by Rabbi Yair Hoffman

Recently, it was my father z”l’s birthday.  He was enamored with the geography and history of Williamsburg Brooklyn.  In honor of his birthday, and that of a descendant of Reb Chaim Gelb zatzal’s birthday (Yehuda), I present this biographical sketch. I knew two of his children who were remarkable individuals.

Anyone who remembers Williamsburg in its early days as a Jewish community has a warm spot in their heart for Reb Chaim Gelb zt”l. He was an original—a man whose love of the Borei Olam and Torah was matched only by his love of people and his completely unselfish devotion to their welfare. Back then, maintaining one’s Yiddishkeit in America required extraordinary mesirus nefesh, and Reb Chaim stood as a beacon of what it meant to live a life of Torah and chessed. His story is a testament to how one person can transform an entire community.

Reb Chaim was not a rosh yeshiva nor a renowned posek. He held no official titles and occupied no positions of communal leadership. He was a simple baker—a ba’al habayis in the truest sense of the word. Yet the impact he made on the lives of countless individuals, and on the spiritual fabric of Williamsburg itself, was immeasurable. As Chazal teach us in Pirkei Avos (1:2), the world stands on three pillars: Torah, avodah, and gemilus chassadim. Reb Chaim Gelb’s life was the living embodiment of that third pillar.

He understood that true chessed is not about grand gestures or public recognition—it is about responding to the needs of others with sensitivity, discretion, and an open heart.

Early Years in Galicia

Reb Chaim Hyman Gelb was born on the 17th of Teves, 5653 (January 5, 1893) in the town of Gorlice, situated in the Gorlice County of the Lesser Poland Voivodeship, then part of the Austro-Hungarian province of Galicia. Gorlice was a town with a rich Jewish heritage. By the late nineteenth century, Jews constituted nearly half of the town’s population, and they played a central role in its commercial and civic life.

The Jewish community of Gorlice had developed relatively late compared to other Galician towns, as the city had historically held a “de non tolerandis Judaeis” privilege that prohibited Jewish settlement. It was only in the 1860s that this ban was officially abolished, and thereafter the Jewish population grew rapidly. Jewish industrialists and bankers brought capital and enterprise to the region, particularly as the oil industry began to develop in the surrounding area. By the time of Reb Chaim’s birth, Gorlice boasted a thriving kehillah with its own synagogues, batei medrash, and a vibrant religious life.

The region of Galicia had produced some of the greatest luminaries of the Torah world. The influence of chassidus was strong, with the nearby city of Sanz (Nowy Sącz) serving as the seat of the great Sanzer dynasty founded by the Divrei Chaim. The Galitzianer Jews were known for their ehrlichkeit, their dedication to Torah learning, and their warmth toward their fellow Jews. These qualities would be evident throughout Reb Chaim’s life.

Reb Chaim was born to Reb Yosef Yossel Gelb and his wife Rose (Raizel). The Gelb family was part of the fabric of Galician Jewry—hardworking, yarei Shamayim. Young Reb Chaim grew up surrounded by siblings: his brothers Harry, Morris, and Samuel, and his sisters Bessie (Brandel) and Yetta, among others.

The Journey to America

Like millions of Eastern European Jews in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Gelb family eventually made the momentous decision to leave the Old World for the goldene medinah—America.

Most Jewish immigrants settled initially on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, which by 1900 had become the most densely populated neighborhood in the world, with over 700 people per acre. The streets teemed with pushcarts, the air filled with the sounds of Yiddish, and every block seemed to house another synagogue, another cheder, another landsmanshaft. Kosher butcher shops, bakeries, and restaurants catered to Jewish tastes. It was a world unto itself—familiar in some ways, yet utterly foreign in others.

As the years passed, many Jewish families began to move across the river to Brooklyn, particularly to the neighborhood of Williamsburg. The completion of the Williamsburg Bridge in 1903 had opened up this area to settlement, and by the 1910s and 1920s, Williamsburg had emerged as one of the most Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods in America. It was here that Reb Chaim Gelb would establish his home and begin his life’s work.

Building a Bayis Ne’eman b’Yisrael

In America, Reb Chaim met and married Chana, who would become his lifelong partner in everything he did. The bond between Reb Chaim and Chana was extraordinary—she was not merely his wife but his full partner in his mission of chessed. Together they built a Jewish home that would serve as a model for their community. Their union embodied the teaching of Chazal that when husband and wife are worthy, the Shechinah dwells between them.

The couple was blessed with four children: a son, Victor, and three daughters—Evelyn (who married into the distinguished Yachnes family), Rose (who married into the Rosenberg family), and Shirley (who married into the Fisher family). Rabbi David Fisher, who would later write Reb Chaim’s biography, was a member of this extended family, giving him unique insight into the life and character of his subject.

In raising their children, Reb Chaim and Chana faced the same challenge that confronted every frum family in America at that time: how to transmit the mesorah to the next generation in an environment that seemed designed to pull young people away from Yiddishkeit.

These were the years when, as one observer noted, most parents “despaired and hoped that their children would be good Americans who wouldn’t forget to recite Kaddish and Yizkor.” Shabbos observance was particularly difficult. The six-day workweek meant that Shabbos-observant Jews faced an impossible choice: work on Shabbos or lose their jobs. Signs reading “If you don’t come in on Saturday, don’t come in on Monday” were commonplace. Many Jews reluctantly abandoned Shabbos; others lost job after job as they refused to compromise.

The Gelbs were fighters. They refused to give in to the pressures of the new land, and they succeeded—not only for their own children but for all the people who took heart from their example. Their home was a place where Yiddishkeit was not merely observed but celebrated, where the values of Torah and chessed were not abstract concepts but living realities. The chinuch they provided their children was rooted not in lectures or admonishments but in the daily example of lives lived with purpose and integrity.

The Williamsburg Baker

To support his family, Reb Chaim became a baker—a trade that was common among Jewish immigrants. The work was physically demanding: long hours in hot conditions, beginning in the early morning hours so that fresh bread and pastries would be ready for customers at dawn. Yet Reb Chaim approached his work not merely as a means of earning a livelihood but as an opportunity for avodas Hashem. Every challah that emerged from his oven on Erev Shabbos was prepared with the awareness that it would grace a Jewish table for the Shabbos meal.

The bakery was located in the heart of Williamsburg, and it quickly became more than just a place of business. For Reb Chaim, every customer who walked through his door was a fellow yid, a member of his extended family. He knew their names. Their circumstances. Their struggles.

He knew which families were going through difficult times, which children needed encouragement, which elderly people were lonely and in need of a kind word. The bakery became a gathering place, a hub of community life where news was shared, problems were discussed, and help was quietly arranged for those in need.

But it was what Reb Chaim did beyond the ordinary course of business that earned him his legendary status. The stories of his chessed are too numerous to count, but several stand out as emblematic of the man and his mission.

A One-Man Chessed Institution

The Shabbos Advocate of Lee Avenue

Perhaps the most remarkable testament to Reb Chaim’s influence was his single-handed transformation of Lee Avenue’s Shabbos observance. Those who remember Williamsburg in the 1940s and 1950s knows that Reb Chaim individually closed down practically all the stores on Lee Avenue—the main commercial thoroughfare of the neighborhood—which had previously been open on Shabbos.

His method was characteristically gentle yet extraordinarily effective. He would simply walk into a store that was open on Shabbos and say, “Good Shabbos.” That was all. No lectures, no confrontations, no public shaming. Just two words spoken with warmth and sincerity: “Good Shabbos.”

There was a message in those words, and it worked. Store after store, merchant after merchant, gradually closed their doors on Shabbos. Reb Chaim understood something profound about human nature and about kiruv – long before the modern Kiruv movements: that people respond not to criticism and rebuke but to genuine love and respect. When he walked into a store and wished the owner “Good Shabbos,” he was not condemning or judging—he was including that person in the sanctity of the day, reminding him of who he was and what Shabbos meant.

This quiet revolution transformed the character of Williamsburg. Lee Avenue, once a street where Jewish businesses operated seven days a week like any American commercial district, became a place where the kedushah of Shabbos was honored and upheld. The shopkeepers who closed their stores did so not because they were coerced or shamed into it, but because one man’s simple greeting had awakened something within them. This was Reb Chaim’s genius: he could inspire change without creating resentment, could strengthen Yiddishkeit without alienating those who were struggling with it.

Caring for Firefighters

One person remembers Reb Chaim in sub-zero weather, dashing back and forth, bringing cake and hot coffee to shivering firefighters battling a blaze. This was not a one-time occurrence but a regular practice. Whenever there was a fire in the neighborhood—and fires were not uncommon in the old tenement buildings of Williamsburg—Reb Chaim would be there. He was concerned not only for the residents who had lost their homes but for the firefighters who risked their lives to protect others.

To Reb Chaim, these men were not strangers deserving of mere passing acknowledgment. They were human beings—often cold, exhausted, and in need of sustenance and encouragement. His acts of kindness toward them reflected the teaching of Chazal that chessed is not limited to one’s fellow Jews but extends to all of Hashem’s creations.

The Yeshiva Boys and Their Knishes

Another remembers Reb Chaim buying hot knishes for little yeshiva students whose parents couldn’t afford to give them five cents for the popular recess delicacy. In those days, a hot knish during recess was a treasured treat for yeshiva boys—something to look forward to, a small pleasure in lives that were often marked by material deprivation.

Reb Chaim knew which boys came from families that were struggling. He understood the shame a child might feel watching his classmates enjoy a treat he couldn’t afford. And so, quietly, without fanfare, he would make sure those boys had their knishes too. He never made a show of his generosity; the boys themselves may not have always known who their benefactor was. This was chessed in its purest form—given for its own sake, without any desire for recognition or reward. It reflected the teaching of the Rambam that the highest forms of charity are those in which neither the giver nor the recipient knows the other’s identity.

The Wedding Collections

Perhaps the most characteristic of Reb Chaim’s acts of chessed was his practice at weddings. Still another remembers him collecting coins and bills in his outstretched yarmulka at simchos, for distribution to poor people whose privacy and self-respect were as safe with him as the gold in Fort Knox.

This practice reveals the depth of Reb Chaim’s understanding of chessed. The Rambam teaches that there are eight levels of tzedakah, with the highest levels being those that preserve the dignity of the recipient. Reb Chaim instinctively understood this principle. He knew that poverty brings with it not only material hardship but also emotional pain—the shame of not being able to provide for one’s family, the embarrassment of being seen as a recipient of charity.

When Reb Chaim collected money at a wedding, everyone knew it was for tzedakah. But only Reb Chaim knew who the recipients would be. He guarded their identities with absolute discretion. A person could receive help from Reb Chaim without anyone—not even the donors—knowing that he was in need. This was chessed elevated to an art form, tzedakah given in a way that built people up rather than tearing them down.

The Philosophy Behind the Actions

What motivated Reb Chaim Gelb? What drove this baker to dedicate so much of his time and resources to helping others? The answer lies in his fundamental understanding of what it means to be an oved Hashem.

Reb Chaim understood that Klal Yisroel are one family. The concept of kol Yisrael areivim zeh bazeh—all Jews are responsible for one another—was not merely a slogan to him but a lived reality. When a fellow Jew was cold, Reb Chaim felt that cold. When a child was hungry, Reb Chaim felt that hunger. When a family was in need, Reb Chaim experienced their need as his own.

Moreover, Reb Chaim embodied the teaching that one need not be wealthy to give. He was a working man, a baker who labored long hours to support his family. He did not have vast resources at his disposal. But he understood that chessed is not measured by the size of the gift but by the heart behind it. A hot cup of coffee given with warmth and compassion is worth more than a large donation given grudgingly. The Gemara teaches (Sukkah 49b) that gemilus chassadim is greater than tzedakah in three ways: tzedakah is performed with one’s money, while gemilus chassadim can be performed with one’s person; tzedakah is given only to the poor, while gemilus chassadim can be extended to both poor and rich; tzedakah is given only to the living, while gemilus chassadim can be extended to both the living and the dead.

A Partnership of Chessed: Reb Chaim and Chana

Behind all the sentimental Reb Chaim Gelb stories were the man and his loyal wife, Chana. Together they built a Torahdikeh home and played an important part in molding a neighborhood.

Chazal call the woman of the house the akeres habayis—the foundation of the home. This was certainly true of Chana Gelb. She created the environment that allowed her husband to pursue his mission of chessed. She managed the household, raised the children, and supported her husband’s work in countless ways, both seen and unseen.

More than that, Chana was a full partner in the work itself. The chessed that emanated from the Gelb home was the product of their shared vision and their combined efforts. Their partnership exemplified the Jewish ideal of marriage: two neshamos working together toward a common goal, each complementing and strengthening the other.

The Legacy That Endures

Reb Chaim Gelb was niftar on the 26th of Adar Rishon, 5744 (February 29, 1984), at the age of 91. He had lived long enough to see Williamsburg transformed. The neighborhood that had been home to a struggling Orthodox community when he arrived had become, by the time of his passing, one of the largest and most vibrant centers of chassidic life in the world. The Satmar Rebbe and other gedolim had established their courts in Williamsburg, and the streets that Reb Chaim had walked for decades now teemed with a new generation of frum Jews.

Reb Chaim had played a part in that transformation.Indeed, the Klausenberger Rebbe zatzal gave Reb Chaim the shtreimel pictured above in the photograph.  This was the Klausenberger Rebbe’s own shtreimel. The picture is cherished by his descendants.  In the dark years when Yiddishkeit in America seemed on the verge of extinction, Reb Chaim and others like him had held the line. They had refused to compromise their values, refused to give in to the pressures of the new land. And in doing so, they had created the foundation upon which the great flowering of Torah life in America would be built.

Reb Chaim’s descendants—his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—carry forward his legacy. The example he set through his daily actions, continue to bear fruit. This is perhaps the greatest tribute to any parent: that the lessons and values they taught – live on in their descendants.

What can we learn from Reb Chaim Gelb?

We can learn that every Jew has the capacity to make a difference. Reb Chaim was not a rabbi or a profound scholar; he was a baker. Yet his impact was immense. He teaches us that the opportunities for chessed are all around us, in our daily lives, in our ordinary interactions with others. We need not wait for special occasions or seek out dramatic situations—the chance to perform chessed presents itself every day.

Reb Chaim zt”l also teaches us about the importance of preserving the dignity of those we help. His careful attention to the privacy of the recipients of his tzedakah, his sensitivity to the feelings of the yeshiva boys who couldn’t afford knishes— reflect a profound understanding of what it means to give properly. True chessed uplifts both the giver and the receiver.

Yehi zichro baruch—may his memory be a blessing. May his example continue to inspire us all to follow in the path of chessed that he so beautifully embodied.

The author can be reached at [email protected]