By Rabbi Dovid Kaplan & Rabbi Elimelech Meisels

Read excerpts from The Kiruv Files

:: Introduction
:: They Call It Father’s Day, Not Son’s Day!
:: Shkoiach, Baruch Hashem, and the Blind Hara
:: A Hole in One
:: Read a Book Review by Deiah V'Dibbur

Introduction

A few weeks ago I was approached by a friend of mine who is a teacher in Yeshivas Ohr Somayach's advanced Center program, and his was a pretty straightforward request.

"Eli, would you mind having two guys from the Center over for a meal on Shabbos?"

I cleared the request with my wife, and we settled on Shabbos lunch. Like many local English-speaking families, we have Shabbos guests on a pretty regular basis. On Shabbos morning, when the boys showed up before I arrived home from shul, my wife greeted them and went into the kitchen to prepare the meal, leaving the guests to entertain themselves until I returned.

Perhaps ten minutes after the guests arrived I came home from shul, and we made introductions all around. It turned out they were both named Daniel, which gave us an opening topic for conversation, and then we settled down to eat.

In the course of the conversation, one of the young men, a pleasant twenty-four-year-old named Daniel Lubin, told me his story. He had visited Israel once as a teenager, and though he had a nice time touring the country, he did not look for, nor find, any kind of religious experience. When he was twenty-one, he returned to Israel for another visit, again looking for nothing more than a good time.

After several weeks of picking bananas on a kibbutz and some time touring up north, Daniel decided to spend his last weekend in Jerusalem. He would go to the Western Wall on Friday night and drive down to the Dead Sea on Saturday morning.

He spent his time at the Wall observing the black-hatted Jews praying and un-hatted tourists snapping pictures. After a short time, having nothing more to see, he turned to leave.

He never made it.
Meir Schuster intercepted him. "Do you have anywhere to eat tonight? Would you like to experience a real Shabbos meal?"

Daniel was slightly taken aback, but with nothing more exciting than a slice of pizza on the agenda, he decided to go along with the offer.

At worst, it would be an interesting story to tell his friends when he got back to the States. And if the food was really terrible, he could always get that slice of pizza later.

Schuster hooked him up with another young man, a hulking Australian bartender traveling around the world, and off they went to experience their first taste of gefilte fish.

"Well," Daniel said to me, "that meal changed my life. I had the most incredible time, the food was great, the conversation was really stimulating, and the singing was beautiful. It lasted until one in the morning, and I knew right then that I had to check out this religion business. I had never felt anything was missing, but now I saw how much more there could be to life."

The next morning Daniel went on his trip to the Dead Sea, and with only twenty-four hours remaining in his visit to Israel, he crammed in a few lectures on Torah and Judaism before flying home Sunday evening.

But something had changed.

Although Daniel had returned to America and his college life, now he felt something was missing. He couldn't forget his incredible experience at that Shabbos table in Jerusalem. As soon as he was able, he sought the local Orthodox community for resources that could help him learn more about his heritage. He was thrilled when he found several knowledgeable and dedicated rabbis who could help him explore his roots.

Under their expert tutelage, Daniel found new vistas opening before him, and he took to it like a fish to water. It wasn't long before he became fully observant and was experiencing for himself the thrill of studying in-depth Torah and living as a Torah-true Jew. Daniel longed to attend a yeshivah and study Torah full-time, but he felt it would be prudent to finish college first.

Finally, having obtained his diploma, Daniel was back in Israel, the place where his adventure had begun three years before, and the circle was now complete.

Almost.

I had listened to the tale with interest and admiration, and now that he had finished, I had only one comment.

I said, "I didn't know Meir Schuster had people over to his own house for meals. I thought he usually sent them to other families. It's interesting that you had the good luck to eat in Schuster's own home."

Daniel said, "No, you misunderstood. I didn't eat with Schuster. He sent me to an American family for the meal."

"Oh, I see. Do you happen to remember who it was?"

"Yes, I do," said Daniel.

"Really? What is their name? I wonder if I know them."

Instead of answering, Daniel pointed at the table.

I looked at him in puzzlement. "What do you mean? Was it someone in this building?"
He nodded.

I started to list the names of my American neighbors.
He shook his head and said, "No, it was in this apartment."

I said, "Really? What a coincidence. Who lived in this apartment three years ago?"

Daniel just smiled.

Well, slow I may be, but finally I caught on. We had been living in this apartment for almost seven years.

"You mean you ate here?"

Daniel nodded.

"Here, with us?"
"Yep!"
"You mean you knew all along? You set up this meal?"

"That's right. I've been wanting to return here for the past three years. And that's why I bought you this little gift. I remembered that we made a l'chaim, and you didn't have shot glasses, so I bought you this decanter set to say thank you-for the meal and, well, for everything!"

Now the circle really was complete.
For the first time in a very long while, I was truly speechless. But, to be honest, there was no need for speeches. I just sat there and soaked it in, stunned and happy that I, and my family, had made such a difference in another Jew's life. And with such a small effort.

And that is the real reason I am telling you this story. Not to boast about our wonderful Shabbos meals; if there's anything wonderful about them, the credit goes to my wife, not me. And not just to share an entertaining story either.

I tell you this story because it shows how each and every one of us, professional kiruv worker or not, has the ability to utterly change the world. And it does not require tremendous exertion either, but a minimum of effort. How difficult is it to have a guest over on Shabbos and drink a l'chaim together?

And if we have the ability to change another Jew's life, then we have the obligation to do so.

That is the point of the story and the primary purpose of this book to show the "average" frum Jew that what he is, and the way he lives, are all he needs to spread the word of Hashem.
It needn't be through a brilliant Torah lecture or a subtle deconstruction of Darwin's theory of evolution. It could be a Shabbos meal or a kind word. It could be an act of integrity or a helping hand. That is all we really need to make a kiddush Hashem.

The most amazing thing about this is that we may never know the results of a seemingly insignificant action. Had Daniel Lubin not made a point of returning to our house, we would probably never have known what we had helped achieve, and we would never have gotten the chizuk and the boost that we did.

I had always claimed that one does not need to be a great scholar nor a trained kiruv expert to make someone frum. Thanks to Daniel Lubin and a "chance" encounter, now I have the proof that this is true.

They Call It Father’s Day, Not Son’s Day!

A well-known kiruv personality often asks his class the following question, and I’ve borrowed the technique from him and found it to be effective.

He says to a roomful of ba’alei teshuvah, “Imagine today is Father’sDay. What would you get your father as a present?”

Invariably some ninety percent will answer, “A book on Judaism.” The specific book ranges from scholarly volumes to halachic tomes, sometimes philosophy or chassidic books, but it’s always something for the betterment of their dad’s soul.

After the poll, the teacher admonishes the boys. “What if your dad is into ancient Chinese history? Would you like it if he bought you a great big book on China for your birthday? The Influence of Reflective Taoism upon Early Pagodan Architecture.

“You’d hate it, even if it was released by China’s ArtScroll with a convenient English translation. Well, that’s about how much he wants to read How to Legally Separate Cucumbers from Tomatoes on Shabbos and the High Holidays. It may be fascinating to you, but it isn’t fascinating to him.”

If members of your family have expressed an interest in aspects of Judaism, then by all means you can discuss theology, lend them books on Judaism, and bring them to Torah classes. But until then, pushing what they see as superstitious, medieval practices will only be counterpro-ductive.

Bottom line: Don’t impose your interests on your family.

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Shkoiach, Baruch Hashem, and the Blind Hara

I think every passport should have a stamp that says, BEWARE OF YESHIVISH EXPRESSIONS. This way freshly minted ba’alei teshuvah will see the stamp on their way home to visit their parents and will be re-minded to avoid using yeshivish lingo.

One mother lamented to me, “He used to say thank you. Now he responds in Aramaic.”

There is a tendency for frum people to overuse expressions such as “im yirtzeh Hashem,” “b’ezras Hashem,” and the like. This can get annoying even to other frum people, but to the family of a ba’al teshuvah, it is positively mystifying. One person wanted to know what on earth the “blind hara” was, and did only people with large families do it?

Sometimes ba’alei teshuvah, because of their fear of not fitting into the community, adopt the frum lingo and take it to extremes.

An example:

“Hi, good morning, how are you?”

“Ah, bli ayin hara.”

“Are you going to yeshivah this morning?”

“Bli neder.”

“Are you planning to speak in a language other than Hebrew and Ar-amaic?”

“Im yirtzeh Hashem.”

This is a big mistake on the part of the ba’al teshuvah. It can really put off his parents. They reluctantly send their son to yeshivah, and then he comes home speaking only Hebrew and Aramaic. It’s frightening to them. What happened to their articulate Ivy Leaguer? He sounds like a foreigner.

A rabbi in America related that when his daughter came home from seminary she was constantly saying “baruch Hashem.” It was beginning to grate on everyone’s nerves. Finally he told her, “Look, Rav Moshe Feinstein is a big tzaddik. He doesn’t say ‘baruch Hashem’ in every sentence. You don’t have to either.

I am not putting down the practice when used appropriately. It is definitely a sign of eidelkeit in speech, but please, there’s a limit.”

Personally I’ve decided not to use these expressions unless the situ-ation really calls for it, blind neder.

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A colleague of mine in Ohr Somayach told me that a young man asked him how he should act when he goes home to visit.

The rabbi said, “Make sure you play golf with your father.”

“But, Rabbi, I hate golf.”

“But your father likes golf, right? So the best thing you can do is play golf with him.”

The kid was home for a couple of weeks and played golf with his father every day, detesting every minute of it. When he was about to board the plane back to Israel, his father said, “You know, Mike, I respect you.”

Now that’s kiruv.

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