Part 3: The Missing Ushpizin: Will There be an Xmas Miracle?

by “Kugel Man”

In last week’s installment, we talked about the rebound we had during Chol Hamoed, following a disappointing start to Sukkos. If you missed Parts 1 and 2, scroll down and catch up—they’re required reading! We pick up from there to our conclusion…

You might think that Xmas has no place in a nice Jewish publication such as this, but I assure you that it plays a key role in this true trek, and in a very Jewish way. But you’ll have to be patient until we reach that part of the story!

I must admit that when I recounted the experiences we’ve had in forging friendships with the Israelis who work in the malls, I wasn’t entirely sure why I was writing it. By far, the greatest motivation was that my wife Chana was insistent that I do so. I hoped that by publishing about our adventures in the mall, some good would come from it, but little was I prepared for the response.

I don’t think I can count the number of people who have called, emailed or approached us in person since the original article appeared. It was published the same week as our son’s engagement, so Chana commented, after returning from a trip to the local kosher grocery, that she was going to have to start going out incognito if she wanted to actually get any shopping done!

Given the dearth of hate mail, and preponderance of positive feedback, I have to assume that, for some reason, our adventures struck a chord with the public. Certainly, there are wonderful organizations who are doing far more than we. So I continue to wonder why our efforts seemed to connect with so many.

Someone suggested that people could relate to our experiences specifically because we seemed to have “failed”. It’s true. Our efforts to bring the Israelis to our home for a Shabbos or Yom Tov meal were met with incredible frustration and disappointment. For better or worse, we plodded on, and some people may have found our perseverance to be encouraging. Perhaps it was the fact that we were going out in a literally home-baked, non-educational manner, just trying to bring a taste of Shabbos to them in their own personal diaspora. Or maybe it was just the unfinished tale of our odyssey which intrigued some, replete with the promise of an uncertain future.

Whatever the reasons, I’d like to bring you up to date with later developments, and share with you some of the feedback we received. In fact, every bit of that feedback and every development is, to one degree or another, a great success. It means that people care about their fellow Jews, and want a way to express and amplify that feeling.

One discovery we made was that we were not alone in our initiative. Others contacted us to tell us of their experiences in various malls. One woman told me how she and her daughter would bake challah together and bring them along to distribute on their shopping excursions. Another woman contacted me with a tale uncannily similar to our own. Within the last few months she and her husband had cultivated friendships with the Israelis in the local mall in their southern city, brought them challah and grape juice on Fridays, machzorim for Yom Tov, and invited them to their home. A couple accepted their invitation to spend Yom Kippur with them, and then did not show. It was as though she was echoing our own saga to us! The bright side was that our story gave them the strength to try again, after their frustration had stalled their efforts. 

That’s an accomplishment.

A prominent local educator called to tell me that after reading the article, he and his wife invited a secular Israeli couple from work, and they joined them for a Shabbos meal. 

That’s an accomplishment.

The week after the original article was published, the kiosk workers remarked to us how many of the Orthodox shoppers were now approaching them and being so friendly. 

Now, THAT’S an accomplishment!

People offered to help. One woman delivered weeks’ worth of challahs and kugels to us, which was a tremendous help. One outreach author offered his books, a Judaica store gave us Chanukah candles, a caterer some kugels, a baker donated 6 dozen sufganiyot, a friend offered financial or logistical assistance. 

The fact that people came forward to join the effort was indeed an accomplishment.

But while these were all milestones for our already-affiliated community, I’d like to catch you up on the progress we have seen with our friends, the Israeli kiosk workers themselves.

Picking up where our story left off…

We had been in a holding pattern, having experienced the painful No-Show Sukkos Party. We were returning to the mall each week with our challahs and kugels. But we desperately needed a new plan of action.

Chana quickly hatched the next idea. Two of the managers, Shai and Shiran, were engaged to each other. We would throw them an engagement party. They were excited by the idea, but we were all unsure of the timing.

In the meantime, Chanukah was approaching. We brought each kiosk a menorah  and a box of candles, chocolate Chanukah gelt, dreidels, and enough fresh sufganiyot for all. The latter was particularly exciting, as a number of the workers said that they had looked — and been unable to find — sufganiyot anywhere! As we made our way through the booths, one of the workers asked if she could have her own Menorah. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had only brought one for each kiosk, so I gave her another one. As I approached the second to last booth, I gave them their goodies, including my last Menorah and candles. With a sense of dread I looked over to the last vendor on our route. But sure enough, He who sends us everything in this world saw to our needs. Just at that moment, two Chabad teenagers arrived at the last booth with a gift — a menorah and candles!

After our return from a quick trip to Israel to meet our son’s fiancee, we checked the calendar. To our amazement, the one day the mall closes each year, Xmas, was on a Friday this year. It was a golden opportunity to invite our Israeli brothers and sisters for a Friday evening Shabbos meal on a day that they weren’t working. We could make it a combined engagement party/Shabbos seuda!

“Why not?” seemed to be the immediate response of the Israelis. December 25th was still several weeks away, so we made every effort to enlist participation. We mentioned it every time we came to the mall. We emailed them about it. We printed an invitation, letting them know that if they wanted to join us for lighting candles and davening (which would be led by, as they call me, “Kugel Man”—a far more colorful title than my own name, and one that almost demands a cape!), they could join us at 4:30 for shul; if they wanted to join us just for the meal, they could come at 6:00 to our home. Schlepping ourselves into the 21st century, we even started a Facebook Group called “KugelMan”, as a way of further publicizing it and staying in front of them. We created an event invitation on Facebook. One or two replied that they were coming, including Shiran, the bride-to-be. 

As the date approached, we tried to determine how many of them actually wanted to come, but getting a definite commitment was difficult. After the previous experience, we knew it was dangerous to guess, but in the end we would need to set the table, so we prepared our table, stuffed to capacity (16), and had a folding table at the ready nearby, in case more showed up. We purchased Mazel Tov balloons. The bakery donated a beautiful cake with a picture on top of the engaged couple. We shopped, we cooked, we worried, we prayed.

The big day came. 

The hour approached. 

No one came to the house before Shabbos, but no one was supposed to. I grabbed a bag of tea lights for those who would — hopefully — want to light in shul before Shabbos and headed off to Mincha. No one was there, but it was still early. Mincha was over and I went up to daven Kabolas Shabbos. All of sudden I saw someone I didn’t recognize, sitting with my friend and sidekick Chananiel. It was Kobi —  someone new. How ironic — the only one to show up for davening was a new guy I hadn’t even met yet! As it turns out, he came with one of the women, so there were actually two of them there. 

Have the missing Ushpizin from Sukkos finally begun to appear?

We later found out that as they drove into the neighborhood, they weren’t exactly sure where Suburban Orthodox Congregation was. So, spotting a religious Jew, they rolled down their window and, in their heavily-accented and grammatically-challenged English, asked: 

“Excuse me. Do you know where is the Bait Knesset of Chana and Kugel Man?” 

Needless to say, they received little in response but an extremely baffled look. Somehow, they found the shul.

Rabbi Silber made sure the davening was exceptionally lively. Lecha Dodi was followed by dancing, and Kobi, the new guy who had joined us, readily entered the circle. If the day ended there, Dayeinu — we would have been overjoyed with the results. But much more was yet to come. Kobi and Ya’ara (who, it turns out is observant, and stayed with us until the next night) told us that all the others from her group were indeed planning on joining us for dinner. We returned home and made conversation until there was a knock at the door around 6:30. 

It was the knock we had waited for five months to hear.

One by one they entered. Every single one of the Dead Sea cosmetics company walked in. Including Zohar, who had, as it turns out, accidentally replied that she was not coming. There were 13 of them. There were 3 of us. There were 16 seats at the table. While that might not make into the Diving Providence Hall of Fame, it was just another beautiful touch on what was shaping up to be an indescribably fulfilling culmination of our efforts.

I offered yarmulkas for those who wanted one. All the men accepted. We passed out benchers and began Shalom Aleichem. They all sang. I prefaced my Kiddush by apologizing in Hebrew for my “Ashkenoziss”. They laughed, and they listened. We all washed, and I made Hamotzi. The meal was magical. We ate, we shmoozed, we laughed and laughed. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine. The women helping Chana in the kitchen tried to expand her Hebrew vocabulary. They shared with us some of their own stories from the mall, and some of their perceptions of Americans — which were both totally hysterical and painfully accurate!

Toward the end of the meal I shared with them some words of Torah. I prefaced my talk by telling them that I had something to say which would take 5-10 minutes, but if they preferred, they could correct my Hebrew as I went along, in which case it would take an hour! (When I asked Chananiel afterward how the Hebrew was, he gave me a look which immediately told me I should not consider quitting my day job in order to give an Ulpan!).

It just so happens (in the divinely providential form of “just so happens”) that my favorite bride and groom Dvar Torah comes from what I find to be the most emotional parsha, Vayigash, which was the reading for that week. I had practiced it in Hebrew, tailoring it to them, and giving them background into the story of Yosef’s reunion with his brothers and his father Yaakov. It probably took 15 minutes. They sat, paying rapt attention. One of the girls nodded along as I spoke. It seemed that the bride and groom were touched that I was tying their very secular relationship to sublime concepts of holiness and of building a Jewish home, perhaps providing perspectives they had not seriously considered before.

After a few hours of great food (including several varieties of kugel, of course), singing and laughter, they insisted on helping us clean up, and they went home. G-d had presented us with a great gift, in finally allowing us to see the fruition of our efforts. Not that this was in itself an end, but it was an important milestone, and it was realized in the most gratifying, uplifting manner. It’s one thing to plant seeds, with the hope that some will someday sprout. It’s another matter altogether to watch those seedlings break through the soil and come to life.

[Postscript: We were honored to have seen this saga through to its joyous conclusion. We stayed in touch with our friends to one degree or another until our own Aliya. Once, a few years later, we bumped into a couple of them in Ben Gurion airport. Hopefully, our journeys will intersect once again someday. Maybe we should keep some kugel in the freezer, just in case!]

This blog was adapted from an article which first appeared in Baltimore’s Where What When magazine in November, 2009.