The Amazing Return of the Yabloner Rebbe

It was a hot, balmy day in June 1975, and the sun beat mercilessly down on the Cal-State campus in Northridge, California, as crowds of parents, grandparents, siblings and friends arrived to celebrate the graduation of their loved ones. Once inside the graduation hall, families eagerly looked for their graduate among the hundreds of graduates, who were seated in the front few rows. Proud mothers waved at their sons and daughters and blew them kisses, and the graduates, in their caps and gowns, sheepishly grinned back.

A little old man, shuffling slowly into the hall, did not seem to belong to any family group. Dressed in a black gown and cap, he was actually one of the graduates—at almost 80 years old, he was senior to the second-oldest graduate by a margin of many decades. Seemingly oblivious to the noise around him, he slowly made his way forward, nodding almost imperceptibly at the few people who made eye contact.  As he reached halfway toward the front of the hall, a man in his mid-30s suddenly stepped into the aisle in front of him.

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