For Your Inspiration
Baalei Teshuva Stories
For Your Inspiration
We have always told our kids that a Jew is a Jew; no matter what he looks like. Every Jew deserves our love and respect; every Jew is our brother or sister. Last August I was put to the test.
My older children were in Israel with my parents so my husband Lavi and I took our two younger sons, Yosef (6), and Eliyhau (9), and our toddler Shevy to Philadelphia for a mini vacation.
In Philly we visited the fabulous Please Touch Museum. We were there for hours. At one point, we split up. Lavi took the boys to the pretend gas station and mechanic's shop while I took Shevy to a special area for babies and toddlers. It was a nursery rhyme exhibit with lots of interactive displays. At this point I was getting wiped out- ever run after three kids at a kids museum for five hours?- and I slumped on a bench and watched Shevy explore the enclosed area. Most museum goers have an upscale look. (Who else but upscale folks are going to shell out $16 a person to watch their kids flip pretend pizzas and run in circles on a life size mouse treadmill?) That's why one couple stuck out. When I say stuck out, I mean really stuck out, as in "the guy had a bone in his nose and big long earrings in both ears". Besides for the shocking bone, he had tattoos and an African type earring; big round circles that weighed his ear lobes down. The woman sported a gaudy look with tattoos. Together they hovered over their little daughter named Kaya. I knew her name was Kaya because every few minutes I would hear the mother say, "Not nice, Kaya, you have to share." Or "That's not yours, Kaya, it's for everyone here. Give one to the little boy." I tried not to stare at this couple. At one point the mother commented on my chilled out attitude with Shevy. I told her that my daughter is the youngest of five children, and that by now I tend to take the "let her do her own thing" road, rather than the hovering mother road. What she said next really shocked me, "So... you must be Orthodox if you have five kids?" I opened my mouth and then shut it, a fish out of water. I had just gleaned some important bits of information. She knows I'm Jewish so maybe she's Jewish, especially because she asked if I was Orthodox. If ever there was a time to put my kiruv training from Project Inspire into action, it was now. I measured my words carefully.
"Yes, I'm an Orthodox Jew. Are you Jewish?"
The woman, who introduced herself as Betty smiled. "Can't you tell? Look at my tattoo!"
I squinted at it, but still couldn't figure out what it said.
Betty beamed. "It says m'chapess ha'emet."
I gulped. "Searching for the truth. Ah, that's real meaningful." I mustered a smile recognizing that this was her way of searching for the truth. Hadn't they heard of going to shul on Rosh Hashanah? A lot less painful than either the bone or the tattoo.
We conversed some more and I learned that she was Israeli and that her husband was an American Indian. I thought that her daughter's name might be Chaya, but no, it was Kaya, an Indian moniker. As we spoke, I put in a good word for Judaism whenever I could. When she told me that her Israeli family had been upset when a cousin married a "black" (she meant Chareidi) Jew, I told her that many families initially are upset to see a fellow family member become a baal teshuva. Their wariness can turn to respect when they see what a happy and healthy lifestyle Judaism promotes. The whole conversation had a surreal quality. She was by far the most intriguing person I ever spoke to. Different, yes, but with a Jewish heart. She inquired if I lived in Philly because she was thinking of putting Kaya into daycare and was considering a Chabad daycare center. After a while we parted ways.
I met up with my husband and told him what had happened. I felt unsettled.
My husband is one of the founders of Shabbat.com, a fabulous new website that places people at hosts for Shabbat meals. Lavi always keeps Shabbat.com business cards in his wallet. On one side is the website info and on the other side is tefillas haderech.
Note: I'm sure there are people who would have given out their contact info or invited this couple to come to New York for a Shabbos. For various reasons, this idea didn't seem right to me. But I did want to leave her with something. I told Lavi to look out for them. (There weren't too many guys wandering around with bones so they were easy to spot.) Sure enough, a few minutes later, Lavi pointed them out to me. I ran over to Betty and presented her with the Shabbat.com card. I told her I hoped it would help her connect with some Chabad folks in Philly. She was touched that I had sought her out and kissed me!
I walked away from her, triumphant in the fact that I HAD done something. I never saw or heard from her again. But I remember her and I hope she remembers me.
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