Book Review: "The Kiruv Files"
Written
by: Rabbi Dovid Kaplan & Rabbi Elimelech Meisels
Published by: Targum Press
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a Book Review by Deiah V'Dibbur
They’re insiders, and theyv’e got some very important inside
information to pass on to you. In The Kiruv Files, Rabbi Dovid Kaplan,
rabbi and lecturer in Yeshivas Ohr Somayach in Jerusalem and regular columnist
for Hamodia, and renowned educator Rabbi Elimelech Meisels, give a real-life,
behind-the-scenes account of the challenges, the pitfalls and the joys
of kiruv. Candid stories, powerful puns, humorous anecdotes, and the power
of gefilte fish make The Kiruv Files an essential guide to successful
kiruv and a must-have for everyone who is interested in the fascinating
phenomenon of the ba’al teshuvah movement.
"[Rabbi Dovid Kaplan’s] ability to spice
his erudition with a little humor has endeared him to a generation of
students here and everywhere. The Kiruv Files reflects both his style
and his experiences and will serve as a valuable handbook for people in
the kiruv field and a wonderful welcome mat for outsiders who wish to
return…”
( Rabbi Mendel Weinbach, Rosh Yeshivas Ohr Somayach)
Excerpts from "The Kiruv Files":
:: And Who by Fire...
There is a young man currently studying at Ohr Somayach
who was formerly a captain in U.S. Army Intelligence. He was brought up
in New Jersey in a home that was, in his words, “Egalitarian Reform
Conservative Jewish. In short, anything but Orthodox.”
One Friday night he was at our house for the meal, and I
asked him what it was that got him, an accomplished “anything-but-Orthodox”
Jew, interested in Yiddishkeit. He told us a fascinating story, the end
of which has not yet been written, since his parents, following in their
son’s footsteps, are now beginning to discover the beauty of Torah
Judaism. To relate the entire tale would require a whole chapter, but
I will share with you the beginning of the story, which is an amazing
illustration of the confluence of “happenstance” and the inextinguishable
Jewishsoul.
Barry was attending a small liberal-arts school in New Jersey,
moreor less dividing his time between the swim team, classes, and late-night
partying. He shared a rather large townhouse with the other members of
his fraternity and never experienced any discrimination, though there
was only one other Jewish member.
One Friday night, during an especially raucous party, Barry
found himself lying on the floor of the living room, in front of the roaring
fire, hovering somewhere between inebriation and unconsciousness.
Through the mists he heard his frat brother saying, “Yo,
Barry, look at this. Look what I found.”
Barry opened his bleary eyes and made out his friend Doug
holdingout a bunch of rolled-up little papers, some with black writing
on the outside and partially torn. From some dim memory he recognized
them as mezuzos, and he said, “Where’d you get those, Doug?”
“I found ’em hanging on the doorposts, man. I
ripped ’em all off. You know what they are?”
“Yeah, man. They’re a Jewish religious thing.
You shouldn’t have
ripped them off. That’s not cool.”
“Oh. Right. You want them, Barry?”
“Yeah, give ’em to me. I’ll
put them back up.”
“You really want them?” teased Doug, holding them
out to Barry,
but just out of his reach.
“Yeah, give ’em to me, man. Stop playing around.”
“Well, if you want them, take them. Here!” And Doug tossed the
mezuzos straight into the fire. Barry looked on in horror. There was nothing
he could do. The mezuzos were consumed by the fire in an instant. Although
he had never even noticed that the house had mezuzos on the doors, and
there was no logical reason that their destruction should bother him,
he felt violated, as though he had been attacked in a very personal way.
Still not entirely sure why, he picked himself up off the floor and made
his way to the door crying. He walked out the door and kept walking for
a very long time.
Something hidden deep inside him had been touched, and he
wanted to know what it was. If he could feel so strongly about an obscure
religious item, then he had better find out what this item represented
and why it was able to exert such an influence on him, a secular, “anything-but-Orthodox”
Jew.
:: Introduction
A few weeks ago I was approached
by a friend of mine who is a teacher in Yeshivas Ohr Somayach's advanced
Center program, and his was a pretty straightforward request.
"Eli, would you mind having two guys
from the Center over for a meal on Shabbos?"
I cleared the request with my wife, and
we settled on Shabbos lunch. Like many local English-speaking families,
we have Shabbos guests on a pretty regular basis. On Shabbos morning,
when the boys showed up before I arrived home from shul, my wife greeted
them and went into the kitchen to prepare the meal, leaving the guests
to entertain themselves until I returned.
Perhaps ten minutes after the guests arrived
I came home from shul, and we made introductions all around. It turned
out they were both named Daniel, which gave us an opening topic for conversation,
and then we settled down to eat.
In the course of the conversation, one
of the young men, a pleasant twenty-four-year-old named Daniel Lubin,
told me his story. He had visited Israel once as a teenager, and though
he had a nice time touring the country, he did not look for, nor find,
any kind of religious experience. When he was twenty-one, he returned
to Israel for another visit, again looking for nothing more than a good
time.
After several weeks of picking bananas
on a kibbutz and some time touring up north, Daniel decided to spend his
last weekend in Jerusalem. He would go to the Western Wall on Friday night
and drive down to the Dead Sea on Saturday morning.
He spent his time at the Wall observing
the black-hatted Jews praying and un-hatted tourists snapping pictures.
After a short time, having nothing more to see, he turned to leave.
He never made it.
Meir Schuster intercepted him. "Do you have anywhere to eat tonight?
Would you like to experience a real Shabbos meal?"
Daniel was slightly taken aback, but with
nothing more exciting than a slice of pizza on the agenda, he decided
to go along with the offer.
At worst, it would be an interesting story
to tell his friends when he got back to the States. And if the food was
really terrible, he could always get that slice of pizza later.
Schuster hooked him up with another young
man, a hulking Australian bartender traveling around the world, and off
they went to experience their first taste of gefilte fish.
"Well," Daniel said to me, "that
meal changed my life. I had the most incredible time, the food was great,
the conversation was really stimulating, and the singing was beautiful.
It lasted until one in the morning, and I knew right then that I had to
check out this religion business. I had never felt anything was missing,
but now I saw how much more there could be to life."
The next morning Daniel went on his trip
to the Dead Sea, and with only twenty-four hours remaining in his visit
to Israel, he crammed in a few lectures on Torah and Judaism before flying
home Sunday evening.
But something had changed.
Although Daniel had returned to America
and his college life, now he felt something was missing. He couldn't forget
his incredible experience at that Shabbos table in Jerusalem. As soon
as he was able, he sought the local Orthodox community for resources that
could help him learn more about his heritage. He was thrilled when he
found several knowledgeable and dedicated rabbis who could help him explore
his roots.
Under their expert tutelage, Daniel found
new vistas opening before him, and he took to it like a fish to water.
It wasn't long before he became fully observant and was experiencing for
himself the thrill of studying in-depth Torah and living as a Torah-true
Jew. Daniel longed to attend a yeshivah and study Torah full-time, but
he felt it would be prudent to finish college first.
Finally, having obtained his diploma, Daniel
was back in Israel, the place where his adventure had begun three years
before, and the circle was now complete.
Almost.
I had listened to the tale with interest
and admiration, and now that he had finished, I had only one comment.
I said, "I didn't know Meir Schuster
had people over to his own house for meals. I thought he usually sent
them to other families. It's interesting that you had the good luck to
eat in Schuster's own home."
Daniel said, "No, you misunderstood.
I didn't eat with Schuster. He sent me to an American family for the meal."
"Oh, I see. Do you happen to remember
who it was?"
"Yes, I do," said Daniel.
"Really? What is their name? I wonder
if I know them."
Instead of answering, Daniel pointed at
the table.
I looked at him in puzzlement. "What
do you mean? Was it someone in this building?"
He nodded.
I started to list the names of my American
neighbors.
He shook his head and said, "No, it was in this apartment."
I said, "Really? What a coincidence.
Who lived in this apartment three years ago?"
Daniel just smiled.
Well, slow I may be, but finally I caught
on. We had been living in this apartment for almost seven years.
"You mean you ate here?"
Daniel nodded.
"Here, with us?"
"Yep!"
"You mean you knew all along? You set up this meal?"
"That's right. I've been wanting to
return here for the past three years. And that's why I bought you this
little gift. I remembered that we made a l'chaim, and you didn't have
shot glasses, so I bought you this decanter set to say thank you-for the
meal and, well, for everything!"
Now the circle really was complete.
For the first time in a very long while, I was truly speechless. But,
to be honest, there was no need for speeches. I just sat there and soaked
it in, stunned and happy that I, and my family, had made such a difference
in another Jew's life. And with such a small effort.
And that is the real reason I am telling
you this story. Not to boast about our wonderful Shabbos meals; if there's
anything wonderful about them, the credit goes to my wife, not me. And
not just to share an entertaining story either.
I tell you this story because it shows
how each and every one of us, professional kiruv worker or not, has the
ability to utterly change the world. And it does not require tremendous
exertion either, but a minimum of effort. How difficult is it to have
a guest over on Shabbos and drink a l'chaim together?
And if we have the ability to change another
Jew's life, then we have the obligation to do so.
That is the point of the story and the
primary purpose of this book to show the "average" frum Jew
that what he is, and the way he lives, are all he needs to spread the
word of Hashem.
It needn't be through a brilliant Torah lecture or a subtle deconstruction
of Darwin's theory of evolution. It could be a Shabbos meal or a kind
word. It could be an act of integrity or a helping hand. That is all we
really need to make a kiddush Hashem.
The most amazing thing about this is that
we may never know the results of a seemingly insignificant action. Had
Daniel Lubin not made a point of returning to our house, we would probably
never have known what we had helped achieve, and we would never have gotten
the chizuk and the boost that we did.
I had always claimed that one does not
need to be a great scholar nor a trained kiruv expert to make someone
frum. Thanks to Daniel Lubin and a "chance" encounter, now I
have the proof that this is true.
