Journeys of the Soul

Moshe Feldman* grew up Reform in Manalapan, N.J. He began becoming observant after he graduated college, and early on in his teshuva journey experienced an open miracle that changed his life forever.

Moshe belonged to a close-knit group of five friends who met in high school and remained buddies for many years after. They called themselves the Roundtable. They were all Jewish, and none was raised observant. Three years ago, the first of these friends got married. John Shapiro* was marrying a non-Jewish Filipino girl, and the wedding was to be on Shabbas. Moshe and his friends decided to take a ten day, 500-mile road trip from San Francisco to Newport Beach, Calif. for the wedding.

Among the members of the group, Moshe stood out like a sore thumb. He described himself then as “the quintessential flaming ba’al teshuva. I was unshaven and righteous, wearing a khaki paperboy cap like that of a European immigrant, tzitzit hanging over my Levi’s jeans and a gold chai hanging around my neck.”

Moshe tried sharing his newfound observance with his friends, only to receive the harshest of abuses. They mocked his praying, yelled at him for bentching after eating because it delayed the trip, made fun of him for trying to say Tefilat Haderech in the car and even tricked him into eating shrimp.

“The irony was that we’d only been such close friends in the first place because we were Jews. There were deep, unsaid inexplicable bonds between us simply because we had Jewish souls, regardless of any affinity whatsoever to Judaism itself,” Moshe said. “Now that I brought Torah to the Roundtable, rifts of resentment began to form and the facade of our friendship began to crack. I honestly felt like a stranger in their presence.”

Before leaving on the trip, Moshe searched on the Internet for a Jewish community close to the hotel. The nearest synagogue was seven miles away, too far to walk. He decided to attend the wedding on Friday night, and spend the rest of the Shabbas by himself in the hotel.

After a week of abuse from his friends, all he longed for was a beautiful Shabbas experience. On Friday he planned to buy Shabbat candles, wine and food. However upon arriving in Newport Beach, he realized it was in the middle of nowhere. There was no place to buy the items he needed. His plans for Shabbas were doomed.

While two members of the group went inside the hotel to check in, Moshe stayed in the rental truck with the luggage and the fourth member of the group, Ian Butler.*

Suddenly, Ian pointed out the window.

“Hey, here comes one of your friends,” Ian said.

Moshe’s jaw dropped. A boy with a yamacha and tzitzit walked past, followed by another and another.

Moshe raced out of the truck. Inside the hotel lobby were dozens of observant Jewish teenage boys and girls. He ran to the parking lot, where tour buses were unloading even more frum teenagers.

Moshe approached a man with a clipboard.

“What’s going on at the hotel this weekend?” Moshe asked.

“NCSY is having their annual West Coast conference.”

Moshe said it was impossible to describe what he felt at that moment. NCSY, the largest Jewish youth outreach organization, just happened to be making their Shabbaton in the same hotel. Over 500 Jews from all across the United States and Canada had flocked to Newport Beach.

After roaming around taking in the scene, Moshe ran into the groom John and his parents by the hotel’s entrance. They looked completely bewildered.

“Did you have to invite your whole congregation?” John’s father asked.

A few minutes later Moshe met Rabbi Steven Burg, one of the organizers of the weekend who has since become the national director of NCSY. Rabbi Burg invited him to spend the entire Shabbos with NCSY, and to attend all of the meals, classes and festivities for free.

Shabbas was saved.

The Shabbaton was absolutely beautiful. The meals were delicious, the spirit was uplifting and the classes were inspiring. One session was about the significance of studying in Israel. Moshe had thought about someday visiting there, but had never before thought about going to a yeshiva.

From the sudden turnabout of events Moshe gained a newfound appreciation of G-d’s involvement in the world and a commitment to grow in his observance and knowledge of his religion.

Before the trip Moshe had received calls from Rabbi Elazar Meisels. Rabbi Meisels was trying to recruit him to attend the Sinai Retreats, a ten-day program in upstate New York which teaches Jews about their heritage. Each time he called, Moshe declined saying he was too busy looking for a job. Now when Rabbi Meisels called during the week after the road trip, he jumped at the chance.

The program picked up where the NCSY Shabbaton left off and Moshe grew in his excitement for Torah study. When a Rabbi at the Sinai Retreats approached him to ask if he would like a chance to learn in yeshiva in Israel, he immediately agreed. That was three years ago, and he has remained studying in Israel ever since.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the kiruv organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

*Not his real name.

(published in The Jewish Press November 1, 2007)

For Rabbi Nosson (Mark) Sachs, a Reserve Chaplain in the U.S. Army, building a Sukkah last year in Afghanistan against all odds showed him Hashem’s hand more clearly than almost any other experience of his life.

Rabbi Sachs traveled to Afghanistan in 2006 for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot to lead services for American personnel. For most of his time there, he was based at the Bagram Air Base. When he arrived, the Presbyterian chaplain at the base assured him that the base had not just one, but two sukkahs for the coming holiday. Rabbi Sachs was ecstatic – of the 15 personnel who attended his Yom Kippur services, 11 said they would be interested in coming back for Sukkot, so two Sukkahs would be enough to seat everyone.

Four days before Sukkot Rabbi Sachs opened the boxes and immediately realized they didn’t hold two Sukkahs, but the broken parts of a single small pop-up Sukkah.

Sukkot was starting on Friday afternoon, so Rabbi Sachs had to quickly design and build a new Sukkah. He sketched plans and brought them to the sergeant major involved with the base’s engineering corps to see if they could build it. The sergeant major handed him a stack of papers which required several signatures.

“How long do you think it will take to build it?” Rabbi Sachs asked. “The holiday starts in four days.”

“Maybe we could finish it by December,” the sergeant major replied.

Rabbi Sachs gulped.

Rabbi Sachs decided to try to build the Sukkah himself. He and the Presbyterian chaplain ran around the base for the next few hours getting all the necessary signatures.

A passerby (left) looks on as Rabbi Nosson Sachs (right) builds the Bagram sukkah with the help of a carpenter friend.

Rabbi Sachs next went to the base’s building supplies store. The two Bosnian Muslims manning the store had never heard of a Sukkah before, but were eager to help. They said all the supplies would be available by Thursday afternoon.

The only items they did not have were metal L brackets which to connect the sukkah to one wall of the chapel. The valley surrounding the base is very windy, so Rabbi Sachs needed the brackets to provide stability to the sukkah. However in a country of mostly mud huts, metal brackets were almost nonexistent. Finally after an hour driving around the base looking for brackets, Rabbi Sachs finally found a building that made aluminum air conditioning ducts.

Rabbi Sachs ran into the building and asked the man inside, this time an Afghani Muslim, if he could make L brackets. He was so excited to make something other than air conditioning ducts.

“How many you need?” the man asked. “I can make a lot. A thousand?”

“Actually no. Twenty will be sufficient,” Rabbi Sachs said.

Rabbi Sachs returned two hours later. The man had made sixty brackets.

Thursday afternoon came and Rabbi Sachs picked up the rest of the materials. He had requested wood beams to build the frame of the Sukkah, but the only beams available were twelve feet long! So he borrowed a saw and began the long process of cutting the wood.

Also on the base were a group of civilian comedians who had been brought to entertain the troops. They were set to return to the U.S. but were unable to arrange a transport out of the country. Soldiers and military supplies are given priority on aircraft in a theater of war, so for civilians not essential to the war effort, finding a way out can be a challenge. Each day the comedians tried to arrange a flight back to America. It was especially pressing as one member of the group was set to get married the following Monday.

The groom happened to walk by Rabbi Sachs as he began cutting the wood and asked what he was doing.

“I’m building a Sukkah,” Rabbi Sachs responded.

“What’s a Sukkah?”

Rabbi Sachs explained the fundamentals of the holiday, and noticed a shocked look on the comedian’s face.

“Is everything okay?” Rabbi Sachs asked.

“You know what my full time job is? I’m a carpenter by trade. A carpenter!” he yelled. “Don’t you get it? Now I understand why I’m stuck here! If I help you, I’ll get out of here.”

“Halleluyah!” Rabbi Sachs shouted.

The carpenter began cutting the wood, and in three hours the two men had assembled the entire frame. And just as the comedian hoped, he and his friends caught the next flight home.

As they were finishing the frame, an officer came by and asked what they were doing. Rabbi Sachs described the fundamentals of the Sukkah.

“What are you going to use for the walls?” the officer asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Rabbi Sachs said.

“Come with me.”

The officer brought Rabbi Sachs behind his quarters, where there was a large, unused bundle of camouflage netting. When they brought the netting back to the Sukkah frame to see if it would work, it fit to the inch.

For skach Rabbi Sachs used tree branches, but he had another problem: the valley surrounding Bagram experiences extremely strong wind storms every fall afternoon which threatened to blow the branches off the Sukkah.

In another miracle, just as Rabbi Sachs finished assembling his Sukkah, the wind stopped blowing and it didn’t start again until after Sukkot.

Friday night came and 11 Jews joined Rabbi Sachs in the Sukkah for a beautiful meal full of singing and dvrai torah. It was the first time most of them had ever eaten in a Sukkah. Here they were, in the middle of war, and for a few days could have the spiritual bliss brought by the miracle Sukkah of Afghanistan.

As Rabbi Sachs learned, when a Jew tries to bring light to a dark part of the world and inspire Jewish souls, Hashem makes anything possible.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the kiruv organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

(published in The Jewish Press October 3, 2007)

For many Jews, the teshuva journey is a return to something buried deep within themselves, a seed planted many years earlier.

Georgia is home to the Atlanta Scholar’s Kollel, a tremendous outreach organization which has brought scores of Jews back to their heritage. Rabbi David Silverman, one of the Kollel’s founders, has collected many inspiring stories during his twenty years there.

A few years ago Rabbi Silverman met Marc Schwartz*, a tenth grader in a non-Jewish private school in Atlanta, and began studying with him on a weekly basis. The learning left a lasting imprint on Marc and after graduating high school he decided to learn in yeshiva and eventually kollel, where he has remained ever since.

Over time Marc’s parents began to spend many Shabbas meals at the Silverman home and grew in their observance of Judaism. The change was drastic for Marc’s father, who had been a Cantor at a local Reform synagogue.

However Marc’s older sister Debra did not share in her family’s growing interest in Judaism and had no desire to become observant. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, her parents brought her along to the Silverman home several times for Shabbas meals. They wanted her to experience their newfound observance.

One week she was at their table during the Shabbas of the readings of the Torah portions of Tazria and Metzora, which discuss the physical and spiritual punishments for someone who speaks loshon hora (gossip). Over lunch Rabbi Silverman described some of the laws of proper speech as explained by the Chofetz Chayim, who passed away in 1933. Rabbi Silverman then went on to discuss the Jewish ideals of morality, ethics and proper behavior.

Debra was amazed.

“I was always so interested in proper speech, ethics and how to be a good person,” Debra said. She knew there had to be a religion that included these principles, but couldn’t find it, and never expected it to be Judaism.

Debra became interested in exploring more, and began learning with a Rabbi and began taking a deep interest in what her brother was learning in yeshiva. Sometime later she began going to classes with Rabbi Silverman at the Kollel and attending services at Beth Jacob.

In time she also became observant. The more Debra learned, she became even more impressed by the teachings of proper speech and self-improvement, as well as the strong values she was finding in Judaism.

“I began learning to be a good person through Judaism,” Debra said.

Since then Debra and her parents have spent many more meals at the Silverman home. After one meal a few years later, Mrs. Silverman asked Debra’s mother where her family was from originally.

“My grandfather was from a small town in Europe, but I’m sure you’ve never heard of it,” she replied. “He was Orthodox, but his daughter, my mother, gave it all up. When I grew up I didn’t even know about Shabbas candles.”

“What was the town called?” Mrs. Silverman asked.

“Radin.”

A light bulb went off in Mrs. Silverman’s head.

“Radin? That explains everything!” Mrs. Silverman replied. “That’s why your daughter was so interested in the rules of Loshon Hora. The Chofetz Chayim, who wrote down the laws of Loshon Hora, lived in Radin at the same time as your grandfather!”

Debra’s great-grandfather undoubtedly heard the rules of proper speech directly from the Chofetz Chayim. That planted a seed deep within his family, so even though his daughter didn’t remain observant, the seed was there in his descendents, silently germinating. That seedling burst forth three generations later to help bring his great-granddaughter back to Judaism.

Every Jew today needs only go back a few generations to find a grandparent who was observant. Along the line someone turned away from Orthodoxy, but those grandparents wept over the direction their family was taking.

How many tears have been shed over the last 200 years as Jews watched their children turn away from Judaism? Those tears were not for naught. Hashem gathered them up, and it was these tears that later brought their descendents back to Judaism.

This phenomenon was predicted in 1908 by Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak HaCohen Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of the British Mandate for Palestine. A rabbi from Europe wrote to him to lament that his children were turning away from Orthodoxy, and to inquire how he should respond. Rav Kook answered that if we cry out and pray to Hashem for help and if we try to influence these Jews to return, they or their descendents will come back.

“[There] is hope for all of them. The inner essence of Jewish holiness remains hidden in their hearts,” Kook wrote. “Future generations will be influenced to rise to a very high level, holding firmly to the glory of Israel and to the light of G-d that shines in them so brightly.”

That is the time period we’re living in now, when thousands of Jews each year return to Torah-true Judaism. They’re hearing a call from deep within their souls, a call placed there by the tears of their grandparents.

The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column by Michael Gros chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

(published in The Jewish Press June 1, 2007)

* (except for Rabbi Silverman, the names in this story have been changed)

He’s probably the only observant Jew to own a Super Bowl ring and one of the few Jews to ever play in the NFL. However for Alan Veingrad the journey back to his roots after his retirement was more exciting than any game on the field.

Alan played for five years as an Offensive Lineman on the Green Bay Packers, and then joined the Dallas Cowboys in 1991. It was with the Cowboys that he became the proud recipient of a Super Bowl XXVII ring, from their 1993 win.

After retiring in 1993 Alan faced a problem common to former NFLers: he had a complete loss of what to do with his life. Players in the NFL are constantly on the go and are always surround by teammates, so often have trouble filling their time when they retire.

“You go through this major void in your life,” Alan said. “I know players 10, 15 years out of the league who are still in the void. Where’s my locker, my itinerary, who are we playing next?”

During this period Alan and his wife received an invitation for a Shabbas dinner from a cousin who had become religious. It was their first authentic Shabbas experience, but wasn’t quite the life-changing moment one would expect.

“Throughout the meal he was talking about the parsha of the week. … Each of his four kids were giving over Dvrai Torah that they learned in school that week,” Alan said. “I was eating the Teriyaki Salmon, the brisket in large quantities. I was so focused on consuming food I wasn’t involved at all in the discussion. Nothing inspired me.”

After dinner, Alan’s cousin asked him if he would be interested in attending a local class given by a Rabbi. He accepted out of obligation. The class was held the following week in a mansion close to the Veingrads’ Florida home.

“For the first 59 and a half minutes of the 60 minute class I was so consumed with the location, this beautiful mansion hosting the class. I had never seen a house like this! I kept thinking, ‘Is this house worth four million or five million or six million?’” Alan said. Thirty seconds before the class ended, the Rabbi suddenly began talking about envy and materialism. He said if you let yourself be consumed by jealousy, it will only lead to emptiness and a complete void in your life.

“How did this rabbi know what I’ve been thinking for the last 59 and a half minutes?” Alan thought to himself.

The class ended, and Alan ran up to the Rabbi.

“Hey, I need more information about what you’re talking about!” Alan said. The Rabbi told him to come back the following week for the answers, and after that Alan began attending the class each week.

Over the next several years in the class, Alan began learning about Judaism’s focus on self-improvement and ethics, and especially its lessons for being a better spouse and father. He had always been interested in motivational tapes and books, especially those from famous athletes and coaches. He never imagined that he would find these lessons in his own religion. He always thought the Torah was just a history book, but when he discovered its deep focus on personal change, he jumped at the chance to learn more.

After a few years Alan and his family joined a local Chabad synagogue and were touched by the welcoming members and the warmth of the Rabbi’s family. The people Alan met were truly living the lessons he had learned in his class.

The camaraderie in the synagogue helped Alan fill the void he felt in his post-NFL life, and it would soon play an even more important role. Alan’s father passed away a few months after he became observant, and Alan was at a complete loss of what to do. He didn’t know how to organize a Jewish burial and mourning. The community rushed in and took care of all the arrangements, including providing meals for Alan and his family for the first few weeks.

“No teamwork I had ever seen in the NFL matched what I experienced in that little Chabad house in Fort Lauderdale.”

Throughout his life, Alan’s father had so much pride that his son had played football in the NFL. He carried Alan’s football card in his wallet, and showed it to everyone he met.

A few months before his death, he said something to Alan that would stay with him forever. He said he could really see amazing differences in his son and grandchildren since they had become religious. Because of this he was more proud to see his son in a yamacha than he had ever been to see him in his football helmet. “That was so powerful to me,” Alan said.

For each of us, every day is a Super Bowl. The real test is not how we perform for thousands of adoring fans, but how we treat our spouses, our kids and those around us. And while no one will ever receive a Super Bowl ring for this, we all have a chance to be MVPs in our own lives.

The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com

(published in The Jewish Press April 20, 2007)