Journeys of the Soul

Some people can accomplish more in a single moment than the rest of us do in our entire lives.

The Baraisa (Avodah Zara 17a) recounts the story of Elazar ben Durdaya who dedicated his life to empty pursuits and pleasures. One day, a chance comment caused him to realize how meaningless his life had been. He immediately broke down in tears of sincere penitence, accepted responsibility for his misdeeds and committed himself to changing. At that moment he died, and a voice called out from heaven and said, “He has been readied for the life of the World to Come!”

When the incident was reported to Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, he said the sincerity of Elazar ben Durdaya’s teshuva was the key to its acceptance. He said some people acquire their place in the World to Come through many years of work, and some can acquire it in a single moment.

Doniel Goldrich* witnessed a similar moment of life-changing teshuva nearly 20 years ago. Doniel participated in a learning program sponsored by Partners In Torah. Once a week, Doniel and several other men from Lakewood drove to a synagogue in a neighboring town where they learned one-on-one with community members.

Doniel was paired with 38-year old Marshall Lichtenstein*. Marshall’s two sons attended the nearby religious Shalom Torah Center school, but at home the family kept very few practices.

Doniel and Marshall studied the Torah portion of the week together and used it as a springboard into many other topics, including Jewish philosophy, mitzvot and holidays. Over the two years that they learned together, Doniel was constantly inspired by Marshall’s excitement for learning and his passion for the material.

When Marshall was a young man, he had been diagnosed with a serious heart condition. But after years with no episodes, he assumed the condition had passed. However a year and a half after Doniel started learning with him, Marshall began feeling ill. After a battery of tests his cardiologist said that he needed a valve replacement as soon as possible. He went through open-heart surgery to have a pig’s valve inserted, and when the procedure was unsuccessful, his doctors performed a second round of surgery.

“Through the process we got to know him,” Doniel said. “We went to the hospital to visit him. He wasn’t religious at all, but he put on Tefillin in his hospital room for the first time. He was very appreciative that we visited.”

Committing to particular mitzvot can be a major source of merit for a person in a difficult situation, so Doniel suggested some small religious steps that Marshall could take. Religious growth is based on taking baby steps, and Doniel suggested a few preliminary ideas.

“I said to him ‘would you want to take on something, to bring to action things that we’ve talked about? It might bring fulfillment to your life. You don’t have to keep completely Kosher, but at some level you might consider keeping Kosher in your home, or maybe your wife would like to light Shabbas candles,’” Doniel said.

“That’s an amazing idea,” Marshall said. “Let me think about it.”

The following week Doniel spoke to him during their learning session after he had been released from the hospital. Doniel could see a difference in him, a certain excitement that he had never seen before.

“I could tell that something had changed. His face was lit up,” Doniel said. “Marshall said, ‘we can’t keep Kosher in our home now, but every Thursday night we go out on a date to particular restaurant, because of our favorite dish on the menu which is made of pork. We decided we won’t go to that restaurant anymore. We’ll change our weekly date because it’s not Kosher. It’s something we accepted on ourselves because of your suggestion.’”

“You could see the happiness on his face. It was not an easy decision. It was very hard,” Doniel said. “I told him how wonderful it was.”

For Marshall, it was a major step. To give up a favorite dish and restaurant takes a lot of self-control, but Marshall and his wife were committed to their decision. They understood that the value of their decision outweighed their enjoyment of the particular dish.

Ten days later, Doniel received a call from Marshall’s wife at 6:00 in the morning. She said that Marshall had passed away during the night.

Doniel put the family in touch with a local Orthodox funeral home which gave him a full kosher burial. Doniel and several of the other men from Lakewood attended the funeral. A Rabbi from the sons’ school delivered the eulogy. He knew Marshall and over the last two years had witnessed Marshall’s growing excitement for Jewish learning. The rabbi quoted the first Mishnah in Bava Kamma that refers to man as maveh, a word which comes from the root “to search or inquire.”

“He said that’s the root of human beings – we’re always searching, always looking to make ourselves better. This was Marshall. He was able in mid-life to become a searcher, to accept new opportunities.”

At the cemetery, Doniel and his friends made sure that Marshall was buried in the proper way. Everyone else had gone home after the service, but the men wanted to make sure everything was done perfectly. They threw shovelful after shovelful of dirt into the grave until it was full.

“After we finished putting dirt in the hole, a woman came over to us, hysterically crying. She said ‘I’m Marshall’s first cousin. To see what I just saw, he must have done something in his life to merit having people like you burying him.’”

That was Marshall. With his one major decision, Marshall transformed his life both in this world and the next world. How much can we achieve, not just in one special moment, but over a lifetime of dedicating ourselves on the proper path?

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Michael Gros is the former Chief Operating Officer of the outreach organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. He writes from Ramat Beit Shemesh, Israel. The Teshuva Journey column chronicles uplifting teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. Send comments to michaelgros@gmail.com

* Name has been changed

(Published in The Jewish Press in November 2009)

For Robert lipanzer*, a chance question in college sent him on an amazing journey into his religion and deep into his family roots.

During his freshman year at George Washington University, Robert connected with a local outreach rabbi and began learning more about Judaism and growing in his religious observance. Towards the end of the year, Robert decided he was ready to begin putting on tefillin daily and asked the rabbi to order him a pair.

“How do you wrap your tefillin, in or out?” came the rabbi’s reply.

Jews wrap the strap of their arm tefillin either in towards their body or away from it, with the direction differing based on the place of origin of a person’s family and their religious group. The direction of the wrapping affects the type of Tefillin he would be purchasing. Robert didn’t know his family’s tradition, but knew that his grandfather used to wear them so decided to ask him.

Robert’s grandfather said his father taught him to wrap the strap outward and not to wrap it on his hand in the shape of the Hebrew letter Shin. Both practices differed from the prevailing customs of the Jews of Minsk where the family originated. Robert’s grandfather didn’t know why their customs were different.

Robert began to wonder if these were Chassidic customs. Besides the way to wrap his tefillin, the only other family custom his grandfather remembered were unique tunes for the Passover Seder. Robert began researching his family and the community of Minsk in depth. He started learning Chassidic texts and was deeply drawn to them. He began learning and growing more, especially towards the direction of Chassidism.

“I knew I had found the path for my soul. Chassidus spoke to me,” Robert said.

Robert contacted a Chassidic rabbi in Monsey, New York who used to live in Minsk. Robert was hopeful that maybe he knew more about the Jews of Minsk and possibly even his family.

Robert called him. Not only did he have a lot of information on the Jews of Minsk, he said the maiden name of his aunt’s mother was Lipanzer! Her family had come from Minsk, and yes, they were Chassidic. They were followers of the Koidenover Chasidic dynasty, which Robert found out later had been a large group in White Russia and Lithuania before being decimated in the Holocaust.

Robert was overjoyed. Maybe he had found a long-lost relative. Because of his interest in Chassidism, the potential that his family was Chassidic also made him ecstatic.

Robert spent the Spring Break week of his senior year in Monsey. He met the Chassidic rabbi and heard more about the Jews of Minsk. The rabbi also gave Robert the phone number of his sister-in-law, who was the wife of a Rosh Yeshiva of a Chassidic yeshiva and knew a lot about the family.

Robert called her. He explained that his great-grandfather was named Chaim Noach and he had lived in Baltimore.

“Uncle Chaim from Baltimore!” she exclaimed.

They realized that they were direct relatives. The woman also mentioned her grandfather “Zeide Yosef,” whom Robert knew as Uncle Joe. Robert had heard about Uncle Joe from his grandfather, but the families had lost contact with each other. Robert began signing the Passover tunes that he knew, and the woman said they were the same tunes used in her family.

She began filling in more details of Robert’s family. They were indeed members of the Koidenov Chassidic dynasty. She said that her grandmother, who was Robert’s great-great grandmother, had the coveted job of baking the 12 special challahs used at the Koidenover Rebbe’s Shabbat table.

“I couldn’t believe it. I thought maybe I would track down information linking us to a particular Chassidus, but to find frum cousins was beyond my imagination,” Robert said.

After graduating from college, Robert went to Israel to study in Yeshiva. On his first free Shabbat, he went to Bnei Brak to meet the current Koidenover Rebbe who is trying to rebuild the group in Israel. Some of Robert’s religious cousins in Bnai Brak hosted him and introduced him to the Rebbe.

On Friday afternoon he went to meet the Rebbe. Robert told the Rebbe about his family and that this great-grandfather was a Koidenover chasid. The Rebbe quoted the verse “v’dor har’vii yashuvu ad hena” –“and the fourth generation will return here” (Bereishis 15:16). Robert’s soul felt complete. Here was a direct connection to his family and heritage. More than that, he had found his direction in life.

“I had come home and received a royal welcome,” Robert said.

Over Shabbat, Robert davened with the Rebbe and ate meals at his table. He felt at home. These were his family’s customs and tunes. These were his origins.

Robert continues to be a devoted student of the Koidenover Rebbe as he helps him to rebuild the lost community and reconnect to his family’s traditions. And it was all because of a simple question from the rabbi in college.

“Imagine if the Rabbi from college did not ask me how we wrapped Tefillin. He could have ordered me a regular pair with an Ashkenaz [knot], yet his one question sparked a search which eventually ignited my soul,” Robert said.

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Michael Gros is the former Chief Operating Officer of the outreach organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. He writes from Israel. The Teshuva Journey column chronicles uplifting teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. Send comments to michaelgros@gmail.com

* Name has been changed

(Published in The Jewish Press in October 2009)

For every Jew alive today, even the most unobservant, it’s necessary to only go a couple of limbs up the family tree to find an observant predecessor. If you peek far enough, sometimes you can find amazingly special people in the family, from famous Rabbis to strong matriarchs. For one unassuming family in the cold hinterlands of Alaska, that was just the case.

In Alaska one finds plenty of snow, moose and oil, but few Jews. There are less than 6,000 in the entire state. Half of the Jews live in the city of Anchorage, so when Rabbi Yosef and Esther Greenberg arrived in Alaska in 1991 they set up the Chabad-Lubavitch Jewish Center of Alaska there. Handfuls of Jews also live in remote towns and cities such as Sitka, Kenai, Ketchikan and Kotzubue. Rabbi Greenberg flies to these areas, sometimes in a seaplane, to prepare boys for their bar mitzvahs, put up mezuzahs and teach Jewish classes.

The Greenberg’s annual Chanukkah party has always been their most popular event. At the 1993 party, Rabbi Greenberg noticed a new couple among the many familiar faces. He introduced himself and spoke to them for a few minutes but did not expect to see them again.

A few months later the wife called Rabbi Greenberg and asked him if he could train their son for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah. Their son had never been to Hebrew school and couldn’t read Hebrew. His family had not even planned on making a Bar Mitzvah. However the boy’s elderly grandmother from Los Angeles was persistent that her grandson have one, so to make her happy the couple was now turning to Rabbi Greenberg for help in preparing him for it.

Rabbi Greenberg tutored the boy, teaching him Hebrew and training him to say the blessings on the Torah. Finally the Shabbat of the Bar Mitzvah arrived and the boy’s extended family flew in from all around the country.

The Bar Mitzvah was beautiful. The boy read the blessings, and Rabbi Greenberg chanted the Torah portion and Haftorah.

During lunch in the synagogue after services, the boy’s grandmother asked for permission to speak. She stood up and explained why it was so important to her that her grandson have a Bar Mitzvah.

First she was worried that living in Alaska, her grandson would grow up without a Jewish identity. Therefore she wanted to make sure he would at least have a Bar Mitzvah.

Second, the grandmother related that she had moved to the United States from Russia many years earlier. She rarely attended synagogue, but fondly remembered receiving a strong Jewish education in her youth. She grew up in the town of Berditchev, and a private teacher came to her house every day to teach her and her siblings Jewish subjects. When Jewish observance was banned after the Russian Revolution of 1917, her religious education ceased.

Why did her parents value Jewish education so much, and why did she push so hard for her grandson to have a Bar Mitzvah?

“It was very important to me to make this Bar Mitzvah because of my family tree,” she continued, now looking directly at Rabbi Greenberg. “My family, we come from a big rabbi. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name was Rabbi Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov.”

Rabbi Greenberg’s jaw dropped. The Ba’al Shem Tov founded the Chassidic movement in the 1700s, of which Chabad-Lubavitch is a part. Two hundred years later the Ba’al Shem Tov’s efforts helped provide his descendents in Alaska with an authentic Jewish experience and a point of entry to return to Jewish observance.

After lunch Rabbi Greenberg approached the grandmother and said he had a piece to add to her story. Rabbi Greenberg said he himself is a ninth-generation descendent of the Maggid of Mezritch, who was the foremost student and successor of the Ba’al Shem Tov. So here in Alaska was a descendent of the Maggid of Mezritch helping to bring back a descendent of his teacher the Ba’al Shem Tov.

In the years since the Bar Mitzvah, the young man and his family have become more observant. Hashem specifically sent Rabbi Greenberg to Alaska because He knew that the deep relationship between the Ba’al Shem Tov and his student would help his descendents return. Plus G-d knew that the many merits of the Ba’al Shem Tov would remain in the family and be a spiritual catalyst to bring them back.

“All Jewish children running around the world are the grandchildren of Tzaddikim and Tzadekot,” Rabbi Greenberg said. “If your child or grandchild was going away from Judaism, wouldn’t you fight to get him back? The Baal Shem Tov was crying in heaven.”

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the Jewish outreach organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

(Published in The Jewish Press in August 2008)

Moshe Feldman* grew up Reform in Manalapan, N.J. He began becoming observant after he graduated college, and early on in his teshuva journey experienced an open miracle that changed his life forever.

Moshe belonged to a close-knit group of five friends who met in high school and remained buddies for many years after. They called themselves the Roundtable. They were all Jewish, and none was raised observant. Three years ago, the first of these friends got married. John Shapiro* was marrying a non-Jewish Filipino girl, and the wedding was to be on Shabbas. Moshe and his friends decided to take a ten day, 500-mile road trip from San Francisco to Newport Beach, Calif. for the wedding.

Among the members of the group, Moshe stood out like a sore thumb. He described himself then as “the quintessential flaming ba’al teshuva. I was unshaven and righteous, wearing a khaki paperboy cap like that of a European immigrant, tzitzit hanging over my Levi’s jeans and a gold chai hanging around my neck.”

Moshe tried sharing his newfound observance with his friends, only to receive the harshest of abuses. They mocked his praying, yelled at him for bentching after eating because it delayed the trip, made fun of him for trying to say Tefilat Haderech in the car and even tricked him into eating shrimp.

“The irony was that we’d only been such close friends in the first place because we were Jews. There were deep, unsaid inexplicable bonds between us simply because we had Jewish souls, regardless of any affinity whatsoever to Judaism itself,” Moshe said. “Now that I brought Torah to the Roundtable, rifts of resentment began to form and the facade of our friendship began to crack. I honestly felt like a stranger in their presence.”

Before leaving on the trip, Moshe searched on the Internet for a Jewish community close to the hotel. The nearest synagogue was seven miles away, too far to walk. He decided to attend the wedding on Friday night, and spend the rest of the Shabbas by himself in the hotel.

After a week of abuse from his friends, all he longed for was a beautiful Shabbas experience. On Friday he planned to buy Shabbat candles, wine and food. However upon arriving in Newport Beach, he realized it was in the middle of nowhere. There was no place to buy the items he needed. His plans for Shabbas were doomed.

While two members of the group went inside the hotel to check in, Moshe stayed in the rental truck with the luggage and the fourth member of the group, Ian Butler.*

Suddenly, Ian pointed out the window.

“Hey, here comes one of your friends,” Ian said.

Moshe’s jaw dropped. A boy with a yamacha and tzitzit walked past, followed by another and another.

Moshe raced out of the truck. Inside the hotel lobby were dozens of observant Jewish teenage boys and girls. He ran to the parking lot, where tour buses were unloading even more frum teenagers.

Moshe approached a man with a clipboard.

“What’s going on at the hotel this weekend?” Moshe asked.

“NCSY is having their annual West Coast conference.”

Moshe said it was impossible to describe what he felt at that moment. NCSY, the largest Jewish youth outreach organization, just happened to be making their Shabbaton in the same hotel. Over 500 Jews from all across the United States and Canada had flocked to Newport Beach.

After roaming around taking in the scene, Moshe ran into the groom John and his parents by the hotel’s entrance. They looked completely bewildered.

“Did you have to invite your whole congregation?” John’s father asked.

A few minutes later Moshe met Rabbi Steven Burg, one of the organizers of the weekend who has since become the national director of NCSY. Rabbi Burg invited him to spend the entire Shabbos with NCSY, and to attend all of the meals, classes and festivities for free.

Shabbas was saved.

The Shabbaton was absolutely beautiful. The meals were delicious, the spirit was uplifting and the classes were inspiring. One session was about the significance of studying in Israel. Moshe had thought about someday visiting there, but had never before thought about going to a yeshiva.

From the sudden turnabout of events Moshe gained a newfound appreciation of G-d’s involvement in the world and a commitment to grow in his observance and knowledge of his religion.

Before the trip Moshe had received calls from Rabbi Elazar Meisels. Rabbi Meisels was trying to recruit him to attend the Sinai Retreats, a ten-day program in upstate New York which teaches Jews about their heritage. Each time he called, Moshe declined saying he was too busy looking for a job. Now when Rabbi Meisels called during the week after the road trip, he jumped at the chance.

The program picked up where the NCSY Shabbaton left off and Moshe grew in his excitement for Torah study. When a Rabbi at the Sinai Retreats approached him to ask if he would like a chance to learn in yeshiva in Israel, he immediately agreed. That was three years ago, and he has remained studying in Israel ever since.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the kiruv organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

*Not his real name.

(published in The Jewish Press November 1, 2007)

For Rabbi Nosson (Mark) Sachs, a Reserve Chaplain in the U.S. Army, building a Sukkah last year in Afghanistan against all odds showed him Hashem’s hand more clearly than almost any other experience of his life.

Rabbi Sachs traveled to Afghanistan in 2006 for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot to lead services for American personnel. For most of his time there, he was based at the Bagram Air Base. When he arrived, the Presbyterian chaplain at the base assured him that the base had not just one, but two sukkahs for the coming holiday. Rabbi Sachs was ecstatic – of the 15 personnel who attended his Yom Kippur services, 11 said they would be interested in coming back for Sukkot, so two Sukkahs would be enough to seat everyone.

Four days before Sukkot Rabbi Sachs opened the boxes and immediately realized they didn’t hold two Sukkahs, but the broken parts of a single small pop-up Sukkah.

Sukkot was starting on Friday afternoon, so Rabbi Sachs had to quickly design and build a new Sukkah. He sketched plans and brought them to the sergeant major involved with the base’s engineering corps to see if they could build it. The sergeant major handed him a stack of papers which required several signatures.

“How long do you think it will take to build it?” Rabbi Sachs asked. “The holiday starts in four days.”

“Maybe we could finish it by December,” the sergeant major replied.

Rabbi Sachs gulped.

Rabbi Sachs decided to try to build the Sukkah himself. He and the Presbyterian chaplain ran around the base for the next few hours getting all the necessary signatures.

A passerby (left) looks on as Rabbi Nosson Sachs (right) builds the Bagram sukkah with the help of a carpenter friend.

Rabbi Sachs next went to the base’s building supplies store. The two Bosnian Muslims manning the store had never heard of a Sukkah before, but were eager to help. They said all the supplies would be available by Thursday afternoon.

The only items they did not have were metal L brackets which to connect the sukkah to one wall of the chapel. The valley surrounding the base is very windy, so Rabbi Sachs needed the brackets to provide stability to the sukkah. However in a country of mostly mud huts, metal brackets were almost nonexistent. Finally after an hour driving around the base looking for brackets, Rabbi Sachs finally found a building that made aluminum air conditioning ducts.

Rabbi Sachs ran into the building and asked the man inside, this time an Afghani Muslim, if he could make L brackets. He was so excited to make something other than air conditioning ducts.

“How many you need?” the man asked. “I can make a lot. A thousand?”

“Actually no. Twenty will be sufficient,” Rabbi Sachs said.

Rabbi Sachs returned two hours later. The man had made sixty brackets.

Thursday afternoon came and Rabbi Sachs picked up the rest of the materials. He had requested wood beams to build the frame of the Sukkah, but the only beams available were twelve feet long! So he borrowed a saw and began the long process of cutting the wood.

Also on the base were a group of civilian comedians who had been brought to entertain the troops. They were set to return to the U.S. but were unable to arrange a transport out of the country. Soldiers and military supplies are given priority on aircraft in a theater of war, so for civilians not essential to the war effort, finding a way out can be a challenge. Each day the comedians tried to arrange a flight back to America. It was especially pressing as one member of the group was set to get married the following Monday.

The groom happened to walk by Rabbi Sachs as he began cutting the wood and asked what he was doing.

“I’m building a Sukkah,” Rabbi Sachs responded.

“What’s a Sukkah?”

Rabbi Sachs explained the fundamentals of the holiday, and noticed a shocked look on the comedian’s face.

“Is everything okay?” Rabbi Sachs asked.

“You know what my full time job is? I’m a carpenter by trade. A carpenter!” he yelled. “Don’t you get it? Now I understand why I’m stuck here! If I help you, I’ll get out of here.”

“Halleluyah!” Rabbi Sachs shouted.

The carpenter began cutting the wood, and in three hours the two men had assembled the entire frame. And just as the comedian hoped, he and his friends caught the next flight home.

As they were finishing the frame, an officer came by and asked what they were doing. Rabbi Sachs described the fundamentals of the Sukkah.

“What are you going to use for the walls?” the officer asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Rabbi Sachs said.

“Come with me.”

The officer brought Rabbi Sachs behind his quarters, where there was a large, unused bundle of camouflage netting. When they brought the netting back to the Sukkah frame to see if it would work, it fit to the inch.

For skach Rabbi Sachs used tree branches, but he had another problem: the valley surrounding Bagram experiences extremely strong wind storms every fall afternoon which threatened to blow the branches off the Sukkah.

In another miracle, just as Rabbi Sachs finished assembling his Sukkah, the wind stopped blowing and it didn’t start again until after Sukkot.

Friday night came and 11 Jews joined Rabbi Sachs in the Sukkah for a beautiful meal full of singing and dvrai torah. It was the first time most of them had ever eaten in a Sukkah. Here they were, in the middle of war, and for a few days could have the spiritual bliss brought by the miracle Sukkah of Afghanistan.

As Rabbi Sachs learned, when a Jew tries to bring light to a dark part of the world and inspire Jewish souls, Hashem makes anything possible.

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Michael Gros is the Chief Operating Officer of the kiruv organization The Atlanta Scholars Kollel. The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com. To receive the column via email or see back issues, visit http://www.michaelgros.com

(published in The Jewish Press October 3, 2007)

He’s probably the only observant Jew to own a Super Bowl ring and one of the few Jews to ever play in the NFL. However for Alan Veingrad the journey back to his roots after his retirement was more exciting than any game on the field.

Alan played for five years as an Offensive Lineman on the Green Bay Packers, and then joined the Dallas Cowboys in 1991. It was with the Cowboys that he became the proud recipient of a Super Bowl XXVII ring, from their 1993 win.

After retiring in 1993 Alan faced a problem common to former NFLers: he had a complete loss of what to do with his life. Players in the NFL are constantly on the go and are always surround by teammates, so often have trouble filling their time when they retire.

“You go through this major void in your life,” Alan said. “I know players 10, 15 years out of the league who are still in the void. Where’s my locker, my itinerary, who are we playing next?”

During this period Alan and his wife received an invitation for a Shabbas dinner from a cousin who had become religious. It was their first authentic Shabbas experience, but wasn’t quite the life-changing moment one would expect.

“Throughout the meal he was talking about the parsha of the week. … Each of his four kids were giving over Dvrai Torah that they learned in school that week,” Alan said. “I was eating the Teriyaki Salmon, the brisket in large quantities. I was so focused on consuming food I wasn’t involved at all in the discussion. Nothing inspired me.”

After dinner, Alan’s cousin asked him if he would be interested in attending a local class given by a Rabbi. He accepted out of obligation. The class was held the following week in a mansion close to the Veingrads’ Florida home.

“For the first 59 and a half minutes of the 60 minute class I was so consumed with the location, this beautiful mansion hosting the class. I had never seen a house like this! I kept thinking, ‘Is this house worth four million or five million or six million?’” Alan said. Thirty seconds before the class ended, the Rabbi suddenly began talking about envy and materialism. He said if you let yourself be consumed by jealousy, it will only lead to emptiness and a complete void in your life.

“How did this rabbi know what I’ve been thinking for the last 59 and a half minutes?” Alan thought to himself.

The class ended, and Alan ran up to the Rabbi.

“Hey, I need more information about what you’re talking about!” Alan said. The Rabbi told him to come back the following week for the answers, and after that Alan began attending the class each week.

Over the next several years in the class, Alan began learning about Judaism’s focus on self-improvement and ethics, and especially its lessons for being a better spouse and father. He had always been interested in motivational tapes and books, especially those from famous athletes and coaches. He never imagined that he would find these lessons in his own religion. He always thought the Torah was just a history book, but when he discovered its deep focus on personal change, he jumped at the chance to learn more.

After a few years Alan and his family joined a local Chabad synagogue and were touched by the welcoming members and the warmth of the Rabbi’s family. The people Alan met were truly living the lessons he had learned in his class.

The camaraderie in the synagogue helped Alan fill the void he felt in his post-NFL life, and it would soon play an even more important role. Alan’s father passed away a few months after he became observant, and Alan was at a complete loss of what to do. He didn’t know how to organize a Jewish burial and mourning. The community rushed in and took care of all the arrangements, including providing meals for Alan and his family for the first few weeks.

“No teamwork I had ever seen in the NFL matched what I experienced in that little Chabad house in Fort Lauderdale.”

Throughout his life, Alan’s father had so much pride that his son had played football in the NFL. He carried Alan’s football card in his wallet, and showed it to everyone he met.

A few months before his death, he said something to Alan that would stay with him forever. He said he could really see amazing differences in his son and grandchildren since they had become religious. Because of this he was more proud to see his son in a yamacha than he had ever been to see him in his football helmet. “That was so powerful to me,” Alan said.

For each of us, every day is a Super Bowl. The real test is not how we perform for thousands of adoring fans, but how we treat our spouses, our kids and those around us. And while no one will ever receive a Super Bowl ring for this, we all have a chance to be MVPs in our own lives.

The Teshuva Journey is a monthly column chronicling amazing teshuva journeys and inspiring kiruv tales. To share a story or send other comments, email michaelgros@gmail.com

(published in The Jewish Press April 20, 2007)