What role can the Torah community play in fanning the flames of those on a journey of searching for connection?

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ast week we wrote about a growing desire for a connection to Hashem that is evident among the Jews of Israel. That thirst derives in part from the tragic events of the last two years, and is perhaps rooted even earlier, in the great schisms among Israeli Jews exposed by the nonstop demonstrations in the months prior to October 7. Much of that hisorerus has been inspired by the stories of hostages observing mitzvos and calling out to Hashem in various ways under the most difficult circumstances imaginable.

The Torah community in Eretz Yisrael has had little to do with the hisorerus thus far. Nor, interestingly, have the expressions of anger expressed toward the Torah community over the issue of army service prevented a desire for a greater connection to Hashem, His mitzvos, and religious identity from blossoming.

Each one of these sparks of yearning is precious and must be nurtured. But they signal the beginning of a journey, not the end. Many of those who have taken on particular aspects of mitzvah observance, even central ones such as Shabbos, have not yet integrated their commitments into a framework of full mitzvah observance.

Even those who have made a commitment to full observance lack in most cases any detailed knowledge of what is entailed, or supportive communities in which they can continue to grow. As a consequence, their long-range commitments are necessarily tenuous to one degree or another. (That statement should not be taken to indicate that I think their becoming chareidi or moving to Bnei Brak is the goal.)

The question that must be asked, however, is what role can the Torah community play in fanning the flames of those on a journey of searching for connection. And even before that question, there is another more fundamental one: What is incumbent upon us to make sure we don’t cause those flames to be extinguished. As Rav Moshe Shapira said many times, “Our task is not to bring Mashiach; it is to make sure that we don’t prevent his arrival.”

First and foremost, there must be a commitment to what I have called in the past the kiddush Hashem imperative, a consciousness of what Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv often referred to as the educational imperative of our time: “To make the Name of Heaven beloved through your actions.” The ideal is that our conduct should be such that others are inspired to exclaim, “Happy is the father who taught him Torah! Happy is the rav who taught him Torah” (Yoma 86a).

The exemplar of that principle is Avraham Avinu, who was the first to spread knowledge of Hashem in the world, and who is on that account called “Avraham ohavi – Avraham, My beloved (Yeshayahu 41:8).

To fulfill that imperative, one must be constantly aware that his or her actions are often observed and can have a profound effect on what those observers think about Torah Jews. Sensitivity to the impact of one’s actions on others requires being able to empathize with others not exactly like oneself and being able to view things from their perspective.

That is something many of us fail to do too frequently. And those failures are only multiplied when we are in large groups, and we may be misled into thinking that we can ignore others because we are on our own “turf.”

A friend in shul shared that his granddaughter is a flight attendant with El Al. Recently, she flew to Warsaw on Thursday, with a flight back to Israel scheduled to land on Friday afternoon. But a group of religious passengers on the return flight refused to be seated, despite the repeated pleas of the plane staff. At one point, the pilot announced over the loudspeaker that Shabbos was coming, and that they could not take off without all passengers being seated. Worse, if they lost their takeoff slot, they would be relegated to the end of the line, and perhaps be unable to reach Israel prior to Shabbos. All to little avail.

I fly frequently enough to have watched this scene play out many times – either because religious passengers have carried an absurd amount of stuff on board for which there is no room overhead or because someone has decided to protest being seated next to a woman.

My friend from shul did not tell me the state of his granddaughter’s religious observance. But his account left little doubt that her identification with Torah and mitzvos has not been strengthened by what she witnessed, despite the fact that she was raised in a religious home and has known many exemplary religious Jews. How much greater must the negative impact of such scenes be on those who have had no exposure to Torah observant Jews.

I DETEST IT when a sudden tragedy strikes and people try to explain that tragedy as a result of their own particular pet peeve. We do not know Hashem’s ways, and embarrass ourselves when we pretend that we do. On the other hand, our Sages tell us that when misfortune strikes a person, he should examine his deeds. That examination may not reveal the actual cause of the misfortune. But if we look honestly at our actions, most of us will find areas in need of repair, whether or not they actually had anything to do with Hashem’s calculus in bringing about that particular misfortune.

In that vein, I offer the following observation. After the sudden petirah of Rav Moshe Hauer at a relatively young age, in addition to the outpouring of hespedim from within the community, there were countless encomiums from Jews outside the Torah community and even non-Jews. And they all, without fail, spoke of the respectful manner in which he treated each person with whom he came into contact, and how he listened carefully to their views, even when they were in sharp contrast to his own.

It occurred to me that perhaps his example of how a Torah Jew must conduct himself in the public eye is one that we all must internalize, and that his shocking passing, which has left so many bereft, brought that message to the fore.

A SECOND CRUCIAL PATHWAY bridging the desire to connect to Hashem to actual mitzvah observance is realizing that the mitzvos are for our benefit and constitute the path toward a fulfilling life. That is what Rav Noach Weinberg used to refer to as the “Toras Chaim” approach.

That recognition is most effectively conveyed through actual personal contact with a Torah Jew. Chavrusa learning between observant and not-yet-observant study partners is as important for the relationships established as it is for the content of what is learned. When someone with little previous exposure to Torah Jews develops a friendship with a fellow Jew living a life inspired by Torah, the potential impact is immense. Realizing that Torah Jews confront the same challenges as they do — parnassah, marriage, childrearing — but that the Torah offers them means of navigating those challenges makes a big impression on the non-religious study partner. I will never forget the sight of a group of Kesher Yehudi chavrusas, who were meeting in person for the first time after months of learning over the phone, sitting with their arms around one another for over an hour.

For one younger brother of mine, the appreciation of “Toras Chaim” came through learning the laws of forbidden speech with Rabbi Zelig Pliskin. In recent decades, the laws of family purity have proven to be a powerful entry portal to greater observance, even though at first glance they impose limitations that go against the zeitgeist.

In the ’70s and ’80s, South Africa experienced the largest teshuvah movement, as a percentage of the overall Jewish population, of any Jewish community in the world. There are many factors behind that phenomenon, but one of the most important was the requirement of the South African rabbinate that every couple married under its auspices had to go through a course on the laws of marriage with experienced teachers. And in her 1991 study of highly educated baalos teshuvah who were formerly ardent feminists, Rachel’s Daughters, Rutgers sociologist Debra Renee Kaufman found that the laws of family purity played a crucial role in the religious journeys of her subjects.

A little more than 20 years ago, an organization called Lahav began subcontracting basic kallah-instruction sessions offered by local religious councils. In the place of brief group instruction, Lahav provides each kallah with a series of meetings with her own private teacher, in pleasant surroundings. The madrichot all volunteer their time and are filled with a passion for the mitzvah.

The results have been overwhelming. Each kallah fills out a questionnaire at the end of her premarital counseling evaluating the quality of the instruction, interest in further study, and anticipated impact on her marriage. On a scale of one to five, the average rating of the madrichot and the course is 4.939.

But even more significant are the written comments of the kallahs. Most mention that they knew almost nothing of the Torah view of family life and its rhythms. So the new material and its impact on them was completely unexpected. Over and over, they speak of how they now anticipate that following the laws of family purity will enhance their marriages. And as they recognize the wisdom of the Torah in this one area, many described a newfound interest in further Torah study and practice.

The only sad note is that Lahav, which at its height provided instruction to over 4,000 kallahs a year, and which had requests for its services from many additional religious councils, has had to cut back its activities almost in half in recent years due to budgetary constraints. That is a tragic missed opportunity.

MY FRIEND and fellow collumnist, Joel Rebibo, pointed out to me after our morning shiur last week perhaps the most important lesson to be drawn from the stories of the returning hostages and other Nova survivors. Most of us tend to have a judgmental side. When we see someone sporting numerous tattoos or various piercings, our initial reaction is to think that they have completely removed themselves from a Torah life. And that is true even for those of us who were once far more hirsute than today and sported radically different attire.

But having seen the survivors of the Nova Festival dancing with sifrei Torah this past Simchas Torah, and listening to the stories of the determination of many of the hostages seized from that quasi-pagan festival to hold on to whatever mitzvos they knew about and to recite prayers in captivity, has brought home with crystal clarity how the pintele Yid burns in every Jewish heart and how forbidden it is to write off any other Jew as irretrievably lost. And with that recognition, comes another:  The magnitude of our obligation to do everything in our power to foster their connection to Torah.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1085. Yonoson Rosenblum may be contacted directly at rosenblum@mishpacha.com)