On Shavuot I was walking to shul with my sons. It’s not far from our house and I cherish the time together. The older one was riding his rib stick (since it was Yom Tov, when that is permitted), and my 10-year-old was walking next to me.
Out of nowhere, I heard someone screaming at me, “Did your father do to you what you are doing to your son?” Thinking I hadn’t heard correctly, I turned around to look at him, and saw the anger on his face as he repeated the question, “Did your father do to you what you are doing to your son?”
I was shocked and bewildered. What had I done? I was walking to shul with my son, telling him a story about King David, literally in my own world. What could I possibly have done to anger this man? I wasn’t blocking the sidewalk. I wasn’t letting my son run wild and bump into other people. We weren’t walking in the street. I wasn’t in his way. I was holding my son’s hand, walking calmly, engrossed in conversation.
The only explanation I could come up with was the fact that I was dressed as a religious Jew, with my hat, jacket, and beard, and my son was wearing his kippah and tzitzit. I guess he was concerned that I was instilling religious fanaticism and brainwashing my child. So I responded proudly, “Yes! My father did to me what I am doing to my son,” which annoyed him even more.
After I calmed down, I was able to pivot and even feel excited for this man. He looked Jewish, and who else would react so strongly to seeing an Orthodox Jew? The fact that he was so enraged indicates that he has a G-dly soul inside him, and it’s on fire, desperately yearning to connect.
If his soul was dead or cold, he would have simply ignored me and kept walking. But seeing me affected him deeply. His soul was screaming out, “Help me!”
Every Jew has a soul, which is a piece of G-d. Sometimes it’s buried so deep inside us, it takes a Jew walking down the street telling his son a story about King David to trigger our awareness.
In fact, there was a young European woman passing by whose soul was also triggered by this encounter. She saw what happened and yelled at the man, “Stop bothering him! Mind your own business!” I thanked her for standing up for me, and we got into a conversation. It turned out she, too, is Jewish.
The irony of this encounter happening on the holiday of Shavuot was not lost on me. When G-d wanted to give the Torah to the Jews, he asked them, “Who will be your guarantors?” The Jews tried to say Abraham or Isaac or Jacob, but G-d rejected these offers. Finally, they offered their children as guarantors, and G-d was satisfied.
So yes, I am proud that my father taught me the Torah and the Jewish way of life, just as his father taught him. And I will continue to teach my children, doing to them exactly what my father did to me.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Uriel Vigler