“Shabbos is a gift,” he told them. “Keep unwrapping it, and it will change the course of your life”

Living Higher

S

hmuel Mashiach is a Chicago-based businessman who found himself standing in the security line at Ben Gurion Airport, together with hundreds of unaffiliated teens who were returning from their summer trip to Israel as part of the Anne Samson Jerusalem Journey (TJJ), NCSY’s Israel experience for public school youth.

Standing behind him was Eyal, who had kept his first Shabbos while in Eretz Yisrael but wasn’t sure how he could channel that inspiration once he landed back in the United States. “It was amazing,” Mr. Mashiach and his wife Talia heard Eyal saying, “but how can I take this home? My parents don’t keep Shabbos. They don’t keep kosher. How am I supposed to do this?”

Spontaneously, Mr. Mashiach raised his voice loud enough for all the boys on the line to hear. “Anybody who keeps Shabbos for four weeks straight, starting this week, will receive one thousand dollars, on me.” A tumult broke out. Kids, counselors, everyone was turning around. “What? Did he say a thousand dollars?”

They clamored around Mr. Mashiach, and he laid out three conditions to be eligible for the reward: One, they’d have to start this Shabbos. Two, the Shabbosos would have to be spent with a shomer Shabbos family so they got the full experience. Three, they’d have to step into shul at least once over Shabbos — even for just Lecha Dodi or Keil Adon — to relive what they’d felt in camp.

The kids were incredulous. “Why are you doing this?” they wanted to know. “Shabbos is a gift,” he told them. “Keep unwrapping it, and it will change the course of your life.”

The counselors exchanged numbers with Mr. Mashiach, and the line moved on. When his wife put her carry-on onto the conveyor belt, the alarm sounded. The agent rifled through the suitcase, uncovering a beautiful silver challah knife from Hazorfim, which they’d bought as a gift for their son. The couple hadn’t bought suitcases, which meant they weren’t checking in luggage, and forgot that the knife could be classified as a “weapon” and not allowed on aircraft. Mr. Mashiach tried to protest that the knife was expensive and intended as a religious item, but the guard shook his head. “Zeh hanhagah shel Ben Gurion. Ein mah la’asot.”

The Mashiachs watched hopelessly as their gift was placed in the trash, alongside the yogurts and other confiscated contraband. Then a voice called from the back: “Rega, rega, rega!” A Ben Gurion supervisor approached. “Bo iti” he said, “follow me.”

The couple braced themselves for trouble, but they were in for a surprise. The supervisor lowered his voice. “I saw what you did in the line. I heard everything. Nagata ba’lev sheli — you touched my heart,” he said.

He explained that in the past he’d kept Shabbos — for 15, maybe 25 years — before a repressed childhood trauma pulled him away. “I want to do something for you. This is totally against protocol, and this has never been done, but I’m going to have your wife escorted back to United Airlines so she can check in the carry-on with the knife and stow it under the plane.”

True to his word, the supervisor retrieved the knife and had his men walk Mrs. Mashiach back to the United desk, recheck her carry-on as luggage, and then escort her back to the security line. Then he approached Mr. Mashiach with a request. “I want you to extend the same challenge to me — bli kesef, without the money.”

They exchanged numbers. “B’ezrat Hashem,” the man said, “I’ll call you in a few weeks to tell you I’ve kept Shabbos for four weeks.”

Since then, messages have trickled in — “I kept my first Shabbos,” “Second week, still going.”

“Who knows how many Shabbosos will be kept because of that moment?” said Mr. Mashiach. The lesson was clear to him: You never know who’s listening, whose heart is open. And there, amid the hustle and bustle of a security check-in line, a kiddush Hashem traveled farther than any airliner.

The Lens

It’s bein hazmanim, so Rav Yisroel Newman, the Lakewood Rosh Yeshivah, uses the time for a change of scenery. But like every summer, the Rosh Yeshivah doesn’t go far. Instead, he moves his shtender from Lakewood’s Yoshon Beis Medrash about 15 feet to the outdoor porch of the building, where he continues to learn unabated.

Munk, Music, and Mesorah

One of Camp Munk’s most celebrated traditions is the day after Tishah B’Av, exactly the moment the clock strikes chatzos, when campers and staff break out into song and dance, marking the moment the Jewish calendar transitions from the mourning period to one of comfort and joy.  Each year, Rav Dovid Cohen, the mara d’asra of Camp Munk, leaves his place in the camp’s beis medrash to partake in the festivities. This year was no different and a staff member chauffeured Rav Cohen to the camp’s circus mall, where the music was already in full force.

Rav Cohen alighted from the golf cart, but instead of joining the jubilant dancers, he stood transfixed, deep in thought. His son, Rav Ahron Cohen, approached his father and asked him if he wanted to join, as per his usual “minhag.” His father demurred, explaining that as much as he relishes the opportunity, this year, he was just too overcome with emotion, opting to share the simchah from the sidelines as he watched a mesorah that was still going strong well into the third generation of Torah-true camping.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1074)