Frum From Rebirth

A Chassidish Experience

2009-07-31T02:27:00.001-07:00

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."

2009-06-08T08:41:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-06-05T05:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-26T00:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-18T00:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-15T02:16:00.000-07:00

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.

Lag B'Omer

2009-05-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

A post which makes you want to move to Eretz Yisroel, from Shimshonit

When my family and I lived in the States, Lag B’Omer wasn’t much. Everyone knew when it was, because it marked the end of the semi-mourning period of the Omer, after which we could again get haircuts and listen to live music. But beyond that, the experience of the holiday was minimal.

I’ve spent the last three years on Lag B’Omer revising my impressions of the holiday. First of all, living in Israel, it’s a real holiday, with most people not going to work and kids off from school. For weeks beforehand, the battle rages between the yetzer hara (represented by kids stealing everything wood, from yard trimmings to wooden slats off park benches) and the yetzer hatov (in the form of stern warnings against thievery by local rabbis). The week before Lag B’Omer is Fire Safety Week, with schools and ganim making field trips to their local fire stations for tours, photo-ops aboard fire engines, and demonstrations of how to make a "safe" bonfire. And on Erev Lag B’Omer itself, bonfires are alight as soon as it gets dark, in public parks, empty lots, on the edges of vineyards—anywhere with enough open space to set a blaze going. It’s the holiday of the pyrophiliac.

This year was my best experience of Lag B’Omer to date. Our neighborhood in Efrat built its own bonfire in the gravel yard behind the shul. Neighbors came with their young children (the teens were off in a nearby vineyard), bringing potatoes wrapped in foil, niknikim (hot dogs), and marshmallows (disgusting pink strawberry-flavored Israeli ones). One woman brought her accordion and played Israeli songs for half an hour or so. The grade-school kids gathered in a circle and played "telephone" in Hebrew. Adults sat on Keter chairs, catching up during a rare mid-week conversation (until the summer comes and everyone is out around 5 PM standing in the street gabbing until dinnertime). We all came home smelling like a forest fire, and every man, woman, and child (even the baby) were subjected to baths and shampoos, clean sheets, and the smoky laundry relegated to the laundry room.

Why the bonfires? I asked this year. I know Israelis like to live dangerously (just watch them drive), and despite Fire Safety Week leading up to the holiday, firefighters still find themselves dashing from one out-of-control fire to the next on that night. The story goes that Shimon Bar Yochai, a student of Rabbi Akiva during the Bar Kochba rebellion, was so spiritually powerful that he could look at things and they would burst into flame. (I can only imagine what that did to his dinner!) It is in his honor that bonfires are lit (and food is burnt in them for us to enjoy).

Practically speaking, Lag B’Omer in Israel is a gem of a holiday. Melachot are not forbidden, so cooking and driving are permitted, and since this is a country with no Sunday (affectionately known to many here as Shabbat sheni she’baGalut), any holiday where out-of-town friends can get together for a barbeque and not have to sleep over is to be celebrated.

I’ve never enjoyed a Lag B’Omer so much in my life. The father of six who has built the neighborhood fire for 15 years is ready to pass on his shovel to the next cohort of young families, and perhaps my husband and I will take it over next year. So much of this neighborhood and the adjacent one have aged, and so few families with young children have moved in, that one of the other neighbors said he could never have imagined all those years ago that 15 years thence there would still be families with young kids in our neighborhood. But thank God, many families with young children have chosen our little pocket of Efrat to settle in. Like them, I believe we have finally come home. And Lag B’Omer this year only reinforced that feeling of renewal, and of homecoming.

My Bubbe and Zadeh

2009-05-11T08:09:00.000-07:00

There is a particular Psalm that each time I read seems to touch some of my deepest emotions. Each time I read it, within its verses the tears start coming and without foreknowledge my cheeks are wet and I continue reading between chokes and sobs. On one such occasion I was struck with the thought of my grandparents, my Bubbe and Zadeh, what wonderful loving people they were and how much they gave of themselves to their children and grandchildren. I was overwhelmed in that moment at how their Yiddishkite was so apparent in the way that they loved and shared despite their outward assimilation as mainly secular Jews.

My grandparents met after escaping death in WWII. My mother was born in Germany in DP camp, they moved to upstate NY when she was about 2 years old. Over the years like many Jews who moved to the US during this time, their commitment to observing their Yiddishkite waned. Their once kosher home slowly cooked meat that my grandfather brought home from his job as a local but not kosher butcher. They needed to make a new life and by whatever means necessary. While not every Jew that came to the US could tell this same story, it also was not unusual. My mother and her sister, who was born after they moved to Albany, went to the local high school which was in a Jewish neighbourhood but was just your regular American high school with all the trimmings of football, Elvis, convertibles, drive-ins, sneaking cigarettes, immodesty between boys and girls, and the like. It was a new life and they were just glad they made it out alive, to have children and somewhere safe to live. Some things become irrelevant after you are faced with life or death.

While still in high school, my mother ironically enough fell in love with the only non-Jew in the most Jewish fraternity at a prominent university in upstate New York where she and a couple of her friends used to attend parties. My father was from what would have been considered a good, wealthy all-American family. I don’t think it mattered too much to her that he wasn’t Jewish, he looked like the perfect outfit that would recreate her forever. I didn’t think much of my father not being Jewish for many years. I recall as a fairly young teenager asking my mother point blank why she married someone who wasn’t Jewish. It was very innocent, there were no calculations on the question and her answer was also completely uncalculated. She told me,”I knew they would never find me if I married a man with the last name McKay.”

Now this was a very telling answer-in these few words my mother exposed a lifetime of not just fears, but a desire to push away her true identity. Of course she loved my father and they have created one of the best marriages I have ever seen yet this answer was something that I often came back to in my mind for many years.

I have heard that assimilation and intermarriage has actually taken more potential Jewish souls than the Holocaust did 60 years ago. It is silent and deadly. I grew up pretty much completely secular. My brother and I identified with being Jewish and went to Hebrew school but that was about it. In fact my mother put a lot of effort into assimilating us pretty darn good. We went to the most goyish school in our city, lived in the most goyish part of town but much to my mother’s dismay we could not escape being Jewish. It was a double edged sword. She wanted us to identify with being Jewish, this was decided before we were born but she still wanted to make sure “we’d never be found.” It was a little mixed up.

I could not tell you exactly what made me connect so strongly to being Jewish or why I decided some years ago to become Baal Teshuva. I was looking for meaning in my life, to be closer to the Creator and went directly for Judaism. Of course I had dabbled in new age and Eastern philosophy but when I was ready to get serious I only went for being Jewish in the most orthodox way I could find. Needless to say my mother has never been too pleased and my father has been the more openly supportive one in my endeavours. My point isn’t to do an analysis of this awkward situation although I am sure a deep investigation would reveal a plethora of psychological diagnosis. My point is how subtle and subversive assimilation and the aftershocks of the Holocaust really are. I don’t believe that we chose who we fall in love with. There wasn’t anything conscious about my mother’s decision to marry a man who was not Jewish. Perhaps she only realized when her 14 year old daughter asked her what she was thinking, as a 19 year old girl, that she realized that she was scared to identify herself as Jew.

I remember when I was in second grade my mother was asked to come into my private all girls school where I was one of two Jewish girls in the entire school, to come in and make lakes for Chanukah. To the credit of my educators this was an attempt at showing my classmates that diversity exists, I however was completely mortified! The effect was of course a bundle of bewilderment. Perhaps it was my mother’s efforts to not let my brother and I forget that we were Jewish while burying us within a bevy of goyim that ultimately lead me to search for the truth. I really wanted to find myself amidst the confusion.

While I have found richness, depth, answers, and self growth through Judaism not everyone in my situation has had this awakening or opportunity. Our generation is so far removed from the truth of what it means to be Jewish. For some it is forgotten and to others it is buried beneath expectations of a secular world. It is for this reason that our efforts of outreach and outspokenness must continue. For our grandparents and ancestors we must never forget that our true purpose not only for B’nei Israel but all of the nations is redemption and an end to exile forever. The only thing that will give us the tools to accomplish this most difficult task can be found in true Yiddishkite. I will not diminish the importance of practice and mitzvos, but what sticks with me more than anything is the uncompromising love, tolerance, sharing and unparalleled strengthen displayed by my Bubbe and Zadeh and their friends that also survived the war. I am amazed at their lack of bitterness; there is no hate, just a desire to move on and appreciation to be alive. May we see the coming of Mashiach speedily in our days. Amen.

To Be A Jew

2008-12-18T05:11:00.000-08:00

This post is from Matisyahu in NY who talks about the life of a gair tzedek.

For anyone who wishes to share a story or knows someone who might want to leave a post here, please do not hesitate to email us.

"...[God] loves the stranger, giving him food and clothing. You must also show love toward the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt."

(Deut. 10:18-19)

I am a gair, a gair tzedek, a convert, a stranger, a proselyte and most importantly, a Jew.

A convert is a Jew, but there is an obvious distinction; a convert is a Jew, who used to be a gentile.

Something I have found very interesting through out my journey is that goyim generally don’t believe that a convert is a “real Jew”. This is interesting to me because a goy generally doesn’t have the first idea what it means to be a Jew.

Then you have the non-religious Jew (here I am talking Israeli in shorts and flip-flops drinking beer on the beach in Shabbos) who generally feels so far removed from the idea of being religious, that they see a convert as a Jew, they’re living the Torah after all.

Next, we find the irreligious Jew who doesn’t see the convert as a Jew at all, they do not have Jewish heritage, their grandfather didn’t drive them to shul on Shabbos ;) and they did not eat kugel growing up. They can pretend all their lives but they’re not a real Jew.

Of course there are the Jews that think, “wow you want to be like me, it’s so flattering” – rest assured, unless you are the late Rebbe Yoel Teitelbaum, I feel that may be unlikely.

Then you move into the more “religious” circles where a convert is a Jew and received a new soul and is literally reborn, or had a spark inside that is relit and all the many different opinions….

Then there are the religious circles who accept you, love you and include you in everything, except for marrying their kids - their is a nice BT or divorcee I can set you up with anyway...

Obviously amongst all these groups there are varied opinions, G-d forbid I would speak for all Jews/goys so generally as above.

I read recently that Rabbi E Berland of Brelov said:

“There are no 'goyim' converting - that all the holy converts are Jewish somewhere in pshat”

and….

"It is written that the Moshiach ben David will be descended from converts, just as David himself was descended from the convert, Ruth. For only by converts do we find the ultimate mesirut nefesh, a dedication to serving Hashem that stretches back to Avraham. They leave their land, their home, their people: it is not possible for one to imagine the suffering they go through. Rav Yehonason Eybeshitz writes that if one really knew the true worth of the converts, how precious they are to Hashem, he would kiss their every footstep."

I don’t have source I just copied the quotes from an article I read online (sorry). However, all of this goes on to show there is a multitude of ideas.

So all this swims around in the head of the gair tzedek, believe me, you can go round and round with this stuff but eventually you need to make your peace with the concept.

A very wonderful Rabbi once said to me, “Why care what individual Jews think? Worry what HaShem thinks…”

What a goy thinks about a Torah concept isn’t even worth the brainpower, what the irreligious think isn’t based on our holy torah and in the end, it all boils down to HaShem so don’t waste your time with the rest. This is beautiful and something which has stayed with me for a long time.

I am happy to say I am good with who I am and where I have been. Why? Because of Emunah. I know everything comes from HaShem, I know this with pure faith. Therefore, this is exactly what HaShem wanted for me and if other people have a problem with this, that is exactly what it is – their problem.

I want to serve HaShem, I want to serve HaShem in the best possible way a Jew should. I want to raise my children to serve HaShem in joy and happiness. I want to raise my children to fall in love with Torah exactly as I did. I want to help bring the irreligious back to the holy Torah, I want to help people connect to their Yiddishkeit. This is the life I want to lead, I do this through choice.

Of course, once you have been through a sincere orthodox conversion, it’s not a choice any more, you are now commanded to keep these laws, but initially it’s a choice and I think that is admirable.

Obviously, there is a much bigger picture. The admirable bit is over, you have “torn yourself from the filth and come under the wings of the Schechinah” (another quote I don’t have a source for – sorry!) but now you have a lot of work to do. You may have erased previous tikkune, you may have taken on a new soul, your birth parents are no longer your parents, your sister no longer your sister, you may have been told many times what an amazing thing you have done…but:

You have a lot of work to do now. You need to be the best Jew you can be, you have an ego to work on, a lot of study to do. I implore anyone who has willingly joined the ranks of Judaism, not to get caught up in the “how Jewish is an orthodox convert” mind games that the Soton wants us to play. Do not let the odd nasty comment from someone set you back!

A Jew is a Jew, is a Jew, is a Jew and the day that we stop trying to work out who’s the best and start to love everyone for no reason, we’re going to be living in a completely different reality.

From Conversation to Reality: An Aliyah Story

2008-12-02T00:04:00.000-08:00

This is a beautiful post from Shimshonit about making aliyah:

My husband and I met at a one-year program in Israel in our late 20s. He had come to continue his Jewish studies and involvement that had begun in graduate school a few years before. I had come, after a lifetime in a mixed-married household with little or no Judaism, to begin mine. It was my first visit to the country and his second. While neither of us had grown up in Zionist homes, we were both deeply affected by the country, and our time here solidified our Jewish identities and observance.

But it was not yet time to think about aliyah. We were not ready to put that much physical distance between ourselves and our families, nor to contend with the realities of the language, culture shock, the rabbinate (both for my necessary halachic conversion and for our marriage), and finding a community into which to integrate. We were still new to Orthodox Judaism and chose to marry and settle in the U.S. for the foreseeable future.

And yet throughout our marriage, we found ourselves having The Conversation every six months to a year. What about Israel? Is it time yet? Should we think about it? In the first year of our marriage, we took a trip to Israel to visit friends and the country again. The night we were due to leave, we were both in tears—I while packing and he while prowling the aisles of the grocery store buying nosh for the plane trip. This visit, while a great delight to us, drove home the reality that once we began a family and were paying for day school and college tuition, it was likely that we would not be able to visit Israel again until the children were out of the house and financially independent.

Finally, after the birth of our third child, we heard a Bat Kol (voice from heaven). It wasn't the supernatural kind one imagines from the Torah; it was actually embedded in a d'var Torah given by a friend at Kol Nidrei. In his discussion of the expression timhon levav (confusion of the heart) our friend interpreted the phrase to mean "refraining from doing that which you know is right, because it's easier to stick with the status quo." On our walk home that night, we had The Conversation again, and this time decided that it was time to do a little research. (To our relief, Nefesh B'Nefesh had been invented, and this made the whole process much easier for us.)

Within a year, we were on a plane to Israel (plus three kids, three car seats, three carry-ons, and ten boxes of our stuff).

We've been here over two years now (two years in Beit Shemesh, four months in Efrat). Life is not significantly different in the day-to-day sense: my husband still works, I still run the household, the kids go to school and gan and their afternoon activities. We still have Shabbat, hosting or guesting in other people's homes. But here are some crucial differences we have noted in our lives here:

1) The sun shines nearly every day. (Couldn't say that of New England, much as we loved it.)

2) We spend more time together as a family. (Like many people in our neighborhood, my husband works from home and has flexible hours.)

3) The kids know more about Hebrew and Judaism by age 5 than either of us did at 25.

4) We're never hard-up for a kosher place to eat out.

5) We never have to wonder when our next trip to Israel will be.

In America, we sometimes feared we'd seem rather boring if we went on too long in conversation about Israel. Here it's on everyone's mind and lips. We can influence Israel's policies directly by being able to vote here. And we feel as though living here, we are helping to make history (rather than watching it be made). We still have good days, bad days, and days in between, but at the end of each one, none of us would rather be anywhere else.

Testing Times

2008-12-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

A post from Devorah:

It's one of those things that happen.... as soon as you begin to increase in observance, you are tested by Heaven. One example of this is that some people may lose money after giving a large tzedaka donation. This of course is contrary to what we are told - that whatever you give to tzedaka will come back to you, and even more so.

In cases where it happens that the tzedaka donor has been rewarded with a loss of money, it is understandable that the donor would think twice before giving again.

But this is the test! Don't be discouraged, and don't be surprised.

If this has happened to you (and I know quite a few people who have experienced this situation), you must not let it affect your belief. It is a test, just like Avraham received 10 tests, and passed them all, so too are Jews tested when they begin to climb the spiritual ladder.

Give tzedaka again. In fact, give even more. You will then see that your financial situation will improve, maybe not overnight, but in the near future. You were tested, and you passed the test.

Speaking to HaShem

2008-11-30T14:51:00.000-08:00

Please take some time out to watch this video, "Speaking to HaShem" from Rabbi Lazer Brody - it's beautiful.

Can you help the Landons'?

2008-11-26T00:41:00.000-08:00

Dixie Yid has twice circulated emails asking for assistance in the life saving treatment needed for his friends child, I hope this post helps to raise awareness for this problem!

Life Saving Help Needed for Our Friend's Child!

The Landons' child with Neuroblastoma must undergo Antibody treatments at Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York. The treatments must begin immediately and they need a $125,000 deposit in order for the treatment to start. Please Please Please donate to their fund at Chai Lifeline.Donation information can be found at Mrs. Landon's post and at Dixie Yid's original post about their situation.

A Journey into Chassidus

2008-11-20T00:50:00.000-08:00

A Long Beach Chasid takes us on his journey into Chassidus:

My journey to Chassidus is like most Jews in America. I was kiruved by Chabad and that is how Chassidus came into my life.

I went to yeshiva in Israel in 2006 for part of the summer and this connected me strongly to Chassidus over other types of Jewish thought. In Israel I saw all different types of Jews, and all different types of Chasidim. I thought Chabad was the Chasidim and the "Misnagdim" they love to talk about where all the other European Jews.

Once I got to Long Beach and became a student of my Rav I realized that Chassidus is more than Chabad but they play an integral part. My Rav is a Polish Chasid and a follower of one of the last true Tzaddikim, R' Chaskel Besser who is a Radomsker Chasid. May he have a Refuah Shlema. I began to learn all different types of Chassidus with him. Sfas Emes, Shem MiShmuel, Noam Elimelech to name a few. I really latched onto the Sfas Emes and felt a closeness to Ger Chassidus more than any other. My Hebrew is very poor so it is a struggle to learn, because English Seforim are limited to a few besides the Chabad Library of Seforim.

My parents are Lubavitch Baal Teshuvas so I have a closeness to Chabad Chassidus and learn it but I do not limit myself to one area and have yet to find a Rebbe of my own. I don't believe you can be a Chasid without a Rebbe, and if we are speaking about a Chasid in the sense of Pre-Bal Shem Tov terminology I am even farther from that. I have only recently began my journey to Chassidus and Torah Judaism in general, only being Shomer Mitzvos for close to 3 years. I have many years ahead of me, G-d Willing and I hope that my next few years of learning in Yeshiva will strengthen my knowledge of Chassidus, and with Hashems help I will find a Rebbe to call my own. Until then I continue to learn all types of Chassidus with my Rav and my friends.

“Funny, You Don’t Look Jewish”

2008-11-19T10:59:00.000-08:00

“Funny, You Don’t Look Jewish”

Aliza Hausman

Why does everyone stare at me in shul? My hair is furrier, fuzzier and a foot taller than everyone else's. Even among "my people" in the Dominican Republic, I am considered rather pale; but in a crowd of Ashkenazi Jews, people tend to see my measly tan as exotic. My skin color, my hair texture and my facial features all betray my desire to blend in. I only wish I could tell all the gawkers outright that, just two years ago, I was a non-practicing Catholic running around in cleavage-enhancing tank tops and short shorts.

Why do people decide to convert to Judaism? It's a question that converts—especially those of us who don't aesthetically blend in—are asked incessantly over the course of our journey into Judaism. Many people make assumptions: "Oh, she's just doing it to marry a Jew." And for the non-Caucasian convert, the journey is complicated by race and ethnicity. I am Hispanic, a first-generation Dominican-American. I am black, white and Other. But being Jewish is what I identify with most of all, even though people can't see it.

At twelve years old, when I told my Catholic mother that I wanted to be Jewish, she slapped me silly. That was when I found out my family was staunchly anti-Semitic, despite the Star of David I stole from my mother's nightstand. (She also wore a cross, and I'm still not totally sure what it was doing there.)

As the daughter of immigrants, I had only just realized that there were other options outside the mix of Catholicism and Santeria—Spanish voodoo—practiced in my home. Even living in Washington Heights, around the corner from Yeshiva University, I assumed everyone was also Catholic and had little altars at home where their mothers made offerings to saints.

It took a visit from a Holocaust survivor, a trip to Yeshiva University's museum, and one excursion to the local library's religion section, and I was sold. After all, as a child in Sunday school, everyone had drawn Jesus when we were told to draw G‑d, and I had only squiggled my yellow crayon around and said "G‑d is light." The nun was perturbed. But I cringed whenever I heard "in his name we pray," or when I saw all the idols in church.

It wasn't until after college, many non-observant Jewish boyfriends later, that I rediscovered Judaism. My best friend, a sworn atheist, had met a rabbi and gone Orthodox. Instead of freaking out, as many of his friends did, I asked him for books and websites, and when I told my family about it, my sisters said, "Well, great… didn't you always want to be Jewish?"

At the beginning of a religious conversion process, there can be a startling and unexpected chain reaction—a change or loss of friends, a new vocabulary, a new wardrobe and a less than supportive family reaction.

"So, who are you converting for?"

"Um, G‑d."

"No, really? Don't you believe in Jesus?"

"Um, no."

"You're going to hell."

"Um, thanks?"

"I'm sure someone will marry you even though your hair is… nappy."

And then there are those crowds of Jews, who—like some friends and family—simply don't understand who they've encountered in meeting me.

Although the he American mainstream has largely accepted Jews as white, an increasing population of non-Caucasian converts is adding brown, black and yellow to the American Jewish milieu. My Muslim, African-American student, Reggie, break-danced with rabbis at my wedding and discusses Talmud with my husband, a rabbinical student. My aunt, always full of questions about Judaism, loves to tell those around her about her Orthodox Jewish niece. She wonders after speaking with a non-observant Jew, "Why call yourself Jewish if you're not doing anything Jewish?"
Do Jews who negatively react to my skin color forget that they were once slaves in Egypt and strangers in another land?

Sticking out like a sore thumb in your own community — the only dark or different face in the crowd — is the struggling convert's reality. These new Jews are causing ripple effects, perhaps raising the bar as they change how non-Jews look at Judaism and Jewry. The encounters of converts testify to their tenacity and dedication to staying the course, despite absurd and frustrating obstacles.

As more converts from dissimilar backgrounds join the fold, perhaps people will stop gawking at us in shul. If nothing else, it isn't very polite to stare.

Kabbalah Centre

2008-11-18T08:51:00.000-08:00

This is from a lady who began her religious journey in the infamous Kabbalah Centre, experienced positive years there, coming close to HaShem and Torah and now is active in a religious community in America, with view to make aliyah in the near future.

The aim of this blog is to share different journies to Orthodoxy in a forum where people can learn and grow through shared experiences.

Through your studies with the Kabbalah Centre, what do you feel you have gained and how do you feel this interaction has had an impact on your life?

I think it is difficult to summarize, because I gained so much in so many different areas. It's kind of like asking what has life given you so far? It's really not quantifiable. I studied for many years so it is really vast and all encompassing.

The strongest teaching of KC is personal growth and change and I think this is by far the greatest "gain". Never before had I come across such a meaningful and practical system that really worked. From my first class until now I use very simple principles that help me to be a better person. If I am better the world around me is better and we can come one step closer to total unification.

All of the principles we learned are rooted in the Zohar and the Torah and I knew for certain from the beginning that everything I was learning was perfect truth.

Coming from a virtually secular upbringing I had no idea what a tzadik was and I had no concept of living by Torah values. I thought being spiritual was one thing but if you want to work on yourself maybe you go to a shrink, and religion was just a bunch of rituals and people who were blindly lead by books and words commanded by an unknown force. Through my years and experience with KC I have been able to not only clarify but deeply ingrain, transform, give life and bring into my heart what spirituality really means. How to live for what the soul needs instead of the mess and blindness of a material world.

Being close to a tzadik is something few have the zechos (merit) to do. The fact that it happened to me by accident may be exactly why I got so much. By watching tzadakim in action with people, praying and really taking the burden and responsibility of changing the world on their shoulders I now know what it means to truly activate ones potential and be human as the Creator desires for us to be. I have never witnessed such patience or goodness anywhere, ever.

I was always confident in the teachings not only because they came from a direct lineage of Kabbalists, most notably, Rav Yehuda Ashlag author of the Sulam, but because they actually worked and help me to understand the purpose of my existence. It was like having a blueprint of how life really works. The only way to get to where we really need to go is through peeling back the layers no matter how painful. I have gained tremendous inner strength and more importantly a drive to always push myself to the next level.

Being a BT and a Ger

2008-11-15T23:47:00.000-08:00

Pic from http://www.aishdenver.com

When you meet someone who has become observant, they are usually either a Ba’al Teshuva or a Ger. I am both.

I grew up, like much of the current generation, in a relatively assimilated family. It is said that the majority of the Jewish community, outside of orthodoxy, are marrying non-Jews. Some of the non-Jewish spouses convert to Judaism, but since those conversions are generally not done under halachic auspices, the non-Jewish spouses continue not to be considered Jewish. So what has become of the children of these marriages. Obviously, the children of those couples, where the husband is Jewish, are not halachicly Jewish, yet many of them were raised as Jews and believe that they are Jewish.

While doing “kiruv” work on college campuses, I developed several rules of thumb about how to tell whether a student was halachicly Jewish or not, through experience. One of them was by the student’s last name. If the student had a name like Goldberg or Rosenfeld, they were not Jewish. And if the student had a name like Diaz or O’Brian, they were probably Jewish. Intermarriage is so rampant out there that the likelihood is that almost every student has one non-Jewish parent. If they have a Jewish last name, then it is more likely that their father is the Jewish parent, and their mother is not Jewish. Whereas if the student had a non-Jewish last name, then in all likelihood the Jewish parent is probably their mother. Such are the ironies in a world of rampant assimilation.

Growing up, I was of the Goldberg/Rosenfeld variety. My father grew up in a reform Jewish household and my mother grew up belonging to the “Church of Christ” denomination. She married my father and converted to Judaism in their local reform temple. They brought me up Jewish in their reform temple. I was relatively involved in Jewish life as a reform Jew who was not halachicly Jewish. Later in life when I became interested in becoming observant, I learned that I was not considered Jewish according to the Orthodox standards I was learning about. I think that most other Jews, upon learning such news, would be turned off and reject that highly unpleasant message. However, my parents and community taught me to be open-minded towards others’ views, so I accepted that there were differing opinions about my Jewishness.

In addition to the normal hurdles faced by Ba’alei Teshuva, I also had to go through much of the same gauntlet that other Gerim go through because I had to go through a conversion to become Jewish, even though I had always considered myself Jewish until that point. There certainly were some interesting and amusing events that took place during that period when I was getting ready to be megayer, as I was living in all other ways as a frum teenager. One interesting fact, that I only found out about years later, was that there had been a meeting in NCSY’s national administration about whether to let this Shomer Shabbos/Negia/Kol Isha, tzitzis laiden kid who wasn’t Jewish on one of their trips to Israel.

Over the years, I have only met a handful of other Ba’alei Teshuva who had to go through Gerus because of the Jewish status of their mother. Most people are “regular” Ba’alei Teshuva who were always Jewish but became observant. It seems that it must be difficult for people in my situation to find their way back, which is a bit disappointing to me. If there are any of you out there, please comment! Hashem should help all of His children come back to him!

-Dixie Yid (http://dixieyid.blogspot.com)

A Lubavitch Experience

2008-11-13T03:27:00.000-08:00

Mottel is well known for his popular blog which features regular posts in diary format, poetry, creative writing and photography. Definitely a blog to follow!

We often see on your blog your various travels around the world. Can you share with us the purpose of your journeys?

While many assume that I'm some sort of globe crawler -I do in fact live in New York most of the year! The truth remains, however, that I do travel far more often then most people. Nearly sixty years ago the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe established a program, known as Merkos Shlichus, in which Yeshivah students would spend their free time -initially the summer months, and more recently during Passover and the High Holidays, travelling to remote areas that did not have regular contact with the established Jewish communities. The vast majority of the trips I have made are of that nature -visiting various places to rekindle and fan the sparks of the Jewish soul.

I think it would be safe to say that the Lubavitch Rebbe is the leading source of inspiration for you. What led you to the Rebbe's teachings and what has been your journey with Lubavitch from then until now?

The Rebbe is indeed my chief influence -- I grew up in a traditional and very warm Jewish environment, but not one of great observance. Through various family members that were close with Chabad, I became involved, eventually becoming the president of the Jewish Student Union at my High School. After attending a Jewish summer camp I was inspired to join a yeshivah; the rest, as they say, is history.

My journey with Lubavitch has been like the rest of life, with it's up and occasional downs. I feel that it's important for Ba'alie Teshuvah to realize that Judaism is the ultimate truth because G-d is the source of all truth -- the Jewish people, however, are a work in progress. Our commitment must be based on a solid understanding of the Torah and conviction to the truth that we know it to be. That being said, seeing the inspiration of others on Shlichus -- in Chabadhouses and the like -- has been my greatest inspiration.

In your own opinion, what does it mean to be a Chasid?

A chasid is one who committed and strives to follow his Rebbe's teaching to the utmost, thus following the Torah beyond the letter of the law.

Can you share with us an inspirational story from your outreach experiences?

The following story is one that I have published elsewhere , but one that I find particularly inspiring. I feel that too often, we focus on the miracle or the divine providence behind a story -- such stories are fine, but often it is Human connection and shine of the Jewish soul that is so much greater, not the instant gratification of a miraculous event.

Bonding in De Gaulle

My hands, accustomed by years of training, wound the smooth black leather straps of my tefillin as I removed them after completing the morning prayers. My mind, however, was drawn not to the ancient hide that bound my soul to its Creator, but to the swarming crowd around me.

I was nineteen years old and on my first trip abroad, and what better a place to spend a summer than Venice, Italy?

My flight had left New York the previous evening and, save for the boisterous singing of a few French students sporting "I love NYC" t-shirts in the row behind me, had made for a peaceful trip to Paris Charles De Gaulle airport where I was now spending a one hour stopover.

"This is the last boarding call for flight 832 to Bangladesh," came a crackling voice over the loudspeaker... People milled about... A family of five laden with bags and a screaming baby ran to make their flight... A businessman dressed in an expensive suit leisurely perused a paper... Such a vibrant and varied display of humanity could be found here.

Avi, my friend and traveling partner laughed.

"It's funny how people react when you pray in the airport. Some don't seem to notice, others don't get it. But then sometimes a person looks, walks a little bit, and then turns back for a second glance—that's certainly a Jew. Seeing us has somehow touched that person."

A voice from behind us chimed in: "Yeah, to think how many people don't understand that you're laying tefillin."

Avi and I simultaneously turned around. In the row of chairs behind sat the source of the voice—a middle-aged man sporting a blue Hawaiian shirt, shorts and dark shades perched above his forehead, and now pleasantly smiling at us. A moment of silence passed between us as we took each other in.

Three Jews bumping into each other in an international European airport; there had to be some inner meaning behind it all.

"Do you want to put on tefillin yourself?" I finally asked, my voice cracking slightly.

He looked into my eyes for a moment, and then shook his head.
"No..."

He had a story, though.

"I live on a small island off of Florida. Very few people live there, and even fewer Jews. But then there's the rabbi across the street. He's the best neighbor one could ask for. His kids have tzitzit; they're so well behaved... I watch them with pride. But where I'm at in life, I'm not up to putting on tefillin. When I grew up, my grandfather was orthodox; he laid tefillin everyday and then went to his kosher deli. But where I am at now..."

Again he shook his head, and then with a deep sigh he stood up, pulling his travel-bag over his shoulder and stretching slightly. Looking at Avi and me he reached out and placed his large hands on our shoulders.

"Look, we're connected together no matter what. It may not be how you guys want—but when I got off the plane from Miami, my wife asked me where I wanted to sit. I saw you two and said, 'I'm sitting with my boys.'"

He removed his hands and walked towards a lady standing off in the distance, the two of them turned to us, smiled, and then merged into the swarming crowd, seemingly forever lost in the sands of time.

Things felt odd, as if they ought not to have ended this way. After all, I had so many questions that had been left unanswered: Who was he? What he did for a living? Had his grandfather worked in the deli, or only eaten there... I hadn't even asked for his name!

In a perfect world, I told myself, we would have put on tefillin, cried a little, laughed a little, then stayed in touch. Reality had seemed to leave me alone, my tefillin still in my hands, in the center of a swirling mass of travelers.
His last words ran through my mind. "Look we're connected, together, no matter what."

True doing a mitzvah together would have bound us as one, but perhaps he was right, we were connected no matter what. There was the bond of one Jew to his fellow, and, what was more, there was the effect that our very presence in the airport seemed to have on him—hadn't he walked over and initiated a conversation with us? If the tzitzit of his neighbor's children had swayed him to speak to us, then perhaps our conversation with him would bring him to do even more next time!

True I hadn't even asked for his name. Yet somehow, even with out names I know him. He was right, we are connected.

Ashlag Chassidus

2008-11-04T03:16:00.000-08:00

This is a guest post from Shai who grew up in an Ashlag household. Shai is a member of the band A Groyse Metsie who can be found here and here.

** Some of the English is not exact, I haven't edited or adapted Shai's text so as to avoid losing any of the meaning **

Tell us about life growing up in an Ashlag Chasidic household. It is well known that Rov Yehuda Ashlag and Rov Boruch Ashlag both had a strong belief in the Zohar - how did this impact daily life? Do you still feel influence from the teachings of Ashlag Chassidus influence your life today?

I haven't seen too much of the rebbe household, more information about it and a lot more you can find here this is an excellent book about Baal Hasulam and Rabash biography and teachings available online written by Rav Avraham Gotlib, talmid of Rabash and now an Admur for a group of the Rabash ztsl talmidim.

As for my memories from the Rebbe's "Beit Kneset"... I can remember the yeshivot haverim that I was involved in as a kid. It was very happy there and with lots of food and music and l'chaim. The rebbe emphasized that ahavat haverim is the main thing that we must focus on in our spiritiual advancement.

The other thing is the limud that was every morning - no exeption from 2-3 oclock, as most of the talmidim had a workplace and family, the principle was that one should earn money and study Torah outside of his working time.

About the Zohar, Baal Hasulam changed the way for learning zohar and kabbalah, by making it available for every one by his simple yet profound way he explained the basics of kabbalah and core Jewish ideas.

He believed that the time to teach kabbalah at mass scale had come and we must start learning and spreading the wisdom to everyone who is interested to know the real purpose of life.

Yet, the Zohar, even with his perush "HaSulam" is considered as very complicated and beyond our reach at the first stage. Zohar can only be understood after lots of introductions and even then the real meaning can only be understood only when a man has worked on his ego, and doing so by the guidance of kabbalah and pnimiyut hatora.

This is why he treated most of the zohar and kabbalah learners today like people playing with imagination, when they learn it and think they understand, but really getting the whole thing wrong, without the neccessary introductions.

To get into Ashlag world of conception which in my opinion, is neccessary for every Jew who wants to really understand what our religion is all about, nevermind if he is Litai, Chabad, Breslev or Dati Leumi.

It is suggested to start with:

1. Matan Tora - A book that includes a collection of maamarim destined for readers even with no religous background which explains the basics of judaism and kabbalah, without understanding these ideas well no further understanding can be made...

2. Sefer Hahakdamot - Hakdamot for zohar and talmud eser hasfirot. Again explains the basics to understand the real meaning of kabbalah and preventing common misunderstandings.

3. Ptiha Lechochmat Hakabalah

4. Talmud eser sfirot

In my life I am learning the teachings of Ashlag for many years, and surely it is influenced my point of view about everything, I am also trying to follow the parctical way of life the kabbalah teaches.

I do think it is really neccessary that as many people will learn and apply his teachings in their every day life, for the Geula to come.