoted his life to bringing the light of Torah and chassidus to his hometown. It is a story of 59 years of commitment to the Rebbe, Chabad, and the Jewish people. Childhood The story of Rabbi Daniel Yitzchok Moscowitz begins with his parents, Frank (Ephraim) and Cynthia (Tzivia) Moscowitz, two school teachers who worked hard to build a warm chassidic home in the Windy City. Under the influence of Rabbi Solomon S. Hecht, shaliach of the Previous Rebbe—Rabbi Joseph I. Schneerson, of righteous memory—Ephraim had studied as a teen in the nascent Chabad yeshivah in Brooklyn, N.Y for four years. Afterward he went on to serve in the Army. Cynthia was raised in the West Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago, where her father was the first president of what was then the neighborhood’s only synagogue. Always curious, she asked to attend Hebrew school, even though she was the only girl there. The two met in Roosevelt College in 1951, where they were both studying education. They soon became engaged. Through her husband-to-be, she came to know Rabbi and Rebbetzin. Hecht, whom the couple came to regard as personal mentors and very dear friends. While preparing for her wedding, Cynthia met Rebbetzin Chava Devorah (Evelyn) Shusterman, whose husband, Rabbi Herschel (Harold) Shusterman, was the rabbi of the prestigious B’nei Ruven synagogue. She would later recall how impressed she was by the young woman, who was then expecting a child and freezing food to serve in the event that there would be a bris. Yet, she took the time to meet with a young couple preparing for their wedding. Three years after their marriage, on 8 Sivan, 5714 (June 9, 1954), they were blessed with a son, whom they named Daniel Yitzchok. Read Biography Timeline View a timeline of milestone events in his life. Learn More Memories Learn about the impression he had on members of the community. Add your own memories too. Learn More To play, press and hold the enter key. To stop, release the enter key.

Memories Reb Ephraim Moscowitz My Son My parents were already members of Anshei Lubavitch when the legendary Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Hecht was sent to Chicago in 1942 by the previous Rebbe on the occasion of the shul’s 50th anniversary. He was only 25 years old, but his impact on Chicago Jewry was monumental. His 37 years as a Shaliach laid the groundwork for a fresh approach to stem the tide of a dying Orthodoxy. At that time, traditional Jewish life in Chicago was on the decline as the immigrants in the early part of the 20th century, found it difficult to keep Shabbos. There was no viable Torah education other than Talmud Torah for children after Public School. Bar Mitzvah was a termination of Jewish connection and observance. Kashrus was in a state of questionable reliability. Parents reluctantly embraced the American dream as their children rejected the old traditional ways. Those who did maintain strict standards of Shabbos, Kashrus, and Taharas Hamishpocha were a distinct minority and seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Rabbi Hecht’s arrival stirred much interest. With a full beard, wearing a long frock coat, and speaking perfect Yiddish, people were surprised to learn that he was American born. With his charisma and regal appearance, he attracted a following of young adults into his Torah classes. With this nucleus, he instituted such innovated programs as hospital visitation for the purpose of blowing shofar for patients and lulav and esrog mivtzoyim. He initiated Maos Chitim packages for the poor of his west side neighborhood. ​ Rabbi Hecht had two radio programs, one in English and one in Yiddish, which were extremely popular. He made Chassidic gatherings and revived the practice of learning Torah all night on Shavuos and celebrating Simchas Torah far into the night. His Purim farbrengens were legendary. Bringing joy and pride into Yiddishkeit attracted many young people. In 1943, Rabbi Hecht arranged for me to learn in the Lubavitcher Yeshiva in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. After serving in the army of occupation in Germany, I returned to Chicago to attend college. I studied education and I met my future wife, Cynthia (Tzivia) who was also studying education. We married and both became teachers in the Chicago Public Schools. Rabbi Hecht remained our mentor and guide. On Israchag Shavuos, 1954, Daniel was born in Mount Sinai Hospital, where I was born. I remember that at his bris, Rabbi Hecht placed a Tanya, the foundational text of Chabad teachings, under his head. At the age of 17 months, after the birth of his brother, Dovid Moshe, he regularly walked with me on Shabbos to the new location of Rabbi Hecht’s Shul in East Rogers Park, a distance of four long blocks, Daniel, even as a child, was an organizer and activity director. Whenever he had the opportunity at family get-togethers or at school he would write, direct, and participate in Chanukah plays, Purim Carnivals, organize “choirs” of holiday songs. His vibrant voice could be heard leading the others. Everything he did was with joy and great enthusiasm. One time, when he was only eight years old, after a very difficult day with four little boys, my wife had a very rough time handling the usual bedtime routine as I worked at two jobs and didn’t come home until 8:00 PM. She remembered her mother’s quote about her own mother. She said, that when things got tough, Grandma would “hide the matches, and take a walk around the block all alone.” So, my wife decided to “ hide the matches, and take a little walk all alone.” When she got home, the children were all in their pajamas, the table was set for supper, jarred gefilte fish, veggies, and potato chips were all set out to eat. All this was orchestrated by an eight-year-old Daniel. At age 10, Daniel attended camp Gan Israel in Flint Michigan, which had such great influence on him. Later on, when he became activity director and organized a tremendous parents’ visitation day, it had rained heavily that morning, threatening to spoil all their hard work. I remember sitting in the car, waiting for the opening time. Daniel came to us, and said, “Don’t worry, I called the Rebbe for a Brocha, and it will be good.” He went back to his counselors, they did a Chassidic anti-rain dance and sure enough, the rain stopped, the sun came out, and the afternoon was a great success. That’s emunah! Another great influence and mentor to the Moscowitz family was Rabbi Tzvi Shusterman, Rav of the Bnei Ruven Shul. He had been our Mesader Kiddushin in 1951. Daniel had his Bar Mitzvah at Bnei Ruven just as its new sanctuary on Devon Ave had been completed. His son Mendel, was Daniel’s dear friend. Rabbi Shusterman actually brought Daniel to 770 for his first Yechidus to the Rebbe. Daniel went on to study in Montreal and then in Brunoy, France. After returning to the United States and receiving Smicha, he married Esther Rochel Aronow from Toronto. We then had the pleasant surprise of Rabbi Hecht choosing Daniel to be a shaliach in Chicago. Several years later, in 1979, Daniel became the head shaliach, beginning a new era of increasing Chabad outreach. One contact leads to another. And Daniel used his numerous contacts to good advantage. He called upon family and friends to give him a springboard to people in all walks of life who could possibly help in achieving his goals. A family friend and former neighbor of ours, a successful lawyer was called upon to represent Chabad in Evanston in a serious legal challenge to its existence. Not only was Chabad successful in a series of court decisions, but all these services were rendered pro bono. From that time forward to this day, that law firm has done so for all of the Chabad's of Illinois. There was a person whom Daniel befriended that wanted to learn Torah with him and Daniel did so with him for many years. This person had close contact with many prominent politicians, including the President of the United States. These contacts paved the way for the success of many Chabad projects such as the Succah downtown and the Menorah at Daily Plaza. The original motivation for these personal contacts was to help bring the joy of Torah and Mitzvos into their lives. It evolved like the ripples in a pond. Seated at the Shabbos table of Daniel and Esther Rochel, you could find men and women who would be enjoying an authentic Shabbos atmosphere, a sumptuous meal, eaten by the glow of the Shabbos candles and wonderful camaraderie. No one would know how late this beautiful couple stayed up the night before in preparation to make sure that everything was delicious and welcoming for all their many guests. The individual stories that multitudes of people can relate how Daniel and/or Esther Rochel helped them turn their lives around in a more positive direction often led to they themselves becoming “lamplighters.” In dealing with people, Daniel’s focus was always “what can I do for you,” rather than “what can you do for me?” The aftermath of these interactions was always acts of goodness and kindness. No task was too big or to small for him to fulfill his mission in life. Whatever he did, he did whole-heartedly and with gusto. He led by example and it is always an example that leaves the most lasting impression. Daniel’s outreach, radiating warmth and friendship in a most pleasant way brought out the best in people. He saw the potential and capabilities in others. He went above and beyond the call of duty to help anyone in need. The 43 Chabad institutions in Illinois were not his work alone, but it was his empowerment of the individual to collectively reach their potential in the fulfillment of a common mission – to make this world a dwelling place for Hashem. We are very proud of him and grateful to Hashem for the gift of the 59 years that we were given to be with him. May we merit to be reunited with my dear son with the coming of Moshiach speedily in our days. ​

Memories Neil Steinberg Chicago Sun Times “Maybe some tangerines,” my wife said. “I don’t think fruit can be unkosher,” I replied. But we puzzled, unsure. “I’ll call Rabbi Moscowitz and ask,” I said, and she gasped. I had meant it as a sardonic comment on the void he leaves; he is no longer here to answer questions. She thought I was referring to his son, Rabbi Meir Moscowitz, following in his father’s footsteps. The confusion points toward the comfort in this tragedy. For Jews, our heaven is here on earth, our eternity is found in our children. Life and death are twins, we believe, brothers joined at the hip. It is ingratitude to celebrate one and decry the other. So we don’t rail at death. We accept it. Our good works live after us. Rabbi Moscowitz had nine children, countless friends, and achievements. His memory will radiate onward, a blessing. And yet. Were he here, I’d tell him, “Yes, yes, but it’s still very hard.” “Of course it’s hard!” he’d reply, his eyes twinkling. “But what choice have we?” Beyond Wisdom, Impact, Rabbi was Good Man There’s an old Jewish joke that goes like this: A revered rabbi, famous for his goodness and wisdom, dies and ascends to heaven. Such is his reputation that God Himself slides over to welcome the new arrival and ask him what heavenly reward he would like for a life well-lived. The rabbi considers this. “Well,” he says. “The journey was long, and I am hungry. So a roll. Yes, a fresh challah roll. That is what I want.” The Lord is amazed, and remarks to his angels: “See the pious simplicity of this holy man! He is offered the riches of heaven by God Almighty, and asks only for a roll.” The Lord turns back to the rabbi. “Truly, rebbe, is there nothing else you would like besides a challah roll?” “Well...” says the rabbi, musing, “a little butter would be nice.” That isn’t the funniest joke, but it’s sweet. Which is why it comes to mind when I think of Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, who was regional director of Chabad in Illinois, the Illinois representative of the Lubavitch movement. It wasn’t so much that he was learned — he certainly was — or active, both within his community and as a liaison to the world beyond, promoting his brand of faith in an endless chain of services, events, celebrations, seminars, lunches. He was important, a leader. He guided his community, got things done, built a new Lubavitch center in Northbrook. But many rabbis are wise, active and important. That wasn’t why I admired him. It’s that he was a good man, kind, patient, even dealing with weak-tea Jews like me, constantly badgering him with questions that any learned 6-year-old should know. He taught me that you can use faith as a bludgeon, you can beat people up with it. You can use it as a measuring stick, to find how far others fall short. Or you can use it as a beacon and say, “Look, I have this really good thing here. Why don’t you try a nibble? Maybe you’ll like it.” Rabbi Moscowitz was a beacon. We met 15 years ago under difficult circumstances. I had put a jokey passing reference in my column to Menachem Mendel Schneerson, leader of the Lubavitch movement, who had died a few years earlier but was deeply esteemed. Rabbi Moscowitz called, not so much to complain — what good does that do? — as to discuss, to illuminate. By the time he was done, we were friends in my estimation; maybe he was so skilled at what he did that I was just another media source to be kept in line. But if that was the case, he fooled me. When I got the bad news Tuesday — he died unexpectedly, after gall bladder surgery, at 59 — I flashed on all the memories over the past decade and a half that I only have because of him. Sitting at his house at Shabbos, the candles glowing, him quizzing my older son — a bright boy! Among a circle of Hassidic men, our arms interlocked, dancing wildly at the wedding of one of his sons. Sitting with Rabbi Moscowitz in intense conversation at their luncheons after services. When I stopped drinking eight years ago, he phoned — not many friends did, but he did —and in our conversation said that, because of his health, he had to cut back wine too. But what can a person do? We do what we must. We endure. Over the years I would call him to ask questions: Why do we display lights at Hanukkah? What does the Jewish calendar represent — 5,700 or so years since what? My family attended services at his center, and his sermons were wise, witty, brief. When my wife and I were getting ready this week to go to his house to offer our condolences, the question arose: what to bring? You make a shiva call, you bring food. But it wouldn’t do to drag treif into a rabbi’s house.