“Rabbi, I know you’re wondering why I came here on a random Shabbos”

HE was one of the original baalei teshuvah of the shul a quarter of a century ago. However, Herschel* had moved years ago to the “other side of town,” so our paths rarely crossed these days. Our formerly frequent discussions were replaced with the occasional nod at a weekday Minchah.

I was therefore surprised when Herschel showed up on a recent Shabbos morning. I informed the gabbai of Herschel’s presence, and he received maftir.

After davening, I approached him to assuage my curiosity about his reappearance.

“Rabbi, I know you’re wondering why I came here on a random Shabbos. However, for me, this day is anything but random.”

I sat down to listen.

“Rabbi, you know I was raised without any formal Jewish education. When I settled in East Rutherford, I had no Jewish affiliation.

“In 1997, I joined the local EMS. I felt it was my civic duty. This was my way of giving back to the community. One Saturday morning, there was a car accident in Passaic, right near the shul. Passaic had no Hatzolah back then. All the surrounding communities received the call, so I decided to respond.

“At that point in my life, I was under the impression that Jews went to shul only three days a year, or when there was a bar mitzvah or funeral. So when I arrived on the scene, I was surprised to see Jews wearing yarmulkes leaving the synagogue.

“Thankfully, the accident turned out to be nothing more than a fender-bender, so my services were not needed. With time on my hands and my curiosity awakened, I approached one of the congregants leaving the shul.

“Mind you, Rabbi, back then I didn’t even know that Jews had weekly services on Shabbos. I approached one of the men and asked, ‘Is there a bar mitzvah today?’

“He replied, ‘No, there’s no bar mitzvah today.’

“I was becoming more confused. I innocently asked, ‘Is there a funeral?’

“The yarmulke-wearing man looked at me, somewhat surprised, and said, ‘No, there’s never a funeral on Shabbos.’

“I didn’t even know what he meant. Shabbos was a term I was not yet familiar with.

“In exasperation, I said, ‘There’s no bar mitzvah and no funeral, and I know it’s not the High Holidays. So why are you all wearing yarmulkes on a regular Saturday?’

“The man gave me a warm smile and pointed me in your direction. ‘I think you should speak to our rabbi. He will help you.’

“Rabbi, I approached you, and surprisingly, you invited me to your house for lunch.

“Well, that began my journey, and I slowly became a card-carrying member of the tribe. You never questioned how I got to the shul or why I was there. You just accepted me as I was. You know the rest of the story — now my children are in yeshivah, and I could not be happier.”

I looked at Herschel and asked, “But what made you come today?”

“When I woke up today, I glanced at the calendar on the fridge. I realized today, November 9, was the 8th of Cheshvan, parshas Lech Lecha. Today was 27 years to the day since I first came to the shul.

“I always considered this date to be my spiritual birthday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of my discovery of Hashem than for me to go back to the shul where it all began?

“It was exactly 27 years ago today that Hashem told me, ‘Lech lecha,’ to Passaic. And thankfully, I have never looked back.

“Rabbi, I only have two words: Thank you.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1039)