I first met Rabbi Wallerstein about 20 years ago. I was very fortunate to become close with his family on a personal level, getting to spend numerous Shabbosim and Yomim Tovim with his family. His wife, Estee, is still one of my closest confidants. At that time, Rabbi Wallerstein was a boys’ rebbi in the morning and a businessman in the afternoon. I remember him sharing with us that his father told him, “If you go into business, you always have to set aside time to teach and give back,” so that’s what he did. In the morning, he was an eighth-grade rebbi at Zvi Dov Roth Academy (ZDR), and in the afternoon, he ran a successful business producing plastic bags and packaging. Once a week, in the evening, he taught older boys and young men at Ohr Yitzchok.
I was single and living in Brooklyn with some roommates, and we were all involved in chinuch or kiruv in some way. One of my roommates, Daphne (Peled) Hanson, worked at ZDR as a social worker, and she heard many of the students there talk about how inspiring Rabbi Wallerstein was. It was before Tishah B’Av, and she and I were discussing what to do for “our girls.” At the time I was working as a program director for NCSY, and in addition to her job at ZDR, Daphne was teaching in a seminary. We realized that there was no Tishah B’Av program we could recommend to the girls we worked with.
Daphne came up with the idea of having Rabbi Wallerstein speak. We figured we would invite a couple of girls, and it would be an inspiring evening for them. Afterward, we joked that it was a good thing it was Tishah B’Av night because we didn’t need to have chairs or food. So many people showed up that every bit of space was filled. We realized that there were a lot of girls looking for inspiration, because Rabbi Wallerstein was relatively unknown at that time as an inspirational speaker.
It was an unbelievable event. Rabbi Wallerstein didn’t want to come on his own to speak to a group of girls, so he brought along his brother-in-law, Yanky Elefant. From then on, I never saw Rabbi Wallerstein go anywhere or make a single decision without Yanky. He became his right-hand man in every single endeavor. Yanky went on to become the executive director of Ohr Naava. He and Rabbi Wallerstein had a unique relationship. They never spent a day apart; they had a Dovid-and-Yonasan type of relationship that was very beautiful to see.
Yanky could not accompany Rabbi Wallerstein to Eretz Yisrael for the kevurah because his grandson’s bris was that morning, the day after the levayah. It was a bittersweet moment when the baby was named Zechariah Shimon, the first Zechariah to be named after Rabbi Wallerstein. I told Yanky that Hashem was making sure he wouldn’t go a day without a Zechariah at his side.
Rabbi Wallerstein kind of fell into working with girls, but as he saw more needs, he kept opening more divisions to meet them. It started with his speech that Tishah B’Av night and eventually grew into Ohr Naava. And he kept on going. He started a high school, Bnot Chaya Academy (BCA), the Ateres Naava and Bnos Binah seminaries, the Yutta Zicherman Crisis Center, and the Ranch at Bethel.
A short time after that Tishah B’Av, we asked Rabbi Wallerstein to speak again. Before long, he was speaking every Wednesday night in a local shul, and the girls kept coming. It continued growing organically from there. There was no advertising, publicity or marketing.
The girls who came to hear him were generally those who had just finished seminary, as well as some older girls. When he saw that there was such a strong need, Rabbi Wallerstein decided to do something that would draw even more people. He started offering extracurricular activities like art, challah baking and the like. Girls would come for the activities and then stay for a shiur afterward. No one thought about starting an organization. It was just Rabbi Wallerstein saying, “There’s a space that needs to be filled, so let’s fill it.”
At that time, I had a degree in psychology and education, but I wanted to go back to school and flex my creative side. That summer I took a public relations class at Parsons, and afterward, I realized that I had been doing this my whole life; I just hadn’t known that marketing and PR had an official name. In my opinion, those who are successfully involved in chinuch or kiruv are actually marketing all day, because it’s about taking Judaism and giving it over in a way that really resonates.
When I was in kiruv and had to teach unaffiliated girls about kashrus, I realized that we couldn’t just talk to them about meat and milk. Who would care about waiting six hours and having two sinks? They needed to see it and experience it. We had to find someone who had a gorgeous kosher kitchen and have the woman of the house show it to the girls and let them actually make dinner. That was my gut feeling about what would resonate, and later I realized that it was really marketing.
After that PR class, I decided that I would get a degree in marketing and PR. My goal was to work for Martha Stewart. I had always enjoyed her magazines and loved the way she built her media company. When I was on the brink of graduating, I told Rabbi Wallerstein about my plans; at that point, I already had a close relationship with him. He said, “That’s great, but you’re not going to work for Martha Stewart.”
I said, “I know it’s really hard to get in, but I’m a go-getter. Let me try.”
He said, “Of course you can get in, but we’re starting an organization for women, and you’re doing it with us.”
I said, “That’s really nice, but I’m going to work for Martha Stewart.”
I learned quickly that when Rabbi Wallerstein had a vision and a goal, there was no saying no—not to the idea, and not to him! Usually, people look for an internship right after they graduate, but my path was different. One day I was in school, and the next day I was a director of marketing.
There was no Ohr Naava yet. There was no organization, only a dream. Rabbi Wallerstein had always loved butterflies because of the idea of metamorphosis, and I remember that I was sitting in my apartment looking through images of butterflies when it suddenly hit me—it was all about change. I called him and said, “This is going to be our tag line: ‘It’s all about change.’” Those were the humble beginnings.
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