The scroll lay open on the bimah at Traditional Congregation in St. Louis, its ancient Hebrew letters inked without vowels, punctuation or musical notes. On Shabbat morning, May 31, surrounded by friends and family, Stanley Estrin leaned forward to chant one final aliyah—completing a journey decades in the making. With that last verse, Estrin joined a rare circle: Jews who have publicly read every aliyah in the Torah, from beginning to end.
And, as he reminded the congregation, the timing couldn’t have been more fitting.
“This was the perfect day to complete chanting all the aliyot in the Torah,” Estrin said. “We’re about to celebrate Shavuot, which commemorates the giving of the Torah. Tonight was also the last night of the Omer count, and today’s Torah portion—Bemidbar—is all about counting. It all aligned.”
For those counting along, that’s 54 weekly portions, with seven aliyot each—378 separate Torah readings.
From setback to lifelong calling
Estrin’s journey began in Minneapolis, where he had a strong bar mitzvah education—but an early failure nearly shut the door.
“When I was about 15, I read an aliyah… and it went terribly,” he said. “The gabbai had to help me pronounce practically every word. I was so humiliated, I decided I would never read Torah again.”
That moment sparked a quiet determination. He took Hebrew classes in college, regained his confidence and began reading again at Hillel. After moving to St. Louis and joining Traditional Congregation in 1982, he became a regular Torah reader—and a teacher of others.
But the idea of completing every aliyah came much later.
The spark and the spreadsheet
A year ago, Estrin read about Scott Horwitz, a lay reader in San Francisco who had completed the entire Torah aloud, tracked with a spreadsheet his wife helped assemble.
“Why hadn’t I ever thought of that?” Estrin said. “I was determined to complete my missing aliyot within the year.”
There was one problem: he hadn’t kept records. Fortunately, someone else had.
A record-keeper’s reward
Marty Levy has been assigning and tracking Torah readings at Traditional for nearly 17 years.
“I created a spreadsheet to keep track of each Aliyah—Shabbat and holiday alike,” Levy said. “It includes the verses and who read what.”
When Estrin approached him, Levy had the data.
“I was honored to be part of his amazing journey,” Levy said. “Stanley has been our ‘Mr. Reliable’—almost every Shabbat, every festival, every High Holiday. His readings are a master class—not just accurate but beautifully chanted.”
The moment on May 31, he added, “was personal for all of us. It was a celebration of the mensch Stanley is.”
A rare accomplishment
Rabbi Seth Gordon of Traditional Congregation called the milestone “remarkable.”
“In many traditional synagogues, one person reads the entire portion each week, so this kind of individual accomplishment is rare—and almost never tracked. Stanley’s commitment makes it even more significant,” Gordon said.
Reading Torah is no small feat. The scrolls have no vowels, punctuation, or musical notes—and public corrections are made in real time. “That kind of pressure deters many,” Gordon added. “This brings honor to the Torah and to our community.”
More than a personal goal
Estrin downplayed the feat, noting that some read the full parsha weekly.
He was also surprised to learn a former student of his had completed the same goal. “At first that hurt my pride,” he admitted. “But then I realized—it meant I’d passed on my love of Torah.”
That, he says, is what really matters.
“I’m very grateful I was taught how to read Torah. And I feel fortunate I’ve been able to pass that on to others.”
His advice to aspiring readers? “Study the words—Robert Alter’s commentary is a great place to start. And keep records. I’ve even created a spreadsheet I’m happy to share.”
After the final aliyah, the congregation honored Estrin with a celebratory kiddush. But the most powerful moment may have been the quiet one—just after the reading—when Estrin looked up from the open scroll and knew he had become, in that instant, a living link in an unbroken chain.
| RELATED: How a 131-year-old shul is reinventing itself—again
