Throughout Chanukah, students from my son’s yeshivah in Pomona came to the Upper East Side to help us make sure every Jew had a taste of Chanukah and a menorah to light.
They stood outside for hours, night after night, going out of their comfort zone to engage passersby, offering donuts and menorah kits. In the rain and in the cold, they came consistently, 25 young teenagers spread across the neighborhood every night of the holiday.
Chanukah is all about spreading light and warmth, illuminating the world around us with the infinite light of Judaism. That’s why we make a point to light the menorah in a window or doorway—to beam our light out into the darkness.
I know from my own experience—I’ve been doing it all my life!—and now from watching my two sons going out as well, just how difficult it can be to ask strangers on the street, “Are you Jewish?”
Sometimes you stand there for hours without a single person showing any interest or even acknowledging your presence. Sometimes you know they are Jewish and when they ignore you it definitely stings.
It’s easy to feel discouraged, but it’s important to remember that often we have an effect on people even if they don’t engage with us. Sometimes you find out about it later, but usually you don’t. This year, I was fortunate to get a letter from Peter* on the last day of Chanukah, who shared his experience:
Dear Rabbi Vigler,
I live around the corner from Chabad on E. 92nd Street, and tonight on the way to Key Food a young man (a boy, really) stopped me to ask if I was Jewish and probably wanted me to put on tefillin.
But I was in a hurry so I rushed past him. But then the Muslim guy I happened to be walking with yelled out, “He's Jewish!” as if to call me out and embarrass me with my own people.
I'm not religious and haven't been to shul since my daughter's bat mitzvah almost two decades ago. But I did go to Israel twice last year because I felt I couldn't go anywhere else with a clear conscience. That didn't really work either.
I also avoided Chabad on the way back. But I thought about how to reconcile what is usually for me a minor ritual inconvenience with the acts of deep faith, conviction and sacrifice I witnessed personally in Israel and which we've all read about for the last year. What meaning could I find in this perfunctory, religious avoidance incident on the Upper East Side?
In any case, when I got home, I felt bad about how I treated someone who I later realized was doing important work. But I also felt much, much worse about what Jews in Israel have had to endure for the past 16 months. So I wrote out checks to my two favorite charities: the Libi Fund for IDF soldiers and the Fund for Bereaved Widows and Orphans. Those were my first mitzvot of the New Year and I wouldn't have done it without a reminder from Chabad.
So please apologize and thank this young man for me. Next time, I won't be so rude or impatient and will let him do his job.
Sincerely,
Peter
I shared his letter with the boys, and told them: “This is the awakening of a Jewish neshama (soul)! You did this! You stood outside for hours and hours, trying your best but feeling like you didn’t accomplish much. And without even knowing it, you sparked the soul of a Jew who walked by without even acknowledging or interacting with you. Just by being there, by trying, by making yourselves known, you awakened a spark which then went on to do more mitzvot. That’s what it’s all about.”
*Name changed to protect privacy.