ONCE A REBBE, ALWAYS A REBBE: A LETTER FROM “GEORGE NAGEL”

INTRODUCTION

Few stories in modern Jewish history pack as many jaw-dropping twists and turns as the life of the Yabloner Rebbe. But Rabbi Yechezkel Taub (1895–1986) wasn’t just an ordinary Hasidic leader—he was a bold visionary with big dreams and even bigger ideas. At just 24 years old, he stepped up to lead one of Poland’s most prestigious Hasidic dynasties, guiding his followers with charm, conviction, and wisdom.

In 1924, the Yabloner Rebbe stunned everyone by leading hundreds of his followers to Palestine to establish Kfar Hasidim—the first religious farming community since biblical times. It was a bold, almost Messianic vision, but as you might expect, reality had other ideas.

Floods, malaria, and hostile local Arabs turned his dream into a logistical and financial nightmare. The Rebbe fought tooth and nail to keep his dream afloat, but by 1938, drowning in debt and facing accusations of mismanagement and even theft, he headed to America to raise funds.

Then came World War II and the Holocaust, shattering not just his plans but his spirit. Wracked with guilt and despair, he walked away—from his past, his title, and even his faith, reemerging in Los Angeles as George Nagel, a non-observant Polish Jewish immigrant with no beard, no sidelocks, and a new line of work—building single-family homes in the emerging housing boom of Southern California.

For decades, “George” lived a quiet, almost invisible life, keeping his extraordinary past a secret—even from those closest to him. But everything changed after a financial collapse and a health scare in the late 1960s. Determined to reinvent himself once again, he enrolled at California State University, Northridge (CSUN) to study psychology.

Defying expectations, George Nagel graduated with honors in 1975—just shy of his 80th birthday—earning the respect and admiration of students and professors alike. As part of his postgraduate studies, he volunteered at a residential mental health facility called Paradise Cove, where he rediscovered a sense of purpose, dedicating himself to helping others heal and rebuild their lives.

This letter, written in 1976 or 1977 to a rabbi of a prominent Conservative synagogue in the San Fernando Valley, comes from an unpublished dissertation titled Paradise Cove: They Escaped The Cuckoo Nest. Written under his George Nagel persona as part of his graduate studies at CSUN, the dissertation is a compelling collection of reflections and letters capturing his experiences working with mentally ill patients.

I’m deeply grateful to Dr. Joseph Chudy—a relative by marriage of the Rebbe, who knew him well and studied alongside him at CSUN in the 1970s—for tracking down one of only three known copies of this dissertation and making it available to me. After nearly five decades in the shadows, Paradise Cove is now being prepared for publication, with the help of Menachem Butler and others, so that this extraordinary work can finally see the light of day.

In this extraordinary letter, the former Rebbe takes on a pressing challenge in contemporary Jewish life—the mitzvah of bikur cholim (visiting the sick). While modern medicine has turned hospitals into highly specialized institutions that adequately take care of the sick, he argues that mental illness remains an area where ordinary people can make a real difference for patient recovery through kindness, love, and companionship. Nagel sees this work not just as a moral obligation, but as the modern fulfillment of the mitzvah we recite every morning in Birkot Hashachar:

וְאֵלּוּ דְבָרִים שֶׁאָדָם אוֹכֵל פֵרוֹתֵיהֶם בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה וְהַקֶּרֶן קַיֶּמֶת לוֹ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא… גְמִילוּת חֲסָדִים וּבִיקוּר חוֹלִים

“And these are the precepts whose fruits a person enjoys in this world, but whose principal remains intact for them in the World to Come: acts of kindness, visiting the sick…” – Mishnah Peah 1:1

But Nagel doesn’t stop there. He offers a fresh, almost radical take on the Mishnah. Instead of reading Olam Hazeh as “this world” and Olam Haba as “the next world,” he reframes them entirely—Olam Hazeh becomes short-term care, and Olam Haba represents long-term care. It’s a deeply practical and thought-provoking interpretation.

But what really shines through in this letter is the voice of a Rebbe who could never stop being a Rebbe. Despite walking away from his Hasidic court and abandoning his formal title, leadership and caring for others were woven into the fabric of his soul.

At Paradise Cove, George Nagel stepped back into his role as a Rebbe—only this time, his flock was made up of mentally ill patients who needed his guidance, advocacy, and compassion. They became his Hasidim, and he cared for them in every way, attending to their physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. Drawing on his deep well of Jewish scholarship and his proud Hasidic heritage, he approached this work with the confidence of someone born to lead.

But Nagel didn’t just want to do the work himself—he wanted to inspire others to follow his example and take up the mitzvah of bikur cholim. His letter isn’t just a plea to one rabbi in 1970s Los Angeles; it’s a timeless blueprint for modern chesed, calling on all Jews to rise to the challenge of addressing mental health with love, dedication, and hope.

THE LETTER

Dear Rabbi,

Good deeds and charity are basic in religion. In our long Jewish tradition, we helped the poor and visited the sick. We recite in our daily morning prayer, “These are the commandments which yield immediate fruit and continue to yield fruit in time to come… doing deeds of loving kindness, visiting the sick…”

This was in the days of old, but in our days of welfare states, charity has changed – and also the commandment of visiting the sick has changed. What can a layman help visiting a friend in a hospital which is in our days so specialized?

But in one type of illness one can still observe the commandment of visiting and helping the sick. This is by visiting the mentally ill. In this illness the layman can help a great deal. With all the inventions in psychiatry, we still don’t have a valid pill to cure mental illness. Love and friendship is still the best medicine that can help cure this disease. And any layman, any member of the Temple, can do this. Any member of the Temple can become a volunteer to help cure the mentally ill.

And, as I see it, there are two types of volunteering the mentally ill need – short-term and long-term. The short-term volunteer can fulfill the commandment of visiting the sick without any specific commitment. He can just visit the sick, cheer them up, take them out for awhile from the institution – and most important – show them love and kindness.

The other type of volunteer is a long-term commitment to one person, to become a big brother or big sister to one sick person. The long-term volunteer should see the sick brother or sick sister regularly, weekly. He should take this person to his own home and treat him, or her, as a guest of the family. In addition, the long-term volunteer shall see to it that the sick person sees his doctor regularly and takes the medicine as prescribed. It is not an easy commitment but not as bad as it looks at first glance.

Possible that the author of the morning prayer had in mind the long-term committed volunteer when he wrote “…which yield immediate fruit and continue to yield fruit in time to come.” There is satisfaction in this type of volunteering; I was satisfied and one other person from the campus, who accepted a long-term commitment, had this feeling.

I hope you will succeed to find in the Temple laymen who will be interested to visit and help cure the mentally sick.

In friendship and respect,

George