One day I received a phone call from a man in charge of Judah’s Place. “Rabbi Wallerstein,” he said, “could you do us a favor? Tisha B’av is coming up and it is a long night for the kids. Would you be able to talk to the boys and girls at midnight?” Now, I had been teaching eighth-grade boys for the past twenty-six years in what could be called a kiruv school. The boys primarily came from non-religious homes and were trying to receive a Jewish education. Teaching was nice and quiet. They learned Gemara, were given sports activities and pizza and so on. But I had never before spoken to kids who were completely irreligious or those who were religious but had become resentful of Judaism. But I wasn’t going to say no, so I complied.
As the night of Tisha B’av arrived, I got ready and made my way to Judah’s Place. As I entered inside, at first I saw three girls and three boys sitting on a couch. Taking a seat opposite them, I looked across and said with a big smile, “Hi, my name is Rabbi Wallerstein.” Now, the way it works on the streets is as follows. If you are a rabbi and there are a group of boys or girls who you want to talk to, there will always be one person who will try to knock you down. If that one child wins that initial debate, then all the kids will walk away from you as if you have just lost. If you win the argument, however, then you will earn their respect and they will curiously lean over and say, “Rabbi, we like you; what do you have to say?” Of these three girls, one of them was a fourteen year old named Abbey. As I introduced myself, she immediately jumped off the couch and walked up to me. She was pierced with earrings all over her face. Her eyebrows, her nose and her tongue to name a few. She had so much metal on her face that I am lucky I didn’t walk inside with a magnet. I would never have gotten out of there. We would have been stuck together for life.
I had never seen anything like this before. As she boldly approached me, I could tell she was fuming with anger. She began to furiously yell, “You know what Rabbi?” And then I began to hear words I could not believe I was hearing. Expletives were being uttered every other word. Nobody in my life had ever talked to me that way. She was putting me down, Judaism down and G-d with the most debased of words. I felt like saying, “Okay, thank you very much; be well,” and walking out the door. I was so beyond myself. I had never heard such words.
As I remained sitting there, I thought to myself, “Hashem, a telegram right now would be a big help. I don’t know what to say.” Turning to Abbey, I said, “Abbey, you are really special.” As I said that, she started again with the curse words. “No, no, no,” I tried to assure her, “I really mean it. You see, Abbey, I came here tonight to sit for an hour with you and prove that there is a G-d. But you already believe in G-d. You cursed Him. You didn’t say ‘Curse the Martians.’ You may not like G-d and are angry at Him, but you know He exists. You have an emotional feeing that He is in charge of the world. Abbey, do you know how much time I spend with kids on the streets trying to prove G-d to them? You already believe in Hashem! You are far more advanced than all these kids. You’re amazing!”
I could tell that all the girls on the couch were thinking to themselves, “We like this Rabbi.” Abbey then stared at me. I knew that this was the moment. If she would say, “No, you’re wrong; I disagree with you;” then everyone would walk away. I would lose the battle. If, on the other hand, she would give in, then I would stand a fighting chance to get in another word. She said, “You’re cool.”
I stayed at Judah’s Place until 4am. As I was finally readying to leave and closing the door, Abbey turned to me and said, “Rabbi Wallerstein, can I ask you something?” “Sure,” I said. “Can I be your chavrusa? Can we learn together?” I smiled as I said that at the moment I didn’t have any chavrusas. And with that I gently closed the door.
Abbey became part of my family. She used to stay at my home quite often. But there was one thing which really, really bothered me: her tongue ring. Every time she talked, you could see it moving up and down. Whenever Abbey would eat soup, my daughters would lean over in their chairs trying to look into her mouth. It wasn’t the greatest education. So I told her, “Listen, Abbey, give me the tongue ring. You are learning and growing in Judaism. Give it up.” But she wouldn’t budge. She said, “Rabbi, the tongue ring is my identity. It makes me different. You will never get my tongue ring.” While I felt bad that she was so emotionally attached to a little tongue ring, I didn’t push her.
A couple weeks later I asked again. And again she responded in the negative. She was in no way going to part from her beloved tongue ring. I then tried making an offer I thought she wouldn’t refuse. She had no money as she was basically living on the streets. I said, “Abbey, here is five-hundred dollars; give me the ring.” But it still didn’t work as she reminded me, “Rabbi Wallerstein, you don’t understand. If I give it up, I don’t exist. It defines who I am.”
It was Simchas Torah night. She had been staying at my home throughout Sukkos, and now we were on our way home from Shul standing at the corner of Avenue K and East 22nd Street. I was reminding myself how I had heard the story of someone involved with baalei teshuva in Israel. He was working with children from all sorts of backgrounds, including those who had earrings and all other piercings. He had taken all the metal of the earrings and adorned the paroches (curtain) in front of the Sefer Torah with them. Thinking of this idea, it suddenly hit me. “Abbey, I’ll make you a deal.” “What is it?” she asked. “If you give me your tongue ring, I will put it in my Tallis bag. I will put it in my Tallis bag and look at it every day. I will see that little ring and will remember Abbey for the rest of my life.”
Looking back at me, Abbey puzzlingly wondered, “You’re going to put my tongue ring in your Tallis bag?” “That’s right,” I assured her. People are going to be asking questions, but that’s what I’m going to do.” As I said these words, she told me, “Close your eyes and put your hand out.” And right there on the corner she took the ring out of her tongue and dropped it into my hand. I felt like saying ‘Uuh!’ and shaking my hand clean, but this ring was the most precious thing of all.
And now in my Tallis bag, there is not just one tongue ring –there are about thirty. There are many Abbeys today.
Years later, my wife and I took a trip to Eretz Yisrael. It was Erev Shabbos, the day before Lag Ba’Omer. As we were walking up a hill, all of a sudden I heard a familiar voice. “Rebbe?” Turning around, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was Abbey. There she was with her hair covered so much that her eyebrows were covered. And standing next to her were three little chassidish children with her husband. “Abbey,” I said, “is that you?” “No, it’s Avigail.” I hadn’t seen her in years. “Where are you living now?” “We live in the West Bank on a Moshav. And Rebbe, you are not going to believe it.” “Yeah, tell me?” I eagerly asked. “I’m a Morah who teaches a third-grade class.”
As I continued to stand there amazed, she all of a sudden began to raise her voice and say, “Rebbe, what’s wrong with you?” I thought that perhaps she was reverting to her old self. “No, no no; here we go again,” I thought to myself. I began to look for a ring hidden somewhere on her face, but I couldn’t see anything. “Rebbe,” she said, “I don’t understand why you don’t live in Israel. Don’t you know that every step you take is a mitzvah!”
From Abbey to Avigail, from hatred of Hashem to love of Hashem, from a tongue ring to a Jewish wedding ring and beautiful children, a neshama reconnected to its Creator. Hashem’s daughter returned home. But what was Abbey looking for all the while? Recognition. Once she was told, “I will think about you every day; I care about you,” her tongue ring was much better in a Tallis bag than in her mouth. Every Jewish neshama is a precious jewel in the eyes of Hashem. He loves it and only wishes for it to return to Him. And He patiently waits and waits until that day arrives. And then finally, something ignites. Those same emotions of repulsion towards Hashem and Judaism become feelings of supreme yearning for holiness and connection with Torah. Life turns around for the better and begins anew. Abbey is no longer Abbey; she is now Avigail, a wonderful teacher educating Jewish children and changing lives. Even the neshama far, far away from any semblance of Yiddishkeit and relationship with Hashem can find its way home with love, attention and care. Our Father is waiting with open arms.
Rebbetzin Esther Baila Schwarz
My Value and Worth to Hashem
Sefer Shemos begins with the words, “ואלה שמות בני ישראל הבאים מצרימה את יעקב איש וביתו באו” –“And these are the names of the Children of Israel who were coming to Egypt; with Yaakov, each man and his household came.” The Torah then goes on to enumerate Yaakov’s children who descended with him to Egypt.
Rashi notes the obvious question. It is axiomatic that the Torah does not waste an extra letter and certainly not a whole string of words. That being so, since we already know the names of the tribes as delineated in Sefer Bereishis, what additional information is being added by listing them again in the beginning of Sefer Shemos?
Rashi answers that the Torah did this in order to emphasize how much Hashem loved them. Just as Hashem loves the stars and counts them by name, as per the Pasuk, “He Who takes out the stars by number; to all of them He calls by name” (Isaiah 40:26); so does Hashem love His children and repeat their names to stress His great love for them.
The Sfas Emes explains that it is not random that specifically here, in the beginning of Sefer Shemos, Hashem chose to convey His special love. Heading into a long and bitter exile, particularly now is it essential that we understand how much our Father loves us. Amidst the turmoil and confusion of exile, a person can forget who they are and what they are worth. It is at that moment that Hashem comforts us and lets us know how much He dearly loves us.
This unbounded love is brought to light most poignantly in the words of Maariv, the Evening Prayers. According to the Nusach Ashkenaz, the paragraph recited prior to Shema in the morning is Ahava Rabba, literally meaning, “You have loved us greatly.” In the evening, however, these opening words slightly change. We instead say Ahavas Olam, “Your love is eternal.” Why is the wording changed?
I once heard the following explanation. There are currently slightly more than seven billion people in the world. Most of them love at least one other person. For instance, a mother is full of love for her child. The love is so profound and all consuming that it practically hurts. Imagine you would take the love all seven billion people in this planet feel for another and stuff it into a cup. The love contained within the cup would be immeasurable.
Now take the love every single person that ever walked on the face of the earth felt and stuff that into a cup. Adding up all that love from the beginning of the world to the end would be overwhelmingly intense. It would be too much to quantify. That is what “Ahavas Olam” means. Olam not only means eternal, but world. Hashem loves us more than the combined love all those people who have ever lived in the world have ever felt for another.
We can now understand why we mention Ahavas Olam at night. It is during the darkness of nighttime that we remind ourselves how much Hashem loves us. No matter the difficulties and travails we face throughout life, we are never to forget our Father’s immense affection for us.
It is for this reason that Chazal compare Hashem’s love for us to His love for the stars. Each star is unique and individually valued. When Hashem sends out the billions of stars to populate the sky at night, He doesn’t say, “Okay, everyone out!” Likewise, in the morning when He calls them back in, He doesn’t say, “Everyone come in!” Rather, as the Pasuk says, He calls to each and every star individually to leave at night and return at morning. The same is with us. We are all uniquely and individually loved by Hashem. And that love for us spans the entire world.
But our similarity to the stars runs even deeper. When one looks at the sky, he sees tiny stars. The song does not go “Twinkle, twinkle little star” for no reason. However, the reality is that many stars are larger than the sun. In fact, they are so large, they dwarf the sun. They are enormously vast despite appearing small.
The stars teach us that although the whole world may scorn and look down upon us, we should never feel small and unimportant. We, the Jewish people, are the ones who impact everything that occurs in this world. We are Hakadosh Baruch Hu’s chosen people and possess the keys to the Heavens. The entire world may belittle and demean us, but that doesn’t change how big and influential we are. And even if we scorn ourselves, our inherent precious value does not change. Our feeling inadequate does not make us inadequate. Each of us is uniquely beloved and important to Hashem. We are not small, incompetent or deficient because everything we do impacts the universe.
Rav Yaakov Galinsky z"l writes of his experiences while imprisoned in Siberia for a number of years. Suffering subhuman conditions, the prisoners were provided with nothing more than a hard board to sleep on.
Imprisoned in the same quarters where Rav Galinsky slept was another man. As the nights went on, Rav Galinsky began to notice something strange happen every night. The other man would don an army uniform which he had hidden in the wall and begin acting as if he was saluting officers. He would pretend to bark orders at soldiers that were nowhere near and march back and forth in non-existent formation. It was an unnerving sight. Rav Galinsky could not help but conclude that the man was entirely out of touch with reality.
One day, however, Rav Galinsky mustered the courage to ask the man what exactly he was doing. And indeed he had an answer. “I used to be the top general in the Polish army,” he said. “But then we were defeated by the Russians and I was taken as a prisoner of war. My captors know perfectly well how successful and influential I was and therefore take particularly perverse pleasure in dehumanizing me. They give me the most subhuman jobs to do because they want to break me. For that reason, every night, I take out my uniform I was able to sneak into prison and act for a few minutes like a general. I salute officers, command orders and march in formation. I am not losing touch with reality; I am making sure I will never forget who I truly am. As long as I remember who I am, the Russians haven’t won. I still remain the general of the Polish army.”
We are never to forget who we are. As Hashem’s beloved children, each of us shines forth like the bright stars in the sky. Although we may seem to be small and undignified in the eyes of others, the reality is quite the opposite. We are the most precious and important part of the world. With such a perspective, not even the darkest and most dismal of circumstances will crush us. We will be able to proudly stand up in the middle of the night and march on as esteemed soldiers in Hashem’s army.
