How Scheiner’s became Monsey’s magnet for growth and connection

Photos: Naftoli Goldgrab

Three years of misunderstandings and conflict had brought their fair share of tension, but things had come to a head with this latest clash. With one last glare at his parents, Avi stormed out of the house, slamming the door with such force that the sound still rang in his ears 20 minutes into his aimless drive down the Garden State. He had hit a dead end and he knew it; even rebellion had lost its thrill.

He exited the Garden State South and circled back onto the Garden State North; there was nowhere to go, but he might as well return to Monsey. It was close to midnight, and his hometown felt safer than the highway, even if he couldn’t face home itself. He cruised aimlessly down Route 59, not sure how to proceed, when he realized where he could go. With a slight surge of energy (was it hope?) he hung a right off Route 59 onto Saddle River Road, a left on Maple, another left on Viola, and then a right on Forshay Road.

It was past midnight when Avi pulled into the enormous, unpaved parking lot at 18 Forshay, but the crowds were still coming, heading over to the cluster of unassuming white tents. Avi joined them; he wasn’t going to daven like they were, but it felt good just to be there. He leaned against a wall, staring into space, trying, as he had for years, to figure it all out.

Suddenly, there was a tap on his shoulder.

Scheiner’s. Of course I’d heard of it. It was the minyan factory in Monsey, housed in a group of tents, with endless flows of people coming in and out at all hours. Would I want to write an article about Scheiner’s? Uh, I guess so, but I’ll admit I was skeptical. Minyan factories aren’t much of a novelty anymore — would this one really be any different?

But the skepticism began to dissipate as I spoke to multiple people, hearing such superlatives as “one of the holiest places outside of Eretz Yisrael”; “a taste of the Kosel”; and as one avid mispallel put it, “When Mashiach comes and we’ll see Yidden from all walks of life joining together, we’ll look around and say ‘Ah, it looks just like Scheiner’s.’ ”

But hearsay alone wouldn’t cut it. I’d have to experience it myself, observe the routine and soak in the atmosphere. I don’t live in Monsey, so when I show up early one morning at Scheiner’s for Shacharis, I’m schlepping a carry-on and feeling tired and self-conscious. I’m standing outside a tent, unsure what to expect, when a young fellow greets me, sporting the warmest smile. “Looking for a minyan?” he asks. “The seven o’clock is starting right now.”

Encouraged by the warm reception, I daven and head out of the tent, fielding a whole bunch of more “good mornings” as I set out to discover the secret of Scheiner’s.