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...