I met the Rebbe face-to-face on Jan. 28, 1980. At that time, I was the new 29-year-old campaign director at the Milwaukee Jewish Federation.
I remember it was a Monday morning. A man named Marty Stein, our campaign chairman at the time, marched into my office and said, “Drop what you are doing. We’re flying to New York. You will not need a toothbrush.” Marty had a forceful personality, and he was the boss. I followed him out the door.

The next thing I knew, I was in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, at 770 Eastern Parkway standing in a long reception line. Marty whispered to me, “You are about to meet the Rebbe.”

At the time, I had only a vague idea of who this man was, and then the Rebbe handed me a dollar and looked into my eyes. Despite the many people in line that day, I felt he was looking at me as if I was the only person in the room.