Mark Paris, MD, grew up in New York in the Fifties, surrounded by plenty of Jews but little Judaism. He traveled down south for his education, first to Tulane University for college and then to the University of Tennessee in Memphis for medical school. It was a time when segregation was still rampant throughout the South, and many doctors had separate waiting rooms.

During his fourth year of medical school, he was working in a hospital in Memphis and noticed one of the pathologists, named Manny, walking around with a yarmulke on his head. He also noticed the incredible respect and warmth that Manny gave to every person he met.

“He used to sit and drink tea with the housekeeper. I noticed this guy treated everyone the same. He didn’t treat the cleaning lady any worse than his boss. He told me it was because he was religious,” Mark said.

Mark spent much time with Manny, and routinely joined him for autopsies. The doctor radiated an incredible degree of care and concern for everyone he met.

“He told me everyone was created in G-d’s image and you have to treat everyone with respect,” Mark said. “He was very intellectual, a smart guy. He realized he could be a great professor and could still sit and drink tea with the housekeeper.”

For Mark’s last three months of medical school, he did a Tropical Medicine Fellowship in Costa Rica. For Passover, he and his family were invited to a local Rabbi’s house for the Seders. During the Seders, Mark sat next to the Jewish caretaker of the synagogue. Between the little bit of English that the caretaker spoke, and Mark’s minimal Spanish, the two men struck up a friendship. When the caretaker found out that the Parises were staying in a hotel, he insisted that they move in with him and his family for the remaining few weeks. They accepted. The accommodations were beautiful and Mark and his family were deeply touched by the caretaker’s hospitality.

“He basically said to me said it’s really terrible that my grandfather may have come from same shtetl as his, and we have to communicate with my broken English and his broken Spanish,” Mark said. “I thought it was amazing that he would do so much for me even though we’re not related. I decided I have to go find out more what it’s all about and why he would do so much for me.”

After the fellowship, Mark and his family moved back to Memphis for his internship. He spent more time with Manny, observing him and asking questions. He started reading all the Jewish books he could get his hands on. The doctor introduced him to other local Orthodox families, and within a few years of spending Shabbases in the community and studying with the Rabbi and other people, Mark and his family became observant.

Over his long career since then, Mark has traveled to distant corners lecturing, conducting research and treating patients. His CV reads like an almanac of third world countries. Among his travels, he was a Clinical Mentor in HIV in Lesotho, spent time in Peru participating in Malaria field studies and collecting botanical specimens for anti-tuberculosis drugs and has lectured on Snake Envenomation.

Mark is currently running clinics for people from third-world countries with HIV, TB and sexually transmitted diseases and also consults on medical projects in South America and Africa. For many of his patients, there is a strong stigma associated with being sick and taking medication, so Mark’s care and concern is a refreshing change.

“[Patients] know that I’m treating them the way I would treat anyone else. These are very sick people. All they want is someone to give them respect. The whole way I deal with people is based on my religious attitude.” Mark said. “If you’re nice to people, they all appreciate it, especially non-Jews. They have great respect if you have religious principles.”

Mark acknowledges that the compassion he shows his patients comes directly from his religious beliefs and the examples he saw from Manny and the synagogue caretaker many years ago. Mark witnessed their examples and built his life on the same principles. As Ben Zoma writes in Pirke Avot (4:1), “Who is wise? He who learns from every person.”

For Mark, his entire life has been one continuous process of learning from everyone he meets and passing on the knowledge and kindness to the next person.

“What I’ve learned from Judaism is that everyone in the world has something they can teach me,” Mark said “You don’t meet someone unless there’s a reason to do so. G-d puts you in a situation so you can learn something.”

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 in October 2008)

In Alaska one finds plenty of snow, moose and oil, but few Jews. There are less than 6,000 in the entire state. Half of the Jews live in the city of Anchorage, so when Rabbi Yosef and Esther Greenberg arrived in Alaska in 1991 they set up the Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Center of Alaska there. Handfuls of Jews also live in remote towns and cities such as Sitka, Kenai, Ketchikan and Kotzubue. Rabbi Greenberg flies to these areas, sometimes in a seaplane, to prepare boys for their bar mitzvahs, put up mezuzahs and teach Jewish classes.

The Greenberg’s annual Chanukkah party has always been their most popular event. At the 1993 party, Rabbi Greenberg noticed a new couple among the many familiar faces. He introduced himself and spoke to them for a few minutes but did not expect to see them again.

A few months later the wife called Rabbi Greenberg and asked him if he could train their son for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah. Their son had never been to Hebrew school and couldn’t read Hebrew. His family had not even planned on making a Bar Mitzvah. However the boy’s elderly grandmother from Los Angeles was persistent that her grandson have one, so to make her happy the couple was now turning to Rabbi Greenberg for help in preparing him for it.

Rabbi Greenberg tutored the boy, teaching him Hebrew and training him to say the blessings on the Torah. Finally the Shabbat of the Bar Mitzvah arrived and the boy’s extended family flew in from all around the country.

The Bar Mitzvah was beautiful. The boy read the blessings, and Rabbi Greenberg chanted the Torah portion and Haftorah.

During lunch in the synagogue after services, the boy’s grandmother asked for permission to speak. She stood up and explained why it was so important to her that her grandson have a Bar Mitzvah.

First she was worried that living in Alaska, her grandson would grow up without a Jewish identity. Therefore she wanted to make sure he would at least have a Bar Mitzvah.

Second, the grandmother related that she had moved to the United States from Russia many years earlier. She rarely attended synagogue, but fondly remembered receiving a strong Jewish education in her youth. She grew up in the town of Berditchev, and a private teacher came to her house every day to teach her and her siblings Jewish subjects. When Jewish observance was banned after the Russian Revolution of 1917, her religious education ceased.

Why did her parents value Jewish education so much, and why did she push so hard for her grandson to have a Bar Mitzvah?

“It was very important to me to make this Bar Mitzvah because of my family tree,” she continued, now looking directly at Rabbi Greenberg. “My family, we come from a big rabbi. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name was Rabbi Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov.”

Rabbi Greenberg’s jaw dropped. The Ba’al Shem Tov founded the Chassidic movement in the 1700s, of which Chabad-Lubavitch is a part. Two hundred years later the Ba’al Shem Tov’s efforts helped provide his descendents in Alaska with an authentic Jewish experience and a point of entry to return to Jewish observance.

After lunch Rabbi Greenberg approached the grandmother and said he had a piece to add to her story. Rabbi Greenberg said he himself is a ninth-generation descendent of the Maggid of Mezritch, who was the foremost student and successor of the Ba’al Shem Tov. So here in Alaska was a descendent of the Maggid of Mezritch helping to bring back a descendent of his teacher the Ba’al Shem Tov.

In the years since the Bar Mitzvah, the young man and his family have become more observant. Hashem specifically sent Rabbi Greenberg to Alaska because He knew that the deep relationship between the Ba’al Shem Tov and his student would help his descendents return. Plus G-d knew that the many merits of the Ba’al Shem Tov would remain in the family and be a spiritual catalyst to bring them back.

“All Jewish children running around the world are the grandchildren of Tzaddikim and Tzadekot,” Rabbi Greenberg said. “If your child or grandchild was going away from Judaism, wouldn’t you fight to get him back? The Baal Shem Tov was crying in heaven.”

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 in August 2008)

David grew up non-observant in Michigan. During college he began to realize the importance of passing Judaism onto his children. David’s parents had gotten divorced years earlier, and his father had remarried a non-Jewish woman and had non-Jewish children with her. David’s brother married out of the religion. His sister followed suit and did not raise her children Jewish. David recognized that he was the only person left who could continue the religion. “I was going to be the last one to carry on the Jewish tradition in the family. I felt I owed it to myself to start asking questions about my Judaism,” David said. “I realized it’s ending with me, this Reform Jew. I don’t have a clue about Shabbat and Judaism.”

David went to Israel after graduation to increase his knowledge of Jewish culture and history. He spent two years there and loved it. He was all set to make aliyah, when he tore two ligaments in his ankle and had to return to Michigan for surgery. After the surgery David spent several months in Michigan recovering. He longed to return to Israel. Even though he still knew very little about his religion, he felt the most connected to it there.

While in Michigan he met several Orthodox Jews and began learning more about Judaism from them. He soon realized that it wasn’t the country of Israel that he missed but the religious feelings he had experienced there. David began working for a small company in Michigan owned by Shimon Traeger, who himself had become observant a few years earlier. During work the two men often discussed Judaism and Shimon tried answering David’s many questions.

After a few months, Shimon invited David to spend Shabbat with him and his family. David came and had a beautiful time. Still, he had many doubts about Orthodoxy. He loved the deep intellectual traditions, but felt that Judaism was too foreign to his lifestyle and too alien from how his family practiced the religion.

On Shabbat afternoon, Shimon and David went to a small Chassidic synagogue for Mincha. After the service Shimon introduced David to the Rabbi of the synagogue, Rabbi Stein. He was a middle-aged man and the son of the founding Rabbi of the synagogue who had passed away years earlier. He lived in New York and traveled to Michigan only a few times a year for the Jewish holidays and an occasional Shabbat.

“Rabbi, this is my friend David Wachtfungel,” Shimon said.

The Rabbi stood in shock for a second.

“David Wachtfungel?” the Rabbi replied. “Was your grandfather Ira Wachtfungel?”

David nodded in confusion.

“Stand right here. I have something for you.”

The Rabbi returned a minute later holding two dusty plaques. They were acknowledgements of contributions made many years earlier to the synagogue. Inscribed on them were the names of David’s grandfather, great-grandfather and great-grandmother!

Rabbi Stein said that David’s great-grandparents, who were Orthodox, had been active members of the synagogue in its early days. One plaque was from David’s great-grandfather in memory of his wife, and the other was from David’s grandfather in memory of his father. The plaques had been sitting untouched in the synagogue for thirty years.

David’s great-grandfather passed away when David was very young. When he was five, David remembers visiting his great-grandfather and receiving a kiss from him on his forehead. His great-grandfather said something to him, and while David doesn’t remember what it was, he thinks it was a blessing or a prayer for him. That memory has always remained with him.

“I have always felt a closeness to him as if he was watching over me,” David said. “I can’t help but feel grateful to him and those words he said to me.”

For David, the plaques were pieces of the puzzle he was missing. His biggest hurdle was trying to understand Judaism as a way of life with particular behaviors we must do every day. Here were members of his own family who lived based on those principles.

“These were my roots. I realized this is not a cultural thing, but this is my family,” David said. “I was interested in Judaism, but the gap seemed too far. It always appeared like two different worlds. How do you bridge that gap? That was a big breakthrough when I saw that my great-grandfather was religious.”

David had also been hesitant to adopt an observant lifestyle because he felt like doing so would cut off his family. But he realized that he wasn’t breaking with his family but was actually returning to their traditions.

The guiding hand of G-d is clear in David’s story. David and Shimon just happened to go into the synagogue, the Rabbi just happened to be there that Shabbat and the plaques just happened to be still be sitting there after 30 years. G-d arranged the events behind the scenes in precisely the order that David needed to return.

David’s story also proves that you never know the result of a good deed.

When Rabbi Elazar Meisels, who is affiliated with several outreach organizations, heard the story from David he said, “Your grandfather thought he was helping the Rabbi when he gave him the money. What he didn’t realize is this money that he gave was going to insure that his family would continue, because it’s only from you that he would have Jewish offspring.”

* The names in this story have been changed with the exception of Rabbi Meisels.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 June 2007)

Mark grew up in a completely non-observant home. His father had been raised Orthodox, but turned away from it and raised Mark and his siblings with no religious upbringing. However, most of his extended family remained observant. When Mark was a young boy, he was very close to his first cousin Shloimie. The two spent lots of time playing marbles in the streets or in each other’s Lower East Side apartments. Shloimie was descended from a long line of Rabbis and his family was well-connected to the religious establishment of New York.

When Mark was five he was once at Shloimie’s house on a Saturday afternoon. After hours of playing together, night had already fallen and it was time for Havdalah. Mark still clearly remembers being chosen to hold the Havdalah candle, but recalls nothing else of the evening. Years later his cousin told him that two of the biggest Rabbis in America were at Havdalah that night in the apartment – Rabbi Moshe Feinstein and Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (Rabbi Feinstein lived in the same building as Shloimie’s family, and was related to Rabbi Soloveitchik. The latter had come to visit him that Shabbat afternoon and the two had joined Shloimie’s family for Havdalah).

Righteous individuals such as Rav Feinstein and Rav Soloveitchik bring a feeling of holiness to their surroundings that leaves an impression on those around them, whether they realize it or not. For Mark the experience lit a spark in him that would eventually burst into a flame to guide him back to Judaism.

For over 20 years that flame flickered silently inside Mark. He grew up, went to college and married a woman named Donna in 1970. They settled in New York. But their lives felt empty and they soon realized they needed spiritual meaning. They started attending a local Conservative synagogue and began taking on some Shabbat practices.

Over the next few years they slowly grew in their Jewish observance and considered becoming Orthodox. For Mark one of the hardest challenges in their growing religious practice was not being able to answer the telephone on Shabbat. Answering machines were not yet prevalent and the Schwartzes did not own one. Mark felt that every phone call was urgent and needed to be answered. Donna tried to persuade him to stop answering the phone on Shabbat but he was reluctant to give it up.

“Each individual phase of our growth took a little bit of self control. But the phone was different. It rang all the time,” Mark said. “You can put your lights on timers and then you don’t have to worry about them. But the phone was always a constant.”

After several years, Donna and Mark decided to move to a community better suited to their changing needs. They were the only young couple in their synagogue, and they wanted a congregation with families their age and that could provide more opportunities for spiritual growth. They were still straddling the fence between being Conservative and Orthodox, but chose an Orthodox community on Long Island.

They eventually found a house near an Orthodox synagogue and applied for a mortgage. It was a stressful time period: they were at a crossroads in their lives religiously, were anxious about their move and were unsure if they would be approved for a mortgage.

A Yom Tov came in the middle of this period and offered a much needed respite from their worries. However the holiday brought a challenge too. On Yom Tov we have most of the same restrictions as on Shabbat, including a prohibition on answering the phone.

Mark and Donna were home in the afternoon of that weekday Yom Tov. The phone rang and Mark could not resist picking it up.

It was the bank, calling to tell them that their mortgage application for their new house had been rejected.

“I looked at Donna, Donna looked at me, and we said ‘enough is enough.’ It was a clear message from Hashem,” Mark said. “That was the last time I answered the phone on Yom Tov or Shabbat.”

After months of trying to wean himself from his dependency on answering the telephone, it took just one big slip to make him stop. Sometimes failing a test is just what a person needs to help him embark on the correct course of action.

“When people decide to go to therapy for help, they decide to go because they finally admit that something is wrong. That call told me, ‘this is the message. You’ve been wanting to stop answering the phone, so just stop it.’ ”

Mark and Donna eventually applied for another mortgage and were approved. Several months later they moved into their new house on Long Island, and within a few years became fully Orthodox. And Mark never picked up the phone on Shabbat or Yom Tov again.

* The Schwartzes names have been changed.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 May 2007)

On New Year’s Eve in 1999 Mira was at a crossroads. She had been coming to the local Orthodox community for Shabbat on and off for over 10 years and loved it. She especially cherished the warmth of the Shabbat table and seeing families spending quality time together. But as much as she loved the lifestyle, she had been unable to commit to keeping Shabbat.

However in 1999 as everyone was talking about the New Millennium and Y2K, Mira saw something else. She had always been interested in New Age ideas and pop spirituality. When New Year’s Eve fell on a Friday night, Mira saw the intersection of Shabbat and the new millennium as a sign from G-d that it was time to observe the Sabbath and become Shomer Shabbat. But it was intimidating to give herself that title, so she decided to celebrate just one Shabbat at a time. She resolved to make December 31st her first one.

“I saw the new millennium and said OK, time to start being Sabbath observant. But I can’t be Shomer Shabbat. I can’t use that label,” Mira said. So she decided to keep just that one Shabbat. “I’m making a commitment one Shabbat at a time.”

Mira learned the lesson from her mother, who taught her that if you’re trying to cut a roll of salami it can be overwhelming to do it all at once. But if you slice it one bit at a time, it’s much easier to do it.

“Many people think that observing Judaism is an all or nothing action, that you must take on all the obligations at once. But growth in Judaism is really about constant baby steps, about taking on small commitments,” Mira said. “G-d appreciates anything we do to get closer.”

For Mira this meant making one commitment at a time. In every area of her Jewish growth she heeded her mother’s advice and cut off only a small bit at a time.

“If someone is not ready to keep Shabbat each week, why not try to keep it only for an hour? If someone is not ready to keep kosher full time, then try to give up only one particular food,” Mira said. “People think they have to do everything at once. They don’t know that G-d looks highly at everything we do. You’re making a distinction, you’re trying to have a relationship with Hashem.”

So on Friday night, December 31, she was sitting with a local family watching the clock as it struck midnight. It was the first time she had ever spent New Year’s Eve not watching the ball drop in New York on television. But instead of lamenting that she was missing the televised celebrations, Mira felt wonderful as she reflected on the start of the new millennium quietly and in G-d’s way. The frenzied revelry of the secular New Year had been replaced by the spiritual bliss of Shabbat.

That one Shabbat turned into two and within a short time she had kept Shabbat for a month. She kept track of each Shabbat by placing a marble into a wine decanter. By now she has over 430 marbles.

With each marble she added, the number of that Shabbat also took on a deeper meaning. Each Shabbat she looked for a connection between the week’s number and an idea in the Torah portion of the week or other current event. Every number is significant in Judaism and has a particular meaning, and members of the community began pointing out some of the deeper connections of the number of her marbles.

On Shabbat number 13, her Rabbi taught her about the 13 Attributes of Hashem. Mira’s 40 Shabbat was Rosh Hashanah. The number 40 is deeply related to birth and new beginnings, so it was a perfect timing.

On Mira’s 50th Shabbat the family she was staying with baked a special challah in the shape of the Hebrew letter Nun, which has the numerical value 50. When she traveled to Israel and spent three Shabbats there, she added three unique items to her collection: a small blue chamsah “hand,” a blue glass circle and a blue fish. For her 100th Shabbat she put a battery into the jar because “Shabbat keeps me going!” People in the community have bought other special marbles for various Shabbats, such as the handmade marbles a friend recently brought her from China.

Mira originally collected marbles as a way to make herself accountable and maintain her Shabbat observance, but soon she began looking forward to each Shabbat and especially to putting another marble into the decanter. With each new marble, Mira gained a deeper level of appreciation for Shabbat.

“A lot of people don’t understand. They think that I live the most rigid life, full of shoulds and have tos, that I have to do this and this. However my life is filled with such pleasure and joy and laughter,” Mira said. “G-d loves me so much because He gave me Shabbat.”

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 April 2007)

Joel’s journey began in April of 2005. His father had just passed away and he made a commitment to go to synagogue every day to recite the Kaddish prayer in his memory. Joel began attending his Conservative synagogue’s daily prayer service, but Saturday mornings posed a challenge. He worked as the manager of a nearby electronics store and needed to leave to open the store before the 9:00 am Shabbat morning service at his synagogue.

He heard that the local Orthodox synagogue, the Young Israel of Plainview, had an early Saturday morning service at 7:30. Joel decided to try it. He knew that he would not be able to stay for the entire service, but would be able to say a few Kaddishes.

That Shabbat morning he drove to the Young Israel and was warmly received. He stayed for a little while and then excused himself and drove off to the store.

Joel decided to attend the Young Israel every Saturday morning and started going to the morning service during the week as well. Over the next few months his friends at the Young Israel’s daily morning service served as an ad hoc support group and helped him through his bereavement. He felt part of a huge, caring family.

“I was brought there, I was guided there for a reason. You have to believe in Hashem. Things like finding that synagogue don’t just happen by accident,” Joel said.

After a few months, the Saturday morning service had become a staple of his life and he looked forward to it all week. But now he had a different challenge. He enjoyed the service so much that he dreaded having to leave early.

At this point a perfect opportunity arrived. For many years Joel and a friend had contemplated opening their own electronics store. By mid-2005 they had saved up enough money and opened a store. For Joel it meant that he now had a partner who could watch the store while he was in synagogue!

Joel began attending the entire Shabbat morning service each week and stayed for Kiddush afterwards. He still left to go to his store after services but loved his few hours each week in synagogue. Now he began wishing he could quit his job and commit to Shabbat. But he saw no way out. It was his store now.

Joel eventually got his wish, though not in quite the way he had hoped. From almost the beginning the store had financial problems and through 2006 business was on a downward spiral. The store went bankrupt in October 2006.

Joel was absolutely frightened. The store was his livelihood and he wasn’t sure how he would be able to make ends meet.

At the same time he was beginning to see G-d’s hand in his life. He realized that G-d had provided him with the opportunity to keep Shabbat.

“Part of my life was ending, but I knew that something new was beginning,” Joel said. “It’s such a calming feeling to have Shabbat.”

After the store folded, Joel began spending the entire Shabbat in synagogue and with families in the community. His wife and children joined him on occasion, and his teenage son now walks to synagogue with him every Shabbas.

It was the first time in his life that Joel had found peace. During his 16 years as a store manager, employees constantly called him even during vacations and Jewish holidays. For those 16 years every Rosh Hashanah was spent the same way: in the morning he went to synagogue with his family, and in the afternoon returned all of the work calls that had piled up while he was praying.

“It’s such a calming feeling to have Shabbat and to know that nobody will call me and beep me,” Joel said. “Now I found peace.”

So at the end of 2006, a year and a half after he first stepped foot in the Young Israel, Joel began keeping Shabbat. But he was now without a job. He went on lots of interviews, and during each one explained that as an observant Jew he could not work on Saturdays or Jewish holidays. Since Saturday is the prime day in the retail world, no one hired him. But despite all the rejections, Joel never compromised on Shabbat.

Joel eventually heard that the electronics store B&H Photo in Manhattan was expanding so he applied and was given an interview. Lo and behold he was hired to work in the home entertainment division!

B&H is owned by Orthodox Jews and is closed on Saturdays and Jewish holidays. It shuts early on Fridays. The store even has a Mincha service each afternoon.

The B&H job was Joel’s salvation. His desire to keep Shabbat was so intense and he had given up so much for it, so G-d sent him the perfect job to let him to do so.

“I have faith in Hashem, and he’s leading me somewhere. The whole time he’s been taking me by the hand and leading me,” Joel said.

King David refers to G-d as “your shadow” (Psalms 121:5). Just as a shadow copies its owner’s actions, G-d reacts to our actions. If we exert ourselves to keep Shabbat, G-d reciprocates and arranges events to help us do so.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 February 2007)

I started to become observant at the beginning of my sophomore year at Emory University in Atlanta. By the beginning of my junior year I was already keeping Shabbat.

In March 1998 towards the end of my junior year, my 75-year old grandmother Isabel Gros flew down from New York to visit me for a week. She has always been the epitome of good health, the kind of grandmother that you have to run to keep up with. A few days before coming, she had a routine checkup with her cardiologist in New York. He found a very small amount of blockage in her arteries, but said it was nothing to worry about and gave her a clean bill of health to fly.

My grandmother arrived in Atlanta on a Friday. The following Wednesday afternoon in the middle of her trip, she began experiencing severe chest pains. She went to Emory University Hospital’s ER. She knew very little about the hospital, and chose it mostly because it was close to her grandson.

Tests in the hospital found that her arteries were over 90% blocked. Somehow her doctor back in New York had completely misdiagnosed her. Additional tests showed that she needed an immediate angioplasty procedure to clear the blockage and a coronary stent to be inserted to keep the arteries open. As it turns out Emory Hospital is a leader in the procedures she needed. The first coronary stent procedure in America was performed at Emory in 1987, so the hospital has more experience than most, and especially more than her doctors back home.

The procedures were scheduled for Friday morning, but were pushed backed several times during the day. She finally went into the surgery ward on Friday afternoon. That evening I attended the Friday night Shabbat services on campus as usual, had a quick meal in my dorm room and then walked to the hospital to wait for her to be released from Recovery. (In another sign of G-d’s beneficent hand, my dorm, Harris Hall, was located next door to the hospital).

It was already after nightfall. All of the entrances to the hospital were closed except for one. Directly inside the door a burly, African-American security guard was sitting at desk with a sign that read, “After 6:00 PM All Visitors Must Sign In.”

My mind began racing. How could I explain to the security guard that I couldn’t sign in? I had been keeping Shabbat for less than a year, but I knew I could not bend for this. Giving in and signing my name would have been an easy way out, but I would not do it.

But what could I tell the guard? I figured he was from Alabama or somewhere else in the Deep South. He had probably never met a Jew in his life, and almost certainly would never have heard of an Orthodox Jew. How could I say that because the sun had set I could no longer write? In my mind’s eye he was going to either slam the door in my face or call the psychiatric department. I needed to find a solution, but had no idea what it would be.

After several minutes standing outside the door pondering what to do, I nervously entered and walked up to the guard.

“Hi, my name is Michael Gros and my grandmother Isabel Gros had surgery today and I’m here to visit her,” I blurted out as fast as I could, hoping not to sound too anxious. “I’m an Orthodox Jew. On the Jewish Sabbath from Friday evening until nightfall on Saturday night we don’t use electricity, write or drive. Therefore unfortunately I can’t sign in.”

The guard paused for what seemed like an hour, though it was really only a tenth of a second. Then a huge smile erupted on his face.

“Oh, the sunset thing. I’m from Brooklyn. I know all about it. Go right in.”

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The hand of G-d has always been apparent to me throughout the story. At every step of the way He arranged the events to make sure my grandmother received the finest care possible. Then when I faced my test measuring my commitment to Shabbat, He sent the perfect emissary to assist me. How else could this security guard just happen to have been from Brooklyn, just happen to know about Shabbat, and just happen to be at the hospital that night? The chain of events was too perfect to be coincidental.

But if G-d was going to arrange the events to help me get into the hospital that night, why did He need to test me at all? He could have orchestrated the events in some other fashion so I wouldn’t have had to endure the pressure of the moment.

As the Rabbis write, “If one comes to purify himself, he is helped” (Shabbat 104a). Rashi, the fundamental Torah commentator, explains that if a person sincerely tries to change his behavior he receives help from Heaven. A person must first put in genuine effort, and then G-d sends him assistance. On that Friday night G-d waited to see my level of commitment to Shabbat, and then sent assistance to help me complete the mission.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach 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 January 2007)

When a person accepts upon himself a particular religious commitment, for example to observe Shabbat or eat only Kosher food, Hashem may send him a test or two to measure his level of dedication. Although not apparent at first glance, the tests that Hashem sends are always for our own benefit. G-d only gives us tests that He knows we can pass. The purpose is to prove our level of commitment to ourselves, those around us and G-d. The challenges are always very personal, and are in areas that are most dear to us.

For 13 years Jimmy Baron worked as a radio announcer in Atlanta as the Morning Drive Radio host on 99X Radio. When he first began observing Shabbat it was a major step because much of his job revolved around concerts and other events on Friday night. But he was extremely committed to keeping Shabbat and was able to withstand the challenges of his job.

Outside of growing on his path toward observance, Jimmy had one other passion in life: Bruce Springsteen. Jimmy describes himself as “an absolute obsessed Bruce Springsteen fan.” He has traveled around the country to attend Springsteen concerts, spending thousands of dollars and burning up vacation days to see him perform.

Bruce Springsteen and Jimmy Baron

Several years ago Springsteen announced that his tour schedule would include a major concert in Atlanta on a Friday night. Jimmy had been keeping Shabbat for only six months and was still growing in his observance, so he was very tempted to go.

But if that wasn’t enough of a challenge G-d had something else up His sleeve. A few days before the concert, a friend of Jimmy’s who works in the record industry called him to invite him to go backstage after the concert and hang out with Springsteen in his dressing room.

This was a dream come true for Jimmy. He had never met Springsteen and he knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. But how could he turn his back on his religion and his commitment to keep Shabbat? He was torn, but he gathered up his strength and told his friend that he would be unable to go because it was on Shabbat.

“You did hear what I said, right?” his friend asked.

“Yes, I heard you, but this is my life now. I’ve made this commitment,” Jimmy replied.

“Jimmy, G-d will forgive you,” his friend said.

“Boy, you must have some inside knowledge.”

For Jimmy it was a powerful moment. Passing that test made him realize the depth of his commitment to Shabbat because he was able to make the decision so quickly.

“It was a real landmark in my Jewish growth, choosing between my commitment to Judaism and what I just wanted to do,” Jimmy said. “The satisfying thing was not only being able to make the right decision, but being able to make that decision without even thinking about it. Six months earlier I would have been at that concert.”

Jimmy acknowledges that it took a lot of strength to overcome the challenge, and he attributes that strength to have come directly from Hashem. For others faced with similar tests, he says it is important to look beyond the moment and measure how you will feel about the choice in the future.

“If on that one night I would have made an exception because it was Bruce and went to the concert, I know I would have regretted it for the rest of my life,” he said. “You have to look within yourself and think is this something tomorrow, or next week I will be happy about or beat myself up about.”

The Friday night came and Jimmy and his wife were at a friend’s house for Shabbat dinner. Jimmy’s spirit was uplifted even more than on a typical Shabbat because he knew he had made the correct decision and had demonstrated his commitment to Shabbat. Jimmy’s friends knew how significant his choice had been so they ordered a special cake with the words “I Missed Bruce Springsteen For Shabbat.”

Jimmy was touched. Years later he still has the top of that cake in his freezer as a testament that he passed his test.

A few years after that Friday night concert, Jimmy received even more clarity that he had made the correct choice. Springsteen was in Atlanta recording a new album and Jimmy happened to be at the bar in the hotel where he was staying. Springsteen came in by himself and Jimmy asked if he could buy him a drink. The two talked uninterrupted for 30 minutes, which was far longer than he would have gotten in the dressing room after the concert.

As King David wrote, “Favor and glory does Hashem bestow, he withholds no goodness from those who walk uprightly.” (Tehillim 84:12) For Jimmy, making the correct choice earned him tremendous rewards.

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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 December 12, 2007)

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)

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)