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hat happens when women leave behind their safe and familiar communities to spread the truth of Torah to Jews who have never experienced Shabbos or heard about kashrus? To get an inside look at today’s kiruv world, we’ve posed five frank questions to four dynamic kiruv wives.

Hudy Abrams is the codirector and rebbetzin of the Jewish Learning Center, a branch of DATA (Dallas Area Torah Association). She and her husband,Rabbi Shlomo, are based in Far North Dallas, Texas.

I knew I wanted to work in kiruv …

… when I was dating my husband. Throughout high school, I had this feeling I wanted to make a difference, but I didn’t know how. When we were dating, my husband was talking about moving out of town and making a difference — it totally clicked!
We lived in Eretz Yisrael, and we trained under Rav Yitzchak Berkovits and Ner LeElef — they really instill you with that sense of responsibility for Klal Yisrael.
My husband gave a class in a community we were checking out. Afterward, a young kid with long hair came up to him and asked, “Are you a rabbi?” My husband said, “Yes, I am.” And then the boy said, “I thought all the rabbis were dead.” That made what we’re doing, and why, totally clear.

I had second thoughts …
… never. But there have been oh-my-gosh-what-did-I-get-into moments, like the first Shabbaton we made here. It was all set — the tables, the food, everything — and one family showed up. One. My husband took the man to daven. I went with the mother and kids into the toy room, and I was singing Shabbos songs at the top of my lungs, pretending there were 25 kids there. But inside I was thinking, This is crazy. We’ve grown since then — no more one-family Shabbatons — but I’ll never forget it.

I knew it was all worth it …
… when one woman acknowledged the effort. I take groups of nonobservant women to Israel with Lori Palatnik’s Jewish Women’s Renaissance Project. A couple of years ago, I brought my infant twins, and it was exhausting. I remember wondering if it was worth it. In the airport, one of the women — it had taken me three years to convince her to come — hugged me and whispered, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
Those Israel trips really fast-forward growth; I saw it again this year. We met this really sweet young couple a few years back. We weren’t sure how high their interest level was at that point, but over time they got involved. Eventually, they put their kids in the Jewish day school, moved into the eiruv, started somewhat keeping Shabbos, then kosher, then taharas hamishpachah. The only thing keeping the wife back from really keeping Shabbos was shutting off her phone. On the trip this year, she decided she was going to try. You know what she told me afterward? “More than the Jews keep Shabbos, Shabbos keeps the Jews.” It did so much for her, and that insight — she gets it! — inspires me.

Something someone did that made me proud to be a Jewish representative …
I like to share gedolim stories with the women. Here’s an example: One of Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel’s talmidim lost his father, and Rav Nosson Tzvi made a point to write to the sons of the niftar. He heard that one of the young daughters felt left out, so he wrote her a letter with a picture of a heart, which meant a lot to her.
I tell stories like this about present-day gedolim all the time. I show the women this is who our children look up to — not movie stars, but these types of people. Look how refined they are in character, how caring, how learned, how humble.

I know being in kiruv has an impact on our family because …
… my children have absorbed the concept of taking responsibility. My nine-and-a-half-year-old decided something she can do is to donate her hair to Chai Lifeline. She took the initiative — grew it for a year and then cut it really short. We also put together an e-mail to ask people to donate money, and she raised $2,000. She understood she was capable of doing it, so she did.

Efrat Ziering is the codirector of Aish Tel Aviv. She and her husband, Rabbi David, lived in Jerusalem before moving to Tel Aviv almost six years ago.

I knew I wanted to work in kiruv …

When I was 18, I went to Chile for a month with my friend Sarah, whose cousin started the center there. We taught in the Jewish day school, and we were there for Pesach. I was blown away. I remember telling Sarah, “This is what I want to spend my life doing,” and I hoped the person I’d marry would feel the same way.
I was lucky — my husband learned in Jerusalem in Aish HaTorah. Their whole concept is when you have something great, you have to share it. When we were first married, we lived in Jerusalem. But we moved to Tel Aviv because it’s very much the secular center of Israel, and we wanted to influence people who influence Israeli secular society — the businessmen, actors, media, musicians.

I had second thoughts …
… in the beginning, all the time. But that’s how it is, right? Whenever something new becomes difficult you say, Why am I doing this? — especially before you get over the hump.
We used to go on Aish Fellowship trips with college kids. There were days it was like — why? Some kids don’t even have an interest; it’s just a free trip. We were living in a yeshivish community then, and used to certain conduct, and all of a sudden we were out of our little bubble. They were wonderful people, incredible neshamos, but the women weren’t dressed like those in our old community, and the speech and conduct all around was very different than what we were used to. It was shocking, unsettling, that feeling of opening ourselves up to another world, and I felt vulnerable.
Very quickly, I learned to get past the outer layer, to look in people’s eyes and not at their exteriors, to see what they have to share. And then it actually made us stronger — made us focus inward and work on our middos, shalom bayis, raising our children.

I knew it was all worth it …
… when my seven-year-old got to say a dvar Torah at the shul kiddush. It’s small, just one table for the men and one for the women. My son sits between my husband and the rabbi of the shul, and he feels like the chacham hador. My kids do everything in the shul — hagbah, organizing, clean up.
When we first came to Tel Aviv, we were two families with kids, and the shul had 12 older men. Where we live is very much a singles place, not a lot of families, certainly not many kids. There’s not much choice of schools, and the schools are teensy. I was like, “Oh, my goodness, we should go back to Yerushalayim, send them to a nice Bais Yaakov and a cheder.”
But everyone takes care of each other. Because there weren’t very many kids for my kids to play with they’ve learned to become each other’s friends. The smaller community turned out to be the biggest brachah in the world. All these older men in shul were dying for kids. And my kids have a real relationship with the rabbi. He brings them candy — good stuff, not just a lollipop! — and they really participate in shul.

Something someone did that made me proud to be a Jewish representative …
My kids, all the time! A neighbor once told me she was really impressed when she asked my son what my name was and he said he can’t say it out of respect. And one time my kids’ swimming teacher told me she sees the religious kids learn much quicker because they have better “mishmaat;” they’re better disciplined. When people see these are the types of children a religious family raises, it makes an impact.

I know being in kiruv has an impact on our family because …
It makes us really in touch with ourselves; we check our pulse constantly. We have to have emunah because we can only give someone something we have ourselves. In a religious community, I might do something because it’s the norm, because everyone else is doing it. But when you live on your own little island, you set the norm.
And my relationship with my husband is stronger because we have to be on the same page. We’re building something together, as a family.
There are weeks when we’re alone on Shabbos and we make sure to give our kids lots of attention. On a Friday when we’re going to have a large dinner, we go hiking or on a nature walk in the afternoon — something with a Shabbos taste and with no electronics or distractions. It’s real family bonding time. A kiruv rabbi gave us that advice — if on a Friday night you’re going to have lots of guests, do a family activity that day.
It’s clear my kids love it. When they play, my son is the rabbi teaching Torah and my daughter is the wife showing everyone how to bake challah. That’s nachas!

Rochel Loewenthal is the codirector and rebbetzin of Chabad Denmark in Copenhagen. She and her husband, Rabbi Yitzi, have been on shlichus in Denmark for 16 years.

I knew I wanted to work in kiruv …
There was a girl in high school who wasn’t religious, and a bit rebellious. She took a liking to me, and we spent a lot of time together. Watching her take baby steps — her speech and her dress became a little more refined — showed me that with ahavas Yisrael you can literally change somebody. I was pretty young — ninth or tenth grade — but I made an impact.
My parents were on shlichus in Pittsburgh, and so I saw it growing up — when we brought challah to someone down the block, when I worked in summer camps around the country. I always knew this is what I was going to do. The Lubavitcher Rebbe said the ultimate chesed is to help another Jew; this is the Chabad mindset.
Before I dated, I told my parents I wanted a shlichus guy — and not just any shlichus but an “anywhere shlichus” guy, someone who’d go anywhere we were needed. My husband and I had moved to Denmark by our first anniversary.

I had second thoughts …
I didn’t. I made a lifetime commitment — until Mashiach comes. We like to joke that Chabad is so into Mashiach because we all want to come home! Sometimes it can be pretty tough. Like when baby number three was three weeks old and my oldest was two-and-a-half and it was Erev Rosh HaShanah and we had 150 people coming that night, and all the volunteers canceled one after the other.
The physical stuff is stressful — you can’t go to the bakery for challah or just buy chummus as a backup one week — but with a little extra work you figure it out.
The hardest aspect is my children’s chinuch. It’s a little too important to say, “It will work itself out.” There’s a chassidishe saying that every parent should spend half an hour every day thinking about the chinuch of their children. I try to spend half an hour not thinking about it, because it’s a serious and real challenge.
My children get a good education at Shluchim Online School, but kids don’t like being different, and wherever we go here, we’re exotic — some might even say weird. The Danes are so tolerant and open-minded; there’s no such thing as religion — no cults, no missionaries, the churches are empty. The Jewish community also reflects that; there are very few people who are shomer Shabbos. There is a frum shul, Machzikei Hadas, but everyone besides for one couple has left. A few years ago we moved into the Chabad House next to the shul, and since then there’s been a sort of revival, but we often encourage people to leave once they become frum.

I knew it was all worth it …
… when our first family told us they were going to stop going to shul on Shabbos — we were so excited! You notice I said “stop.” When I told my father, he said, “Rochel, you’re excited about what?” He thought I was crazy until I explained that many Danish Jews have a similar concept as the Reform and the Conservative, which is that you go to shul for the “atmosphere.” It’s so subtle, but when Jews start to realize Yiddishkeit is about Hashem — and not the feel-good things and not about you should go to shul so you feel Shabbos — that’s massive.

Something someone did that made me proud to be a Jewish representative …
My daughter was working at our camp, and she really kept an eye on everybody and made sure no one fell through the cracks. There was a girl named Nicole who came for years. She had a good time, but we didn’t think we had made such an impact. Then we heard what happened when she started university. The students were going around the room and introducing themselves. Her class was full of Danes and Muslims. When it was her turn, she said, “I’m Nicole, and this is my favorite song. It will tell you about me: ‘I’m a Jew and I’m proud and I’ll sing it out loud.’” She didn’t say what she was studying, but that she’s a Jew. That’s how she responded when she was asked to identify herself!

I know being in kiruv has an impact on our family because …
… my children are extremely aware of who they are. Yiddishkeit isn’t taken for granted.
Once, friends of my 12- and 14-year-old asked, “Don’t you want to wear shorts? They’re more comfortable.” I heard my girls say, “Doesn’t the gift that’s wrapped nicely look better? Our body is a gift. We wrap it nicely, not cheaply.” Another time I heard, “The Danish Queen would never be seen dressed not dignified; she’s royal. So are we.” And no, I didn’t rehearse that response with them. I actually learn from them. I’ve taken to using their lines.
When they were four and five, my kids used to ask, “When I get older, can I do shlichus in New York? In a candy store in Boro Park?” Now it’s, “Can I do shlichus in Denmark?” They see what it does for us. That’s not why we do it, but it does have a massive impact.

Sori Estersohn is a women’s educator at Binghamton University in New York. She and her husband, Rabbi Shmuel, work for MEOR, a kiruv program on academic campuses across the United States.

I knew I wanted to work in kiruv …
I worked for two years in special ed at Ezra Academy in Queens, and I had an opportunity to relate to the girls on a personal level. They were so eager to have a relationship with a religious woman who took an interest. That was the first step to considering kiruv as a possibility. Once, a cynical student with a tough background told me, “You’re the only religious person I like.” It struck me that that was crazy! But if I could represent Jewish people to someone with misconceptions, why not for anyone who’s seeking? And because my husband was in Chofetz Chaim, where they emphasize harbatzas HaTorah, we both knew this was something we wanted to do.
Later, when we were in Brighton Beach in Brooklyn working for RAJE [Russian American Jewish Experience], someone who spent Succos with us told my husband that after seeing our family, he knows this is what he wants in life. We thought, If this is the impression we’re making, we have to keep doing it!

I had second thoughts …
… when I was learning one-on-one with a college student who was very cynical. She kept asking good questions about Torah shebe’al peh, and I wasn’t 100 percent clear about the subject — I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I was inexperienced then — and she kept finding holes and I kept digging myself deeper.
When she left, I was crying. I felt like a failure, and I was nervous to learn with someone ever again. In time, I saw that she still saw our sincerity. Today, she still asks me to send her shiurim, we learn on the phone together, and she asks to come on Shabbatons even though she already graduated. Even if you don’t have all the answers at your fingertips, people still see the truth of Torah — and they’re desperate for it.

I knew it was all worth it …
… this past Purim. The guys were giving these toasts in their drunken states: “Here’s to you, Rabbi Estersohn! We never thought we’d have such a spiritual experience in the middle of nowhere, in Binghamton.”
Purim was physically hard — so much planning and cooking, and people kept coming and I kept filling up plates, and I don’t remember sitting down the whole day, and then I spent the whole night cleaning up. But it was so rewarding. I was thinking, This is it, this is what I always want my house to be. My heart was so full, I was on a high for weeks after — I still am when I think about it.

Something someone did that made me proud to be a Jewish representative …
… by doing something so small, she doesn’t even realize. We were on a Shabbaton in Monsey and a student came by on Shabbos afternoon, and she sat on the couch talking to my hostess. After Shabbos, the student told me, “I can’t believe she spent the whole afternoon talking to me!”
On these Shabbatons, the students get so inspired by things we take for granted. They gush about the togetherness, how the husband treats the wife like a queen; they go on and on about the stability of the home. And the way the communities pull together for us is amazing. I tell the hostesses, “You have no clue what an effect you have.”

I know being in kiruv has an impact on our family because …
I notice lately that many of our supper conversations are about issues that have come up with people we’re learning with. My husband and I are forced to face our own confusion about certain issues and get to the bottom of them, so we have clarity and are able to give Torah over better. The essence of the job causes us to constantly refocus on the truth and beauty of the Torah; it strengthens us and our emunah.
Also, it can be frustrating when you hear some of these liberal ideas; the college atmosphere is so steeped in these accepted views of women’s roles and alternative marriage and pro-choice. Yet sometimes you have to just listen — not approve, but listen — to develop a relationship. Even though you feel like shouting the truth, you can’t, because building a relationship is a process.

(Originally featured in Family First Issue 357)