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Everyone knew Shloimi. He wasn't hard to miss. Shloimi was the friendliest guy around and he made sure to say hello to --on the street, in the supermarket, or in shul--and everyone always reciprocated with a smile. Not only that, but any stranger who responded with a nice word, would also be asked their name, where they davened, and what Daf Yomi shiur they attended. He had the uncanny ability to make the large frum community feel like a small town. There was one other reason you couldn't forget Shloimi: he was mentally disabled. Although he spent most of the time in his own world, he reached out to everyone around him until his world became their world. Everyone had a place in their heart for Shloimi.

Each week, Shloimi's brother used to take him to the local JCC to exercise. Shloimi would lift weights a little, jog a little, and smile a lot, making conversation with anyone who would listen. It was in this way that he met Mike. Mike had recently moved to the city after graduating law school and was working for one of the most successful firms in town. That day, he happened to notice that Shloimi was lifting more weight than was suitable for him. "Hey kid," he said. "You better be careful-you can hurt yourself if you don't lift properly. How much do you weigh?"

"What's your name?" Shloimi asked, ignoring his question.

"Mike Schwartz. What's yours?"

"Shloimi," Shloimi said smiling profusely. "Where do you daven?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Shloimi," Mike said. "I haven't been to shul since my Bar Mitzvah!"

"Come to Daf Yomi shiur in our shul."

"Ok, Shloimi, whatever you say. It's been nice to meet you. Take it easy with those weights."

The next week, Shloimi ran up to Mike as soon as he walked into the weight room.

"Hi Mike! When are you coming to shul with me?" Shloimi asked.

"Hey Shloimi, right? How you doing? I was wondering if I would see you around here again."

"Come to our house for Shabbos!"

"Gee, thanks Shloimi, that's really sweet of you. Maybe some other time. I already have plans this weekend."

This persisted week after week, until at last Mike agreed to come with Shloimi to shul on Shabbos morning, just to get him to stop asking. To Mike's surprise, he actually enjoyed it! Although the shul wasn't used to not-yet-frum guests, they received Mike with the utmost warmth and kindliness and he immediately felt at home, despite all the time that had elapsed since he last attended Synagogue. A few weeks later, he attended again-this time on his own initiative. He soon gave in to Shloimi's invitation for Shabbos as well. It was his first traditional "heimish" Shabbos seudah experience and he once again was pleasantly surprised. He loved the warm family time, the break from his busy work schedule and the incessant ringing of his Blackberry, the stimulating conversation, and even the chollent! Soon, other people in shul started to invite Mike for Shabbos meals and before long, people were even fighting over who got to have him that week. Mike was basically adopted by the shul and he became a regular. When Mike's brother Eric was over at his house one day he noticed a great book on Jewish ethics in the living room and asked where he could get one. Mike immediately called up Shloimi's house to ask them. Soon Eric was also a regular at the Shloimi's parent's Shabbos table and at the shul.

Today, Mike lives in Eretz Yisrael with his wife and six children and learns in kollel. Both he and his brother Eric are now completely frum simply because of Shloimi's desire to say hello to another Jew. The irony is that Shloimi may not even know what he accomplished. The truth is that it's the same with all of us. When you go out of your way to say hello to a not-yet-frum Jew, you never know what the outcome will be. Every kind word, every smile, every warm gesture is planting a seed that may someday blossom into a beautiful flower. Like Shloimi, you may never know what you've accomplished, but years later, someone may be raising frum children somewhere in the world because of you.