You Really Need a Rabbi

Not long after I began my role as Executive Director of the 14th Street Y in 2007, my then-boss Robin Bernstein—CEO of the Educational Alliance—graciously introduced me to Harvey Schulweis, z”l. Harvey, a self-made business success and a legendary philanthropist, shared a story I’ve never forgotten: growing up in the Bronx, it was playing basketball at his local Y that kept him out of trouble.

As we continued talking, I shared some early challenges I was facing in my new position. Harvey looked at me and said, “Stephen, you really need a rabbi.”

He didn’t mean a pulpit rabbi. In New York City parlance, a “rabbi” is the wise fixer—the person with insight, connections, and heart who helps you navigate tricky terrain. Harvey became that kind of rabbi for me in every sense of the word.

Over the next few years, with the support of Robin, a visionary board, a phenomenal staff, and a diverse, passionate community, we tripled our operating budget, launched LABA, and renovated the entire building—including, most poetically, the basketball court. That court was transformed through gifts as small as $5 from neighborhood ballers, and a generous grant from my hometown hero LeBron James’ foundation. Harvey met those guys from the neighborhood. He knew their stories in a deeply personal way. And he was unequivocally invested in what we were building together.

Harvey was tough, smart, strategic—and entirely devoted to helping us succeed. He was my rabbi in the boardroom, in the community, and in life.

As we mark a year since Harvey’s passing, I find myself reflecting not only on his guidance but on his presence. He wasn’t just a fixer or a mentor. He was, in the highest sense, a teacher of patience, generosity, and wisdom. A true rabbi—by every definition that matters.

I miss him deeply. I carry his voice with me—in hard conversations, in moments of doubt, and especially in the quiet victories he would have celebrated with his classic tough love and twinkle-in-the-eye pride. 

Years ago, I found myself in an airport bar during a layover at O’Hare, sitting next to a very large, very angry, very drunk man who was on the verge of missing his flight. He was yelling at the bartender in broken English, totally disoriented. For reasons I can’t quite explain, I stood him up, grabbed his bag and boarding pass, and walked him to his gate. When I came back for my things, the bartender looked at me and said, “Some heroes don’t wear capes.”

I’m not sure I was a hero that day. But I’ve come to believe that the best rabbis—the ones who truly change us—don’t always wear the title. They just show up for others in transformative ways, with love, gravitas, and generosity. Harvey was that kind of rabbi for me.

It’s a quiet miracle when the right teacher finds us at the right time. It’s an even greater one when their memory continues to lift us, teach us, and lead us forward—long after they’re gone.