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.

Avraham vs. Noach

I am forced to write this due to a shocking experience I went through recently. In the midst of my speaking tour of yeshivot and seminaries/midrashot in Israel, I spoke at one school where the format was more of a panel discussion. The rabbi leading the session started off saying that although normally they bash, make fun of, embarrass and yell at people going to secular colleges, for this one time they would try and be open to hear some of the challenges and opportunities presented by college. So I spoke first - a condensed, 15-minute version of my speech- telling some inspirational stories and imparting the message that as secular college students, you have the opportunity and charge of changing someone's life with the smallest actions, with only the obligation to care and be aware. I made sure to say that one can do this without sacrificing anything of yourself, that this wasn't mutually exclusive to one's personal religious growth. Fine, nothing too controversial, pretty good right?

Wrong. Immediately after I finished, one rabbi (whose 'secular college credentials' entailed once going to summer classes; the rest of the time he never left yeshiva) jumped in to say (in essence) "Whoa whoa whoa. Don't listen to this guy at all - kiruv is not at all what you should be doing." He went on to tell the participants that while maybe this guy might have something beautiful in Judaism to share, you definitely don't. He, as well as the other 'panelists' went on and on saying how you shouldn't think about this and all you should do is make sure you're learning Torah, keeping a kesher with Rabbis, not hanging out with the wrong people, not reverting to what you were before Israel, etc. They would sometimes go back to my point, saying how maybe you can leave your bubble for one second to do kiruv but then you gotta jump right back in. Chas v'shalom you should actually talk to a girl or someone non-frum (better a non-Jew than someone non-religious), it might hurt your shidduch chances. And the picture that was painted was pretty much a world of kefira, naked women, drugs and alcohol (reminds me of Gil Perl and Yaakov Weinstein's "A Parent’s Guide to Orthodox Assimilation on University Campuses") - with the only safe haven being in yeshiva, whether back in Israel or a nearby sanctuary.

There were some alumni there who also spoke - they had just finished their freshmen year at certain secular college right near my house. One of them proudly exclaimed that he didn't know about all the kefira/controversies at his college, because he never talked to anyone who wasn't frum, he just locked himself up in his room. His friend and fellow student praised him, saying "this guy is my hero - the only reason he's still frum is because he never stayed in once for shabbos". They said it with pride, similar to the rabbis on the panel who, in describing their expertise in secular college, beamed how they "didn't even know their secular college had a campus"! One of the alumni then gave a dvar torah: there are two famous models of heroes in the beginning of Bereishit - Noach and Avraham. People often compare the two, and this student quoted one opinion that Noach was a failed hero for not saving the world, while Avraham was the archetypal hero for striving to heal and redeem his world. This student thought that was stupid and gave his peshat, the obvious one. "We see that Noach was better because his story comes first - the Torah wants to teach us how that's the best way, to lock yourself up in the teiva and forget about everyone else."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Does this guy not daven every day when we call upon "Elokey Avraham... Magen Avraham"? We learn the very essence of prayer from Avraham, when he looked out over the destruction of Sodom, the (evil, non-Jewish) city he valiantly sought to save! There's a reason we're called not beni Noach, but Ivrim - after Avraham, who went to the other side (eiver) but brought people with him. We friggin learn that "gadol hachnasat orchim mikabalat penei shechinh" - "greater is the mitzvah of welcoming guests than that of receiving the face of the Almighty"! (Shabbat 127a) And I bet the gemara wasn't talking about inviting the same 5 friends from yeshiva to your shabbos meal. Who dress, think, learn, and talk just like you. Gosh, Avraham avinu was sitting and talking to God Himself when he saw three non-Jewish, random strangers walk by. You know what he told God? "Sorry Almighty, it's great talking to you but I gotta go say hello to some strangers, offer them some food, and sit with them." There's our paradigm for heroism! That's why he was chosen to be the father of the Jewish people, and not Noach. Last we see Noach, he's getting drunk and having problems with his kids -- not that he was a bad guy but something obviously didn't work out. His story was probably first because it was a less mature, introductory lesson into human leadership, setting the stage and providing a foil for Avraham's. Noach failed, and thus the world descended into another 10 generations of chaos, until someone who cared about someone other than himself came along - Avraham. The gemara in Avodah Zara (9b) quotes and maps out the years of Jewish history: 2,000 of chaotic nothingness, 2,000 of Torah and 2,000 of Moshiach. While at first the gemara wants to assume that the beginning of the era of Torah occurred at Matan Torah, it actually calculates the date to be Avraham's time in Charan. I bet Avraham wasn't shtaiging gemara all day, locked in his room when the era of Torah began; you know what he was probably doing? Inviting people into his house for a bite, a rest, a meaningful conversation, a loving and caring relationship. As Hillel said, "that is Torah, the rest is just commentary" (Shabbat 31a).

p.s. To be fair, a) alumni aren't always representative of their yeshiva's views and b) as I was leaving, the rabbi who ran the session thanked me for speaking, as it "gave a positive beginning" to an otherwise criticism-filled morning.