The other day I had no choice but to think back a few decades to the days leading up to my bar mitzvah. The events that precipitated these thoughts were news of the passing of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Garfinkel and a chance meeting with his son David here in town. I had not seen or heard too much about Rabbi Garfinkel for a very long time. I knew, however, that he was residing in an assisted-living residence in Far Rockaway and that he was about 90 years old.
I met David last Friday on Central Avenue and communicated to him my condolences on the loss of his dad. I also told him that his father had tortured me until I knew my bar mitzvah parashah and haftarah well—that is, from the perspective of a 12-year-old—as one of his many hundreds of bar mitzvah students.
Of course I meant those words in a positive and nostalgic way. Had his father not been so insistent and determined with me, I probably would not have learned those essential elements of being a bar mitzvah boy. I can recall in a sense dreading those first few lessons, which included studying the parashah, the haftarah, a maamar—a Chassidic discourse from the Lubavitcher Rebbe—and another d’var Torah to deliver at one of my three bar mitzvah celebrations. But that’s another story.
Rabbi Garfinkel’s approach—with me, anyway—was both thorough and comprehensive. He wasn’t chintzy with time; he did not rush. He asked me to go over the different pesukim again and again. After working with him for a few months, I not only developed a taste for leining—reading from the Torah—but I actually began to enjoy it.
For about five years after my bar mitzvah, I was determined to hone my skills as a baal k’riah, inspired by Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Garfinkel. For years after my bar mitzvah I developed a special affinity for my haftarah; when circumstances allow, I try to read it in shul on my bar mitzvah Shabbos—Shabbos Nachamu and Parashas V’eschanan. Rabbi Garfinkel didn’t just teach me the haftarah, he taught me to appreciate its content and sentiments, the expression of hope for the relationship between Hashem and the Jewish people in the aftermath of destruction.
Rabbi Garfinkel was a survivor who escaped the Holocaust by making his way to Shanghai. He was a Gerrer chassid as a young boy but ended up in the Lubavitcher yeshiva and was a devoted chassid of the Friedeker Rebbe, whose berachah he attributed to saving his life. His son told me earlier this week that he worked as a rebbi at the Lubavitcher Yeshiva for 54 years. In the next week or so, his family is putting together a more extensive history and tribute to their father and grandfather. He personified a perseverance and commitment to Jewish life that bridged generations and that could have easily broken in any unbridled direction. It was his simple dedication that kept it all together.
I was one person touched by his unique mastery. What he taught me has stayed with me all these years later. Today, when I am called on to read the haftarah, images of Rabbi Garfinkel reflexively get conjured up. I can still see myself sitting at his dining-room table reading the parashah or the haftarah and the rabbi stopping me and urging me to read slower, adding—“Remember, stress the words.” May Rabbi Garfinkel’s memory be a blessing to his family and all the bar mitzvah boys in whose life he made such a difference.
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Food For Thought
There seems to be some kind of wild and creative proliferation in our community over these last few years with organizing and producing cookbooks. I understand some of our most prolific Judaica publishing houses that have been producing sefarim of all kinds and all languages have not sold more books of any particular title than those that feature an array of what some would call cutting edge (not cutting board) recipes.
This fact came across our editorial desk with the latest production of the Bais Yaakov Cookbook. It’s a heavy and significant volume that I found particularly interesting and even striking—and not only because of its weight. I personally find recipes both puzzling and daunting. What I found interesting about this volume was that it included not only recipes but also a detailed history of the Bais Yaakov schools for girls movement. What an interesting way, I thought, to get a message across to the public about your institution or organization.
These new cookbooks popping up in the market every few months remind me of the fact that I have had an idea about my own cutting-edge cookbook that has been on my back burner for years. I cannot, of course, divulge the focus of the book because I have been assured that the content will be so riveting as to revolutionize the once-a-month new kosher cookbook industry. I want to tell you about it but I just cannot—not at this point in time anyway.
All I can say about it is that I have such an extensive lack of knowledge about cooking or anything to do with the kitchen that that, in part, is what I believe will make the book so compelling. Enough said—for now, anyway.
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More Food For Thought
It seems that a number of new eateries are opening these days, dotting the landscape of Central Avenue. Somehow it seems that there are never enough places to dine outside our homes. One, however, as you may already be aware, stands apart from all others. And that is the Prime Bistro Grill in Lawrence.
The new Prime Bistro is the big brother of what used to be the very successful Bistro Grill in Woodmere, which has now been transformed into an Italian-style upscale dairy restaurant—Sapore. I have not been at Sapore yet. But last week I made my inaugural visit to Prime Bistro and I can report that it was extraordinary.
I always liked Bistro Grill. But after spending an evening at Prime Bistro recently, I can report that it is a step up—all you can want in a lavish steakhouse and still be about 90 seconds from home—that is, if you live in the Five Towns.
Even if you don’t live in the area, it is certainly well worthwhile to partake of the delectable French cuisine at Prime Bistro. While I cannot tell you what to order, I can relate what we had when we were there last week. We shared two outstanding appetizers—the merguez, otherwise known as homemade lamb sausage, and the crispy veal sweetbreads. In between, we sipped on martinis from the fully stocked bar. Even though I do not usually drink, we were celebrating the opening of the new place with owner Rafi Biton.
From there we went straight to the main course. I had the expertly prepared dry aged rib eye, and my wife had the Chilean sea bass. They were both served with grilled vegetables and a giant baked potato. From there it was on to dessert, which was in and of itself a culinary dream. Next time you want to dine in high style, I suggest Prime Bistro.

Comments for Larry Gordon are welcome at editor@5tjt.com.