Iconic Williamsburg: Reb Chaim Gelb, The Legend of Williamsburg (I)

‘Sha-Boss’ and The Shabbos Council  

Reb Chaim Gelb’s dedication to shemiras Shabbos—for himself, and for his fellow Williamsburg residents—was incredible. As noted above, his salesmanship abilities caught the attention of his superiors, and he was quickly promoted in the dry goods company where he worked. With this promotion, he doubled his salary. 

The issue of working on Shabbos hadn’t come up, because the company hadn’t needed extra workers on Saturday. But one Friday, his boss casually asked him to come in the following day because he was anticipating a busy day. Reb Chaim did not think twice before responding “Sha-Boss.” It took his boss a while to understand what he was saying, but the message was clear: There was nothing to discuss. Shabbos was sacred, and he would not consider desecrating the holy day, no matter how much money he stood to earn. Like other mesirus nefesh Yidden of that time, he was summarily fired for his refusal to work on Shabbos. 

Shomer Shabbos establishments were few and far between in Williamsburg of yore, and they belonged to the legendary mesirus nefesh family of Williamsburg of the era. 

But Reb Chaim and his chaverim did not suffice with keeping Shabbos for themselves; they thought to bring the holiness of Shabbos to their brethren, the majority of Williamsburg’s Yidden who were sadly non-observant. 

And so, Reb Chaim set out to subway station at Marcy Avenue and Broadway, where masses of Williamsburg Jews departed for work in Manhattan. Every Friday afternoon, he would stand there announcing the impending Shabbos and time for hadlokas neiros. Reb Chaim and his friends would go around to establishments in the area, and speak with their proprietors in an effort to persuade them to close their stores for Shabbos. Through these efforts, he succeeded in getting a number of establishments to close, even if it meant subsidizing them from his own funds.  

These efforts came under the umbrella of the “Shabbos Council.”  

In 1938, when Rav Elchonon Wasserman, zt”l, Hy”d, was in America, he spent some time in Williamsburg. On that occasion, the Shabbos Council marched through the streets of Williamsburg, with Rav Elchonon at the helm. Marching at his side was non other than Reb Chaim Gelb whose dedication to Shabbos knew no bounds.  

Caring for Williamsburg’s Indigent 

Reb Chaim is remembered by scores of Williamsburg residents over many generations for the yarmulke that was ever-present in his outstretched hand, urging his fellow Yidden to donate to the needy. He would circulate among the shuls and shtieblach, wedding and catering halls of Williamsburg, all on behalf of the long list of needy that he would support. 

A unique quality in his collecting was Reb Chaim’s sensitivity to those giving as well. If he felt that they could not afford to give as much, he would not accept money from them. He applied this standard for others, but not for himself. He would regularly give away his rubbers to others who did not have any, leading his exasperated wife to exclaim “I think I have purchased more rubbers than any woman in New York!” Another time, he gave away his raincoat to an old Yid in a torrential storm, saying “He needed it more than I did.” 

Operating a bakery was for Reb Chaim yet another vehicle for tzedakah and chessed. He saw that there were needy people who were ashamed to take handouts, so he devised a system wherein people would be during the week for their Shabbos orders, and then pick their prepared orders on erev Shabbos without paying. This enabled even those who did not pay at all to take an order with no embarrassment.    

Countless stories abound with Reb Chaim’s selflessness on behalf of the needy of Williamsburg and beyond. He continued in these efforts well into his old age. 

With The Children of Williamsburg 

While Reb Chaim deeply loved every Yid, and did whatever he could to help them, he had a special place in his heart for the children. He would always be seen giving out candy for those who recited brochos and answer omein. 

We get a flavor of what this was like from the legendary historian Reb Gershon Kranzler who wrote the book Williamsburg Memories on the personalities and institutions of old Williamsburg: 

“It was just before mincha. The crowd was gathering inside the big Beis Medrash and in the hall of yeshiva Torah Vodaath on Wilson Street. The school bell had just rung, and down the steps came the classes of kids, released from long hours of sitting still and trying to pay attention. Scores of mothers, brothers, and other relatives were lined up outside, receiving their charges… 

“And there, as usual, was Rev Chaim Gelb, watching over his troops of yeshiva boys, making sure no one was left behind crying or getting into a squabble. How they loved it when he lined up the children behind the last row of the beis medrash to hand out candies for saying a brochoh or answering omein…     

“’Zrizus, my friends. Tzeddakah tatzil mimoves,’ he chanted in his inimitable way, beginning his usual rounds of favorite customers. ‘Who is this man youi’re so anxious to give money to,’ asked my little one. Don’t you know Reb Chaim answered my older son. He had spent his first school years in Torah Vodaath and had many-a-time benefitted from Reb Chaim’s helpfulness, such as the time his grandmother was late with his lunch, or when he had lost the nickel for his class project, or when some big bully had frightened him… each time Reb Chaim had come to his rescue.” 

Like he did for countless Williamsburg children. 

Pillar of an Evolving Williamsburg 

A veteran Williamsburg resident who was a great student of history once remarked that Reb Chaim—through his intense dedication to Yiddishkeit, and his many activities on behalf of the Yidden of Williamsburg—changed the course of Williamsburg history. 

Reb Chaim merited great arichus yomim, an extraordinary long life (he was niftar in 1984 at the age of 90), and lived to see Williamsburg evolve from a small enclave of prewar Yiddishkeit into a buzzing metropolis of tens of thousands of Yidden of all stripes, and then again into an almost-exclusively chassidishe community. 

The uniqueness of Reb Chaim was that he was universally beloved, revered, and respected by all these groups—a direct outgrowth of his love for them. In his later years, he resided at the Aishel Avrohom old age home, until his passing in the winter of 1984 following a lifetime of chessed—caring for the spiritual and material needs of his fellow Yidden in Williamsburg of yore.