Editor’s Note: Rebbetzin Jungreis, a”h, is no longer with us in a physical sense, but her message is eternal and The Jewish Press will continue to present the columns that for more than half a century have inspired countless readers around the world.
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In last week’s column I wrote about the sincere Rosh Hashanah/Yom Kippur resolutions we make year after year to become better, kinder people, with increased loyalty to Torah and mitzvos.
And then comes the down part. Despite all our good intentions, when our machzorim are shelved, so are our resolutions. Not that we do so intentionally; it just happens. It’s a downward spiral, for no sooner do we exit the sheltered sanctuary of the synagogue than the craziness of our world assails us and we slip back to old habits.
But it need not be that way. We can change. We can become different, and we can become the people Hashem intended us to be. It is part of our legacy. It is all in our spiritual DNA. We are the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Sarah, Rivkah, Rochel, and Leah, who were paradigms of chesed and devotion to Hashem.
Many of us, however, find this entire concept of teshuvah – returning to G-d –daunting, beyond our reach. And yet the path beckons to all of us.
There is a well-known story that can be of enormous help to anyone who wishes to embark on a path of spiritual growth.
A man once consulted a rebbe and asked, “How far is the road of teshuvah?”
“As far as east is from west,” responded the rebbe.
“So far!” the man responded in dismay.
“No,” the rebbe answered. “So near. Just one turn in the right direction.”
“Is it as simple as that?” the man wondered in amazement.
“Yes,” the rebbe assured him. “We have a promise from Hashem that if we take just one step toward Him, He will take two steps toward us.”
Again and again I have seen this truth unfold.
I recall a young woman who joined our Hineni group many years ago. She was totally secular. After studying Torah with us, she came to realize that Shabbos is a pillar of our Jewish faith but her job demanded that she work on Saturdays. What should she do?
“Go to your boss,” I told her, “and take a Chumash – a Bible – with you. Show him the passages in which G-d commands us to observe the Sabbath, to keep it holy, and to refrain from all manner of work.”
“Oh, Rebbetzin,” she protested. “It will never work. You don’t know my boss. He will laugh at me and probably fire me to boot.”
“Just try it,” I urged. “Approach him with sincerity and before you go, pray. Ask Hashem to help you. At the same time, offer to make up the time on Sunday or with overtime during the week. Let him see that you’re not shirking responsibility but responding to a higher directive that comes from the Almighty Himself.”
The following week when I saw her she was aglow. “Rebbetzin, you’ll never believe this. I was so frightened. I kept procrastinating about making an appointment but I was afraid to come back to class without having made the attempt. Well, you’ll never believe this. My boss was so impressed that he agreed that I could leave early on Fridays as well.”
Taking just one step to do a mitzvah opens the doors. We need only try it and the help of Hashem will come.
I’ll never forget the time one of our devoted Hineni members shared with me that a young woman she knew had unfortunately been diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. As often happens, the illness struck without warning. Her predicament was further complicated by the fact that she was unmarried and had no children or husband to care for her, nor did she have any savings to ease her situation.
As is the case with most cancer patients after traumatic treatments, she had lost all her hair. A tzedakah organization gave her a wig, but it did not suit her at all, so I called a wig stylist I knew and she in turn contacted Georgie in Boro Park. I went to pick up a new wig and chose one I thought would look good. But as I arrived at the young woman’s apartment in Manhattan, it hit me – as nice as the wig was, it still had to be styled and cut, and certainly that was not one of my talents. Who, I wondered, could I ask to come to her aid?
Even as I was pondering the question, I was aware that this was no simple matter. The woman was in constant pain and did not have the patience for someone to style and comb the wig on her head. It would have to be an individual who would take the wig, style it, and bring back a finished product. Still lost in thought, I rang for the elevator.
As I got in, a young man greeted me with a friendly hello.
“Hi,” I responded.
“How are you?” he asked.
I sensed the man wasn’t Jewish, but I replied the way I always do when someone asks me that.
“Baruch Hashem,” I said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It means, ‘Blessed be G-d.’ I’m Jewish, and that’s how we respond to questions asking us how we are.”
“That’s really nice,” he said.
“What do you do?” I asked.
Even as I posed the question, I wondered what made me ask it.
“I’m a hair stylist,” he responded.
My heart skipped a beat. “That’s bashert,” I said.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Bashert,” I said. “It’s another Jewish word.” And I explained to him the concept of bashert.
There’s more. When I told him about the young woman I was trying to help, he told me he was a cancer survivor and therefore identified with the woman’s ordeal. And he lived in the same building!
He took the wig from me and when he brought it back, it was just right.
Coincidence?
Hardly. Just take one step toward a mitzvah and Hashem will do the rest.