During my tenure as a congregational rabbi in South Africa I
had the privilege of meeting many lovely Jews of varying levels of knowledge
and observance. To address the needs of the greater community, my shul established
a three-tier learning program for beginners, intermediate, and advanced
students. Our local kollel (comprised of Anglo-Israelis on two-year rotations),
which at the time met in my shul, serviced the intermediate and advanced
students with input from myself and my rabbinic colleagues. Personally, I most
enjoyed teaching the beginners. These were dedicated, mostly middle-aged
individuals who never had an opportunity to properly study the basics of
Judaism. While I worked to inspire them, they consistently inspired me!
The initial focus of the beginners’
curriculum was kashrus, Shabbos, and
the festivals. Nothing gave me more satisfaction than watching my students grow
in their understanding and observance of mitzvos.
I would begin each weekly session with
a quick review of the previous week’s class and invite the group to ask
questions or make comments. At the start of one of our weekly classes dealing
with Shabbos, a middle-aged medical doctor named Howard said, “Rabbi, I drive
to the hospital every Saturday morning, and I usually listen to classical music
on the way. This past Saturday morning I decided not to turn on the radio because it was Shabbos.” A couple of
people snickered, obviously thinking, “How absurd; you’re already driving on Shabbos!”
I complimented the doctor for making
the conscious decision to not turn on the radio in order to honor the holy Shabbos.
I was confident that his small first step would lead him to greater observance
because he now had what I refer to as “Shabbos consciousness.” In my view this
was a classic opportunity for “mitzva goreress
mitzva” (each completed mitzva leads to the next). Eighteen months later, Howard
and his family had embraced Shabbos. His only Shabbos travel was for medical
emergencies.
* * *
Erev Yom Kippur is a
hectic time for most Jews, especially pulpit rabbis. For me, in addition to the
important preparations incumbent upon all of us, there was the additional
pressure of coming up with relevant sermons for a large, widely diverse
congregation, while preparing two critical Yom Kippur appeals: one at Kol Nidrei for our shul and one before
Mussaf for Israel Bonds. That year, one of my beginner students called me at 4 p.m.
on erev Yom Kippur, just a couple of
hours before Kol Nidrei. He said, “Rabbi,
I know this is a very hectic time for you, but I need to see you for just a
couple of minutes – please!”
As any pulpit rabbi knows, “a few
minutes” may become a lot of minutes. Nevertheless, I said, “Mike, come over
now.”
Mike, a very successful businessman,
showed up 10 minutes later. He looked concerned. He said, “Rabbi, I’ve been
pondering what you discussed during the last couple of classes about the High
Holidays. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about teshuva, tefilla, and tzedaka (repentance, prayer, and
charity). I think that both prayer and repentance are impossible to quantify.
Maybe I’ve prayed enough, maybe not! Possibly I’ve repented enough, possibly
not! It’s hard to know because it’s subjective. But then I thought about
charity. That is certainly objectively quantifiable. This morning I contacted
my accountant and asked him to review the exact period between last Yom Kippur
and today. I wanted to know precisely what my personal earnings were and
exactly how much charity I gave during that period. I assumed that I had well
exceeded the minimum standard of 10 percent, but I wanted to be certain. Much
to my surprise and chagrin, it turns out that I only gave a bit over nine
percent. Rabbi, here’s a check for R77,000.” (Note: the “R” stands for rands,
the South African currency.)
Mike went on to explain that the
funds were to be applied to the previous year’s shul budget and that at the
appeal that evening, he would be donating for the year ahead. Mike then said,
“I’m so glad that I investigated my tzedaka.
By making up the difference from last year, I can now stand before G-d
tonight and tomorrow knowing that at least 33 percent of what I’m supposed to
do I did properly.”
Over the years I’ve often been asked
to define the word “frum.” My simple definition
is someone who takes mitzvos seriously. Both of my beginners (Howard and
Mike) struggled with, and embraced, mitzvos seriously. They were, by my
definition, frum. Of course, they
needed to continue to grow – and they each did – because they had a mitzva-consciousness
mindset!
When we casually refer to ourselves
and others as frum, it seems to me
that we need to ask ourselves whether we actually think about, consider, and
struggle with mitzva observance. Unfortunately, for some of us, observing mitzvos
can become a mechanical, non-thinking exercise. For Howard and Mike, each
mitzva was a deeply thoughtful experience that touched their souls.
* * *
Since our shul offered a beginners
(Introduction to Judaism) program, the local beis din decided to require potential converts to join in our
classes. One such man was already calling himself Yaakov. Yaakov, a practicing
lawyer, was a truly righteous convert (a ger
tzedek). Prior to his conversion, he
started attending shul morning and evening. In fact, he would arrive early
before Shacharis to recite tehillim
(psalms) in English since his Hebrew wasn’t yet up to speed. Because Yaakov
arrived so early – he regularly showed up before me and the janitor – I gave
him a key.
The South African beis din has a very high standard for
converts, and the standard conversion program usually takes (at least) three
years to complete. After Yaakov had been in the program for a little over 30
months, he started to dress very “yeshivish.” He grew a full beard and wore only
white shirts and black suits. In addition, he purchased a properly yeshivish
black hat.
One morning a visitor showed up,
looked around, and walked over to Yaakov saying, “Rabbi, can I ask you
something?”
That innocent interaction caused a
couple of my regular “minyanaires” to
ask to see me in my office after davening. The spokesman said, “Rabbi, Yaakov
is a really nice guy, but his decision to dress as a chareidi Jew is a bit much for someone who lives in this
neighborhood and isn’t even yet Jewish! Are you not concerned that he might be
a bit weird?”
I said, “Yes, it is unusual, but
Yaakov isn’t an unstable guy; nevertheless, I will ask him about it.”
The following morning after davening
I asked Yaakov about his wardrobe decision. This is what he said: “Rabbi, I
grew up among anti-Semites. I have heard some awful things that Jew haters say.
I decided to dress like this to be sure that before I go to mikveh, I will be
strong enough within myself to be a proud and fearless Jew who can withstand
insults. During these past months, since I started dressing this way, I have
been cursed at, harassed, and insulted. Nevertheless, it hasn’t shaken my
determination to be a Torah-observant Jew with a mitzva-observant home.”
I hugged Yaakov! I was humbled in
his presence. I called Rav Kurtstag, the av
beis din and said, “Yaakov is more than ready for tevila (immersion in the mikveh).”
Yaakov, married Emunah Rachel
(herself a righteous convert). My wife Arleeta and I were with them under the chupa at their “chareidi” wedding. I was honored to officiate. I wept as I read
their ketuba. They have a beautiful
Jewish home and mitzva-observant children. Yaakov and Emunah Rachel are
involved in every aspect of the Jewish community and are constantly doing chesed. They are both truly frum Jews.
As we approach Rosh Hashanah and
consider the past year – with all of its trials and tribulations – this might
be a good time to ask ourselves, how frum
am I?
