I take particular pride in doing a mitzvah in public. When we show pride in our heritage, our faith, and our background, others respect us. When people see that we respect ourselves and are not afraid to display our Judaism, we earn their admiration.
This week, I had the opportunity to do just that.
For six years I’ve been stopping by Yankel’s* office to offer him the opportunity to put on tefillin, and every time he refuses. “I’m not ready,” he says. Or “This isn’t for me; I don’t believe in it.”
On Rosh Hashanah, I blow the shofar in his office so he can hear it. He is happy to shake the lulav and etrog on Sukkot, because it takes about 10 seconds. But tefillin, I haven’t been able to get him to commit to.
Until last week.
I was driving around, looking for parking, when I spotted Yankel walking down the street.
I pulled down my window and shouted across the street, “Yankel! How are you?”
He was on the phone, but so excited (or alarmed!) to see me, that he called back, “Hey, Rabbi!”
“Want to put on tefillin now?” I asked.
“Yes, sure!”
Not wanting to lose the moment, I jumped out of my car and whipped out my tefillin. Dozens of onlookers watched as I helped Yankel put on the tefillin and say the shema.
And I wondered, “Why did you agree today? In public? In the middle of the street? In your office, you always refuse!
“Because you’re crazy, Rabbi! Screaming at me from across the street while I’m on the phone—I just love this about you!”
Our sages teach, “Words that come from the heart, enter the heart.” In order to reach another person, you have to approach them with genuine love and concern. In fact, the Torah gives us the mitzvah to rebuke one’s fellow Jew, but precedes it with the verse, “love your fellow Jew,” to indicate that only when there’s love, can the rebuke be effective.
It would seem that until now, when I asked Yankel to put on tefillin, I didn’t mean it enough. This time, I did.
*Name changed to protect privacy.
Just before Passover, I approached the doorman of my building.