
The Early Struggles for Kosher Food
Many years ago, a dear friend of mine returned to Crown Heights after years of shlichus in a remote part of South America. His family had faced immense challenges, and adjusting to life back in New York was no easy feat. One day, he took his young daughter to a store and bought her a lollipop. The little girl looked at him with innocent confusion and asked, “Abba, what do you do with this?”
In many remote areas, pre-packaged kosher treats were nearly unheard of. Everything was homemade because importing kosher products was nearly impossible. This story reminds me of our early days in Moldova, over thirty years ago, when obtaining kosher food was a monumental challenge. Before the fall of the Soviet Union, bringing food into the country required exhausting efforts. Anyone traveling from the West knew to pack at least ten boxes filled primarily with kosher supplies.
At that time, Ezras Achim worked tirelessly to send kosher food to Jews behind the Iron Curtain. One unforgettable figure in this effort was Mrs. Brocha Levertov, z”l. From the basement of her home, she packed endless boxes of kosher goods—most commonly, canned meat and gefilte fish. Travelers prayed that none of their cans would spoil, knowing that a swollen tin meant one thing: disaster.
One year, before Pesach, we arrived at Kishinev’s old airport with an enormous shipment of kosher food—gefilte fish and kosher-for-Pesach meat lovingly prepared by Mrs. Levertov. But customs officers stopped us. A stern-faced official demanded American health certification and declared that all of our food would be destroyed. He even called in a veterinary inspector to sign off on the order.
We were stunned. The children looked at me and asked, “Abba, what will we eat for Pesach?” I reassured them, “Now is the time to pray. Only miracles could save us.”
Then, out of nowhere, our Eliyahu HaNavi appeared—a man whose identity we never discovered. He addressed the inspector with a commanding voice: “This is the only food they will have for Pesach. If you make the wrong decision, you may lose your job.” And just as suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone. Moments later, the packages were released. We had our kosher Pesach—thanks to a miracle.
In those early years, food was not just a concern for Jewish families—it was a struggle for survival. My parents, Reb Zalmen and Rebbetzin Leah, arrived in Moldova with a mission from the Lubavitcher Rebbe—to rebuild Jewish life. One of their earliest initiatives was establishing a kitchen to provide kosher meals to those in need throughout the year. For the past thirty years, this kitchen has operated daily, becoming a cornerstone of support within our community. The kitchen’s primary purpose is to offer kosher food to individuals seeking it and to assist those who lack the means to obtain it.
During our first Pesach, a local Jew, Yaakov Fortun, invited us to a seminar outside the city, sponsored by Agudas Yisroel in the U.S. He asked for our help in providing kosher meat for the entire holiday. It was a critical responsibility, and my mother was the only one who knew how to properly kasher chickens. But just days before the event, she suffered a severe fall. The pain was excruciating, and she was later diagnosed with a fracture. I insisted on taking her to the hospital, but she refused.
“First, we kasher the chickens for Pesach,” she said. “Then we can go to the hospital.” And so, standing on one foot, she oversaw the preparation of 250 chickens. Only afterward did she agree to seek medical care.

Kosher Food and Humanitarian Aid in Moldova
Today, thirty years after the fall of communism, the kosher food network in the former Soviet Union has transformed. With the outbreak of the Russia-Ukraine war, demand for kosher food in Moldova surged. Thousands of refugees and visitors passed through the country, many relying on our kosher infrastructure.
Chabad of Moldova led the way in making kosher food accessible—not just for our local Jewish community but for those in crisis. When the refugee wave began, we didn’t just provide kosher meals; we organized large-scale humanitarian aid efforts, ensuring that thousands of displaced individuals, both Jewish and non-Jewish, received hot meals, food packages, and vital support.
At the peak of the crisis, our Chabad kitchen in Moldova worked at an unimaginable pace. Some days, we prepared up to 1,500 meals. Our head chef, Mrs. Sveta, collapsed from exhaustion due to the overwhelming workload. At the time, we had only one operational kitchen, as the second was undergoing renovations. Our equipment was small-scale—domestic, not commercial.
Then, out of the blue, I received an email from a kindhearted Jew in Europe. He had seen how we were managing to produce such large quantities of food under such difficult conditions. “I want to help,” he wrote. I thanked him and told him about our kitchen renovation project. He asked for the plans—and the rest is history.
Today, nearly 80% of Moldova’s kosher food comes from our modern kitchen at the central synagogue. Chabad runs three kitchens—two in Kishinev, under the supervision of Chief Rabbi Menachem Mendel Axelrod, and one in Bender, Transnistria, under Rabbi Menachem Mendel Gotzel. Rabbi Mendel and his wife, Leah, are the only shluchim and local rabbis in Transnistria, overseeing all Jewish life in the region.
This past Sukkot, we traveled to Bender to participate in the grand Sukkot event organized by Mr. Mark Finkelzon—an incredibly moving experience. But what truly captured my heart? The kosher falafel stand run by the shlucha, Leah Gotzel. The falafel was simply outstanding. Dozens of people lined up to enjoy this delicious treat. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming!
Just a few weeks ago, we celebrated the opening of the new Mikvah Liel. Guests who arrived in Kishinev for the weekend were in awe—not just of the new mikvah, but of the exceptional meals that were served. Kosher food in Moldova is no longer a struggle. It’s a standard.
A Full Circle Moment
By now, you may be wondering—how does all of this connect to the title of the story?
Six months ago, my daughter Chana and son-in-law Shneur Zalmen moved to Moldova on shlichus, bringing their baby son Mendel along with them. Unlike the little girl in Crown Heights all those years ago, Mendel knew exactly what to do with a lollipop. And just last week, a camera caught him gleefully savoring the tangy zest of a lemon. At that moment, over thirty years of history flashed before my eyes.
Today, Moldova is no longer a place where kosher food is scarce. We have candy. We have sweets. With sugar and without.
In the 1970s, when Crown Heights was in crisis, the Lubavitcher Rebbe declared that the community must not abandon the neighborhood. He insisted that even the smallest details—like a flower shop—were essential to a thriving Jewish community. Maybe we didn’t open a flower shop in Kishinev. But we made sure there is kosher food.
And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Reb Zalmen, the pioneer of Moldova’s Jewish revival, is watching from above, smiling at the flourishing Jewish life here. Yet anyone who knew him knows—he would never settle for what has already been accomplished. There is always more to do.