The Sacrifices of Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur is the Super Bowl Sunday of Jewish Holidays - even people who aren't regulars or aren't affiliated in any way come to services on Yom Kippur. Which is probably the worst idea - their one exposure to Judaism is a day of fasting, boring prayer, no sexual activity, and more boring prayer. No wonder they don't come back for a whole year.

So how can one use this opportunity to give people an interesting and meaningful experience, something that might inspire them to come back again or to explore more about this thing in their life called Judaism? We decided that we would run explanatory services for Yom Kippur night. They would be the same, traditional services that we all know and love, but with explanations - not just the meaning of the words, but why we say them, what intentions then connote and how they're relevant to our personal lives.

With help from Joan and Michael G. (and NJOP's slogan) we made these really cool palm cards.

Thanks to Matt, ArielF, and others, we gave out nearly 500 of them on Locust Walk during the week leading up to YK. Of course, Hillel neglected to include us on their banner/informational flyers listing all the services, so we had to do all the advertising ourselves. Then Danny and I set to work planning out what we would say, how we would lead the services, and how it would actually happen. It took a bit of work, reading, thinking, talking with R' Lynn, and discussing, but after much planning, we were ready. I asked some people from the OCP to come - to lend their voices, to be another body, and to be a friendly and helping face for the unfamiliar people who came. Understandably, many turned down the offer - "Hart, this sounds great. But it's Yom Kippur, I can't give up my own Yom Kippur davening for this".

And so, Yom Kippur night, as everyone headed to their respective services, I headed to the 3rd floor of Hillel/Steinhardt Hall. We had piles of transliterated interlinear machzorim, piles of kippot, and sheets of reading materials. And people began to come. Some were OCP people who volunteered to help out or who wanted to experience it themselves. Some were people I had recently had over at one of my Shabbat dinners. And some were strangers, people I'd never, or barely ever seen before. By the end, there were over 50 people (although surprisingly many more guys than girls - anyone wanna venture a guess why?). We started by breaking into discussion groups, setting a comfortable stage before filing back into seats for the actual prayers. And as I started leading Kol Nidre, I couldn't help but notice the request we sing 3 times right before we start "אני מתירים להתפלל עם העברינים" - "we grant permission to pray with the sinners". What? Before the holiest of days we take a moment to welcome in all pray-ers, even the sinners among us? In some ways, it addresses all of us for we all have sinned, or as some translators prefer, we are all ephemeral. But the liturgy clearly does go out of its way, basing itself on a gemara which says that any public day of fasting and prayer that doesn't include the full gamut of practitioners of Judaism, doesn't count. Why? Because as we approach God on the day of Judgment and we work to rebuild our commitment and intimacy with Him, we are coming as part of God's people. And God's people includes all of His people, not just you or the people you like, but all who are part of our family, whether they play the part or not. And for God to show His love for us, should not we first show our love for our fellow brethren (and that doesn't just mean our roommates or siblings with whom we've fought). And so, especially on the Holiest day, we come to God with everything we got, and specifically call out and invite in those who might not have been in synagogue in a year.

With that spirit in mind, we went into the prayers. There were some meditations, some group singing, some role-playing, and some good old praying. At the end, people came up to us and told us this was their most meaningful davening in recent memory, or in their 4 years at Penn, or in their life. One person, whom we had hold the Torah for Kol Nidre, said with tears practically in his eyes that this was the first time he touched a Torah since his Bar mitzvah - and it meant the world to him. And the Orthodox people also came up to me and told me this was the most beautiful and inspiring davening they had ever been at. I can take only minimal credit for this, as it was Danny's wonderful, uplifting, and beautiful words which helped lead everyone to a relevant and explained davening.

Afterward, people would come up to me and say "Hart, that was so nice that you sacrificed your Yom Kippur davening to lead explanatory services for non-religious people". Sacrificed? Are they kidding me? Because we invited non-observant people to pray with us in fulfillment of the very words which we say? Because we took time to understand and think about the words we were about to say? Hmm, I'm just not sure. All I know is the korbanot in the Beit Hamikdash weren't the only Yom Kippur sacrifice that didn't happen this year (oh snap!). But seriously, this should hopefully be a year of continued connection between all of the Jewish people, among ourselves and to our Father in Heaven

Hello! My Name is Shabbat

I want to tell you about something we recently did at Penn - and which you can all do as well. Every fall, Penn has an activities fair, at which around 300 groups set up booths on Locust Walk (the main college thoroughfare) and thousands of people walk by, looking for things in which to get involved. There are political groups, fraternities, sports teams, performing arts groups, and religious groups - including your classic kiruv organizations. So I set up a table on Locust Walk (I registered too late, but they let me bring my own table) and I made it look like a Shabbat table - a nice white tablecloth, two silver candlesticks and lit candles, a challah board + 2 challot + a challah cover, a silver kiddush cup filled with grape juice, and little shot glasses of grape juice alongside it, and a plate of rugelach. At the foot of the table I had a big sign that said "HELLO! MY NAME IS SHABBAT", kinduv like a big nametag. Then I stood there, smiled, and waited.

And people came over - hundreds of people, mostly people I've never seen before. They would pass by, see the table, smile, see me smiling, walk over and we'd start talking. They'd ask what this was, and I'd say "It's a Shabbat table". Curious, they'd ask what my group was, and I'd say "It's just a bunch of students inviting other students for Shabbat means - old friends and new friends, like you!". Excited, some of them would ask how this is different then Hillel, as they went there once, or were thinking of maybe going there, and I'd say "I love Hillel and go there sometimes but it could be a little overwhelming. This is just a bunch of students in a more intimate, friendly atmosphere, sharing Shabbat for free on different places around campus - in the Quad, campus apartment, off-campus houses, etc." Then I'd say that if they wanted to get invited to meals, or find out more, they could sign up (I had a pad of paper and a pen).

In about four hours, I got over 115 people to sign, probably >90 of whom were not observant (and only 3 non-Jews). Most were freshmen, some of them were upperclassman; one guy said he was a senior, Jewish, never been to Shabbat before in college but thought this was the best idea ever and wants to come. We also had magnets which say "Wanna join us for a free, student-led Shabbat Dinner? Email us at freeshabbatdinners@gmail.com" (that email address forwards to me) and we gave out nearly 200 magnets. Now we just have to invite these people to meals  - which are easy, free, and numerous people in Orthodox Community at Penn have already told me they'd love to help.

The whole thing (not counting the magnets) cost around $25 - which is almost nothing! And 4 hours of smiling, which actually made my week, and went by way too fast. I don't know what your colleges have and how you could adapt this, but if you could, you really should. It's such a great way to meet people and invite them to meals - and it's not weird/proselytizing/intrusive at all - people will come to you if you're friendly and welcoming.

If you need any help or want to find out more, don't hesitate to ask!

End of the Summer; Beginning of a New Year

I want to add a comment to this post - remember they guy from the end of the story? Who said it was his best Shabbat ever and started learning and loving zemirot? So the day after I posted the story, when walking home from work (I happened to go a different way that day) I saw that guy standing on the street corner! He happened to be there waiting for someone else, and he was just as surprised and happy to see me. We caught up a bit from the summer, and reminisced of our good times last year. He told me that he's been learning harmonica and one of the first songs he learned was "Kah Ribon", and that he was looking forward to some Jewish jamming when we got back to Penn. He also said he was talking with another friend (Jewish, but not observant, whom I met when he began coming to Hillel) and they both were wishing they could come to my house for Shabbat over the summer! I told him that they really should've, and that next summer I'm making them come, even if they don't build up the courage to ask. After speaking for a while, his other friend came and we parted ways, promising to meet up when we got to Penn.

The reason I wanted to share this story (even though I'm reluctant to share personal stories) is because that is why I do all of this. That's why I'm telling these stories, writing guides, making brochures, going on speaking tours, fund-raising, etc - just so I can meet and become friend with people like this, and so other people will do so too. That's all I really care about and all that I want to do, give people meaningful, personal connections to Judaism and other Jews. Which is why I'm excited to get back to school tomorrow, so that after all this talking, thinking, and planning, I could go and meet new people, reconnect with old friends and share some good ol' Judaism with Jews. That's what it's really all about, and there's nothing better :) So yeah, I'm a bit nervous and feeling pressured about the coming year - but in a good way, with all of its potential and knowing that with God's help, things will only continue to grow.

Pesach - "Let My People Stay" et al.

(parts I, II, III)
I just want to sum up some final thoughts on the whole Pesach experience. First I'll post a survey Hillel put out to ~120 students who came to Hillel for Seders. Most of those polled do not regularly eat at Hillel, and over 80% did not go to other activities (services, programs) at Hillel, which is an indication they were not Hillel regulars. Of those polled, around 25% had gone to one of our student-led Seders. The polling options were: strongly agree, agree, somewhat agree, disagree, strongly disagree.

I really enjoyed the student lead seder:

Freshmen/Sophomore:  strongly agree - 75%;  agree 25%

Jr/Sr:  strongly agree - 64.3%;  agree - 21.4%;  somewhat agree - 7.1%;  strongly disagree 7.1%

I felt welcome at the student lead seder:

F/S:  strongly agree - 100% (!!)

J/S:  strongly agree -  85.7%; agree - 14.3%

The leader of the student lead seder was well prepared:

F/S: strongly agree - 75%; agree - 16.7%; somewhat agree - 8.3%

J/S:  strongly agree - 57.1%;  agree - 42.9%

I learned new things at the student lead seder:

F/S:  strongly agree - 58.3%;  agree - 33.3%;  somewhat agree - 8.3%

J/S:  strongly agree - 71.4%;  agree - 7.1%;  somewhat agree - 14.3%;  disagree 7.1%

I met new people at the student lead seder:

F/S:  strongly agree - 66.7%:  agree - 25%;  disagree - 8.3%

J/S:  strongly agree - 78.6%;  somewhat agree - 14.3%;  strongly disagree - 7.1%

We didn't really need these results to prove anything to ourselves; these results just confirmed to the Hillel staff what we already knew.  They were very impressed, especially considering that they were worried at the onset whether we'd know how to talk to unaffiliated students (please, I talk to unaffiliated students for breakfast!). And to all our (theoretical) discreditors who said it couldn't be done, we did it! We led Seders that were meaningful, traditional, welcoming, engaging. And a lot of mitzvahs were done too! Just some students sharing a good ol' Jewish experience with other Jewish students...

Another important thing that came out of this experience was the message it showed to the community. We showed that as religious Jews, caring for other Jews and caring about their Judaism is something that we value and that we attempt to address. And not just when it's convenient and self-serving, but even when it takes sacrifices and hard work and time and effort. My brother told a very touching dvar Torah at my family's Seder  - he talked about how the Chasidim speak of not 4 sons, but 5 sons, with the 5th son being the one who doesn't even come to the Seder. Hart, he said, is at Penn leading Seders for all those 5th sons. I thought that was the most beautiful thing ever, and it showed how some people really understood this. We tried to talk this up a lot, at Pen and beyond, so that other people would see the importance and might be encouraged/inspired to attempt similar endeavors in the future. In fact, a few people at Penn told me that they were definitely going to join us next year. One student who went home told me that he told his parents "Mom, Dad - I love you and I love Seders at home but here's what Hart is doing at Penn this year and next year I'm going to join him". Towards this end, we had the idea of making shirts which we could wear around Penn - the shirts would say "Let My People Stay - Pesach@Penn '09". Besides for being mekayem the rule that when 10+ Jews are together for 2+ days there is a chiyuv to make a shirt/sweatshirt, it would also be a great way of publicizing and spreading the message of which we all were a part of. (Sponsorship opportunities are still available - email hartlevine@gmail.com for more info.)

Now, as good as the Seders were, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the rest of the chag. First of all, we got to lead all of davening (I think I led shacharit, hallel, musaf, layned, read Shir haShirim [my favorite], and gave a dvar Torah) - which was kinduv fun. We also got to be gabbis, run bikkur cholim, give shiurs, lead Shabbat kiddush at Hillel, and host the tisch. But by far the best was all the meals at Hillel. While normally there are all these Orthodox kids overwhelming the place, over the three-day yomtov it was just the 14 of us, and dozens of newcomers - people who only come to Hillel's kosher dining hall 7 days a year - on Passover! So every meal I got to sit with a few new people, either by joining their table, or inviting them to mine, or speaking to them in line, or complaining with them about the monotonous food choices. By the end I probably knew almost every person sitting down for meals and I had made over 30 new Facebook friends! And because many of the same people would keep coming back and because we were always there, I really got to bond with a lot of these people over the course of many meals. It was really so much fun, and it gave me a taste of what it'd be like to be in a small Jewish community. It was also really depressing when the mass of Orthodox kids came back after yomtov and took over the dining hall again (just kidding guys ;) ).

Oh, and the tisch! So Friday night we figured we'd add to the load of fun we were having and have a tisch. My grandparents had sent me a package with kosher-for-Passover snacks (as a token of their thinking of me and missing me at their Seder - thanks B&G!) and here was a perfect chance to break those out. We were finishing dinner in Hillel when we had decided to have the tisch and so we figured we'd invite some of the people who were around. Normally these tisches attract only Orthodox kids, and only a certain type of them, but here was a great opportunity to invite some people from a wider crowd and we weren't about to miss it. Sure enough, a whole group of Conservative students came, brought along by a mutual friend :) And what a tisch it was - we went through some of the songs from the Haggadah, some classic Israeli songs, some typical tisch songs, all of kabbalat Shabbat (since we didn't sing it at ma'ariv) and more. By the end we were singing some Beatles, but I think that was all of the Kedem wine kicking in. But it was so beautiful - people who otherwise might have never shared in such an experience found out that they knew and loved many of the same songs, and that it's so much more beautiful when you sing them together. We also got to make new friends, and they were so grateful for us hosting them in our room - a win-win situation for all of us, and for the Jewish people.

Okay fine, by the end of the 3 days we were a little sick of each other and of the food, but it was an experience I wouldn't give up for the world. For us, for the multitudes of people that we reached, and for the entire community, this was an unforgettable Pesach. Next year we should really all be in ירושלים, but if not, I know where I'll be.

You're all welcome to join, at Penn or at your own college/community. Towards that end, we'll be posting resources, ideas, tips on what worked/didn't work on this site. It's empty now but you can check back closer to Pesach - or you can start adding to it!

Pesach, take 2 - "L'harot Et Atzmo Ke'ili Hu Yatza Mimitzrayim"

After the overwhelming success of the first Seder, how could things get any better? Wait 'til you hear this story...

So the second Seder - we planned it a little different based on the number of people expected to attend, which was much smaller than the previous night's hundreds. Furthermore, for the 14 of us, it took a lot of preparation and effort to get through that first Seder, something we weren't sure we'd be up to in the same capacity the next night. So we decided that we would do one joint Seder, with the 14 of us and whoever else wanted to join. It would be a no-nonsense Seder, where each of us could share what we wanted to without having to worry about people who didn't know what Passover was, etc. And sure enough, by the time we sat down to start, there were over 40 people there. Many were returnees from our Seders the previous night, some were people who had been home the first night, and maybe some were those who heard the rave reviews and had to check it out for themselves (just kidding :)). We arranged a few tables together so that we had all 40+ of us around one big rectangular table, with the different leader scattered around the table. Somehow I was chosen to lead the leaders, and thus we began.

Though bigger than we had expected, the Seder went at a very enjoyable pace, with some interesting forays into the philosophical facts of the Seder and some interesting point which were left unanswered the night before. It was also good because different people got to add their highlights from the previous night's Seder, making this somewhat of a "best of" Seder. It was going great - people were getting into it, great conversations were being had, and we were on a roll.

Suddenly, in the middle of magid - one woman stormed up, ran to the wall and tore off a picture. (Backdrop - in an attempt to lend some creativity and color to their Seder, one of the groups had put up pictures of different people/things around the room. The plan was that for the '4 sons', people would stand next to whichever picture they thought represented a particular son [e.g. WalMart could be the wicked son for stealing small businesses' business]). So it turns out there was one picture up of Che Guevara. And this woman's family, 10 of whom were sitting at our Seder (including grandmother, parents, married kid and husband, teenage girl and boyfriend), had escaped from Cuba. She grabbed the picture, stormed back to the table and started yelling: "Do you know who this is? Do you think you know who this man is?" Dead silence. Except for some feeble attempts to explain why the picture was there, which were quickly quashed by her yelling. "Do you think this is funny?", she continued, presumably mistaking one girl's rushing out of the room in tears for laughter. "This is disgusting, that you dare put up this picture at your Seder. Oh, you think you're so cool with your freedom and your Seder - but you don't even know who this is. How would you like if I put a picture of Hitler at your Seder? Well, this man is our Hitler." Then the grandmother got up and began her tirade - quieter, and in her Spanish accent, but so much more powerful: "My husband was in jail for thuurty years because of this man. You don't know what he did to us, and how much we suffered." They went on for a good 5-10 minutes, and we were just sitting there in shock for what seemed like an eternity, with no idea how to proceed.

Then I had an idea - in one of the dead silences, I started speaking: "You know, the Passover Seder is such a hard thing for so many of us - here's this story that happened thousands of years ago to our ancestors and we're supposed to retell it. But how are we supposed to connect to it, and relive something which transpired so long ago? It's a very difficult process. We're fortunate to have here with us people who went through their own story of slavery, who went on their personal journey from slavery to freedom, almost in our lifetimes, and before their very own eyes. My grandmother is from Colombia (of course I said it with the South American accent) and they also went through kidnappings and hardships to get here, so I know what that is like. It's a sad thing but it's also an amazing opportunity for us here - maybe you could share more of your story, and what it was like to go through your Exodus from slavery to freedom and through that you can help all of us better relive and understand what Pesach is all about." They loved it - "Yes, that's exactly what it was like! This one time...". And they went on for a few more minutes going through some stories, with Che as Pharaoh and their grandfather as the Moses who escaped death and led a family to freedom. And just like that, things were back to normal and the Seder proceeded, only this time at least some people were feeling it a little  more deeply.

What was it that calmed them down? How did we "save the Seder" (according to the married daughter, who afterward thanked me for dealing with her difficult family - and suggested I go into politics)? By making it real, by connecting it to people's real lives - because that is what people connect to. It also was no longer about us versus them, but it was about all of us sharing in this experience, and empowering them to be able to share with us their wealth of relevant meaning. And it wasn't just about their story, it was also about my family's story, and the story of the Jewish people thousands of years ago, being re-experienced anew ("b'chol dor vador..."). I can truthfully say that between these people and the African American convert from the night before, I was never at Seders which better fulfilled the goal of " "l'harot et atzmo ke'ili hu yatza mimitzrayim".

Pesach - "B'etzem Hayom Hazeh"

Last we saw our team of heroes they were hard at work preparing sessions, delving into the depths of the haggadah, and working on their discussion-leading skills. And then the day was here - the 14th of Nisan. So while the rest of the Jewish community piled out, we dug in and prepared ourselves. We got some last minute much-needed shmurah matza (thanks Ambroses!), invited some last people to the Facebook event we had made, made some photocopies of pictures and banners, and as the evening began to creep in, we made out way to Hillel where we would be running our Seders.

The way we arranged it was for the 5 groups to each have a separate room on the 2nd and 3rd floors of Hillel where we would have our Seders. We then had two greeters at the front door - so that when the swarms of hundreds of students and community members walked through the doors we could direct them either to the 'big, communal, (boring) Seder straight ahead - or to the small, student-led Seders upstairs'. (In retrospect, one problem was that some students thought that meant they would have to lead the Seders!) And given those options, people did chose to come to our Seders - our 5 Seders filled up at around 20 people each! But it did take a while for people to trickle in, which was good considering that we had to wait a while, as Hillel called the Seders for an hour before tzeis (which is the earliest halachikly possible time). We ended up sitting around our tables, starting conversations, meeting each other, and giving people a chance to skim through the haggadahs (they were a big hit!) - not bad ways to kill time at all!

[From here on in, I will restrict myself to speaking about the Seder I participated in, as my engrossment therein led me to miss out on what was happening at the other Seders.] And so we started. Lu, JHS and I who were leading the Seder divided ourselves among the crowd - and what a crowd we had! By my count there was one African-American convert, two non-Jews (one of whom knew Hebrew better than most people at the table), one girl who had recently found out that she's Jewish (yes, the one from the previous blog post - she's come a long way since then), a freshman friend from my Jewish History class (maybe I'll talk about that class another time), three other freshmen guys, a middle-aged gentlemen from Allentown, and a few more people for a total of 15. There was one first-timer, two second-timers, a bunch for whom this was their first time in Hillel, and most of the remainder for whom this would be their first Seder longer than half-an-hour. We had our task cut out for us.

And it was great. We started going though the Seder, explaining what each step was, throwing in some interesting tidbits for discussion and an occasional classic song. We had each (Lu, JHS, and myself) prepared different things to talk about and so we each led discussions at different parts of the Seder - such as poverty in the world (halves and have-nots) and the social and historical background of the Seder ceremony (the Greco-Roman symposium). We also had a few ice-beakers in the beginning, just going around the room and people introducing themselves and their personal Seder history. What I thought really broke the floodgates open was at Mah Nishtana - we did this activity where we had to go around having a conversation using only questions ('How are you?' 'Are you talking to me?' 'Didn't you hear me the first time?' etc.). The point was to illustrate the power of questions, but what it also did was add some levity to the table, as people fumbled for questions and we all laughed at each other. From that point in, things just kept getting better and we started really bonding as a group. At one point we asked people what made them feel free, and one girl said that she left her blackberry at home so she could feel free of its mental burden. If that's not the closest definition to freedom in today's modern society, I don't know what it! When we talked about connecting to the past through retelling, our resident African-American answered someone's doubts on that method by sharing how his family passed down its story of slavery in the not-so-distant past, and how that made it real for him. It was perfect! And without even a glance at a clock, we went on, reading through the stories, pointing out interesting or funny pictures, and different people sharing their thoughts. For the most part it was the three of us leading the discussions, as is wont to happen, but there were definitely many parts where other people jumped in to participate. Then, before we knew it, it was time for the meal and we spent a good chunk of time just eating our fill, talking, decompressing. I was so nice just to be able to talk to each other, share family stories, and hear people's stories of why they never came to Hillel before, or what their previous misconceptions were. We then had a suspenseful hunt for the afikomen (the Hebrew-speaking Indian found it, and won a plastic piggy-bank!), and someone came in dressed up as Eliyahu Hanavi. It was funny, but most of our previous fears (e.g. How would we explain "sh'foch chamotcha"? What if people didn't want to eat the marror?) were never even issues - things just went smoothly and easily. It seemed like people just wanted to keep going. We then finished off the final two cups of wine (getting through four cups of Kedem wine was also a great social lubricant :) ) and people still wanted to sing some more songs. So we went through "Go Down Moses", "Who knows one?", and we acted out "Chad Gadya".

By now the effects of the wine were starting to kick in, and it was time to go. That's when I looked at the clock and saw that nearly 5 hours had passed since we first sat down at the table! 5 hours! And the only person who left early was the guy from Allentown - but only because he had to catch his train back home. The only time complaints we got were from the dining staff who wanted to serve us our food when we were still discussing, and from students who said they wished we'd gone even slower. Even slower than 4+ hours?! Weirdos... Even after we cleared the table and were winding down, a bunch of the people were still hanging around, remembering people's names, meeting people from the other Seders, coordinating when they would next come back to Hillel. From what I saw and heard from the other Seders, they were all just as successful, if not more so - there were great conversations being had, fantastic activities being carried out, and outlandish Pesach songs being sung. There were relationships being forged, Jewish identities taking shape, and a powerful commemoration of Pesach being celebrated. By the time we let the building that night, I felt like we had truly gone on quite a journey through the unique and memorable experience of the Passover Seder.

To skip a few days ahead, one of those students who had never come to Hillel (nor anything Jewish-related in college) began consistently coming to the Orthodox Community's weekly Sunday Night Learning, where he was paired up with a chavrutah. Another of those students came back for dinner the next week, and me being the only person he knew there, he sat with me, together with some of my other friends, whom I introduced to my new friend. And the guy from Allentown? I guess he had such a good time because he came back the second night for our Seder again (more on that here). Before he left the second Seder, he came up to me and thanked me for giving meaning to his holiday for the first time in his life. And all this just from our Seder; the other Seder groups have their own stories of people who hence started coming to SNL, or had Jewish-identity changing experiences. I'll post the full response survey later, but I think these personal stories mean just as much as some numbers on a chart.

Parshat Shoftim and Communal Responsibility

I want to share with you a dvar torah on the parsha which I think is very relevant. Last year I shared it with the Orthodox Community at Penn the first weekend of school and I found it very instrumental in spreading these ideas, raising these discussions, and promoting this type of activity around the community. Feel free to do the same with your communities.

In the end of Parshat Shoftim, we have the story of eglah arufah - what happens when an unidentified dead body is found in a field. The required response includes decapitating a calf, as well as involving the z'keinim, the elder leaders of the local community. We make them go out and wash their hands over the calf and say "yadeinu lo shafchu et hadam hazah v'eineinu lo ra'u" - "our hands didn't spill this blood and our eyes didn't see it". The mishna in Sotah (quoted by Rashi) asks, incredulously -  how come we require such of the z'keinim? Do we really think these people - rabbis, leaders, elders - are murderers, responsible for this tragic loss??

So the mishna goes on to describe the scenario that probably preceded this unfortunate occurrence: some guy, a stranger, came to the local community. Probably wasn't wearing a kippah, and he didn't know anyone. And no one welcomed him. No one said hello to him, no one went over to help him feel comfortable, and no one offered him a seat at their table. Rashi in the mishna comments: "No one made him feel like part of a community." Sure enough, this guy got turned off, left the community, and somewhere down the line he was killed. So we turn to that local community and we do hold them accountable - we demand of them to take responsibility. And we make them swear that they opened their eyes and arms, welcomed people in and that they would never let something like that happen. And it's davka the z'keinim, the elders and leaders of the community, people who are the religious role models, and are comfortable in the community - those are the people whom God holds responsible.

The parallels are clear. At Penn (for example, but I hear it is similar at many colleges communities) the first Friday night of the year draws almost double the normal crowd to Hillel - maybe 800 people. But within a few weeks it drops down to half that number, and many of those original people never come back. Not to Hillel, and likely not to anything Jewish for the rest of college, and unfortunately maybe for the rest of their life. Why? Because no one welcomed them in, no one sat with them, no one provided them with a friendly contact, a warm, meaningful experience, nor any reason to come back. So they don't. And they join the growing ranks of young American Jewry who are disenchanted and disengaged from Judaism. As the religious members of this community, we have to look at ourselves truthfully and ask ourselves: Do we open our eyes to this all-too-common phenomenon in our community? Are our unwelcoming arms and unaware eyes responsible for this travesty? Sure, it's the first week, and everyone wants to see their friends and welcome the new freshman in the community - but there are really Jewish people and souls at stake. You'll have all year to talk to your friends - but you might only have one chance to give these people a meaningful connection to Judaism. On a final note, one of my rabbis points out that there is a kri/k'tiv (where a word is spelled one way but read differently) on this passuk - the word 'spilled' is read "shafchu" (plural) but it's spelled in the Torah as "shafcha" (singular) - showing that while this is a communal responsibility, in the end of the day it is really each and every individual's responsibility. Sure it's Hillel's and Chabad's, and the OCP/BOO/Shalhevet/Kedma/Yavneh/CJL's - but it's also yours. If this is something one cares about (and as caring Jews, we should), one can't wait for someone else to do it - there is no one else, and you are every much as responsible and capable, each person in his or her own way. It doesn't take much, only being aware and caring about other people.

Hopefully this can be something about which our communities and each and every one of us can learn to be more sensitive. The more people involved in this, aware of this, and speaking about this, the greater the impact there could be. It is an important process, and it starts with one person at a time.


p.s. Similar to the way in this week's parsha that the Torah excludes newlyweds and those newly housed from going out to fight, I am inclined to excuse freshman from this topic, as for people who are just trying to find their own place, it's hard to open themselves up to other newcomers. Though freshman usually do have the most access to new people, and uninvolved freshman are often the ones most looking for connections. But for upperclassmen who recognize everyone, know everything and are comfortable in the community, there is no excuse.

The First Meal

Ah, the first meal. I remember it like yesterday... in the first meeting, we had decided upon making a Shabbat meal as a means to share a meaningful Jewish experience with friends who were never privy to its beauty. I asked if anyone had people in mind to invite and one girl blurted out that practically her entire dorm hall was Jewish but not religious. And just like that, before anyone else could add any suggestions of their own, we had finalized the invite list for the meal. For funding, I had been directed to an organization called "Project Shabbat" which pretty much gives money to religious kids on college campuses to make Shabbat meals for students who don't normally 'do' Shabbat - perfect! A few emails and phone calls later, we had the promise of monetary reimbursement for the meal. Later that week, I sent out an email to everyone I had spoken to, asking for volunteers to help cook for the meal. Due in no small part to the amazing people I am privileged to know at Penn, we soon had a whole meal signed up to be cooked. The next few weeks were filled with anxiety - when would the meal be (Friday, February 22nd @8pm), who's coming (we finally finalized on 5 Shabbat-observant students to come - enough to lead the meal and discussions at the meal, but not too many that it overwhelms the non-Shabbat observers; we then had to make sure all the invited people were actually coming), where the meal was going to be (we decided on one of the lounges in the Quad - local for the mostly-freshman guest list), etc. And then it was Friday afternoon, the food was cooked and I left for kabbalat Shabbat with my heart beating fast.

I remember it being a very inspiring kabbalat Shabbat, and with people around me giving me wishes of good luck and godspeed, I was encouraged, but all the more nervous. After davening, I ran back to my room with a friend who was also helping make the meal to retrieve the food. On the way to my room, we saw a mutual friend of ours on his way towards Hillel. We had both met him when he began coming to Hillel a few times, but not being part of any religious or social groups, we were two of the few people who he knew there. Knowing that, and sensing his fear of going there alone and missing out on what we were up to, we invited him along. After packing up the food in suitcases, we quickly brought it over to the Quad, where the meal was scheduled. By the entranceway to the Quad, I saw someone else who I recognized from the few times I had met him at Hillel. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was waiting for his laundry. "Wanna come to a Shabbat meal?", I asked him. "Where is it?", he responded, seemingly not so interested in going out of his way somewhere. "It's right here in the Quad, in the Goldberg lounge", I answered. "Woah! That's right where I live! Really? A Shabbat meal in the Quad? Yeah, I'm coming!" - and just like that we picked up another guest. And then we were there, the table was set, the food was laid out and 15 of us were sitting around the Shabbat table.

It's hard to go into every detail of the meal (how we explained things, what conversations were had, etc.) but the details were key, and they worked out very well. Just to highlight a few, we borrowed a sparkling silver cup for Kiddush, adding to the exquisite grandeur of the experience (thanks Binyamin - I told you it would be worth it) and we intermingled the observant and non-observant students to promote interaction and discussions. It was an interesting bunch - 5 observant students, 1 non-Jewish missionary, a few totally unaffiliated students and the remainder were students who grew up going to Jewish schools but never really got into Judaism in college. Because of this, singing the songs of Shalom Aleichem and Kiddush were great, as most people could sing along, even if they hadn't done so in quite a while. We went through the different ceremonies of the meal along with very brief explanations and then we got to the food, over which the table broke into smaller group discussions. Most of the people stayed for a good two hours and before leaving, told us that they had a great time and would love to do it again. We could tell that it was a great experience for these people - they enjoyed it, they got to meet other Jewish students over the timeless Jewish meeting place of Shabbat, and they got to reconnect to a bit of what they might've missed and reminisced from home.

What was even more remarkable was that three students stayed behind for close to 4 hours - they wanted to sing z'mirot, and talk more about Judaism on campus, and get involved in social and educational programming and just talk more. I mean, who stays at Shabbat dinners for 4 hours?! One of those students (who I had never seen/met before) told her story: she had grown up kinduv-Conservative and Shabbat was something her family would do. So when she came to college as a freshman, the first Friday night she showed up at Hillel to try Shabbat. And she hated it - there were too many people, it was too unfriendly, too religious, no one said hello to her, she got turned off and she never came back. Until tonight, when her hallmate invited her to this meal and here she was. She said she couldn't believe how beautiful Shabbat could be, and with other students, at college; she wanted to do this next week, every week, and invite all her friends. We told her that we couldn't do this every week but that if she came to Hillel next Friday night, we'd be there and introduce her to our friends. She agreed, and she came back the next week, and met a whole bunch of nice, friendly people (they do exist, it's just sometimes hard for people to find them). Since then, this girl has gone on a journey of reconnecting to Judaism that is largely between her and God, helped in part by support of the wonderful people who make up the Jewish community at Penn. She is now a fully observant and highly religious and active member of the Orthodox Community at Penn, and it is my great honor to count her among my friends. I'm not saying that this one meal was the the magical key that changed her life, but I think it's clear as to the role it played in the greater process.

Another one of the students who stayed behind was the one who we dragged along when we saw him walking to Hillel. Since that meal, he also started coming to Hillel more and becoming more involved in Jewish activities. The first Shabbat of the following year, he saw me at Shabbat dinner at Hillel and we started talking. He told me that the previous year as a freshman, he didn't come to Hillel in the very beginning (maybe due to discomfort, or needing time to find his place, or who knows what), which he afterward realized put him at a disadvantage in terms of being part of different groups or communities. He felt, rightfully so, that everyone there knew each other and that people divided up into their little cliques, leaving someone like him alone on the outside. But, he said, you and a few other people (not coincidentally, members of the then-unofficial 'Heart to Heart') would always come over to me when I was sitting alone at Hillel and talk to me, sit with me, and make me feel like I mattered. "You don't know what that did to me, and how that affected me", he said. "And that Shabbat meal last year in the Quad - that was the best Shabbat of my life. All of that has really inspired me to come here more, become more knowledgeable about and more familiar with Judaism - so that I can be to others what you were to me." He then started coming every Friday night after that to make kiddush with me and sing z'mirot (he is a wonderful singer and a member of one of Penn's prestigious singing-and-acting groups) and he loved learning and singing new z'mirot. He told me his goal for the year was to learn how to bentch, like his grandfather used to do, so after dinner one Friday night, we sat for an hour going through all of bentching, culminating in singing "Na'ar Hayiti" - a family tradition of mine that he loved.

And all this just because one Sunday evening some students decided to make a Shabbat meal, and on one Friday night 5 religious students shared the beauty of Shabbat with some new friends.

I can't even make this stuff up. But I can, and have, made it happen again. And so can you. I've been writing up a guide to Shabbat dinners like these, based on a year-and-a-half of experience and over a dozen similarly styled Shabbat dinners - check it out here. Feel free to use whatever you want from it, and to add to it (that's why it's a wiki) - obviously not everything I say will work for you but some of it might be useful. But more importantly, sit down with a bunch of similarly thinking friends and think how you can translate this into your setting. It starts with that, and God only knows where it will go from there.

The Very First Thing, and How it All Began

Let me tell you how it all started at Penn. It was back when I was a sophomore, before there was any such thing as 'Heart to Heart' (nor 'Chazan Ish'). Chanukah was approaching, as were finals, and all the studying was starting to make me antsy. So my roommates and I, looking for some fun, decided that we would go on a singing expedition - Chanukah caroling in the Quad. The Quad is where most of the freshmen live, including a few religious freshmen who we knew. After a little research, we found out where a few of our freshmen friends lived and we set off. The talented singers that we are, we didn't need much practice ("I got high, you got melody and you got low") and we came to our first destination. We knocked on his door, and when he opened it, we broke into "Maoz Tzur" and our very own "We Wish You a Happy Chanukah". To our utter delight, he said he thoroughly enjoyed it and was very appreciative for a break in his studying. We then asked where the next religious person who we knew lived and he directed us down the hall.

When we got to our next stop, the same thing happened, we sang the same songs, and the girl was equally pleased. Then, a girl from across the hall opened her door and stepped into the hallway. Shoot, we thought, we're singing too loud and disrupting people's studying. "Are you guys singing Hanukah songs?!" she exclaimed, "Can you sing some to me? I'm Jewish too!". Surprised, we turned to her and sang our songs again for her. She was ecstatic - "I love those songs! Thank you so much!" (it must have been our melodious and perfectly harmonious voices). Then she told us that we had to go to the end of the hall and sing to the girl who lived there - she was Jewish and she would love it. So we went to the end of the hall and performed again, garnering smiles and laughs from the Jewish girl who lived there and her Asian roommate, and the whole bunch of people who had gathered in the hallway to hear us too.

So we started making our way around the Quad - going from the room of someone we knew to the next room to which they directed us, stopping along the way for requests from Jews (presumably non-religious ones, as we didn't know them). Going down one hallway, these two big guys who were either in a frat or were soon going to be in one asked us to come into their room. We went inside and saw they had an iChat video screen open - one of them wanted us to sing our Chanukah songs for his girlfriend. After doing so, they took out a box of cookies - the other guys said that his mom had send them to him for Hanukah and he wanted to share them with us. "And don't worry", he added, "they're Kosher", showing us the symbol on the packaging.

I took but didn't end up eating the cookie, saving it (until Pesach) for the symbolic memories it evoked - how we spent one evening on the eve of finals spreading some good old Jewish holiday cheer among some freshmen. What was most surprising was how excited people were to hear us sing - and truth be told, we didn't sound all that great - and on their own volition. Not once did we have to trick someone or force someone into doing something Jewish, we just walked down the halls singing Chanukah songs and people came to us.


A few weeks earlier, with preparations for Chanukah on campus underway, the issue came up regarding Candle lighting. Lighting should be done in the residential arena, and as candles are forbidden in dorm rooms, the OCP always arranges for a table in the lobby of Rodin (where many Orthodox students, myself included reside) whereat residents could light candies. This had gone on for a few years and was a great idea, allowing for safe and halachik candle lighting and the chance for the many students to light in one unified, communal place - quite a beautiful sight. What it also did was allow the candles to be in a public place, fulfilling the aspect of pirsum hanes (publicizing the miracle) which we find by Chanukah candles. But what came to my attention (I'm still not even sure how I got involved in all this) was that this only happens at Rodin, leaving the other 10 college houses without organized candle lighting. So what normally happens? The handful of kids who actually care either light in their rooms on tin foil, or people light in Hillel, or people just don't light. What I've come to see is that if you don't give people the opportunity, they often won't make it for themselves.

So I was put in charge of setting up candle lighting stations at the other college houses. I started speaking with residents of these different dorm buildings, finding suitable places, arranging meetings with house deans and getting things organized. By the end, we (it mostly the other students, I just oversaw) had arranged for tables to be set up at 7 different college house. While this was started for the few religious students who lived in these houses, we figured there might be more people who would want to light, and we also arranged to put out extra menorahs and candles. There wasn't much advertising, save for some word of mouth, and one guy made a Facebook group. And then it was Chanukah.

The first night I went to one of the dorms, Hill house, to see how it would turn out. In the building of a few hundred residents, there were 3 religious kids who otherwise would've lit on their own, and probably a hundred or so Jews who... I dunno, maybe they would've lit in their rooms or in Hillel, but likely not. That night over 80 people came to light candles! Granted, Chabad also brought some latkes and some of their own crew to hype it up, but 80 people! And the rest of Chanukah, over 30 people lit candles at Hill house every night! Reports came back of 10, 20, 30 people at the other stations! I couldn't believe what was going on! A few other nights I went around with some friends and some instruments (guitar, saxophone, djambe) to provide some musical accompaniment to the arranged locations. One house, duBois, known for housing a lot of African-Americans, happened to have three Jewish students and one of them arranged for a candle lighting table by the entranceway. We showed up there, and put on a mini-concert in the lobby - the three students, as well as everyone passing by, loved it! Running in between college houses with instruments over our shoulders and smiles on our faces, we were having the best time. And best of all, we were sharing the joy and happiness of Chanukah with dozens of others!

Then finals came, I buckled down and studied, and soon it was all over. Then it was winter break, over which I thought a lot about these Chanukah experiences, about how people were so happy to get involved in something Jewish, and how rewarding it was to share it with others. After a lot of thinking and talking, I decided I had to do more of this, and I had to make this bigger. Back in school, during halftime of Super Bowl Sunday, I got together a bunch of 15 friends who had expressed similar interests and thoughts. We talked about these ideas and some potential projects - the first of which were 'kiddush in the Quad' and 'Shabbat meals'. People were excited, plans were laid, and the rest became history.

“Yes Penn State”

A popular T-shirt on (the University of) Penn(sylvania)’s campus bears the slogan, “Not Penn State” differentiating the two similarly named universities. Yet, for all the academic and social differences that the schools have, they share more than just a state and a name; they each boast a significant Jewish population. However, the strengths of the Jewish communities are not proportional, as Penn’s community is among the most vibrant in the country and Penn State has a growing, but struggling, traditional community. Through the collaborative effort of Penn State law professor Rabbi David Flatto, graduate student Daniel Halpern, the aforementioned AJOP national director Rabbi Lowenbraun, and myself, the idea to bridge the two communities was conceived. After much planning, a shabbaton was arranged and on April 24, two carloads of enthusiastic Jewish students from Penn set out on the 4+ hour journey across the state.

Arriving just before Shabbat, the nine Penn students met up with the Penn State contingency (over 25 people) for a spiritual, song-filled, and uplifting Kabbalat Shabbat at Hillel – in what were the first traditional Orthodox services ever held there. Davening was followed by a wonderful meal together with Penn State’s entire Jewish community (around 75 people), capped off by an oneg and lively discussion on Jewish identity. The two groups, now merged as one, then proceeded to the Halpern' home, for a festive tisch that lasted until 2 in the morning and ended only when the lights turned off. Shabbat day began with a wonderful Shacharit and lunch at the Chabad house and the afternoon was spent relaxing together, learning b’chavruta, and a fascinating shiur by Rabbi Flatto. Towards the end of Shabbat, over a beautiful seudat shlishit at the Halperns', the students went around sharing a thought or a reflection they had. It was amazing to hear students from both schools speak of the Shabbat and of the fellow participants in glowing terms, and state that it was the best Shabbat in recent memory, or in all of college, or ever. After a beautiful havdala ceremony + dancing, the two groups had a tearful goodbye, yearning to stay just a little longer in this oasis of camaraderie, spirituality and friendship that had sprung up over Shabbat. Finally having parted, the two groups have since stayed in touch and have already made plans for next year's shabbaton, this time with the Penn State kids driving over to Penn's campus.

In a brief 25 hours, over thirty students from the two schools were able to form a meaningful bond, connecting with fellow Jewish students over the timeless meeting place of Shabbat. From different religious, academic, socioeconomic, and cultural backgrounds, these were all Jewish students, who cared enough to come together and celebrate Judaism and Shabbat together. That's what made it so easy - it was just regular college kids getting together from Penn and yes, Penn State, only this time it was for a Higher purpose. For the Penn State students, they had the privilege of hosting and receiving such a vibrant mix of religious students for Shabbat; for the Penn students the Shabbat was eye-opening as to the beauty and warmth of a Jewish community around them. As such, the Shabbaton was a huge success, unifying and uplifting all who participated, breaking down barriers and hopefully planting the seeds for continued contact and involvement between the Jewish students of Penn and Penn State.

The Real First Post

In honor of the beginning of CPI09 and having remembered that I actually wrote my first blogpost just about a year ago, I'm re-posting it here:

Day 7: Getting Ready for Camp

Monday, July 21st, 2008.

Today was our first real day in Yerucham – and boy was it a good one. Partially it was just so nice to finally be doing something, after what seemed like weeks and weeks of training and talking; we spent most of the day decorating the rooms in which we will be working with multinational decor, in the spirit of our Olympic-themed camp.

But while that was definitely a great group bonding experience and a great outlet for our creativity and enthusiasm, what really got me excited was just being here. After all we've heard about the development, the dirty streets, the dry heat and the despondent people, it was great to be here on my own and to be able to experience it for myself.

And let me tell you – there were some very gorgeous buildings and parks, beautiful sidewalks, manageable temperatures (including a soothing evening cool) and very friendly people (I've already had a number of people come up to me to ask me who I was and what I was doing here). The truth is, I think I've already fallen in love with this city and would like to invite anyone who doesn't believe me to come see it for themselves.

As I walked down the streets of this beautiful city, I thought about the point of coming here, and about how we're supposed to 'make a difference'. When I actually saw the people and realized that they wouldn't come running to our feet for words of wisdom, I began to wonder if it was even realistic to set such grand goals. How are we, a bunch of young college students, supposed to make a difference in a city of thousands?

As I was thinking about that, I saw some empty wrappers on the streets – not like in a slum, but like it is in any regular town or city. It was then that I realized that as much as we must dream big and set lofty goals of inspirations and impact, it all starts with the our own everyday, ordinary lives. So, after picking up those wrappers, I proceeded to clean the entire block, as well as the adjacent street, of all cigarette butts, popsicle sticks, broken glass, and any other such debris that dared defile my dreamy desert rose – Yerucham.

When we got back to the magnificent apartment in which some of us guys are staying, I also began to clean out the front yard. After about an hour, the pile of trash had transformed into the ultimate hangout area, decked out with two remodeled couches, a dozen chairs and some hanging artwork. It was in this little area that all of us ushered in the cool evening with a delicious barbecue and a spontaneous bout of singing.

Sitting back on one of the couches, breathing in the fresh air of Israel, and listening to a bunch of beautiful voices singing songs of hope and prayer, my spirit was revived and I once again am looking forward to another day of making a difference in Yerucham.

Epilogue: It truly was a summer (or, more accurately, 2.5 weeks) of making a difference. More on those experiences another time...
Also, in cleaning up that front porch, I found a old, dirty, broken Challah board which, with a little work, turned into a refined, beautiful (though still broken) Challah board. I brought it back to America with me and it has since graced the table of many a "Heart to Heart" Shabbat dinner, adding grandeur and regalia to our sanctified meals. Funny how these stories all connect...

Pesach: "shloshim yom lifenei hachag"

Pesach. What a holiday. It's got everything - history, theology, family, customs, commandments, emotions - no wonder it's the most celebrated Jewish event (2001-2002 National Jewish Population Study). What normally happens at Penn is that all 300+ Orthodox and most of the other affiliated students go home (or to friends' homes). Then, Seder night, hundreds of people show up at Hillel, people for whom this might be their first time in the building all year - or ever. Normally they have one huge (=impersonal), communal (=boring) Seder, for all these hundreds of people, led by the Hillel rabbi. Now as good as he may be, it's hard to have a meaningful, personal, and impacting Seder when it's 1-on-300. When that Seder fills up, Hillel would turn people away, giving them a Seder-to-go kit and telling them to do it on their own -- even worse than the first option. Can you believe that?! People come to Hillel looking for a meaningful, fun, Jewish experience and they get turned off/away, and likely turned off from Judaism! Chabad also runs Seders, and also for a mass of people led by one rabbi (with some help from some imported Chabad bochurim).

After I heard about the state of affairs at Penn for Pesach, I spoke to my parents: "Mommy, Tati-", I said, "I love you and I love Seders at home but this year I'm staying at Penn to lead Seders". And my wonderful and understanding parents lovingly gave their approval, saying that they'd miss me, but that they were proud of me. Then I began to speak to friends, people who cared, and/or people for whom going home wasn't a giving.

"...imagine if there were some small, intimate, explanatory, engaging Seders where these hundreds of people can find that fun and meaningful part of Judaism that they're searching for. Imagine if these people could be given a positive Jewish experience and maybe change their perspective on Judaism for the rest of their lives.

Imagine if you can be that difference. Who better to provide this experience for them then fellow students, who can share their knowledge, passion and familiarity for Judaism in a relevant and friendly way? Who can better relate to them as peers, and as conduits into Judaism and a Jewish community? And what is Pesach anyway, other than a means of of connecting Jews, to our shared history, to our heritage, and to each other!

I know this is a lot to ask and everyone wants to be home/somewhere comfortable. Great. But imagine the difference you can be making in someone's life who doesn't have that warm, loving place to go to. You can go home for spring break, for the last days, or for any other day - but on Pesach, the Jews of Penn need you to be here for them..."

By the end, and without much further convincing necessary, there were 13 of us who decided to stay and a friend from Stern who volunteered to come as well. (This isn't to say that anyone who didn't stay didn't care, but these 13 people did show extraordinary and true devotion.)

The next step was preparing, even more than 30 days in advance. We had quite a formidable task - learning how to run interesting and enjoyable Seders that were also genuine and halachik for people who didn't know what halacha was and who might never have been to a Seder before, or at least not one they enjoyed. To assist us, we organized sessions with the aforementioned Hillel and Chabad rabbis, experts in running similarly oriented Seders. The Conservative Hillel rabbi gave a wonderful session, highlighting important ideas to keep in mind, good points to bring up in discussion, and strategies for facilitating meaningful conversations. One thing, however, that didn't sit as well with me was when he said that in order to provide unaffiliated students with a meaningful experience, we'd have to (and I quote) "throw halacha out the window". In whatever sense it was meant, the point was clear - the priority should be to engage students in meaningful discussion; the Seder was but an expendable means. I have a suspicion that the Chabad rabbi heard about this, because in his session the next week, his main and only point was to forget about meaning and just get the students to do the mitzvahs, for therein lies the only meaning. Forget about discussions and philosophy - just get them to drink 4 revi'is of wine and eat a k'zayit of matzah. There was a lot that we gained from the sessions, but that contrasting and explicit dichotomy was the most striking. Could one really not run a Seder for unaffiliated college students that both adheres to its requirements and contains meaningful content? We were going to try and find out... (As an aside: I find it incredibly amazing at the gap between existing models of outreach: you either have right-wing, ultra-Orthodox kiruv organizations or non-Orthodox, pluralisitc, fluffy, organizations. How come there's no modern religious groups/people doing this kind of stuff, people who are deeply rooted in Torah, Judaism, and devotion to God and are also full participants in the modern society around them? These people have the unique opportunity (and responsibility) to be ambassadors of Judaism to the people around them.)

We almost worked with NJOP's PAA but in the end we decided to run it by ourselves. Well not all by ourselves; we got help from Hillel's CCP grants, which sponsored "A Night to Remember" Haggadahs. The reason we chose those was not just because they had the traditional text and transliterations for the essential parts, but because they had incredible pictures, cartoons, stories, essays, and other reading material for all ages and interests. As it turns out, the author, Mishael Zion, was coming to Penn to give a talk about the Seder, so he gave us a fantastic private session afterward on how to run Seders with his Haggadahs. After acquiring all of these tools, tidbits, and ideas, we divided up into 5 groups of 3 (except one of 2) and set about preparing the actual Seders. It was also at this point that the Kentucky Shabbaton occurred, as did many midterms and group projects, but even with a lack of time to spare, everyone put in a lot of time and effort to ensure that our Seders would be ready, remarkable, and rewarding.

More on the actual Seders soon...

Kentucky, part 4 – Forgotten Parts

First off, I can't believe I forgot to include this (oh right, other then the fact that it's incredibly embarrassing): When thinking of ways to spread the word and get people to come, and having the illustrious TSR with us, we figured what better technique to utilize than a funny video introducing us!...in a way people wouldn't forget! I give you - "PENN COMES TO KENTUCKY! JOIN US FOR SHABBAT DINNER!"

Back to that Friday night - I really can’t go into full detail regarding all of the night’s experiences (each person probably deserves their own post, but that’d be too much) but there were a few notable ones:

1) Towards the end of dinner, one of the men from the community came over to speak to me. As we started talking, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a bill of money, and slipped it into my breast pocket. “I want you to have this”, he said, as I awkwardly tried to dodge his hand, “to help defray your costs.” As I tried to protest, he insisted, explaining that he really “felt a debt of gratitude to ya’ll for coming all the way down here”. To have a cadre of lively, young and interesting Jewish college students go out and visit them in middle of Jewish American nowhere and share a beautiful Shabbat experience with them was something he couldn’t understand and for which he was so grateful. I tried to explain to him the appeal of this Shabbat for us as well and after speaking for a while, I think we both left appreciating each others appreciation. But wait, I still had a dollar bill in my pocket! I quickly ran into the kitchen and surreptitiously emptied my pocket into an open drawer, freeing myself from the onerous offering. When we came back after Shabbat to pick up our stuff, I checked the drawer and there sat the forlorn $20 bill I had rejected the night before. I happily picked it up and we in fact did use it to defray some of our personal costs.

2) At (what we thought was) the end of the evening, as the adults’ learning corner was winding down and the students were on their way out, we began closing up the room. One of the organizers pointed out that we couldn’t leave the candles lit, and she went over to blow them out. “No, no, it’s okay” we called after her, not wanting her to be mechalel Shabbat, “why don’t we just stay here until they go out on their own?” She agreed, and after bidding everyone goodbyes and ‘Shabbat Shalom’s we settled in to wait for the candles to go out, figuring ‘how bad could it be?’. Bad. We stayed there until close to 2 in the morning, as those candles burned dazzlingly and defiantly. So we used that time to finish davening ma’ariv, recap the evening’s excitements and breathe sighs of joyful relief. That’s when the cop arrived. Yep, the neighborhood security guard was doing his rounds and found a group of college students in some empty hall, sitting around a table of candles. We offered for him to join us and, pleased to get an interlude to his boring duties, he pulled up a chair and joined us.

Now this guy had a great story – he was getting trained in the Marines when he got thrown out for going to the bathroom without his boots. But it was all for the best, he said, since the dismal turnaround in his life led him to find God. And now he was studying to be a priest – while working as a security guard in his spare time to make some money. “Ah, a priest”, we exclaimed, leading to a whole discussion about religious education, Israel, his homosexual brother (for whom he fasted weekly to ‘save him from burning in hell’), and good ol’ Kentucky. After having spoken our fair share, and perhaps having touched on some touchy subjects, he remembered that he had assignments to resume and left us alone, once again watching the Shabbat candles.

3) And finally, C.H. First this guy (who taught at the University) showed up Friday night and brought us a (kosher+mevushal) bottle of wine! Then, he offered to show us around town the next day, and we planed to meet at the Conservative synagogue. (Side note: we decided that in keeping with our mission to connect to the Jews of Lexington, Kentucky, we'd visit the local Conservative synagogue, meet the people, etc. But not all of us felt so comfortable praying/eating there so we decided upon davening, making kiddush and eating lunch in our hotel rooms, then doing the 3.4 mile walk and getting there for the end of davening/luncheon.) At 9AM the next morning we were surprised with a knock on the door - it was C.H.! Inspired by the previous night's learning tidbit about hachnasat orchim, he figured he would walk us to synagogue as well - and told us we had to hurry, or we'd be "late for taking out the Torah". Being in the middle of shacharit, and not wanting him to know that we preferred davening/eating in the hotel, we told him we'd need some time to finish getting ready. So we finished davening, wolfed down a quick kiddush/lunch and went out to get him from his blue corvette, where he was waiting. It ended up being a lovely day - we made it to synagogue in time for moose-off, met some interesting people at kiddush, and got the scenic tour of campus and greater Lexington on the way back. After a good 8 miles of walking with C.H., we bid him farewell for the afternoon, and planned to meet up again for havdala. So after Shabbat ended, the 7 of us and C.H. joined together for a beautiful, musical, and spiritually uplifting havdala ceremony, with some kiddush levana thrown in for fun! While most stories I document happen on Shabbat/Y"T, we were lucky to catch this priceless one on film:

Without a doubt, that Shabbat was surely a memorable one, for us and likely for many others. Hopefully this won't be the last we hear of the Jewish community and our new friends in Lexington, Kentucky but until further updates, this will have to do for now. May we all merit to share the beauties of Shabbat in places and with people She has yet to embrace.

The Secret

Often, and especially in my recent travels, I am asked the question "What is your secret?” People want to know what secret program I run, or what magical dvar Torah I give, or what the trick is to "making people religious". And people tell me they think they have the answers - have a big Shabbat meal for 5,000 people or have some huge mega-event, or have them listen to this one rabbi – and that will do the trick...

In what would have been this week's haftorah, we have the second of Eliyahu Hanavi (Elijah the prophet)'s two legendary episodes. His first, and most famous, is of the happening at Har Carmel, where in the showdown with Achav and his false prophets of ba'al, Eliyahu emerges miraculously victorious. In what has become a rallying cry ever since, and the pinnacle of our prayers on Yom Kippur, the previously borderline people of Israel respond to his display of God's all-might with the fearful and awesome scream of "ה' הוא האלוקים, ה' הוא האלוקים" "God is the Almighty (2x)". As our would-be haftorah picks up the story, we are greeted with an unexpected turn of events - Eliyahu fins out that Achav and Izavel are still out to kill him and he runs away. Runs away?! Didn't he just achieve the magnificent and tide-turning victory over his enemies and win the hearts of the people? C'mon, only cowards people like Yonah run away, not public heroes like Eliyahu! Well, away he runs, into the deserted deserts of the Negev, where he retreats into himself. He then attempt to commit suicide, collapsing repeatedly and finally is brought by an angel to Har Horev, a.k.a. Har Sinai. There, like Moshe, he goes for 40 days and nights, camps out in a cave and speaks with God. The rabbis pick up on these similarities, but point out one big difference; while with Moshe, God said "עמוד פה עמדי", "stay here with Me", God accusatorily asks Eliyahu "מה לך פה אליהו?", "What are you doing here?". In justifying himself, Eliyahu starts explaining what happened, saying that he responded with zealousness since the people have abandoned God and wish to kill him. In reply, God showcases a series of meteorological events before Eliyahu. First, a great, earth-shattering wind blows by, but God was not there. Then came a thunderous earthquake, and then a blazing fire, but God was not in either of them. Then came forth a small, silent voice, which Eliyahu hears and from which God speaks to him. After going though the same questions and answers as previously, God tells him that his job as leader is over, save for appointing successors for himself and the other leaders of Israel.

What? What's happening here? At what does this have to do with what I started with?

The Malbim, in analyzing God's questioning of Eliyahu, explains a prophet's role as being with the people, advising them, guiding them, loving them, and leading them. Hence God's bewilderment and chastisement at Eliyahu's detached disappearance into the desert, instead of staying and dealing with the people of Israel. (In comparison, Moshe stayed at Har Sinai to selflessly fight for Israel’s continuity, even offering up his life for a people who would constantly disappoint him.) Eliyahu's response is that his zealousness and frustration at the people's lack of change have made him unfit for the job; he did God’s grand miracles for them, proved God’s existence at Har Carmel in front of the masses, and got all of the attendees to acknowledge God’s Divinity, only to have them turn a blind eye the next day. The Malbim then connects this to God's meteorological demonstration, explaining that God is showing Eliyahu that He is not necessarily found in big shows, or in over-the-top demonstrations - like Eliyahu carried out at Har Carmel. Even with all the lighting, miraculous rain, thunderous cries of belief, and Eliyahu's zealous fights, it was a failure, and Eliyahu ran away defeated. Defeated? But didn't it work? Didn't the people all say they believed in God? God's message was that there is another way - not of force and strength, but of the small, silent things. That is how God wants his leaders to lead His people to Him - with cords of love and soft words of understanding, and with the subtle sounds of silence. Thus, Eliyahu failed - for while the people said what they had to out of fear, the all-powerful and overbearing Truth failed to cause a lasting and deep-seated change in the hearts and souls of the people. Hence the continued persecution of Eliyahu, even after the mega event, and Eliyahu’s consequential frustration and self-imposed isolation. While God first yelled at him for being absent from his post, Eliyahu’s incompatibility with this role leads God to yell at him again and remove him from his post. Eliyahu is then replaced by Elisha, who we first see contrastingly following 12 oxen (hinting to the 12 tribes) and feeding the masses around him (the ideological forerunner of a rebbe’s shirayim).

Fittingly, Eliyahu’s punishment is that he never dies; he is forced to wander the earth for all of time, amongst the people he failed to love and understand. He is thus a visitor at every Jewish brit milah, testifying that God’s people are keeping His covenant, attending every family Seder, bearing witness that the people of Israel are still on their long and winding path back to their Father in heaven, and visiting every motzei Shabbat, celebrating with and recording the merits of the children of Israel. In the end, Eliyahu’s final emancipation will be to finish the long and arduous progression of redemption, returning the hearts of parents to their children and the children’s hearts to their parents. This is not an instant mega-solution, but a slow, multigenerational, heart-to-heart process; only through those ordinary, silent, and genuine understandings will the Final Redemption come and reunite the people of Israel amongst themselves and with God.

So what’s my secret? I don’t really have one; just be a nice, friendly, and warm person. Connect people to each other, to God, and to the world of Judaism around them - and everyone in their own, personal, small ways. It is important to recognize and remember that each person is different and the path to each person’s heart is unique. For all the “things” that I do, it’s really all about the spontaneous, genuine, heart to heart conversations that I have with people, the silent smiles or the welcoming gestures. Even as this has grown in leaps and bounds, I still hold by that assertion, and I am beginning to understand why the movement is called “Heart to Heart”. May we live and work to see the fulfillment of "והשיב לב אבות (לב אבות) על בנים ולב בנים על אבותם"

p.s. I know I am offering solutions here, but I wouldn’t call them “tricks to making people religious”, merely open reminders for normal life.
p.p.s. Most of this came from Rav Elon's insights, which can be found here

Kentucky, part 3 - the Heart of the Matter

Now for the story of that memorable Shabbat in Lexington, Kentucky. Leaving Dickinson at midnight and behind schedule, we had to make a difficult decision. Calculating the remaining hours of driving and the time before Shabbat, we figured out that we either had time for Keeneland or a good night's sleep, but not both. On the one hand, having a good night's sleep is crucial, so you're awake, on your game, and excited when interacting with people. But c'mon, Keeneland! Besides for this being the greatest (and only) horse races I could have gone to (leaving aside future prospects of returning to UKY), I felt that going to the races would've given us an 'in' with the students there; that could have been our common factor (other than being Jews) and a great conversation starter. But the 7 of us voted and I was outvoted, and against my will we stopped for a good night's sleep in a motel. (In retrospect, it turned out okay not going - but next year I am predicating joining the trip on agreeing to go to Keeneland.)

We got to our destination an hour before the time we planned to start and everyone ran off to do errands - get the food ready, sign up another driver, work out the hotel rooms, etc. We opened the cooler with all of the food to find some of the nastiest looking chicken ever - and that was the main food for the dinner. In another 'Shabbat miracle', someone ran to the grocery store and after much searching, they found one lone jar of barbecue sauce with the seal of the kohen gadol OU on it. We drove to building where the event was planned, and quickly started getting things ready - saucing the chicken, making the salad, setting up the candles. In setting up the room for davening, we had decided that we would put up a mechitza - but use only a tablecloth-covered table between the men's and women's sections. As were were bringing over a table to put in the middle, one of the women who was organizing the event with us asked "Is that what I think it is?". Turns out she was a former Orthodox woman from Long Island, but when she moved out to the boondocks/got turned off by some conservative practices of Orthodox Judaism, she kind-of fell off the face of the religious-Jewish world. "Uh, well, we put this up because this is the way that we feel comfortable praying. Not elevating or demoting either gender, merely distinguishing the two and allowing for a space of more personal and comfortable prayer", we answered. Luckily, she actually liked the sound of that. By the time we started, people had been trickling in, mingling, and meeting - and by the time we started there was a big crowd of 14 Kentuckians + 7 Quakers = 21 people! And remember when people said we'd maybe get 5 people to stop by? This was incredible!

We saw/knew that we weren't getting a minyan and so we just started - first we let people know about candle lighting and one of the girls led a group of people in saying the blessings. Then we started davening - okay, so how do you run davening for people who might not know what davening is, and definitely not the one we're used to? We figured Carlebach + explanations was the way to go - if people don't know it, they can at least sing along, or at least get a sense of the feeling of kabbalat shabbat, the meaning, exhilaration, joy, etc. We gave out packets of transliterated and translated kabbalat shabbat, which we had prepared and began going through the sections, with people giving short explanations before different parts. The explanations were brief, just what was going on and some meaning that a specific prayer gave to them. And we sang a lot, slowly and loudly, going into "nay nay nays" after the words had finished. For 'lecha dodi', we did it to the tune of 'am yisrael chai', which I figured was our best shot at them knowing the song. And it was great- I saw/heard people following along; at one point during lecha dodi, I closed my ears, stopped singing, and heard a mass of people singing along behind me. It was really amazing - here we were in the middle of Kentucky with people who might never have had a Shabbat experience before, and definitely not one like this - singing songs of praise to God and greetings to the Shabbat.

After kabbalat Shabbat, we decided to cut straight to dinner - a smart move, as we would've lost these people during ma'ariv, and we would just do it on our own. So we sat down to eat - and what a Shabbat dinner it was! We explained a bit about the content as we went along (shalom aleichem, kiddush, hamotzi) and then we dug into the food. That chicken was probably the best chicken I'd ever had - maybe because I knew how it got there! The 7 of us split up and each person ended up engrossed in conversation with the two or three people around them. It was so nice getting to speak to these people, hearing their stories, what being Jewish was like in a place like Kentucky, what college life was like there, connections to Israel, what the cool things to do around town were, etc. These people had some crazy stories - like how their Christian friends yelled at them for being Jewish, one girl went on Birthright and now wants to live in Israel, one girl tried going to the reform Temple but never felt comfortable there. Dinner lasted for maybe two hours, and we tried a small discussion group on Jewish ethics, which some of the older people (Jewish faculty/community members who came) liked. But the kids (i.e. college students) really just wanted to hang out and talk. We had a feeling that would happen and didn't try and push it too much - it's hard to force too much content on people, especially when this already was their most Jewish experience in a long time. And especially college students, who might very well be more into partying/hanging out than serious religious discussions. But regardless of whether people sat down and read a text, I think it's fair to say that this was a worthwhile, content-filled Jewish experience for all. I mean, it was something, in a place that has nothing, and if it nothing more than to get there Jewish community together, it was worth it. The girl who previously didn't know any other Jewish students in Kentucky, left with a few new friends, one with whom she became pretty close with (I saw facebook pictures of them going shopping together for kosher for passover food). If just for that, I think it was all worth it - do you know what that means for someone stranded Jewishly in the middle of nowhere to be connected with other Jews her age? The new friend, who is slated to be the new 'Hillel president', also brought her along to the Hillel meeting (which consists of around 3 students)! Which also means that I singlehandedly added a quarter of their involved population! And there were more benefits - people said they loved the prayer services and really gained an appreciation for it in the brief taste; a few of the students said they wished they could have something like this more often, and if it was there, they'd for sure go every week. Fine, so there's no one to do this every week and they didn't feel comfortable/want to go to the local Temple, but at least this gave them a desire for more. Once again, we're back at the issue of follow-up - could there be a way to provide something more permanent and long-term for these people? Regardless, it as least planted seeds and either already has or at some point in the future will have had an impact on their lives.

I think this is long enough for now; part 4 to come...

The Rest of the Speaking Tour

For those of you who might've feared for the future of Am Yisrael upon hearing that last story, fear not - the rest of the speaking tour was much more inspirational and uplifting. All in all I spoke to students at 17 yeshivot and midrashot/seminaries (with double shifts and make-ups, I think I spoke around 20 times in total), speaking to ~600 incoming college freshmen. Now I don't know how many total post-Israel students go to college every year, but I probably spoke to a good portion of them. The format was normally that I spoke for ~45 minutes and then fielded questions for another 15, if people had. And the reception was always great; people asked a lot of questions - good questions - questions I could tell were the result of serious thinking and understanding on their part. And many of the students came up and spoke to me afterward, either to tell me how inspiring that was or to ask me what the deal was on their campus, or just to introduce themselves.

On a side note, what I still find funny is that I went on a speaking tour. Besides for the element of me speaking to rooms full of seminary girls, the reason it surprises me is because growing up, one of the only things I knew I could never do was be a public speaker. I just couldn't do it, I was too nervous, I had no self-confidence and I couldn't speak well. Fine, so I always knew I would just choose a profession that didn't entail speaking to hundreds of people. And then here I was, speaking to hundreds of people. And it went well - without a hitch. I think the reason was because I mostly just spoke from the heart. Sure I had the outline of a speech in front of me but more often than not, I just spoke freely, loosely following my outline. And the questions were the best, where I really got to speak my mind and bare my heart and tell my stories. There was nothing to be nervous about, I was just telling my story, having a little 'hart to heart'.

Towards the end of the presentation, I would also pass around a pad of paper for people to sign up with their name, email and school if they were interested in finding out more, wanting to connect with other like-minded people on their campus, interested in staying in touch with me, or just wanted to find out where to get $ for Shabbat meals. Here's a table with the numbers of students who signed up from each college.

College	#signed up
YU	21
NYU	15
Brandeis	14
Maryland	14
Penn	12
Columbia	11
York	10
Queens	9
Stern	9
unknown	9
Barnard	8
Rutgers	7.5
Binghamton	5
Boston	4
City Honors	3
McGill	3
Yale	3
Bar Ilan	2.5
Baruch	2
Brooklyn	2
Cornell	2
CUNY	2
Harvard	2
Hunter	2
Princeton	2
Ryerson	2
Touro	2
U. Kansas	2
U. of Toronto	2
UIC	2
UMBC	2
Carnegie Mellon	1
Dawson College (Montreal)	1
Florida State U.	1
Florida University (U of F?)	1
George Brown	1
IDC	1
John Jay	1
Loyola	1
Northwestern	1
Pratt	1
Queensborogugh	1
SMC	1
Stonybrook	1
U. Birmingham	1
U. Chicago	1
U. Florida	1
U. Hartford	1
U. Liverpool	1
U. Manchester	1
U. Miami	1
U. Michigan	1
U. Montreal	1
U. Urbana	1
UMass	1
Wellesley	1
Western Ontario	1

As you can see, "Heart to Heart" will never be the same. The question is where exactly to go next. I guess the goal would be for this to expand to other colleges, maybe even have similar groups start at other places, and form some sort of structured network, while still keeping it grassroots, personal and genuine. Organized but not an organization. Or whatever you want to call it - just more people being nice and welcoming. But don't worry, just because this is growing doesn't mean I'll stop posting stories - that's really the ikar of this all. And I hope that in time, other people can start sharing their stories as well (linked blogs? or turn into a group blog?). Fine, so not all 213 people will start groups like this, but if even a few do, or if some more people make just one shabbat meal over their time in college, or meet and connect to just one new person -- then this will all be worth it.