Winning Formula

On the seam of Far Rockaway and Lawrence sits the Sh’or Yoshuv yeshivah, its six-acre campus creating a bubble within the community. Yet there’s a bubble within that bubble: a kiruv yeshivah called the Shaar, independent of Sh’or Yoshuv but at the same time meshed within its fabric, as the Shaar talmidim learn, eat, enjoy recreation, and sometimes dorm alongside their Sh’or Yoshuv hosts. That bubble pops every Shabbos, as Shaar talmidim fan out across the neighborhood to be elevated by authentic Shabbos seudos in local homes.

It’s a program that has hit upon a winning formula in the field of 21st century Jewish outreach. While baalei teshuvah in years past were often willing and able to put their lives on hold in their search for truth and commit significant time to immersing themselves in yeshivah or seminary, today’s young people are stymied by the very real threat of becoming professionally irrelevant should they do so.

The field of Jewish outreach, like any other industry, needs to keep pace with changing times. In decades past, employer loyalty, job stability, and the slow pace of change meant that a truth seeker had the ability to take time off to immerse himself in yeshivah with the confidence that either his job would be there for him when he got back, or he’d find another job in his field. But young people today cannot afford such confidence; with technology — and entire industries — changing at such incredible speed, they worry that leaving their job for a year or two will make them vocationally irrelevant. Factoring in today’s volatile job market as well, someone on the cusp of his career will seriously hesitate to step away — and employers themselves are unlikely and often unable to wait for any employee, no matter how skilled.

For over a decade, the international kiruv network Olami has been hard at work reaching young unaffiliated Jews. Its representatives on college campuses and in cities worldwide awaken the dormant neshamos of thousands of students and young professionals, then channel some of them to yeshivos in Israel to turbocharge their spiritual growth. But those who couldn’t or wouldn’t take that kind of time off hit a spiritual dead end. It soon became clear that there was a need for an immersive yeshivah experience on shores closer to home.

Seeking to fill that need, Olami tapped Rabbi Mayer Hurwitz, rosh chaburah of an Olami-affiliated kollel and kiruv organization in Dallas, Texas, to create a kiruv program within Sh’or Yoshuv.  The Hurwitzes moved to Lawrence in the summer of 2019, and Rabbi Hurwitz, known as an accomplished talmid chacham and experienced mekarev, got right to work with an initial student body of eight.

“Sh’or Yoshuv’s founder, Rav Shlomo Freifeld ztz”l, had tremendous ahavas Yisrael for Jews of all types, and the yeshivah embraced boys from diverse backgrounds,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. “The current rosh yeshivah, Rav Naftali Jaeger, a towering talmid chacham and son-in-law of Rav Freifeld, continues that legacy. When he was approached about opening a kiruv yeshivah within the walls of his yeshivah, it was a natural fit.”

That first year, Rabbi Hurwitz crisscrossed the US to build connections with kiruv activists, encouraging them to funnel those who opted out of yeshivah in Israel to his program, which he called “The Shaar (gate).” (The name, which plays off the name Sh’or Yoshuv, characterizes the program’s essence as a gateway to authentic Torah Yiddishkeit.)

While many young men were not ready to give up their jobs or schooling and enter yeshivah full-time, they still needed an opportunity to marinate in a yeshivah environment, to soak up the spirit of Shabbos and Yom Tov and to learn seriously in their free time. He believed that if they lived and learned alongside the full-time yeshivah bochurim, these men could achieve full infusion. The concept of a track for working men took hold.

Over 90 percent of those who stay at least six months leave fully shomer Torah u’mitzvos. And in perhaps its most unique contribution, the Shaar has carved out a space for spirituality seekers who aren’t able to put their plans on hold, allowing young men in the workforce or school the opportunity to come home at the end of a day to a yeshivah setting in which to learn, live, and grow.

Covid Shifts

Cut to the home of Shlomo Reich in Lawrence, just a few doors down from Sh’or Yoshuv and across the street from the home of Mr. Aaron Wolfson, whose family (together with the Horn family from Brazil) funds and oversees the entire Olami network. In the Shaar’s first year, Reb Shlomo, a musically talented balabos brimming with love and life who spent time learning daily in Sh’or Yoshuv, hosted guys for Shabbos meals and had an occasional musical farbrengen in his home.

He wanted to take a more active role in kiruv — he was self-employed and had the time — but with no training or experience, he didn’t have the confidence to do anything about it.

Until the day two kiruv professionals knocked on his door to fundraise.

“I told them how badly I wanted to get involved in kiruv in a serious way,” Reb Shlomo relates, “and they said, ‘You have such a leibedig Yiddishkeit, and such ahavas Yisrael — you can totally do it!’ That got me over the hump of self-doubt, and I approached my neighbor Mr. Wolfson to see how I could get involved. But before anything came of it, in shul Friday night just a week later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.”

It was Rabbi Hurwitz.

“We’d had an event in Reb Shlomo’s house the previous night, and it hit me that I was observing an untapped precious resource,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. “In shul Friday night, I said to him, ‘Shlomo, you have a real koach of hashpaah and infectious ahavas Yisrael. Let’s collaborate.’ I had no idea he had an interest in kiruv, but I realized that as one of the most popular, geshmak guys in the Five Towns, he’d be the perfect person to run a working men’s track at the Shaar.”

Together they fleshed out the idea and secured funding from Olami.

Just one month after the launch of the Shaar’s working-men program, Olami organized a weeklong summit for hundreds of unaffiliated young men from around the world, centered around the 2020 Siyum HaShas. As part of the summit, the Shaar arranged for men from the Five Towns to pair off and learn with the guests, after which the 450 chavrusa pairs went together to one of the numerous events around town, each with great food, music, and a live performer. More than a handful of men joined the Shaar after that week, but the biggest prize of the night was that the community was hooked. Without anyone yet realizing it, the ground underneath the neighborhood had shifted.

Two months later Covid hit, and the Shaar became an online yeshivah. Hundreds of people from all corners of the Olami universe dropped into Zoom rooms for daily shiurim. Thursday nights, community members and students would learn b’chavrusa in separate breakout rooms, after which they’d be whisked back into a common room for a hachanah l’Shabbos, with music, l’chayims, and a short vort on the parshah.

“Until today, people meet me and say, ‘Hey, you’re the guy with the guitar that came on at the end!’ ” Reb Shlomo says. These Thursday night Covid events were the springboard for the current monthly Thursday night program of chavrusa learning followed by a spirited hachanah l’Shabbos in local homes.

When the world reopened, some of the Zoom traffic became foot traffic, as online students joined the Shaar in person. But Covid’s biggest impact by far was the shift toward virtual work.

“Suddenly, guys around the country realized they could take their jobs with them to New York. They could work from their bedrooms by day and learn at the Shaar at night. Because of this, the working program really took off,” Reb Shlomo says.

As the Shaar grew, so did the need for someone to focus on personal attention and hadrachah. In 2021, the Shaar welcomed Rabbi Ephraim Kamin as mashgiach ruchani.

“He’s a legend in the kiruv world,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. Rabbi Kamin and his wife Malkie had spent 13 years in kiruv at Stanford University and the University of California-Berkeley, and when the two rabbis had occasion to meet a year earlier, “There was an instant chemistry between us,” Rabbi Kamin says. With its third leg in place, the Shaar’s foundation gained solidity and strength.

Modeling the Nuances

When a kiruv program is so tightly woven into a community, successful integration into the frum world naturally follows.

“Shaar guys are the darlings of the community,” Reb Shlomo says. “At first it was a hustle to place them for seudos every Shabbos, but now we have hundreds of families who host on a regular basis. There are lots of inbound requests to host, because people love having them — they’re wholesome and often quite accomplished young men.”

Hosts model the nuances of frum living — from how to run a Shabbos table to what time to show up at a vort that’s called for seven — and they take care of the boys as their own. Talmidim give back in return — from helping build succahs to teaching kids to skateboard. One talmid thought his hosts’ daughter would be a great match for his older brother who was also at the Shaar, so the next time he went to that family he brought his brother along. The brother was interested, the shidduch was redt, and now he’s legitimately family.

But the deepest imprint such a program makes on its host community is spiritual.

“The Shaar has made a real impact on the Five Towns and Far Rockaway — people see a freshness, an excitement for learning and connecting to Hashem that is often taken for granted, and it’s contagious,” Reb Shlomo says. “Families have told us that hosting Shaar guys brings meaning to their Shabbos tables, and they often learn together after the seudah.”

Sometimes hosts merit open siyata d’Shmaya. Not long after October 7, Yosef and Chani Finestone had four Shaar guys at their Shabbos table, and the discussion turned to wearing tzitzis.

“The guys were resistant to the idea — they thought they were too itchy,” Chani recalls. “Then I told them the story of an Israeli man the terrorists had left for dead in a ditch on October 7. The IDF found him and, assuming he was a terrorist, almost shot him, but at the last minute they noticed his tzitzis — which literally saved his life.

“I asked the guys, ‘Would you consider putting on tzitzis as protection for our soldiers?’ They instantly agreed, and the next morning my husband took them to buy tzitzis. They made the brachah together and started dancing right there in the store. Afterward, my husband took them out to eat to celebrate.

“At the restaurant, one of the guys, who works as a DJ, said to my husband, ‘How can I keep Shabbos in my line of work? Friday night is the busiest time of the week.’ My husband told him that Hashem would take care of him, and to demonstrate the point, he told the guys  about an interview he’d just seen with baal teshuvah musician Alex Clare.”

Clare was newly religious at the time he signed his first record deal. The record company expected him to promote his first single, but almost every promo opportunity was on Friday night, and he turned them all down. The frustrated company eventually dropped him from their label. Clare went broke, resigned himself to having ended his career, and enrolled in yeshivah. A short while later Microsoft picked up the song, and it catapulted him into top-ten charts all over the world.

“After sharing the story,” Chani says, “my husband showed them a picture of Clare on his phone, and suddenly one of the guys pointed across the restaurant and said, ‘Hey, isn’t that him?’ There he was, sitting innocently at the next table, and the shocked DJ had the unique opportunity to discuss his concerns with Clare and get chizuk from him.”

A Shaar talmid’s immersion in frum communal life isn’t only on Shabbos — it’s all the time, as he learns and plays ball and works out and eats meals together with the bochurim in Sh’or Yoshuv. There are many friendships and chavrusashafts between them, and some full-time Shaar talmidim live in the Sh’or Yoshuv dorm.

“Being anchored by a mainstream yeshivah is a big part of our siyata d’Shmaya and success,” Reb Shlomo says.

Shaar talmidim often work their way into Sh’or Yoshuv shiurim, and from there to other yeshivos. Take Justin, child of Christian fundamentalist missionaries, who lost a sister when he was young and spent years questioning the meaning of life. He eventually discovered Judaism and converted while at the Shaar. He gave up his successful career in AI, transitioned to Sh’or Yoshuv, and from there to the Mir in Jerusalem.

“People report back from the Mir that he’s known as the guy who never sits down — he stands and learns all day, never leaving his place,” Reb Shlomo says.

A Sh’or Yoshuv bochur recounts that about five years ago, he learned night seder with a guy who signed up for a one-month stay at the Shaar. When the month was up, he thanked Rabbi Hurwitz “for his service” and flew home — it was too much for him. “But his time at the Shaar made such an impression that he slowly took on more. I learned with him twice a week by phone, and eventually he married a frum girl. At his wedding he told me that he wouldn’t be here without the Shaar, even though he was technically a ‘failure’ — he didn’t stay and become frum at that time.” But what he experienced there eventually took root.”

The Magic Moment

Newcomers to the Shaar come in all flavors, but they share one thing: a curiosity about exploring Judaism and being okay with not knowing where it might lead.

They’ve trekked in from Paris, Tucuman (Argentina), Amsterdam, Beersheva, Cape Town, Milan, Toulouse, Johannesburg, London, Casablanca, Marseille, Toronto, and more, plus all over the United States.

There was the brilliant geneticist who announced upon his arrival, “I don’t believe, but I want to learn more.”  The former US Marine, who’s now in business school but spends his free time in the beis medrash.

And Trent, a semiprofessional golfer who signed up for a waiter job on an app and was placed at a high-end Pesach program in Arizona. He got there at 5 a.m., just as Rabbi Eli Mansour and Mr. Charlie Harary were heading to daven vasikin. They met, and a few conversations later, they had him convinced to give yeshivah a try. He showed up at the Shaar shortly after, “and it’s been love ever since,” says Rabbi Hurwitz. “He became endeared to the entire Five Towns (it helped that the locals love golf), and they still talk about him even though he got married and moved on.”

No one at the Shaar will forget Dylan, whose expected path since childhood was to join the family law firm and become a sports lawyer.

“When Dylan discovered Judaism at university, his father went on an (anti) holy war against the campus rabbi he was connected to and aggressively accosted him in public numerous times,” Reb Shlomo relates. “When Dylan got engaged, his father refused to invite the campus rabbi to the wedding, but he showed up anyway — with a full fake beard pasted to his normally clean-shaven face so that the father wouldn’t recognize him and throw him out. It caused a major sensation.”

Oliver is a cybersecurity genius who spent a summer at the Shaar, after which he flew to Las Vegas to compete in a hackathon against hundreds of competitors. He out-hacked them all and won the competition — on Shabbos.

“Less than a year later, he came back to the Shaar to stay, and he’s become a real ben Torah,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. “He can’t believe that less than a year ago he competed on Shabbos.”

Slow and steady, fits and starts, or a mad dash toward Yiddishkeit — the Shaar has seen it all. But sometimes there is a moment with an impact so striking that there’s an instant, lightning-like reaction.

That moment for Jonny came when he wasn’t particularly searching. After graduating from University of Pennsylvania on a soccer scholarship, he played professional soccer in Denmark for a bit and then returned home to Philadelphia. He was completely nonobservant, yet a rabbi he had a connection with convinced him to go on the summit whose highlight was the 2020 Siyum HaShas.

On Motzaei Shabbos, the 450 participants learned one-on-one with Lakewood yungeleit at BMG, followed by a gala Melaveh Malkah for the chavrusa pairs in a Lakewood hall. At the Melaveh Malkah, one of the balabatim made a siyum on Daf Yomi, and Jonny was so inspired by all he’d experienced that right then and there he made a spontaneous public announcement: He would start learning Daf Yomi the very next day. It didn’t take long for him to show up at the Shaar — where he became known as Jonny Daf.

Five years later, Jonny’s wedding took place in the very hall in Lakewood where he made the announcement that jumpstarted his journey to Yiddishkeit.

Sometimes, a defining moment strikes after years of seeming inertia. Adam’s father was the mayor of Calabasas, California; his mother was a Los Angeles socialite. He met Rabbi Kamin while at University of California-Berkeley, and for the next ten years he took part in Rabbi Kamin’s outreach activities, “but it was slow-drip growth,” Rabbi Kamin says. When Rabbi Kamin joined the Shaar, he invited Adam to come for a visit. Adam was an avid tennis player — in his younger years he thought he might go pro — so he timed his visit to coincide with the US Open.

“I was a bit disappointed with his plans, because he’d be at the Shaar for just Rosh Hashanah and Tzom Gedaliah, which meant being in shul all day and not experiencing the geshmak of learning Torah in a yeshivah setting, which was the intention behind my invitation. But he was so taken with the joy and achdus he felt over the chag, and particularly with Reb Shlomo’s Rosh Hashanah davening, that he dropped his successful career in technology and came to the Shaar. He ended up learning full-time for three and a half years, and today, he and his wife host Shaar guys for Shabbos,” Rabbi Kamin says.

Access Ramps

There are currently 20 young men learning full-time at the Shaar, and 40 who work or are in school but spend the evening — and part of their day, when possible — learning. Shiurim run throughout the day until 11 p.m.

“We build a curated learning schedule for each person, based around their other daily obligations,” Reb Shlomo says. “When the working men get back to yeshivah in the evening, the place really comes alive as they partake in the smorgasbord of learning options.”

Most learning takes place in the classrooms and small beis medrash that Sh’or Yoshuv has invited the Shaar to use, but talmidim learn in the Sh’or Yoshuv beis medrash as well. Minyanim and meals are shared with Sh’or Yoshuv, and that immersion is an integral part of their education. Most live in ten subsidized “Shaar houses” near the yeshivah, and half the full-time learners live in the Sh’or Yoshuv dorm itself. (“When one local heard the house next door to him was being rented by the Shaar, he was distraught, expecting raucous, frat-style partying,” Reb Shlomo says. “Two years in, he told us that if he had a daughter, he’d want one of these guys for her.”)

While the weekdays are filled with Torah learning, weekends bring the “geshmak” of Yiddishkeit to thirsty souls. The monthly Thursday night chavrusa learning with community locals followed by a musical oneg in a local home “hits all their physical and spiritual senses,” as Reb Shlomo puts it, and can land them in a different zone. Authentic Shabbosim spent with real families in real homes fuels another week of learning, and the cycle of growth continues.

When it comes to Yom Tov, “Our boys don’t go home — we are their home,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. “We take them through the full cycle of the Jewish year. We’re always on. The Shaar isn’t a job, it’s our life.”

The yeshivah’s approach is “HBG,” or healthy balanced growth.

“We don’t let them put on black hats or white shirts too early,” Rabbi Hurwitz says. The afternoon schedule is purposely light, and talmidim are encouraged to pursue recreational activities and any hobbies they bring with them. Pickleball, basketball, and tennis are popular sports, and the local jogging paths, parks, and nearby ocean are all taken advantage of.

It’s also beneficial for talmidim to venture out of their own turf. “We brought our guys to a Satmar kollel in Williamsburg for a beautiful evening of Torah learning. Afterward, there was fiery singing and dancing — it was the ultimate in achdus,” Reb Shlomo says. The collaboration continues years later — the Satmar men join Shaar events, and Shaar talmidim attend their friends’ weddings.

For all the energy within the walls of the Shaar, men have to actually enter the gate to experience it. While the vast Olami network sends men to the Shaar whenever they sense someone is ready for it, there are other on-ramps as well.

“We run a six-week summer internship program, where we use our connections to secure local internships in various fields for students looking to boost their résumés. The program starts with a weeklong trip to Lake George, followed by four-day-a-week interning and long weekends learning and farbrenging at the Shaar. Quite a few guys end up staying on, and sometimes their internships parlay into jobs,” Reb Shlomo says.

The annual winter ski trip to Vermont is another big access ramp. The program also leverages its business connections to help prospective students find jobs locally — they guarantee interviews for anyone coming to the Shaar, a big draw for those who’d have to give up a job to come.

“It’s a symbiotic relationship that brings fresh talent to frum businesses,” Reb Shlomo says.

The Next Step

Shaar talmidim, mostly in their twenties, often get the dating itch, and a big focus is on preparing them for dating and marriage. Once the rabbis deem that a talmid’s foundation in Yiddishkeit and middos is strong enough for him to consider marriage, they apply the CPR test: Does he demonstrate Consistency (in life patterns), have a Plan/Parnassah, and show Responsibility (for himself and others)? If he does, they hold his hand tight and he enters shidduchim.

“Guys often get suggestions when they go to Shabbos seudos,” Reb Shlomo says. “They’re ‘hot commodities’ — they’re healthy, balanced, and often have successful careers.”

Shlomo Reich’s wife, Adina, is a successful shadchan and is involved in suggesting shidduchim as well, and Mrs. Hurwitz investigates each suggestion on their behalf.

The Shaar has “married off” between 40 and 50 talmidim, and for most of them, the yeshivah has been fully involved from the first date through sheva brachos. They coach the young men through the dating process and then guide them in everything from where to buy a wedding suit to what happens under the chuppah to finding a hall for the aufruf. Often, the parents have no idea how to make a religious wedding.

Jacob grew up in a small town in the outer reaches of Maryland, where Bring Your Tractor to School Day was a thing, but Jews weren’t.

“My family were the only Jews in our town,” he says.

When he was ready for shidduchim after a few years at the Shaar, Jacob had conflicting emotions. “I found dating with intention — without the games the secular world plays — very refreshing,” he says. “I even liked the formality of it. But dating for just three months before committing for life… that was scary.

“Rabbi Hurwitz helped me figure out what character traits I wanted in a wife, and soon after, Rebbetzin Hurwitz suggested Jessica. Over the next three months, Rabbi Hurwitz and I met in person or by phone after every single date, and with his steady guidance and support I was able to date with a clear mind. Baruch Hashem, Jessica and I are getting married next week.”

But the chuppah is just the beginning. Married Shaar men come to a weekly shalom bayis vaad, the women have a supportive N’shei, and as the couple’s needs evolve, the Shaar is right there, even helping them prepare for school interviews for their children.

Distilled down, what’s the engine for the program’s success, in a post-modern kiruv world? Perhaps it’s the wholehearted interdigitation of a yeshivah and the community in which it lives, the small things that create a sense of group belonging, the prioritization of balanced growth, and above it all, the Torah learning with expert rebbeim — because Torah lights up a neshamah  like nothing else can, and is ultimately what catalyzes a person to take that final courageous leap into the world of Yiddishkeit, no matter what decade he’s living in.

Jason’s story

Coolest Offer Ever

MY father was a gentile from Denmark who left home at 14 to travel the world. At 19, he made a pit stop in Jerusalem to make a bit of money to finance his travels, and he worked as the maintenance man at the Diaspora Yeshiva. He was so intrigued by the cacophony in the beis medrash that they let him sit in and he began to explore Judaism.

He eventually converted Conservative and married my mother, a secular Jew from Brooklyn. They raised me in Florida with lots of Jewish feeling but almost no practice.

In college, I’d schmooze with the cool campus rabbi about life and Judaism. I was very into self-improvement, and I’d watch videos on how to improve everything from my workouts to my character. The rabbi told me, “We have a 5,000-year-old book that has all of that plus more.” Each conversation we had was like a drip of water on a rock.

One day the rabbi invited me on a weekend trip to New York for dirt cheap. Shabbos at the Shaar was amazing, so when they invited me to join their ski trip, I didn’t think twice. Next thing I knew, I signed up for a summer internship.

The classes, the community, the chevreh — I loved it all, and I wanted to stay. But I had to solve two problems first: I had just signed a yearlong lease on an apartment near campus, and my parents would never support the pushing off of my education. Within a day of my decision to try to make it work, someone on a college chat asked if anyone knew of an apartment near campus. Hashem must really want me to stay here, I thought.

I went home after the internship and battled it out with my parents — they felt the cult had gotten to me. But I held strong, and they eventually came around. Now I’m surrounded every day by men who want to become the best version of themselves, and we get to learn from people who have the knowledge to take you there.

Funny story: Shortly after I got to the Shaar, a madrich showed up at a shabbaton, and I said to him, “Dude, I love your beketshe.” He offered to let me try it on, and I thought, Coolest offer ever. I went to show Rabbi Hurwitz, and he said, “Jason, if you come to Shacharis for ninety days straight, I’ll buy you a beketshe.” In the two months I’d been there I had done Shacharis exactly twice, but I said, “Whoa, rabbi, coolest offer ever!” We shook on it.

I’m a content creator, and at the time of the Shacharis challenge, I had just started on a new platform that was going nowhere fast. By day seven of the challenge, I went from 500 followers to 20,000. My content was the same; the only thing I changed was Shacharis. I had pushed myself to show up for Hashem even when I didn’t feel it, and He showed up for me in return.

The last day of the challenge was Purim, and there was a big announcement in the beis medrash that I won. The chevreh cheered, and Rabbi Hurwitz sent me to Williamsburg to get my beketshe, which I wear on special occasions.

When I came to the Shaar a year ago, my business was failing, I was fighting with my parents, and nothing seemed to be going my way. A year later I have huge direction in my life, and an insane amount of career success — over a million followers. I have no doubts about the source of it all.

Andrew’s story

Polish Your Best Self

MY Soviet-born parents had enough of the cold and chose to raise us in Tampa, Florida. I grew up with the sun and surf but without my birthright, which was stolen from me by the Bolsheviks.

In my junior year of college, a Jewish friend told me he just passed Rabbi Elisha Klatzko, an incredible rabbi, outside, and I should go meet him. I found him sitting in the middle of campus playing guitar and singing a Matisyahu song. I’m a reggae fan and knew the song, so I joined in. If my friends see me, I’m toast, I kept thinking. We started talking, and I shared some beliefs I’d developed: We live on a rock floating in the middle of an infinitely expanding universe — and we certainly don’t know how to make that happen — so it’s obvious there’s a Greater Power that does. And everything on earth breaks down to the same finite set of atoms, so everything is really one. He told me my ideas were central to Judaism, which kind of shocked me.

I went to Rabbi Klatzko’s house for some light learning a couple of times, but then he left the university due to Covid. No one took his place, and that was that.

In my senior year, I saw a video about the miracle of Jewish existence. Entire empires across millennia have tried to wipe out this tiny population, yet here we are — is no one else jumping out of their seat with amazement? There must be something profound and supernatural about the Jewish people — but what? I was in awe of my own existence as a Jew.

In my gap year before medical school, I got an email from something called Olami. It said, Hey, want to go on a free trip to New York to learn about Judaism for a weekend? It sounded vague and mysterious, so I signed up.

At the Thursday night kick-off event, I had just gotten into the room when the door opened, and I stared as Rabbi Klatzko walked through it. He was the first frum Jew I ever met, and now pretty much the second, two years later. He didn’t live in the area, and I have no idea why he came. I saw it as a message from Hashem that I was on the right track.

I was mesmerized by Shabbos — my neshamah was on fire. The meals in people’s homes were insane — the food, the sense of togetherness, kids running around with the neighbors… For someone who thought the concept of community was only found in books, I was blown away. When the men sang in shul, I bawled. Friday night I kept repeating, “I can’t believe I never knew any of this existed.” I know; I was the easiest recruit ever.

A few weeks later I was back at the Shaar to stay.

I had accepted a spot at a medical school in Alabama before coming to the Shaar. But after being here a few months, I realized I was at a crossroads: How would I live a religious life hours away from the nearest frum community? My rebbeim suggested I apply to Touro. I’d sent a primary application there seven months earlier (a very random choice). But if you don’t respond to a school’s follow-up secondary application within a few weeks, you typically lose the spot. I never followed up, and now, months later, I assumed it was far too late. But when I called, they told me there was about a week left until the deadline. It’s highly unusual for someone to get into a medical school this late in the process, but I sent in the application a few weeks before Purim and hoped for a miracle. Shockingly, I got an interview the next day, and the day before Purim I found out I was wait-listed.

Rabbi Kamin explained to me that Purim is a day to ask Hashem for whatever you want — it’s a day of miracles. He suggested I dress up as Bitachon Man and practice bitachon along with tefillah. So I put on a cape and a large black B on my chest and spent much of the day davening; the chevreh davened for me, too, and everyone gave me brachos. At one point I stood on a chair with about 50 guys surrounding me and shouted, “Hashem, please help me get into Touro!” And the chevreh shouted back, “Hashem, please help him get into Touro!” This went on for a while with a crazy, Purim-induced energy.

I was accepted the next day.

I’m now in my second year of medical school, still living here and learning whenever I can.

The approach here isn’t to change you into someone else — it’s to polish who you already are, and in line with that, I surf and snowboard with my rabbi every now and then. He’s the best snowboarder among us.

Gabriel’s story

Which Path to Choose?

Where I’m from, assimilating into the surrounding Catholic culture is considered the ideal.

My hometown of Monterrey is a two-and-a-half-hour flight from Mexico City, the only city in Mexico with an established Jewish community, so there wasn’t much of an alternative, either way.

In Mexico, success comes from your connections and social standing; merit barely registers. Catholic private schools offer the best way up the social ladder, so my Catholic father and Jewish mother agreed that Catholic private school was the best option for us children.

When the priests found out I was Jewish, they made me the altar boy — nothing makes them happier than snaring a Jewish child. During Monday Mass, it was my job to bring the wine and wafers to the priest.

From the time I was ten, I began questioning. If G-d is everywhere, why are we kneeling to a cross? Wouldn’t that imply that G-d is only in the cross? A gruesome crucifix with a bleeding man — how can that be G-d?

The priests would tell me to just have faith. When I told my mother how I felt, she said, “It’s okay to feel that way, because you’re Jewish.” If not for her validation, I’d have felt like a crazy little boy. None of the other kids at school ever questioned a thing.

My dream was to become a big Hollywood director, and I eventually went to University of California-Los Angeles to major in film. By my senior year, I was writing scripts and shooting film for big production companies. My name was out there, and although I was still in school, I was already on track to fulfill my dream.

In my last semester, despite my success, I felt a void in my life. One day as I walked across campus, a rabbi approached and asked me if I was Jewish. It was the first time in my almost four years on campus that I saw an Orthodox Jew there.

That night I went to a gathering he invited me to, and it opened my mind to a different reality. Guys and girls were behaving modestly and listening seriously to a Torah lecture — it couldn’t be more different from what went on at fraternities.

I began learning Torah weekly with the rabbi, and each time we learned, I was amazed to discover, yet again, how a book written thousands of years ago spoke so directly to my actual experiences.

About a month later, I went to a shabbaton at the rabbi’s home. I felt like I was at a royal banquet. There was a dignity and refinement in the room that you just don’t see anywhere on campus. The talk around the table was nourishing for the soul, and there was a spiritual energy in the home that I’d never encountered before. It was a glimpse, I thought, of how the world should be.

After Havdalah, I had an epiphany. There were two paths open before me, and I had to choose one — because Hollywood was antithetical to a Torah life. The choice was clear.

After graduation, I returned to Mexico thinking I could live there like a Jew, but quickly realized I had nothing in common with anyone there. This past spring, a rabbi suggested I try the Shaar summer internship program, and I’ve been there ever since.

With Hollywood no longer my goal, I requested an internship in media, and ended up at the Five Towns Jewish Times, where I got to observe what balanced, frum life looks like. Now I’m learning at the Shaar full-time, building a strong foundation in Yiddishkeit. I see myself one day working in public life, with the goal of making a kiddush Hashem.

Back in school, both my siblings had the same visceral reaction to Catholicism that I did, and today my sister in Cyprus is keeping Shabbos, and my brother in Prague is considering going to yeshivah. My yekkish great-grandparents must be smiling in Heaven and saying, It’s about time!

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1095)