Since stepping foot inside the Chabad House, I have never been the same. I walked in a young naïve pisher from yeshiva, single, no commitments nothing. Now, three years later I have acquired nine siblings along with four cool scholarly friends. From here on, these 13 relatives will be referred to as the “Chabad House.” It is no easy task being a member of this special clan. There are certain things that you must learn and adhere to. Firstly, everything must be about “Yisroel:” the milk, the bread and even the blame that lies on the rambunctious little tyke. Secondly, you may never use the word no. If no is used the punishment is sitting on Tatie’s lap for the duration of the meal. Another thing, once the “Chabad House” learns how to talk everything is your fault. Who knew that by helping out a nameless blonde haired three year-old by taking off his wet shirt so that it could dry, would result in him claiming that another nameless person (ahem, yours truly) would be fingered for stealing it? Who knew?
All kidding aside, the past three years have flown by and all I can recall are the happy moments that I have had with the “Chabad House” and the amazing people I’ve met because of the “Chabad House.” For everyone that is smart enough to take full advantage of everything that the “Chabad House” has to offer, they will never be disappointed.