Incredibly a transformation came over this shy figure when it came to kiruv. The moment he spotted a Jewish backpacker the inhibitions disappeared. The timid, diffident introvert would wrench himself out of his naturally reticent persona and metamorphose into this single-minded, driven individual who did not blanch at intrepidly approaching total strangers. To engage modern, with-it, savvy young men and women in conversation – and then get them to change their direction in life and go to a seminary or yeshiva (!) – would be a daunting task for most of us. But astonishingly, the unsophisticated Rav Meir, clad in his yeshivish uniform of black suit, white shirt and tie, tzitzis suspended outside his pants, and black snap-brimmed fedora – this gauche, bearded rabbi resembling nothing less than the ultimate un-cool outsider – did what others could not. There was no hint that this unassuming man was a megastar, an astoundingly successful super-salesman who would overcome his shyness and inarticulateness to persuade many thousands into taking a first step out of their contemporary hedonistic lifestyles and into learning about their spiritual heritage, and eventually marrying and establishing observant, Torah-directed Jewish families.
Reb Meir Schuster would become a legend and one of the most significant factors in the extraordinary growth of the teshuva movement in the late 20th century. Rav Noach Weinberg, the great kiruv pioneer who founded Aish Hatorah, was fond of saying about the man who helped fill Aish with students, “Reb Meir Schuster is the best living proof that you don’t not have to be a polished kiruv professional in order to be successful in Jewish outreach. If Meir Schuster could do kiruv, anyone could.” However, while almost anyone can host non-observant Jews at their Shabbos table and inspire them to draw closer to Yiddishkeit, Reb Meir Schuster went further – he approached total strangers in the street and persuaded them to learn in yeshiva.
What accounts for the incredible transformation? Reb Meir’s life’s directive was simply to serve G-d, to be an Eved Hashem. Ahavas Hashem, love of G-d, and Ahavas Yisroel, love for his fellow Jew, were central to this goal. He saw before him two consummate charges – to “place G-d before me always,” and to“love your fellows and draw them close to Torah.” Inspired by Rabi Akiva’s credo that loving one’s fellow is “the great rule of the Torah” Reb Meir had a passion for all Jews. He was actually pained when he met non-observant Jews. Viewing them as not-yet observant Jews, he determined to become the catalyst for their transformation.
Reb Meir’s dedication was awesome. Virtually every moment of his days was devoted to kiruv. And I dare say his nights as well. Once I accompanied him at 2:30 a.m. to extricate a Texas woman staying with a visiting church group in an Arab hotel on the Mount of Olives and place her in a kiruv institution. Reb Meir wouldn’t let anything stop him. He was single-minded; he understood that bringing young people to Yiddishkeit was the mandate of the time. After placing his students with families for Shabbos meals Friday evening he would start on his 40–minute walk from the Kosel to his home in Jerusalem’s Ezras Torah neighborhood. He would recite Kiddush well after most families had finished their meal.
The extent to which Reb Meir would go to get someone into yeshiva – and to keep him there – was astonishing. When someone said that he couldn’t go to yeshiva or remain there because his return ticket date was expiring, Reb Meir would say he could get an extension on the return date. And voila! – he would soon return clutching a new ticket, the return date six months later. They called him a miracle man. Perhaps he was. But unbeknown to them, whenever he promised students an “extension” through his “connections,” Reb Meir would come running. “Quick,” he would say, “I’ve got to buy a ticket for someone so he’ll stay in yeshiva, I need ____ dollars immediately. If not sooner,” he would add.