June 26, 2026 Categories: Rebbetzin's Viewpoint
Rebbetzin's Viewpoint
Among my earliest memories are the berachos, blessings, my saintly father, HaRav HaGaon HaTzaddik Avraham HaLevi Jungreis, zt”l, and my saintly zaidies always gave me.
My parents enveloped their children in a magnificent tallis of berachos. They were given all the time. I went off to school fortified with berachos; I boarded the bus to summer camp empowered by berachos; I went to sleep every night to the comforting tones of berachos; and I awakened every morning to the sweet sound of berachos.
On Erev Shabbos we would welcome the angels and seek their blessings as well. And then once again my parents would bless us. And we children, in an expression of honor and gratitude, would kiss their hands and impart a berachah of our own. We prayed that Hashem would grant us the zechus of having our parents at our side, and that they would walk us to the chuppah and eventually see our children studying Torah.
My father’s reverence for berachos was tested many times. It took him on many hazardous journeys. During WWII, followers of the saintly Belzer Rebbe smuggled him into Hungary. When my father found out the Rebbe was hiding in Budapest, he decided to go and seek his blessings.
When other Jews learned of the trip, they came to my father with many envelopes and notes with requests for blessings. So it was that my father arrived to the Rebbe’s hiding place with a full attaché case.
The Rebbe’s face was etched with terrible suffering. Tears flowing down his cheeks, he told my father, “Ich hob nisht kein koach – I don’t have strength. I give over all my blessings to you – whomever you will bless should be blessed.”
Berachos for Am Yisrael have deep roots. They can be traced back to our father Abraham and the other Patriarchs. Our father Jacob prior to his death in Egypt blessed each of his children and gave them their own unique blessings.
My father never ceased blessing Am Yisrael. And prior to his returning his soul to Hashem he charged me with the mission of continuing to impart berachos.
When my father became severely ill in his final years, I took it upon myself to visit him twice a day. Every morning and every night I came to the house, and as soon as I walked in I ran to his beside. Lovingly he would clasp my hand and shower me with his berachos.
And then I would go to Mamma and ask her to bless me as well, to which Mamma’s classic answer was “Your father’s blessings are enough. You don’t need more.”
Overhearing Mamma’s words, my father would interrupt. “No, if Esther asks you for berachos, give them. Your berachos are special, Mamma, and no one else can give them except you.”
When it was time to depart and I was about to go, I would come back and my mother would say “Gay shoin; vos kimeste tzurick?” (Go already; why are you coming back?)
And I would simply answer, “Noch a berachah” (I want yet another blessing).
“Zi is gerecht” (She is right), my father would say, and he would explain that one can never have too many berachos – one has to grab them while one can.
To this day I hear my father’s voice, I see his eyes moist with tears. I hear him say, “If only I could run now to my own father, the great tzaddik, for a berachah. So yes, grab as many berachos while you can.”
My children merited receiving the berachos of my parents as well as my beloved husband, HaRav Meshulem HaLevi Jungreis, zt”l. From the moment of their birth they were nurtured on these berachos. Today I am the only one left from the older generation. So today it is I who give berachos, and I give them with the love I felt from my husband and my parents.
Additionally, I am a Holocaust survivor and there are precious few survivors who are still strong enough to impart berachos. Many people, young and old, come to me. And to them as well I give berachos with love and tears, inspired by the voices of the saintly souls who preceded me.
(To be continued)
