26/11 and 26/1. Two dates. One city. One scarred by terror, the other celebrating the Republic. On January 26, 2026, while Mumbai wore its tricolours and festive rhythm, Team Indulge Express walked down a narrow, almost nondescript lane near Nariman Point.
Just steps from the Taj Palace and Leopold Cafe, this lane looks ordinary: office-goers hurry past, taxis swerve for U-turns, and customers slip in and out of Rex Bakery, still selling bread decades later. Yet behind its unassuming walls, history lingers — alive, silent, impossible to ignore.
Nariman House stands quietly in Colaba, a five-storey building that once carried a very different rhythm. Long before it became associated with terror and tragedy, it was Mumbai’s first Chabad centre, run by Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, who had owned the building since around 2006. It was a home-away-from-home for the Jewish community and international travellers — a place for prayer, learning, shared meals, and shelter. Part synagogue, part community centre, part hostel, Nariman House quietly added another layer to the city’s plural everyday life.
On November 26, 2008, terrorists stormed this building. Over three days, seven people were killed. Amidst the chaos, Moshe Holtzberg, the couple’s two-year-old son, survived thanks to his nanny, Sandra Samuel, who rescued him from near his parents’ bodies. That fragile miracle stands in stark contrast to the violence around it.
Today, the centre stands as a heartfelt tribute to Rabbi Gavriel and Rebbetzin Rivkah Holtzberg, who sacrificed their lives in an act of devotion on November 28, 2008. Their memory is enshrined here, reflecting the sanctity and courage of their legacy. The building’s purchase and reconstruction were made possible through the generosity of the Rohr Family from New York, and it was formally dedicated on August 26, 2014, corresponding to Rosh Chodesh, Elul 5774, symbolising a renewed commitment to preserving their sacred memory.
Inside, the aftermath of that night is etched into the building itself: bullet-scarred walls, cracked ceilings, and Moshe’s preserved room — soft blue walls, children’s drawings, Hebrew letters. Walking these upper floors feels like entering both a massacre and a miracle. Upstairs, a stone memorial carries the names of 170 people killed across Mumbai — Hindu, Muslim, men, women — a stark reminder that terror has no religion. Among them are Vijay Salaskar, Hemant Karkare, and Ashok Kamte, Mumbai police officers who gave their lives in the operation against Ajmal Kasab.
Directly opposite, Rex Bakery continues to function, its walls once bearing bullet marks. The ordinary life of a neighbourhood bakery now sits in quiet contrast to the building where hostages were held, lives lost, and courage immortalised. It is a subtle testament to resilience.
The city has moved on, but Nariman Lighthouse refuses to become background. It asks not to be studied, but to be visited. So the next time you are at Nariman Point, step into that quiet lane. Walk through the building if you can. And if nothing else, buy bread from Rex Bakery. Let memory brush against routine, and let the city pause long enough to rafu — to patch, remember, and carry forward what truly matters.
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