“Are You Jewish?”

So … how did I find Chabad? Maybe the better question is: how did Chabad find me?

It all started (as it has for many) with two yeshivah students walking into my workplace—a mattress store with very few customers—one random Friday afternoon and asking a simple question.

“Are you Jewish?”

“Yes,” I said.

And without missing a beat, they asked, “Can we help you put on tefillin?”

And I said (and I remember this clearly!), “A tefill-what?”

I had no idea what they were talking about.

After all, I’d grown up in Arlington Heights, an Illinois suburb with very little Jewish infrastructure. I knew I was Jewish, but had never practiced in a meaningful way, never attended synagogue and never had a bar mitzvah.

But they were kind, respectful, confident, and consistent. They came back, not once, not twice, but every single Friday. Rain, shine, didn’t matter. There was no pressure and no agenda. Their consistency was something I had never seen before.

Eventually, I met Rabbi Kotlarsky, who directs Chabad in Arlington Heights, the Chicago suburb where I live. At that point in my journey, I wasn’t looking for religion; I was looking for answers. So I asked him every hard question I could think of. But no matter how challenging the question, he never got frustrated, never brushed me off, and never made me feel like a burden. He just listened, explained, and welcomed me in. And when he did not have the answer, he would go and find it.

Before I knew it, I was coming to Shabbat dinners, learning here and there, asking more questions … and then came the holidays.

I’ll never forget my first Purim. I was so excited, I brought my father with me. He had health issues, but he was curious and happy to come along. And I’m so glad he did; we had the best time together. We were welcomed with joy, laughter, costumes, and even a tefillin moment … from a guy dressed as a chicken, who turned out to be one of the same yeshivah students who visited me at my business every week.

Brandon looks on as his father dons tefillin.

That day meant the world to me; I still have the pictures. Because shortly thereafter, I lost my father.

He had been in my care for years, and just like that … he was gone. I was heartbroken, overwhelmed, and had no idea what to do. At the hospital, they asked if I wanted a priest or a rabbi. I asked for a rabbi, but no one was available. I left that hospital lost and scared.

I started calling crematoriums, not knowing any better. I was just trying to hold it together.

I texted Rabbi Kotlarsky and told him what had happened.

His first question was, “Did your father pass away at such-and-such hospital?” I said yes. And he told me, “I’m actually the rabbi on call there.”

For some reason, the hospital hadn’t informed him about my father. Yet, for reasons that I cannot fully explain, that simple fact gave me peace. Like somehow, G‑d had made sure we were still connected at that moment.

Then he asked, “What are you doing for the funeral?”

I told him I had agreed to go ahead with cremation and organ donation—I didn’t know what else to do—and I had no idea how to pay for it all.

“Would your father have wanted a Jewish funeral?” He asked gently.

“Yes, absolutely.”

And without hesitation, he said, “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll help. We’ll figure it out.”

Let me be clear: I had only met Rabbi Kotlarsky a handful of times. But without a second thought, he jumped in and took over. He helped reverse the organ donation. He arranged the Jewish burial my father deserved. And he told me, “Right now is your time to grieve. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I remember asking him, “Why are you helping me like this?” I thought there had to be a catch. But he looked at me and said, “This is what we do. Because this is what G‑d wants us to do.”

Brandon volunteering at Chabad.

The funeral was beautiful. And afterward, he invited my whole extended family over for Shabbat. It was warm, and it was authentic. It changed me.

From that day on, I came to prayer services more regularly. I kept learning. I kept asking questions—and getting answers. I became close with Rabbi Kotlarsky, his wife Chaiky and their amazing family.

Since then, I’ve found my place in the Chabad community as well. I’ve been a dreidel mascot for Chanukah and a greeter for the Great Matzah Bake-Off.

One day, the rabbi called me with something I’d never expected.

“Would you like to go to New York? Visit the Rebbe’s Ohel, 770, the Rebbe’s office?”

I said yes without thinking twice. I’d never even been on an airplane before! But I was ready.

Brandon outside 770 Eastern Parkway.

We landed at JFK, took a bus to the Ohel … and I’ll tell you, the entire trip was meaningful, but nothing compared to the moment I walked into the Rebbe’s office.

It was silent. Still. Powerful. Holy.

And I felt something I had never felt before. As if my neshamah, my soul, had been opened like a book, and someone—or Something—was reading the pages. Not to judge me, just to see me for who I am.

It took me a week to find the words to describe that feeling. I still have not processed it. But I’ll never forget it.

As part of the Chabad community, I’ve given to others as well. Just a few weeks ago, I was handing out popsicles on the Chabad float at the July Fourth parade. It was the best.

I’ve never felt more connected, more alive, or more proud to be Jewish.

I’m proud to say I’ve found my home and my connection to G‑d. And I can’t wait to see where the journey takes me next.

Adapted from a speech delivered at the 2025 conference of Chabad emissaries to the State of Illinois.

Dressed as "Dreidel Man" for Chanukah.