Journeys of the Soul

Israel’s war in Lebanon in the summer of 2006 left behind many powerful stories, from courageous sacrifices to tragic destruction and numerous miracles. One of the most powerful stories is that of a young Naval sergeant who found G-d on a ship in the middle of a heated battle, as told by Rabbi Lazer Brody.

Rabbi Brody runs the Emunah Outreach Program which offers classes and a widely-read outreach blog. He grew up secular, served for many years in an elite special forces unit in the IDF and is a veteran of the first Lebanon War. During that war he himself had a miraculous experience in the streets of Beirut which helped him find his way back to Orthodoxy. He’s now known as Rabbi Rambo and speaks frequently to Israeli military units.

In mid-October 2006 Rabbi Brody was on a train in Tel Aviv on its way to Haifa. A young Israeli Naval sergeant entered the car and sat down in a nearby seat. Rabbi Brody smiled at him. The sergeant, whom we’ll call Moshe, sighed deeply and sheepishly asked, “Can I talk to you, Rav?”

“Of course,” Rabbi Brody said and asked him how he knew that he was a Rabbi. Moshe replied that he had heard Rabbi Brody eulogize a fallen friend during the war.

Moshe had the clear look of a fresh ba’al teshuva - a new beard was growing on his face, and the knitted kippa on his head was still stiff from being worn only a short time. After a few moments he began sharing the miraculous story which happened to him during the war.

Moshe had been onboard the Israeli missile ship Hanit on Friday night, July 14 when it was anchored off the coast of Beirut. The evening began as a typical quiet Friday night, but quickly turned into a rollercoaster as the sailors saw the miracles of Hashem’s hand again and again.

“Usually, the crew would eat Friday night dinner in two shifts,” Moshe told Rabbi Brody. “But this time, since we were in a war zone, our three religious crewmen went to Lieutenant Colonel A., the skipper, and begged that we all need Hashem’s help. The first miracle is that the skipper agreed to leave only four sailors on the bridge, and allowed the rest of the crew to pray together. The four sailors were non-Jews and volunteered to allow their crewmates to participate in a proper Sabbath meal. The rest of us piled into the synagogue and said a lengthy Mincha and Kabbalat Shabbat.

“I was bored and wanted to eat quickly and then catch a few hours sleep because I had the midnight watch. But I stayed with the rest of the crew. Then all of us had a Shabbat meal together: 15 different sailors said Kiddush, each in the custom of his fathers. I’m talking about guys that aren’t even religious! The meal was drawn out. I had a headache and was dying to go to sleep.”

Just as the sailors began to bentch after the meal, a Hezbullah missile fired from the shore slammed into the rear of the boat. Flames shot skyward as the entire end of the boat was burned. First the missile, and then the blaze should have sunk the ship, but miraculously it stayed afloat. The missile missed every critical piece of the ship, and instead hit a crane above the chopper landing pad which absorbed the impact. In another astonishing miracle, the nearby helicopter-refueling tank, which was full of fuel, did not explode.

Only the four sailors on the bridge were killed. The rest of the crew should have died as well, but were saved by their Shabbat dinner in the galley.

Moshe had beads of sweat on his forehead and tears filled his eyes as he continued with his story.

“The newspapers don’t write about the miracles that we all saw. I ran to my bunk on the deck right below the landing pad. It was charcoal; my metal bunk was completely melted down and all my possessions were ashes. If I hadn’t been detained in the chapel and in the dining hall for Shabbat meal, I would have been charcoal too. I haven’t stopped thanking Hashem since then. I’ve changed my life.”

Moshe reported that even more miracles happened aboard the ship that night. The engine room was burned to a crisp, but a pair of Tefillin in perfect condition was found nearby. And in the middle of the destruction the sailors found a Book of Psalms, also unscathed. It was found open to Psalm 124, which acknowledges the unceasing protection Hashem gives us. Among the words in Psalm 124 are these:

“Had not Hashem been with us when men rose up against us, then they would have swallowed us alive, when their anger was kindled against us. Then the waters would have inundated us; the current would have surged across our soul.”

Moshe saw Hashem’s hand repeatedly that night. He should have lost his life, but Hashem sent him miracle after miracle to save him.

The Israeli military never expected the Hanit to be hit. It assumed the boat was far enough offshore to be safe, and didn’t know that Hezbullah had missiles of the range to hit it. Within a few seconds, those security misconceptions were shattered. Within those few seconds, Moshe’s many misconceptions about life and Judaism were shattered as well. The many miracles opened his eyes to Hashem’s constant involvement in our lives. Hashem is always with us, usually below the surface, but sometimes He sends a miracle to remind us of His constant watchful presence. Sometimes it takes a whole series of miracles to bring someone to recognize Him.

As Rabbi Brody described it, the Hanit took a direct hit from a Hezbullah missile, but Moshe turned the navy’s military setback into a personal spiritual victory.

——————————————————————————————

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 August, 2007)

Many ba’alei teshuva can point to a particular person or event which started them on their journey towards becoming Orthodox. Whether it’s a Rabbi, a Shabbas invitation or a co-worker, there is often a fixed point of disembarkation.

A Buddhist priest in the farming village of Yobito, Hokkaido in northern Japan was the inspiration that Jason Katz* needed to begin his journey home towards Judaism.

Jason grew up in the Detroit area and was very involved in his Reform synagogue, but it was a religious experience that lacked religion.

“There was no G-d involved. The only mention of G-d was in prayers, but otherwise nobody spoke about G-d,” Jason said.

Jason went to Japan as an exchange student during high school and lived with a family in Yobito. His host father Mitsuo Kiyosu is a 49th generation Buddhist priest and the spiritual leader of the village. Jason developed a deep rapport with him and over the years has had many deep conversations with him. He has always been impressed by the priest’s wisdom, his understanding of the purpose of life and his respect for all people.

Years earlier during his training to become a priest, Mitsuo Kiyosu had studied with a Christian minister and a Rabbi. He therefore had some understanding of each religion, but never pushed Jason towards any particular observance.

After college Jason lived in Japan for seven years and frequently visited the Kiyosu family. It was finally time to return to the United States but before leaving he paid one more visit to see them.

For Jason it was a time of great soul searching as he was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

While sitting together with his host father Mitsuo Kiyosu in the kitchen sipping green tea, Jason unburdened the challenges he was facing. The conversation turned from his job search to his larger search for direction in his life.

“My host father realized that I was searching not only for a job, but for spirituality,” Jason said. “He told me that when he dies ‘there will be such and such spirit in the next world who will save me. I live this life with confidence because I know I will be saved when I die. On the other hand, a Christian person has Jesus. A Christian person has Jesus, who is a bridge to the Jewish G-d. That’s how he will be saved when he dies.’”

“‘But you, you are a Jew. You have a direct connection to the Jewish G-d. What more are you searching for?’”

That comment opened Jason’s eyes. He grew up hearing about G-d as the Judeo-Christian G-d, but he had only ever heard Christians speak about G-d. His host father said No! It is not Christianity that has a direct connection to G-d, and not even Buddhism. It is the Jewish people who have a direct conduit to G-d.

“He woke me up to the fact that I have a unique place in this world as a Jew and an intrinsic relationship to G-d,” Jason said. “G-d had been just a philosophical concept to me and the last thing I was searching for.”

While Jason didn’t initially recognize it, something had changed inside him.

“At that time I still knew virtually nothing about G-d, nothing about Torah, but my heart was different, like a seed was planted inside,” Jason said.

Jason returned to Florida and a few months later a family friend recommended a class given by a local Chabad Rabbi. He soon began going each week. The class focused on the weekly Torah portion in particular and the Jewish perspective on life in general. Jason was stunned by what he heard.

“It was so profound, so deep,” Jason said. “I had been searching my whole life around the world. I had been to missionary camps, spoke to Buddhist priests and Hare Krishnas. I had no idea that there were such depths in Judaism.”

Over the next two years the Rabbi spoke often about G-d and G-d’s relationship to the Jewish people, and it gave new life to that seed inside Jason. The class helped Jason acknowledge his personal connection to G-d, which gave him the reason to begin keeping mitzvot and delving into Jewish learning.

Throughout Jason’s journey the seed planted by the Buddhist priest was forever in him, pushing him forward to find the truth.

How does one take such a path? How does one find traditional Judaism through the direction of a Buddhist priest? Hashem put in every Jew an innate desire to look for spirituality and connect with larger truths. He hopes we’ll use this desire to find our place in Judaism, but sadly, scores of unaffiliated Jews find spiritual fulfillment in other religions. Out of the masses that try other religions, a small number find their way back to Judaism through the experience.

This trend is actually predicted in the Torah. Before his death Moses reminded the Jews of the blessings and curses that would befall them based on their future behavior:

“And it will be that when all these things come to pass – the blessing and the curse, which I have placed before you, then you will return to your heart in the midst of all the nations where G-d your G-d dispersed you.” (Devarim 30:1)

The Sforno biblical commentary, written 500 years ago, has an amazing explanation of these words. As explained by Rabbi Ezriel Tauber in the book Days Are Coming, the Sforno writes that Jews will join other nations and religions, and will eventually find their way from there to Judaism:

“You are going to probe and research the destructive nature [of the lifestyle of those nations amongst whom you live], and you will reflect and be struck by the sharp contrast between truth and falsehood. And with this you will perceive how far you are from G-d and you will be lifted up [out] of the knowledge and practices that are not according to His Torah.”

The Torah predicts that there will be a mass return of Jews to Judaism, and many of them will find their way back through other religions. That’s precisely what happened with Jason. G-d knows what catalyst each of us needs to start us on our journey home, and He sends the right person in exactly the right time. The irony with Jason’s story is the perfect person was a Buddist priest halfway around the world.

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 July 6, 2007)

* Not his real name

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)

For my wife Shana, what started as a tiny spark deep inside her soul eventually grew into a brilliant light guiding her forward on life’s journey.

Each one of has this spark inside us, a yearning to connect to our traditions. The Torah portion of Vayikra begins with the words, “And He (G-d) Called to Moses.” In the word “Vayikra - And He called,” the last letter Aleph is written uncharacteristically small. The 18th century Chassidic leader Rabbi Menachem Nachum Twersky of Chernobyl in his book Meor Einayim writes that the small Aleph represents G-d, who places a small piece of Himself inside every Jew.

This tiny divine spark constantly calls to us to grow in our observance. The call starts out quiet, almost inaudible. But if someone hears it and responds, G-d embraces him with open arms, just as the second half of the verse says:  “and Hashem spoke to him.” When Shana responded to the spark, Hashem spoke to her by showering goodness on her.

Shana grew up in Queens in a traditional household, which meant going to synagogue every Saturday morning, and then out to eat treif for lunch.

But even at an early age something was already stirring inside her. She felt a strong bond with the observant principal and teachers in her Conservative Hebrew School, hanging around them soaking up their stories. To her, religious Jews seemed to be on a higher level. Even at such a young age, her desire to connect with religious Jews was so strong that she would dress up in a long skirt and long sleeves whenever she went shopping in the local Orthodox community. No matter how hot the weather, there she would be in her sweater.

When she was 13 and a religious teacher invited the entire class to her house for Shabbas, Shana alone jumped at the chance and spent a beautiful Shabbas with the teacher and her parents.

Shana’s own parents worked long hours, so eating together was a rarity. But this first Shabbas showed Shana that achieving this was within her reach.

Then came the accident.

One rainy Sunday, Shana and her parents stopped at a restaurant so her mother Elaine could make a call on a payphone. As she was about to cross the street to get back into the car, a drunk driver took a curve too fast, jumped the curb and slammed into her mother on the sidewalk. Elaine’s body was thrown 15 feet.

When Shana saw her mother’s distorted body, she said the Shema because it was the only thing she knew. She also made a deal with G-d that if He saved her mother, she would become more observant.

G-d heard her prayers. Inside the restaurant at that very moment was a group of paramedics eating lunch. They immediately ran out and started treating her before the ambulance arrived.

Elaine suffered 12 broken bones and brain trauma and was in a coma for several days. It was a long uphill battle to a full recovery.

For Shana, the commitment she made with G-d solidified her desire to grow in her observance, but to where? She didn’t know how to be observant. So for the next few years during high school she started making whatever small changes she knew about, such as using two sets of dishes at home.

Things picked up in college. As the Rabbis teach, “In the way a man wants to go, Heaven helps him.” (Chullin 7b) On her first day at the University of Michigan, Shana met Naomi, who lived across the hall. Naomi was Orthodox and grew up near the University. On Shana’s first Shabbas in college Naomi invited Shana to go with her to the local Orthodox services on campus, and to her family’s house for Shabbas lunch.

From then on, Shana spent every Shabbas and holiday either at Naomi’s house or one of the other Orthodox families near campus. She began devouring Jewish books and taking courses, and after four years was solidly on the path to being an observant Jew.

Throughout college she worked hard to achieve her other lifelong dream of becoming a doctor. She had a perfect application, a high grade point average, strong performance on her MCATs and research experience.

She was rejected from all 38 medical schools she applied to.

At the last minute she applied to a couple of overseas programs, and in the end was accepted into three programs, all of which happened to be in Israel. So she figured that G-d wanted her to be there, and it proved to be the ideal place to cement her religious commitment.

A few weeks before she left, Shana and I met and we immediately knew we had found our basherts. I had wanted to go to yeshiva in Israel after college, and Shana’s imminent departure to Israel was a perfect excuse to go.

G-d sent one more messenger for Shana after she arrived in Israel. During orientation Shana met Michelle Weissman, who was from New York, was frum from birth and would eventually become her roommate and inseparable bosom buddy. Until that point, almost everything Shana knew about living a Jewish life she learned from books, and living with Michelle brought it down to the practical everyday level.

After we got married and Shana finished medical school, we moved back to NY. Michelle’s parents quickly adopted us as their long lost children and incorporated us into all their family gatherings. The impact of such kindness on a ba’al teshuva cannot be overstated. People who return to Judaism often lack the family and social structure necessary to live and grow as religious Jews, so for someone to adopt them and host them for holidays is essential.

Each of the people and events mentioned here entered Shana’s life at exactly the right moment. This was not a coincidence. It was the hand of G-d. If we take the first steps, G-d will guide us on the rest of the journey.

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 at gmail.com

(published in The Jewish Press March 23, 2007)

In my first column I wrote about the who, what, where, when and how of my journey back to Judaism, but the one question I did not fully answer is why. Answering that question is actually much more challenging than tackling all of the previous ones, because there simply is not enough space in a thousand-word column to mention all the reasons why Orthodox Judaism first attracted me and why it continues to do so.

Why does a Jew raised in a Conservative home, given all the conveniences, freedoms and choices of the modern world, find himself attracted to the seemingly restrictive and old-fashioned framework of Orthodox Judaism?

The Rabbis explain “Turn it [Torah] over and turn it over, because everything is in it.” (Pirke Avot 5:26) The Torah is the ultimate guide to everything. If you look closely enough, everything you need to know and do is contained within it.

For starters, the Torah is the decisive self-help book. The Torah and its Rabbinic commentaries teach people how to avoid anger, overcome poor self esteem, become more generous and beat addictions. It teaches people how to become better parents, better bosses and even how to be nicer to your pets. It contains essential lessons for how to succeed in business, and how to have a fulfilled marriage.

I became religious during college, while majoring in Psychology. As I learned more about Judaism, I realized that most theories of human behavior that modern psychologists have discovered in the last 200 hundred years were actually written down in the Talmud and other Jewish sources as long as two thousand years ago! For instance in 1965 Dr. Martin Seligman coined the theory of Learned Helplessness, as he discovered that a dog will accept even the most painful of situations if it believes there is no escape.

Seligman could have saved himself much work and the dogs much pain simply by looking at Jewish history. The Torah records that when the Jews were slaves in Egypt and G-d sent Moses back to free them, they did not want to hear about it. You would think the Jews would dance in the streets to welcome Moses and then go pack their bags, but they completely rejected him and his message of salvation. Several Rabbis explain that the Jews were suffering so much pain and persecution at the hands of the Egyptians that they had completely given up any hope of freedom. Sounds like the learned helplessness theory that Seligman “discovered” thousands of years later.

Growing up I often heard people lament at the complexity of life and wish they had a guide book for maneuvering through it. We Jews have that instruction manual! It’s called the Torah. The Torah was written by G-d in part as a guide book for us to know how to live our lives. And because He made all of us, He knows exactly what messages we need to hear. G-d knew in advance every event and struggle that the Jewish people collectively and individually would go through, and so He gave us the Torah to provide us direction.

In my Conservative Hebrew School I remember being taught that many of the Jewish commandments and traditions were old, worn-out customs applicable only to another time period. Years later as I started my teshuva journey I learned that nothing could be further from the truth! I finally learned about the eternal relevancy of Judaism and the Torah. Judaism teaches that there is something appropriate to do at every moment of our existence. Every minute presents us with the chance to choose between right and wrong, and shows us how to give our lives more meaning. The Torah’s commandments are practical ways to live our lives, to help us get the most out of this world and achieve our goals.

The American writer Henry David Thoreau wrote “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” American society offers people every possible enjoyment, distraction and physical pleasure, but what are we left with when we’re done? After we’ve run from one pleasure to another, what’s left? We’re always looking for something better and brighter that we can write about to the folks back home. But the majority of people are never satisfied, as they’re always chasing another short-lived goal.

How to solve this problem? Judaism offers the antidote. While other religions believe that one can only become holy by withdrawing from worldly pleasure and living an aesthetic life as a monk high up on a mountain, Judaism teaches that we can become holy in the physical world by elevating everyday activities. I discovered that Judaism offers a way to still enjoy the pleasures of this world, but to dedicate them to a higher purpose. Nearly every enjoyable activity, from eating tasty foods, to even sleeping and shopping, can be used for a spiritual purpose. When we eat food and say a blessing to thank G-d for it and use the energy to help someone else or do a mitzvah, we’ve converted a pure physical need into something holy. If we sleep and then use the energy to learn and teach, we elevate the act to a level far greater than we could ever achieve by sleeping in late on a Sunday morning. Judaism teaches that when we do any action in the right way at the right time, we are living for a higher purpose than just our immediate needs.

For many people, an ideal vacation consists of going to a faraway beach, and spending quality time with family without the distraction of Blackberries and PDAs. But why save up to get such a dream vacation only once a year when you can get it every week? That’s what Shabbas is! Shabbas is a day to unplug from all our everyday distractions and spend time bonding with our families and having long meals with plenty of delicious food. It’s the Day of Rest, so yes, you get points in heaven for sleeping! What an amazing religion we belong to.

There is an endless list of other features of Judaism which first attracted me and continue to do so. Each person that becomes frum has his or her own list of reasons, which we will uncover as we explore amazing stories of other peoples’ teshuva journeys in future issues of this column.

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 at gmail.com

(published in The Jewish Press February 2007)

“Abba, is it time to learn Parsha yet?” asks my four year-old son, as he and his two year-old sister scramble onto the couch, with eager eyes and parsha books in hand. As I begin to read it’s hard not to reflect in amazement how only ten years ago as I began my Teshuva journey I barely knew what Parsha was, and here I am today schepping nachas from my children’s burning desire to learn it.

When I was around my son’s age, I remember going to my grandfather’s house and watching him put on his tefillin each morning. He wasn’t Orthodox, but grew up frum in Europe. When he emigrated to America he continued to put on Tefillin every day and continued to go to shul each Shabbas. Even at such an early age, I remember being enthralled by watching my grandfather put on his tefillin. The sight planted a seed in me that would one day sprout to a burning desire to do the same. Indeed tefillin was one of the first mitzvot that I took on when I started my teshuva journey at age 19. There was another dramatic impact my grandfather had on my life, though it only took place years later, even after he passed away.

There were several other events and people throughout my life that pushed me onto the path towards Orthodox Judaism, and by the time I was finally exposed to it in college, I jumped at the chance. I always knew there had to be more to Judaism than bagels on Sunday morning and some old customs. For Judaism to last for so many years through so many challenges and hardships, there had to be something more to it than I was getting in my Conservative synagogue growing up.

Over my first nineteen years of life I accumulated plenty of questions about our religion, the world and my reason for being here. I finally got the chance to ask all my questions and start getting answers during my sophomore year at Emory University in Atlanta. Atlanta is home to an amazing frum community focused on outreach and personal growth. Any experienced Jewish organization professional knows that free food is the key to getting people to come to an event, and it holds true nowhere better than for reaching cash-starved students on a college campus. Rabbis from the local Kollel run a weekly Pizza lunch-n-learn on campus, and that combined with plenty of Shabbas meals in the nearby community and an assortment of programs from a Chabad family on campus, made the ideal environment for myself and several other students to return to Torah-true Judaism. (Of course there were bumps along the way, but looking back it’s much easier to see it as continuous journey towards an end goal than it must have seemed at the time.)

I’ve always held Sukkot to be the anniversary of the beginning of my Teshuva journey, since one of my first experiences was being invited to a beautiful meal on the first night of Sukkot. When having new baalei teshuva for a meal, families will try to provide a meal soaked in spirituality and enlightened conversations. We came away from that meal not only uplifted from the dinner, but also drenched from the torrential rainstorm that night!

After finally drying out, we continued on throughout the year attending plenty of Shabbas and Yom Tov meals and inspiring classes. I planned to return home for the summer to the Middle of Nowhere, NJ, with the hopes of interning in New York City. As we say, man plans and G-d laughs. Not one of the dozens of companies I sent my resume to or even the handful of interviews that I had led to a job. Where did I end up for the summer? Back in Atlanta. I received an amazing internship at a huge company there, though I don’t recall ever submitting my resume to it! Being able to spend an extra two months in a holy community being immersed in spiritual growth, Torah study and in the company of some true Tzaddikm helped cement my desire to become frum.

When I was 20 I met the woman I would eventually marry. It was actually the second time we met. She grew up in my grandparents’ synagogue, and our grandparents were close friends. My grandmother had long kept an eye on her for me (yes, every grandmother tries to make a match, but hers actually worked!) We had met fours years earlier at a synagogue event before either of us was frum. In the interim we each went to college and became religious, and even though we were hundreds of miles apart, when we finally met again we had grown to the same level of observance.

It’s often said that a person becomes frum in part because of the merits of his or her predecessors. In our case it wasn’t just bygone merits, but active involvement. It was not only my grandmother working to get us to meet, but our grandfathers working upstairs behind the scenes pushing us to become more religious and eventually get together.

Every ba’al teshuva has a different path back to Judaism and a different element which attracted them. I always joked that it was for me it was the free food I would get at peoples’ shabbas tables, but the real draw was Judaism’s infinitely deep intellectual tradition. At seminars and lunch-n-learns I got to debate the creation of the world and evolution, feminism, morality, etc. The discussions were definitely more stimulating and genuine than any course I took in college. Little did I know that those discussions around a pie of pizza would lead to far deeper discussions half a world away learning gemorrah, halacha, etc. in yeshiva in Israel after college and currently in a smicha program in NY.

But the pinnacle of that intellectual pursuit is today learning Torah with my children, and having to figure out clever answers to their probing questions. What truly matters is the knowledge, philosophies and inspirations that we pass on to future generations. And once again it’s our grandfathers helping to push us along, for our Torah-loving son is named in memory of the two of them.

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 at gmail.com

(published in The Jewish Press January 2007)