International Ski Guide: 'I Feel Hashem Saved Me from Death Knowing I Would Return to Him'

In the cold winter days, as white snowflakes patiently cover Mount Hermon in the Holy Land, Rabbi Avraham Leib, a former international ski instructor, recalls the days of his youth when he first discovered his love for skiing on the snowy mountains of Bariloche, Argentina, his homeland. Today, 20 years after returning to his faith, Avraham is a father of five. He channels the adrenaline of extreme sports into studying Torah, delivering lectures, writing books, and nurturing his undying love for skiing.

"My grandparents were originally observant Jews, but I lived a life disconnected from my Judaism because when they left Europe, they stopped practicing. We knew we were Jews but didn't live a traditional life," he says. "Except for one thing — the Passover Seder. We never gave up on that tradition. Apart from this, we lived under the impression that the ultra-Orthodox were secluded, strange people, as if living on another planet. I had never personally met a religious or ultra-Orthodox person to discuss Torah with. I remember when I traveled to Israel at 17 for the 'Orange Program', the organizers talked to us about the ultra-Orthodox, and later I discovered it was all false. The detachment from the ultra-Orthodox community was so strong that I simply never had a chance to get to know them."

Avraham currently resides in Bnei Brak. His wife, born in Chile, also embraced Judaism independently. "I moved to Israel in 2002 at the age of 32. Before that, I lived in Miami for four years. Since I was already on the path of return, I joined the Spanish-speaking study program at 'Or Sameach', and within a year, I met my wife, who had moved four years earlier, and we married in Jerusalem."

His parents and other family members still live in Argentina. "There was always and will always be anti-Semitism, but relatively speaking it is minor, and you can live peacefully. However, from a young age, I felt different because of my Judaism. In high school, which was actually a German school, the society often made me feel different. There were only three Jewish students in my class, and we immediately became friends. On one occasion, during recess, several students started making derogatory remarks at me about Jews, and we almost got into a fight but managed to control ourselves, so it didn't escalate further. This made me feel ashamed to admit I was Jewish. Thank Hashem my attitude completely changed over time, and today being Jewish fills me with pride. Currently, in Argentina, there are many religious Jews. However, after World War II, there were half a million Jews; today there are less than 200,000. Sadly, many have assimilated."

How imminent is the threat of assimilation?

"There is a threat of assimilation worldwide. Unfortunately, almost every Jewish family living abroad has someone who lives or is in a relationship with a non-Jew. On the other hand, thankfully, there is strong outreach. There are many strong ultra-Orthodox communities. Almost every year I fly to Argentina to deliver lectures. There's a significant awakening but alongside it, the risk of assimilation. Living in close proximity to non-Jews leads to familiarity and closeness. In Argentina and South America, the mentality is very friendly; people are nice and pleasant, making it easy to connect with them. Everyone says: 'Good morning' and 'How are you?' even to strangers, which is different from Israel. I can say that most Jews living there are like captured children. For example, until age 28, I didn't know what ultra-Orthodox meant, and I learned Hebrew as a secondary language here, not as a primary one. That was the Judaism we had. A relative of mine cried suddenly during a conversation with me after I became observant. It turned out she had been living with a non-Jew for 20 years. Her soul felt something was wrong, but she didn't know why. Sadly, she, and I too, grew up like captured children."

Why don't Argentine Jews make Aliyah?

"It's very hard. Jews there live well. They have livelihoods and friends, so it's tough to leave. I fly every year to South America and see people living relatively good lives. They have a day off on Sunday, and they don't face the same pressures as in Israel. Unfortunately, there is baseless hatred between secular and ultra-Orthodox here that doesn’t exist there. Generally, there is no baseless hatred between Jews, so they understand it's not easy to move to Israel, especially given cultural and mental differences."

The Search Leading to Inner Truth

From an early age, Avraham gravitated towards sports: "I enjoyed participating in swimming competitions, soccer, volleyball, tennis, sailing, and weightlifting. In 1985 I won the title of national runner-up in weightlifting. For many years I practiced karate until I received the brown belt, as well as windsurfing, where I almost reached the final competitive stage. For many years I participated in boat races, jet ski races, car competitions, and every high-risk sport I could join. Horseback riding was a beloved hobby of mine. I rode horses on my family's farm and enjoyed it greatly. At 17, I discovered snow skiing — and fell in love. I became an instructor and, in the years that followed, travelled worldwide, working as an instructor."

Avraham appeared to lead a good life. He mingled with worldly people, explored new places, and made a living from his beloved passion — until a change prompted him to leave skiing. "As a ski instructor, I felt life was ahead of me. I could develop further and learn new things, and I enjoyed life immensely: experiencing much fun, travelling often, meeting many new people every year, and mostly, working in the profession I loved, a privilege few have. I felt unbound to anyone, free to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, without answering to anyone. Even so, I didn't feel fulfilled in my life, which is why I kept travelling, searching for something I couldn't find."

In the summer of 1998, Avraham was in a resort town in Argentina: "I traveled with a non-Jewish friend, and around midnight, on an entirely dark road, we were talking about, among other things, the pyramids in Egypt. Suddenly, from the darkness, we saw a bright, white light, the size of a full moon, moving from one side of the sky to the other within seconds. We both stepped out of the car to see if it would happen again, but it didn't. After waiting on the road for about half an hour, we decided to continue driving. It was a strange experience. I admit it intrigued me, and I began researching books on UFOs — unidentified flying objects and life on other planets. In hindsight, I realized I began delving into spiritual matters because, until that day, my life revolved around materialism.

At the same time, a rabbi from Toronto, originally from Tangier, Morocco, came to visit and strengthen us Jews, and my father insisted I meet him. Initially, I didn't want to, but eventually, I agreed, and we met. After the meeting, my life changed. I got to know Judaism, and we formed a close bond. I decided to fly to Miami, where I connected with the community and began observing Shabbat, kashrut, and more. After four years, I decided to take it up a notch and learn in yeshiva. Interestingly, my name in Spanish is Leonardo, after my uncle Leon, and the rabbi's name was also Leon. When I celebrated my Bar Mitzvah, my paternal grandparents gave me a gold necklace with a golden Torah-shaped pendant. On the back was engraved 'Leon' instead of 'Leonardo' and the Bar Mitzvah date. Fifteen years later, I met with that rabbi with a name similar to mine, who began bringing me closer to Torah."

The change you made is quite extreme.

"Everything I did in life was extreme; all the sports I participated in were extreme and dangerous. King Solomon said: 'And the soul is never filled.' You can give a person all the materialism or pleasures, but the soul remains unsatisfied. It has no real nourishment because everything is transient. Even the enjoyment of the world's finest wine lasts a few seconds while it's on the palate. Everything is like that."

Extreme sports can bring practitioners to dangerous extreme situations. Were you ever in mortal danger?

"I've been asked if I was ever close to death, and I've indeed been close to death more than once or twice, whether skiing, cycling, motor boating, or anything else I did. There's a lot of adrenaline and tension. Besides, you're young, without a family, you receive respect, you live in the moment — it's fun because there’s nothing to lose. It feels good, but of course, a person doesn't think about this world or the next — they live for the moment. Like in other sports, in skiing, as skill levels rise, so does the risk threshold. Every year many ski centers report various disasters, including fatal ones. These can occur due to avalanches or track accidents. I personally almost lost my life several times due to skiing off-track, as snow covers trees, rocks, and steep slopes, so the risk is always hidden. I feel Hashem protected me because He knew I would eventually return to Him, and the protection over me was extraordinary. Thank Hashem, He saved me from death several times, and of course, today I act more moderately, especially with family around. I've gotten used to moving slowly and cautiously."

Do you miss skiing today?

"Since 2002, when I came to Israel, I left skiing until about six years ago. Then I was taken as a ski instructor in Switzerland and joined a quorum. I admit that the first time I skied again felt like a resurrection. I didn't think I'd return to skiing because you're not supposed to leave the country without a reason. So, I went to Rabbi Zilberstein and told him about my skiing past and departure, and asked for a Torah perspective on traveling twice a year. The rabbi asked if it was for income. I replied it was for health, and he said: 'If so — go.' I consulted with other rabbis.

"It is known that once one observes Torah and mitzvot, they shouldn't abandon what they love. Of course, it must be done within the boundaries of Torah and halacha, and not as the main thing but secondary. I used to ski eight months a year; today, thank Hashem, I travel once or twice a year to Europe to ski with friends, and occasionally serve as an instructor. Of course, there's the obligation: 'And you shall greatly guard your souls,' so I can’t take risks like I used to. Skiing can be very dangerous. Accidents can happen, so one must be very cautious."

As someone who has drawn closer to Judaism and gained experience, what do you have to say to newcomers on their path?

"Those coming closer to Judaism must be connected to learning mussar (ethics). Thank Hashem, I had the merit to study with Rabbi Moshe Sechyk, who wrote books about Rabbi Steinman of blessed memory, 'From the Old I Learn.' He spent many years with the rabbi, and he recounts the joy that accompanied the rabbi's life until age 104. He had joy in mitzvot. He was born that way. We don't appreciate what a mitzvah of kindness and helping others is — it’s eternal, worth millions, not to mention learning Torah. We must learn to live with joy. In parashat Ki Tavo, the 98 curses mentioned are because: 'You did not serve Hashem your God with joy.' We should appreciate what we have with each mitzvah, being distinguished from the nations. Without mussar, it's impossible to achieve it; a person dries up.

"Additionally, consulting with rabbis is crucial. Some should balance between study and work; others can study more. One should ask. I, for instance, bought a bike a few years ago, initially thinking it was wasting Torah study to ride for two hours. I asked Rabbi Zilberstein, and he told me it was great and that I could ride every day. I don't ride daily, but I cycle several times a week, listening to music and lessons."

Avraham has been studying at the 'Netivot Olam' yeshiva for 15 years and is involved in outreach, having written four books. One is in Spanish about the weekly Torah portion and holidays, two books called '180 Degrees' are about people who returned to faith and shared their personal stories, and a book titled 'Coincidence or Just What?' containing 120 short stories about personal divine supervision, translated into English and Portuguese. Avraham interviewed people for these three books and presented their firsthand stories. "I began writing with divine assistance after consulting with Rabbi Kanievsky. I wanted to convey the message that people don’t come closer to Judaism because they're pitiful or something happened to them. While a particular event usually led them closer, it wasn't necessarily out of pitifulness or hardship; sometimes it’s a search for truth, a different kind of distress — a spiritual distress. In one of my books, I shared an amazing story about a Jewish couple who were formerly neo-Nazis. They discovered their Jewishness and made complete repentance."

Today, Avraham lectures and shares his story, seeing it as a mission: "I see it as a mission to express gratitude to Hashem for being granted the opportunity to leave the world of falsehood and, thank Hashem, to return to faith. I try to show Jews who don’t know real Judaism the happiness, joy, and truth we have in Torah. After someone knows what Torah is, they have free choice. A person raised as I was, without knowing anything, or alternatively someone who judges Judaism based on media portrayals — that’s not called free choice.

"Moreover, living with Torah is enjoyable. Just look at domestic harmony, peace of mind, mutual respect, values, and kindness that a person has with or without Torah. There's no comparison. A person who knows that the Holy One is always with them — is a completely different person."