In the spirit of V’nahafoch hu, Mishpacha contributors share the axioms they were sure of…until they weren’t

As told to Yael Schuster

Rabbi Benzion Klatzko

Monsey, New York

I always thought that kiruv has to start with philosophy. Until I learned that…

Kosher airline meals were reserved. Bus drivers had their routes down pat. Hotels braced for impact. And 15 Jewish college students from across the US were on the final countdown until their grand adventure, a tour of the Holy Land.

Then with just seven days to go, thanks to Omicron, it was over before it began. But these kids’ neshamos were ripe for connection; how could I just abandon them to their hollow dorm rooms?

I called my brother Raphael, who conducts tours across the globe. “Think you can work your magic and arrange a tour of Poland for us in seven days?” And miraculously, he did.

But I faced a dilemma. Our Israel trip was rescheduled for the summer, and everyone coming to Poland planned to join the Israel trip as well. My approach to kiruv has always been one of logical progression — first convince them of the basics: G-d exists, Torah is from G-d at Sinai, it doesn’t conflict with science. These kids are studying advanced science and philosophy, and step one is to meet them where they’re at. Jumping into Torah before the groundwork is in place would be nonsensical — why would someone care about the way to build a succah if they don’t believe in G-d?

I knew I had to save all that deep stuff for Israel, where its impact would be most powerful. With my familiar method now off the table, I wasn’t quite sure how to meaningfully connect these kids to Yiddishkeit while in Poland. I decided to teach them about Purim, the next holiday on the Jewish calendar.

Each morning after breakfast, we’d push the tables together and read from the Megillah in English for an hour. But the real action happened later, on the long bus rides across the Polish countryside.

“Rabbi, G-d was angry that the Jews partied with the Persians,” Maggie said between cigarette puffs, looking a bit unsettled. “It kind of reminds me of me, partying at the night club with non-Jews.”

“Rabbi, Haman was such a petty dufus,” tattooed-up-the-arms Danny proclaimed. “He had everything — even private dinners with the royal couple — but it meant nothing to him as long as his image wasn’t perfect, when one Jew didn’t bow to him. It even caused him to die! If he lived today, he’d be so obsessed with his social media image that he’d have no life.”

Hmmm… interesting.

As we whizzed by town after Judenrein town, the words of the Megillah were a springboard for the most wonderful discussions. The way these kids drew parallels to their own lives was spectacular to witness.

On tours of Poland, the day at Auschwitz always ends on a note of despair — with all the emunah talk in the world, it’s unavoidable. That cold, dark morning, before boarding the bus, we huddled close and read about Haman’s plan to kill the Jews. The mood was perfectly set for what the day had in store. And yes, at the end of the day, the air on the bus smelled of despair. But there was something else in the atmosphere as well.

“Rabbi, the Jews in Persia repented, and in one hour Haman went from the top of the world to the top of a tree,” said torn-jeans Josh. “There was no last-minute salvation for the Jews at Auschwitz. But I’m thinking that if in my own life I come close to G-d, He can turn things around for me like He did back in Persia.”

For the first time after an Auschwitz tour, alongside the despair, I sniffed a belief in Hashem’s ability to provide a better tomorrow.

Somewhere along this trip, it hit me: The words of the Torah are machzir l’mutav, they always return one to good. And the proof was short in coming: seven students — just about 50 percent — signed up for yeshivah in Israel immediately after the tour; on past tours to Poland, one yeshivah sign-up would have been considered a huge success. And now, seven weeks later, almost every student still shows up to learn on Zoom each week (it typically fizzles out after just a few weeks).

Omicron gave me a secret weapon. Standard kiruv 101 is essential, of course, but the sharpest arrows into a Jew’s heart are the very words of G-d himself.

Rabbi Benzion Klatzko, of Monsey, New York, is the senior manager at the kiruv organization Olami, and is founder of Shabbat.com. He has 30 years of experience in the field of kiruv.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 902)