A Chassidish Experience

From Yisroel @ rebbestories.blogspot.com


Just to introduce myself, I'm a ba'al teshuva who stumbled upon chassidus a few years ago while visiting Lakewood. Yes, a funny place, although many groups seem to have representation there these days. I had made a new friend, and he took out time to learn with me once a week. This had been my first time learning since yeshiva, which I attended up until eighth grade. He invited me to Lakewood for a shabbos, and guaranteed that it would be special. We walked to a local shtiebel, and from the first utterance of "lechu neranena," I was transported. We were amongst chassidim mostly, with a few yeshivisha guys thrown in. Previously, I had known conservative shuls, modern orthodox shuls, and even a couple of Litvish shuls, so never before had I even really heard people saying the words of the davening out loud. But here, not only were they saying the words out loud, they were exclaiming the words! Each person was singing the tefilah in his own way with all of his energy, from beginning to end. I had never heard such sweet sounds before. It caused me to look into my own siddur, and actually begin davening myself. When we got to lecha dodi I felt as if I had come home. This niggun, sung with great intensity, moved me to the heights of ecstasy. Even the young children sang. I asked my friend after the davening what type of "song" this was. He said, "this is a typical Jewish niggun amongst chassidim." To think that there were more like this, and that this was how people prayed.

But before I get carried away, the point I'd like to make is that the type of davening that I experienced amongst chassidim led me to go out and buy an Artscroll siddur, and start to examine the peirush hamilim, the meaning of the words. I had never cared enough before to do this, but I knew now that surely the tefillah was the highest level of truth, and would have to be closely examined and learned, word for word.

For the past three years or so I have been visiting chassidic communities, a little here and a little there. I go for shabbos and I go for tischen. I go to communities such as Satmar, Skver, Stolin, Bobov, Belz and Chabad. Lately, I have begun learning chassidishe seforim, as well, starting with Meor Einayim.

"An amazing journey, so far."

Please enjoy this post from Tuvia

This past weekend I was attending Shabbat morning services at a Chabad House just outside of Philadelphia and one man during kiddish gave a D’var Torah. He talked about how you are supposed to make everyone feel welcome when they first come to your shul, and how you are not supposed to make them feel unwelcome. The entire time during the D’var it kept making me think back to where I was just a few years ago.

When I was in college every Friday night I went to services at Hillel. After college I kind of stopped going, and I think part of the reason I no longer had people to go to services with. Granted I knew students who still attended Hillel, however it felt awkward for me to still attend services there after I graduated. Due to this I chose the wrong answer, and just stopped going, but I knew something was missing.

About a year later I moved and noticed there was a Shul in town. I decided why not, let me check it out, and see how it goes, because I wanted to start going to services again. I walked in there (by myself), and didn’t know a single one of the other 6 people in there. Although there wasn’t a minyan they still continued on with the services as normal. The whole time I was there I just couldn’t help but feel out of place. Was it because the group was so small? Was it because there was no one there I knew? Was it because this was the first time I was at a service with a female leading since HS? Not sure, but again I chose the wrong answer and stopped going.

The other uncomfortable thing was at the end someone came up to me and asked if I had a place for Shabbat dinner. It sounds like a nice gesture, however the way it was phrased it was more like a please say no type of question. It wasn’t very welcoming of an invite at all, so of course I said no.


Although I wasn’t going to services I still felt very passionate about my Judaism. I started doing more and more things that I hadn’t done as a kid. I was fasting on Yom Kippur, I was keeping Passover. A lot of those things might seem normal, but for years I didn’t do them. I was not doing things like that, I just wasn’t going to Shul.

A couple of years ago I not only was keeping Passover, I even went out and got Passover dishes. Now granted I didn’t get two sets of Passover dishes because at the time I wasn’t really thinking about keeping kosher, but I still got the second set. I got the utensils, the pots, the pans, the baking dishes, everything, but only 1 set of everything.

A couple years ago during Passover my dad wanted to do dinner one night, but he doesn’t keep Passover as strongly as I did, so I insisted that he came over to my place. I prepared the meal using my Passover set, and to me this made me happy. I was doing something that spiritually felt right, and I was able to enjoy it with my family. What more could I ask for?

Toward the end of last summer, I met a girl on J-Date who wasn’t in the same boat as me, but our paths were able to compliment each other, and we were able to help each other grow. She enjoyed going to Friday night services, and when we made plans one Friday she told me, this is the only Friday because she hates skipping services. All of a sudden this clicked with me, “hey wait a second I remember that feeling, I loved going to services on Friday nights.”

After this point we started making some plans to go occasionally to Friday night services together. We started out going to a conservative shul and then eventually an Orthodox community.
The first time we walked into the orthodox shul we were greeted immediately. There were so many nice people that just wanted to say hi and make us feel welcomed. At the end the Rabbi came up to us and insisted we let him know ahead of time before we come for services next time and he will set us up for Shabbat dinner. This was not the blank please say no type of offer, it was a legitimate offer.

This community has been so welcoming and so understanding of everything since that first night we walked in. They are all so understanding of everything and willing to help us grow at our own rate however we feel comfortable. In the past six months we have probably spent Shabbat in this community 20 times and we have yet to duplicate a family welcoming us to their house for Shabbat dinner. The more we come the more people want to have us over. It truly has been an amazing journey so far.

Do you have a story to share?

If you do then email us! We are always interested to hear new stories and ideas. frumfromrebirth (at) gmail dot com

Q and A with Yosef Robinson

Yosef Robinson

What was your first experience with Judasim?

Interestingly, my first "experience" with Judaism or with Jewish people did not resonate with me at all. When my parents came to the United States my mother worked for a lovely Jewish family. She even kept a picture of that family with their children in our home and it was that picture that I saw on a daily basis. In fact, my siblings and I were able to come to the U.S. only because this Jewish family agreed to sponsor my family in this country.

My second contact with Judaism was when I was thirteen years old and I worked as a delivery boy for a kosher grocery store in Brooklyn. Since growing up in Jamaica was a unique cultural experience untainted with`racial or religious prejudice, I had formed no previous conceptions about Jews. As a result, the kosher grocery experience left no impression on me one way or the other. Finally, it was only when I "randomly" walked into a bookstore asking for a Bible and received a Hirsch English edition of the Chumash instead, that I began my fundamental connection to yidishkeit.

Tell us about the study necessary for your geyrus.

My geirus studies program took about two-and-a-half years to complete and centered on the weekly parsha, the halachos of shabbos, kashrus,and the taryag mitzvos.

Which community did you chose and why?

Well, I was living in the North Hollywood section of Los Angeles and it was ideal for me to join Shaarei Tzedek, a shul under the leadership of Rabbi Tendler.

How is shidduchim within the frum world for a black Jew?

Currently, I'm focused on my parnassah and professional endeavors, such as the memoir I'm writing and my speaking engagements, so I haven't really experienced the frum dating scene. I am looking forward to it and if there's a very special someone out there....I would add, though, that there's clearly an elephant in the room when it comes to the question of dating. The fact that I'm asked that question so frequently does indicate the existence of some bias. In any event, I'll certainly be able to discuss the issue more insightfully as I begin to date more frequently.

What was the reaction of your friends and family?

When I decided to convert, my friends thought I went off the deep end and my family tended to agree with them. After realizing that my decision was a serious, life-long commitment, however, I did garner the respect of those closest to me.

What is your current study schedule like?

I have a chavrusah with whom I learn mishna berurah, I learn parsha and mussar almost daily, and I hope to begin venturing into the sea of Talmud quite shortly.

What is your message to potential gairim, of any colour or background?

My message to geirim is that if one is seeking spirituality, Judaism, practiced correctly, is the ideal vehicle for achieving that aim. I personally find it meaningful and fulfilling, but once you come aboard, keep in mind that while the Torah is flawless people are not.

Lag Ba'Omer in Mear Sharim

A lag B'Omer experience, shared by Shearim

B"H

Bonfires are the great mystical tradition on Lag Ba'Omer. The day is the Yahrzeit of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai and it is the day when the plague among the students of Rabbi Akiva stopped. Most Haredim from Bnei Brak went to Meron in northern Israel, to the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai.
It is said that 400,000 people went to Meron before Lag Ba'Omer. I didn't even try because what can you see when there are such crowds ? And the women ? They are somewhere in the back anyway. Saying Tehillim (Psalms) and that's it. Instead, I went to Jerusalem and my destination was Mea Shearim.

In Mea Shearim I usually first start reading the Fakshivilim (news posters) glued on the walls. The anti – Zionist umbrella organization "Edah HaCharedit" had placed another ban on the state – owned Egged busses. Reason: Egged works on Shabbat. Furthermore, the buses are not kosher, as men and women sit together.

On Erev Lag Ba'Omer, Jerusalem was burning everywhere. The bonfires are very popular and the religious have been collecting wood for the whole week. The local soccer club "Beitar Yerushalaim" had a huge pop concert in Sacher Park. Beitar owner, the controversial Russian Israel Billionaire Arcadi Gaydamak, had sponsored the event and thousands of Beitar fans showed up. The music could be heard until the Machane Yehudah Market.In Mea Shearim is was relatively quiet.

The first destination was "Kikar Supnik" in Strauss Street where the anti – Zionist chassidic group where Chassidut Dushinsky has its boy's school. They had lit a bonfire right in front of the school but the music was so bad. Their singer wasn't really tuned and it was anything but a pleasure listening to him. They should have thrown in a CD or played something better. However, the Chassidim were dancing and the women were standing further in the back. It was nice but the music wasn't.

Second destination: Yoel Street in Mea Shearim and not too far away from Supnik.

The Satmarer Chassidim had their bonfire but at that time, at about 10.30 pm, there wasn't too much of it left. Not many Chassidim were there, as everyone seemed to be in Meron. It was full of women and children. The Satmarer Beit Midrash in Yoel Street belongs to the followers of Rebbe Zalman Leib Teitelbaum. Only a few meters further away was the next bonfire and great chassidic music could be heard. And where there is great music, there is Karlin – Stolin. The Karliner had a great atmosphere and a nice bonfire. Their Chassidim were dancing enthusiastically and some Breslovers and national religious joined. It was the best atmosphere in Mea Shearim. Only 15m further away, the next bonfire was lit by litvishe Haredim. The fire went wild and all of us thought that the whole thing might explode. People escaped from the rising flames but everything went okay.

The Toldot Aharon Rebbe had taken his Chassidim to Meron and is just coming back today. I am sure that their women were glad that the men were gone. At least it gave them a little break. Laundry was hanging outside and normally hanging out laundry on Lag ba'Omer is a disaster. But it was quiet in the Toldot Aharon backyard and the laundry was not in a smoky danger.
At midnight, the Mea Shearim market was extremely quiet. People were in the streets but no more bonfires. Nevertheless, I found one still burning. On the rooftop of the "Torah ve'Yirah" – Synagogue of the Neturei Karta. I saw a Neturei Karta Chassid cutting the hair of a little boy.

Cutting the hair for the first time of three year old boys is a mystical tradition on Lag Ba'Omer.

And: A litvishe guy invited me into the local Synagogue in the Mea Shearim market. I had already spied through the windows and saw one of the most beautiful synagogues. Eastern European style, with drawings on the ceiling and chandeliers. It was incredible. After his invitation I entered the Ezrat Nashim (women's section) but was disappointed. A curtain as Mechitzah hindered me from having a great view into the beautiful men's section. The Ezrat Nashim was kept rather plain. But I will be back for a Synagogue service.

All in all, I enjoyed myself very much !

Take me to your Rebbe

This a piece from Shmuel in NY.

The concept of a Rebbe is something you either connect with and understand or think is a bit insane. I am writing here only to express my own experience and point of view.

A famous moshul says:

"A violinist played such beautiful melodies that all who heard the music began to dance. A deaf man who happened to pass by could not understand why the people were behaving with such abandon.

The opponents to Hasidim do not hear the 'melodies' either, and wonder sometimes at the behaviour of the Hasidim."

As someone with a great love for Chassidus who is finally beginning to find his footing in that world, this post will not reflect the opinion of the born Chusid or the even the Chusid who has been living within one group for a long time. I am writing as someone making their way into Chassidus.

The circles in which I mix are predominately those of Satmar and yet I do greatly enjoy visiting many communities and Rebbes. Probably the best Tish I attended in a long time was that of the Kretchnif Rebbe of Williamsburg.

Before embarking on this journey, I spoke to many people who had already arrived at their destination for advice. On enquiring about finding ones Rebbe, this was one piece of advice I received:

Step one is to focus on your learning.

Step two is to find a kehilla where you can daven and daven very well.

Shopping for a Rebbe & chassidus is long and complicated. It takes time and patience

Finding a rebbe-- not so important right now.

This clearly shows that contrary to popular belief a Rebbe is not someone on a pedestal, someone “worshiped” but a necessary part to life which falls into place when ones avoidas HaShem are the main focus.

So clearly, I haven’t found my home yet and in the mean time, I do a fair amount of “Rebbe hopping”.

So the main question is, what do I get from these experiences?

A Rebbe is someone who has dedicated himself to avoidas HaShem above and beyond what is seen as “normal” and who is tied to an illustrious lineage of tzadikim.

Davening with a Rebbe means being witness to kavannah, love and fear of HaShem of the highest level. It also means seeing someone who has spent their whole life watching tzadikim of the previous generation (ie previous Rebbe, their father/uncle etc).

To grab a glimpse of this and to beg HaShem to hear your prayers in the merit of someone so righteous is a powerful experience, something you feel, as opposed to understand.

Meeting the Rebbe one to one for Brocha is another phenomenal experience. Recently I took a young guy of 15 who is becoming frum to meet a well know Mear Sharim Rebbe. The Rebbe speaks Yiddish and the boy English, the boy also has long hair and a slightly “hippie” dress sense.

The Rebbe’s ahavas Yisroel shone through and he was so happy to see this young boy in front of him, a boy who lives in a completely different world to the Rebbe.

Looking into the eyes of the Rebbe and receiving that brocha is to have someone who has earned closeness to HaShem, through nullification of his will to His, davening just for you – not something, one can experience everyday.

From these experiences I feel as though I am lifted to a platform I couldn’t reach myself and fuelled with a fire that will drive me to do everything in my means to come closer to my G-d and redeemer.

I won’t pretend it’s always so civilised and many a time I have been crushed in a crowd and held up only by my surrounding friends, as everyone surges forward. In these moments, I sometimes think that anyone looking in right at this moment may find this a little odd. It either works for you, or it doesn’t.

I think it is important to note that I don’t think one reaches such high levels purely on order of birth. Not every king is a good king but this not the point of this piece.

Although there is so much to say on this subject, it’s always best to keep things short. I hope this offers a small insight into my own experience.

Tales of a Reform Flunky

A great post from Chaviva

Three years and a few weeks ago, I converted to Judaism. Wait, let me rephrase. Three years and a few weeks ago, I converted to Judaism through the auspices of the Reform Movement in Lincoln, Nebraska. Yes, there are Jews in Nebraska. And no, I didn't know a single one of them when I discovered Judaism and began my journey in the Spring of 2003. I studied for several years, both on my own and with a rabbi, met with a beth din of three, and dipped in the mikvah (twice, due to rabbinical error). There was a ceremony at the shul, my mother came and my friends came, there was singing and food, and it was at that moment that I was sure I had arrived. At last, I was Jewish. I had the certificate to prove it. Yes, there was some white out because of a confusion about whether the document needed the location of shul attendance and rabbi or the location of the mikvah/beth din, but it was done. Finalized.

Boy was I wrong. That wasn't the end, it was the beginning. Everyone kept telling me that it would be the beginning of a journey, not the end, but I couldn't help but feel like I'd accomplished something big and now it was time to kick back and enjoy the fruits of my labors. Instead, I've spent the past three years trying to figure out where I really belong. I've analyzed and explored academically, spiritually, and emotionally every facet of Judaism imaginable (except kabbalah, that is), trying to figure out how I intend to do Judaism. In Lincoln, Nebraska, there were two shuls: one Reform, one Conservative. My options were limited and what I read in books was a cerebral look at the spiritual depth that was out there, a depth that I could neither reach nor comprehend from a distance.

When I moved from Nebraska to Washington D.C. just weeks after my conversion, I tried to find myself in the Reform community there without luck. I had entered a void where I could only crawl into myself, sit in coffee shops and study the parshah weekly, blogging my notes and explanations of the how and why of the Torah. I'd decided that labels weren't important and that I was somewhere in between everything. I wanted more, but I didn't know what that more was. I wanted Shabbat, I wanted meals, I wanted community, I wanted learning and discussion, didn't I? So when I moved from Washington D.C. a year later to Chicago, I decided to do some looking. I joined a Reform synagogue, mostly so I'd have some place to go for high holiday services, but also because I needed to belong to something. That's why I'd felt so at home in Judaism -- I finally
belonged somewhere. The square peg finally had a properly suited hole!

But the synagogue disappointed me weekend after weekend. People were disinterested and I began dwelling on the void these people emanated instead of the one I felt. What I saw in the congregation and the rabbi was an emptiness. Whether a song or a prayer or a simcha, there was no emotion. It was artificial. It was like G-d was holding up a camera, snapping picture after picture, trying hard to get a candid photo of passion, and without saying "say cheese!" he was getting frame after frame of instant, fake-plastered smiles.

So I dropped out of Reform shul. I abandoned the movement that had brought me into Judaism because the more I did Reform, the less it did for me. The harder I pulled, the harder it pushed. It was a losing battle, so I put up the white flag, and I walked away. I became a Reform school dropout.

I've spent the better part of the past few years reading books and blogs trying to get a handle on where Judaism is going. I'm an academically minded person, and first and foremost I see things through a practical, cerebral lens. My approach to life is to figure out the facts, to examine the data, to really get into the meat of things so that I can hold my own in an argument if need be, and in Judaism, there is always discourse. I started with Conservative Judaism, which I knew quite a bit about already. I checked out a few books on what the movement was about, where it was going, and why it was suffering. The more I read, the more I wanted to meet the people, to see if I could fit that Judaism, because in essence, where I was emotionally and spiritually was on par with the essential tenets of Conservative Judaism. At least, on paper. What I discovered was that things on paper don't always pan out in real life and after attending a Conservative shul for many months I was left with that same feeling of emptiness from the congregation. People were confused, unsettled, frustrated, torn between how they grew up and how they want to live, or how they should live, or how other people think they should live. Talk about an internal struggle. That struggle wasn't part of who I was or where I was going. The confusion I found in my experience left me wanting even more. So?

Just before Pesach last year, I decided to go to an Orthodox shul. It was completely on a whim and against my "read up on it first" tendencies. But to be honest there isn't much written on the Orthodox movement from a standpoint of academia. Thus, what I knew about Orthodoxy was that it was stringent on halakah, the binding word of G-d. G-d gave the Torah at Sinai. Shabbat was essential. Family purity was essential. Being holy, it was essential. The funny thing was that the whole time I was searching and reading and being all academic, I knew that I'd end up at the steps of an Orthodox shul. All those things that define what Orthodoxy is were things I had clung to for many years. I have a vivid image of myself standing at Sinai during the giving of the Torah, and it may sound delusional, but I'm being completely honest with you here. I have no doubt in my mind that it was given at Sinai. It was getting to the shul that was the problem. I was more worried about what the people would think of me, this Reform school dropout who, technically according to halakot, was not Jewish at all. A girl who could be called a goy at any given point. A girl who, despite her Ashkenaz look and magen david necklace, was nothing more than a Reform flunky. I was the girl who people said, "Wait, you weren't born Jewish?" So eventually, my neshama got the best of me. And when my neshama is hungry, it has to be fed, and boy did it want more Judaism. So I went to that Orthodox shul, and I haven't looked back.

Now, I'm meeting with an Orthodox rabbi in Connecticut, working on going through a conversion under the auspices of the Rabbinical Council of America, the Orthodox branch that does conversions. I'm shomer shabbos, shomer kashrut in the home and working on it every day, I delight in wearing skirts (bike shorts are a G-d send, and this means no more battles with jeans, hooray!), and my week is not complete without challah and havdalah. Everything I do, I do with a complete awareness of the world around me, and I'm viewing my life and everything from the mundane to the extraordinary through an observant Jewish lens.

I'm light years away from where I was six years ago when I thought I knew where I belonged in the Jewish spectrum, when I was sure I knew how I would do Judaism indefinitely. And I know, without a doubt, that the moment I emerge from the mikvah after my Orthodox conversion, I'll feel a sense of accomplisment, like I've finally arrived (again) and that I can kick back and relax.

But this time, I'm more aware that it's a process that never ends. It's beginning after beginning after beginning. There is no kicking back or settling. There's no still frame of me in time, but rather, a moving picture of me doing observant Judaism. It's a lifetime devotion to learning, loving, and living Judaism. It's my neshama finding its way home.