history lesson 5: pretty fly for a rabbi
So Chabad opened up a new shul in our Seattle neighborhood, and we joined, and that was our first step into living observant lifestyles. I need to lay down a little background before I jump into that story, because if there's one thing I've learned in my foray into frumkeit, it's the massive amount of misunderstanding and misinformation out there.
Many people use the phrase "Hasidic" (or Chassidic) as a generic term to describe a certain type of Jew: beard, black hat and suit. But not all Orthodox Jews are Hasidic, even though all Hasidic Jews are Orthodox. Chassidus is a very specific school of Torah study focusing on the mystical and unseen. Kaballah is part of that, sort of, but forget what you've heard from Madonna and Britney Spears. Of the many Chassidism I've known who study Kaballah, none has ever been seen wearing a red string or drinking pricey water. Kaballah is simply an advanced way of understanding and interpeting the Torah.
The two biggest groups of Chassidism are the Satmars and the Lubavitchers. The two groups could not be more different in their lifestyles. The Satmars largely keep to themselves. They shun the Internet and mass media. They don't turn away ba'al teshuvot, but nor do they go looking for them. You would never see a Satmar Jew on a Manhattan street asking you to put on tefillin. But the Chabad-Lubavitch members - or Lubavitchers for short - are very much out there in the everyday world, spreading the light of Torah by any means possible. They're on most college campuses and in communities from Brooklyn to Africa to New Zealand. They do websites. They have annual telethons. They're the ones who light the huge electric Hanukkah menorahs in public areas every year.
(Another difference: they occupy different turf. Chabad's headquarters (or "770 ") is in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The Satmars call Williamsburg home, along with satellite communities in upstate New York. If you NYCers have run into orthodox Jews on the L train, they were probably Satmar. Boro Park is a huge frum area in Brooklyn, too, but not relevant to this stage of our discussion.)
Chabad representives - or schluchim - strive to reach as many unaffiliated Jews as possible and bring them back to mitzvot, thereby hastening the coming of Moshiach (the Messiah). They don't care if you come to them as conservative or reform: they understand that frumkeit is a huge commitment, and not something that can occur overnight. To Chabad, taking small, steady steps is the important thing.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe, for decades the leader of Chabad, died in 1994 in Crown Heights. However, his teachings and his attitude still resonate as loudly as ever. Go to any Lubavitch home and you'll see pictures and drawings of the Rebbe. Outside Chabad, he could be controversial - some have compared Chabad to a cult, with the Rebbe the cult leader. But this is absolutely untrue. Yes, the Rebbe was a charismatic and inspiring figure, but Chabad rabbis and followers always keep the focus on God, Torah and mitzvos - concepts and goals that any traditional Jew would strive to achieve. No one prays to the Rebbe. To this day, I carry a Rebbe keychain inscribed with the tefilat haderech, or traditional Hebrew travelers' prayer.
Of course, I didn't know about the Rebbe, the difference between "Hasidic" and "Orthodox," or the distinctions between the various sects of Chassidim when I first entered the shul. My wife wanted to check out their new building, so we went to hear the Purim megillah there. I was terrified entering the shul; I had barely seen the inside of a synagogue since graduating Hebrew school, and I felt certain they would judge me (or worse, ask me to read something in Hebrew). Thankfully, the whole experience was non-confrontational. The shul was airy and welcoming, with huge windows and high ceilings; no one asked me any embarrassing questions. It was really no problem.
My wife wanted to continue attending. So we tried Saturday morning Sabbath service a few weeks later. This was a lot scarier; the entire service was in Hebrew, and I had no idea what we were reading or what was going on. When we went down to Kiddush afterward, I sat at a table with a bunch of unfamiliar, pious-looking men (of course there was no mixed seating) singing raucous zmiros. This was all a bit much for me; I had a minor panic attack and had to leave the room. It would be months before I got over this sense of panic during Kiddush.
But still...there was something about the rabbi. Both upstairs during services and then during kiddush, he gave sermons with a combination of earthy humor, high aspirations, and a sincere reverence for God. He clearly loved and cared about his congregation. He wasn't like my Hebrew school rabbi at all. And the feeling in the room was far more spiritual and uplifting than anything I'd ever experienced at services before.
The pintel yid had been lit. But what now? My wife took to it a lot quicker than I did.
Next: The politics of Shabbos meals; ain't gonna work on Saturday; our rabbi attends the WTO protests and takes on the hippies
So Chabad opened up a new shul in our Seattle neighborhood, and we joined, and that was our first step into living observant lifestyles. I need to lay down a little background before I jump into that story, because if there's one thing I've learned in my foray into frumkeit, it's the massive amount of misunderstanding and misinformation out there.
Many people use the phrase "Hasidic" (or Chassidic) as a generic term to describe a certain type of Jew: beard, black hat and suit. But not all Orthodox Jews are Hasidic, even though all Hasidic Jews are Orthodox. Chassidus is a very specific school of Torah study focusing on the mystical and unseen. Kaballah is part of that, sort of, but forget what you've heard from Madonna and Britney Spears. Of the many Chassidism I've known who study Kaballah, none has ever been seen wearing a red string or drinking pricey water. Kaballah is simply an advanced way of understanding and interpeting the Torah.
The two biggest groups of Chassidism are the Satmars and the Lubavitchers. The two groups could not be more different in their lifestyles. The Satmars largely keep to themselves. They shun the Internet and mass media. They don't turn away ba'al teshuvot, but nor do they go looking for them. You would never see a Satmar Jew on a Manhattan street asking you to put on tefillin. But the Chabad-Lubavitch members - or Lubavitchers for short - are very much out there in the everyday world, spreading the light of Torah by any means possible. They're on most college campuses and in communities from Brooklyn to Africa to New Zealand. They do websites. They have annual telethons. They're the ones who light the huge electric Hanukkah menorahs in public areas every year.
(Another difference: they occupy different turf. Chabad's headquarters (or "770 ") is in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. The Satmars call Williamsburg home, along with satellite communities in upstate New York. If you NYCers have run into orthodox Jews on the L train, they were probably Satmar. Boro Park is a huge frum area in Brooklyn, too, but not relevant to this stage of our discussion.)
Chabad representives - or schluchim - strive to reach as many unaffiliated Jews as possible and bring them back to mitzvot, thereby hastening the coming of Moshiach (the Messiah). They don't care if you come to them as conservative or reform: they understand that frumkeit is a huge commitment, and not something that can occur overnight. To Chabad, taking small, steady steps is the important thing.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe, for decades the leader of Chabad, died in 1994 in Crown Heights. However, his teachings and his attitude still resonate as loudly as ever. Go to any Lubavitch home and you'll see pictures and drawings of the Rebbe. Outside Chabad, he could be controversial - some have compared Chabad to a cult, with the Rebbe the cult leader. But this is absolutely untrue. Yes, the Rebbe was a charismatic and inspiring figure, but Chabad rabbis and followers always keep the focus on God, Torah and mitzvos - concepts and goals that any traditional Jew would strive to achieve. No one prays to the Rebbe. To this day, I carry a Rebbe keychain inscribed with the tefilat haderech, or traditional Hebrew travelers' prayer.
Of course, I didn't know about the Rebbe, the difference between "Hasidic" and "Orthodox," or the distinctions between the various sects of Chassidim when I first entered the shul. My wife wanted to check out their new building, so we went to hear the Purim megillah there. I was terrified entering the shul; I had barely seen the inside of a synagogue since graduating Hebrew school, and I felt certain they would judge me (or worse, ask me to read something in Hebrew). Thankfully, the whole experience was non-confrontational. The shul was airy and welcoming, with huge windows and high ceilings; no one asked me any embarrassing questions. It was really no problem.
My wife wanted to continue attending. So we tried Saturday morning Sabbath service a few weeks later. This was a lot scarier; the entire service was in Hebrew, and I had no idea what we were reading or what was going on. When we went down to Kiddush afterward, I sat at a table with a bunch of unfamiliar, pious-looking men (of course there was no mixed seating) singing raucous zmiros. This was all a bit much for me; I had a minor panic attack and had to leave the room. It would be months before I got over this sense of panic during Kiddush.
But still...there was something about the rabbi. Both upstairs during services and then during kiddush, he gave sermons with a combination of earthy humor, high aspirations, and a sincere reverence for God. He clearly loved and cared about his congregation. He wasn't like my Hebrew school rabbi at all. And the feeling in the room was far more spiritual and uplifting than anything I'd ever experienced at services before.
The pintel yid had been lit. But what now? My wife took to it a lot quicker than I did.
Next: The politics of Shabbos meals; ain't gonna work on Saturday; our rabbi attends the WTO protests and takes on the hippies
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