Obligating ourselves to be stronger and strengthening our ahavas Yisrael

And they shall announce and say, “Our hands did not shed this blood, nor did our eyes see [this crime]. (Devarim 21:7)

If a dead body’s found outside city limits, the elders of the closest city must come and announce that they didn’t shed this blood. Rashi asks: Would you think that the elders of the city were murderers? Rather, they were attesting that they didn’t see this traveler and send him away without food or accompaniment.

Leaving this traveler all alone without even sustenance to give him strength to fight his attacker makes the neighboring city responsible for allowing this murder to occur. (Rav Yaakov Neiman, Darchei Mussar)

T

he Rosenberg family lived down the block from us. They were a lot younger than us, but such sweet, nice people, and we considered ourselves lucky to be their neighbors.

My husband enjoyed seeing him in shul and we walk-pooled (the Israeli version of car pool) together to our sons’ cheder.

I always was impressed with their boys’ refined behavior that spoke of the soft, eidel character of the chinuch they were receiving at home.

Then one day my husband came home from shul with a funny smile on his face. “The Rosenbergs moved,” he said.

“Moved? Just like that? I hadn’t heard of any moving plans.”

“I don’t think they planned this. It was kind of sudden. They moved last week to Haifa.”

Haifa? What on earth’s in Haifa?

But there’s a different way to look at this. By sending the traveler off without food and drink, the city was then sending a message to the murderer.

They were showing they don’t really care about people. This apathy to their fellowman was reflected in the street, and gave the murderer strength and audacity to commit his attack.

If the elders of that city showed love and friendship to a stranger and accompanied him outside the city, then they’d be sending a message to the coarser members of the population how to treat people, and the lowlifes wouldn’t stoop to murder.

In a country the size of New Jersey, you wouldn’t think Haifa was the end of the world. But here in Eretz Yisrael, moving past your designated daled amos is a huge deal.

What was a nice, sweet family like the Rosenbergs doing so far from home?

According to my husband, they moved to do kiruv.

“Are we talking about the same Rosenbergs? They’re not kiruv people!”

“What does it mean to be ‘kiruv people,’ anyway?”

“You know. The outgoing, rah-rah types. The kind that makes friends with total strangers on the bus. The Rosenbergs are the sweetest people I know. But kiruv?”

This is true also in our day. But it goes a step further than just affecting travelers. If the elders of our cities show their love for people, then this love reflects downward toward the coarser elements of the city.

This point obligates us, the average frum Jew who knows Hashem, to feel responsible for the spiritual level of our fellow Jews, who are far from Torah and are living like goyim.

If our level of ahavas Yisrael and our behavioral standards would be high enough for us to serve as role models to others, then we’d be able to influence even those who are on a lesser level. They won’t stoop lower and won’t hate Hashem and His Torah.

If so, it’s upon each of us to obligate ourselves to be stronger and try to strengthen our ahavas Yisrael to influence our brothers who are more distant from Hashem.

The next day, my husband met Rabbi Rosenberg, who was in town for a few days to take care of last-minute arrangements.

“So Rabbi Rosenberg got involved a few years ago with Ayelet Hashachar, that organization that sends avreichim to learn with not-yet-frum Israelis,” my husband filled me in over lunch. “He’s been volunteering there for several years, and he was really successful. They asked him to move to Haifa, and apparently he’s already being effective there.”

Hard to wrap my mind around it. A family with several kids just ups and leaves an established, frum city to go do kiruv in a city that’s mostly a spiritual wasteland?

But that’s what a nice, sweet family like the Rosenbergs were doing in Haifa. Just goes to show you. There’s no such thing as “kiruv people.” If so, what’s my excuse?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 658)