Batya added sugar to her coffee and gently stirred it. Aharon
played on the white carpet together with little Tamar. The
cool air of evening seeped through the half-opened door.
Batya was sitting on a chair looking at the perfect house she
had gotten. Who would have believed that she would have
this?
Only a few months earlier, one could have cut the tension in
their house with a knife. The checks bounced, the electricity
had been cut off a number of times, and despite the fact that
Batya had run from one substitute teaching job to another,
there was no income and Batya was hoping for a change.
Aharon, on the other hand, lived within four cubits of
happiness and his face was perpetually bright. His thick
American accent told the story of a young man who had sought
and found, and even the one and a half room Amidar apartment
that hardly held them - a couple with five children —
didn't wipe the smile off his face. Aharon was busy in the
tent of Torah and in bringing other young men into the
tent.
And then one day in the middle of the summer, a telephone
brought the news that the wheel was about to turn.
"Good evening, is Aharon there?"
The 30-year-old community in San Antonio, Texas, had decided
that they had to progress and make San Antonio into a place
of Torah. They were requesting that Batya and Aharon join a
group of families who were about to come there to join the
Kollel and lend a hand to Kiruv.
"To go anywhere in the world and in so doing, to gather
Jewish sparks and light a large flame! What do you say?"
Aharon asked Batya. "When I wandered in the United States
many years ago and found my purpose, I promised myself that
I would try to help others," Aharon thus concluded the short
deliberation he had before accepting the decision.
A few months passed and Batya found herself dozing in a
window seat on a British Airways jet, little Tamar at her
side and two-year-old Yehudale's curls wildly falling over
her. When the power of the engines tapered off as they came
in for a landing, Batya asked herself for the umpteenth time:
What was she doing in a plane about to land in a land that
was strange to her? The children were crying from exhaustion
and gave her no time for any deep meditation. When they
arrived at the house that had been prepared for them, she
caught her breath.
Deep white shag wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge apartment, an
accessorized kitchen. On the second floor, bedrooms, new
modern furniture. Batya couldn't believe her eyes. The
children woke up to the sight of the toys awaiting them.
"We shouldn't forget why we're here," Aharon reminded her but
she just looked in astonishment at the ten brands of cereal
resting on the fridge in the kitchen. A glance at the window
revealed the large neighboring shul and nearby an
expansive park for the children.
"We have a meeting tonight," the fervor in Aharon's eyes led
her to understand that she was to help him. The next few days
passed in getting acclimated.
"Aharon, the people here don't get involved in each other's
lives like they do in Israel. Neighborly relations are very
cool. I invited them for a Shabbos meal and they looked at me
strangely," Batya complained.
"Keep inviting; they'll get used to you," Aharon encouraged
her, while continuing with his learning and the holy work he
had undertaken. Most of the Jews there were doctors and
lawyers and established businessmen. Aharon would enter their
offices during their business-lunchtimes and succeeded in
igniting the sparks that exist in the heart of every Jew.
They asked him to continue coming during lunch breaks to give
them classes. And thus, he penetrated the dining rooms of
fancy businesses, facing many lawyers and businessmen who
were disappointed when the relatively short classes was over.
After the classes, they showed interest, asked questions and
looked forward to the next lesson.
"Maybe you'll come for Shabbos?" Aharon invited them. And
Batya, every Thursday, prepared a meal for thirty people. The
little ones ran around as she put overflowing trays of
chicken into the oven.
*
Every Friday they come from all levels. They sit, entire
families, and want to absorb. Aharon, at the head of the
table speaks with great animation, tells stories, answers
questions and from the intensity of the sanctity, Batya
doesn't see the wine stains coloring her white tablecloth,
doesn't hear the many children pulling and throwing. She and
the others at the table are traveling in other worlds.
On Sundays, faced with the piles of chaos, she doesn't break.
She only hears the requests that flow one after the other
from families interested in kashering their kitchens. It
amazes her how everyone wants to learn more and more, people
from the affluent to those just getting by.
Her entire week revolves around Shabbos. Already on Sunday,
the requests to be invited start coming in. On Monday, she
works on the list, Tuesday finds her in the big supermarket,
filling up carts. On Wednesday, she talks to Devorah, another
Israeli who came with them to San Antonio. They divide up the
families between them. On Thursday, the salads are cut and
the cakes are baked and the soup simmers. On Friday, she puts
the chickens into the oven along with the rest of the
dishes.
She feels uplifted. She never understood how one could spend
all week preparing for Shabbos. For this, she had to go to
the other end of the world. In her home in Israel, she would
cook, prepare, get angry at Yehudale when everything spilled
all over the place but here, everything had a different
meaning. She thought all this as she stirred the sugar into
her coffee and Aharon played with little Tamar on the
carpet.
Yehudah and Dovi and Shifra were already sleeping in their
beds.
There was a knock at the door. Batya got up to answer it. In
front of her was a woman asking something unintelligible in
German. When she saw the helpless expression on Batya's face,
she repeated the question in English.
"My name is Ginny. Can you convert me?"
Batya had heard a lot of original questions in the short time
she had been in San Antonio, but this one surprised even
her.
"Listen, it's not that simple. We"ll have to go to the Rabbi
and ask him," she said gently. Ginny answered her with a
direct look. "Thank you. Here's my address and telephone
number," and suddenly she turned and left with a smile on her
face. Perhaps a smile that was the promising start to
friendship. There, 90 degrees south, people don't always
understand what they see.
"Who was it?" asked Aharon when he heard the door close.
"A woman who wants to convert. We have to ask the Rav, I
don't know who she is. Maybe I'll invite her for Shabbos."
And Batya returned to sipping her coffee and almost forgot
about her conversation with Ginny and the idea of inviting
her for Shabbos.
Friday came quicker than she thought. Bending over the pots,
stirring the rice one last time, she remembered Ginny. Aharon
entered the kitchen and as if reading her mindå
"Did you invite her?"
"Whom?"
"Ginny."
"No. I forgot. You know what, she lives nearby. Keep an eye
on the chickens, I'll take the kids with me for a walk and
I'll go ask her."
Batya quickly dressed the little one. The children jumped for
joy - a walk with Ima on Friday is not a usual occurrence.
Batya walked down the street that was beginning to fill up
with the aroma of Shabbos that poured out from the houses.
She found Ginny living in a large villa surrounded by rich
vegetation.
"Hello, come in," Ginny was happy to see her. And Batya came
in and the children ran quickly to play with the swing set in
the garden. "You know, ever since I was young, I have wanted
to be Jewish," Ginny started to tell Batya what had brought
her to her. "At ten, when we learned at school about all the
rituals, they told me, among other things about Chanukah and
the Chanukah candles, and something in me sparked. In High
School, I went on a trip to Poland. I was shocked. I went
into hysterics when I heard about what the Jewish people had
gone through and I started to learn German, a language
similar to Yiddish. After going through the process, I came
to a Reform congregation and converted. But something there
didn't feel right. Everything in the Reform congregation is
so hypocritical." As she spoke, Ginny began moving towards
the kitchen.
"It isn't that simple to convert, you know," Batya began,
explaining what converting involves.
"Would you excuse me a moment please?" Ginny asked. Batya sat
on the wooden chair that matched the velvet sofas.
"Don't touch," she was afraid Tamar would dirty the expensive
furniture.
Ginny came into the living room, holding a pair of small
candles. She walked over to the corner where an old wooden
cupboard stood unsteadily in complete contrast to the
luxurious living room. In front of Batya's stunned eyes,
Ginny lit the pair of candles, bent over to put them in the
wooden cabinet and closed the doors.
"What are you doing?" Batya said alarmed. "It's dangerous to
leave candles in a closed cupboard!"
"My grandmother and then my mother did it for years and I am
continuing the family tradition. Every Friday, they lit small
candles and hid them in the wooden cupboard," she answered
and in the same breath spoke of keeping the tenets of
Christianity in her home.
Ginny was happy to receive the Shabbos invitation and among
Aharon, Batya and the rest of their guests spent a Shabbos
where astonishment and excitement mingled within her. The
vision of the cupboard didn't leave Batya's mind. On Sunday,
Aharon contacted a Jewish genealogist who lived in the
neighborhood. And he got straight to work.
"I found the origin," he was quick to report to them. "The
tradition of lighting candles in the cupboard has its origins
in the Marranos of Spain who lit candles in secret, a
tradition that passed from generation to generation."
"Ginny, it looks like your roots are Jewish!" Batya stood in
front of the trembling woman. She would always remember that
beautiful sight.
"Invite her for Shabbos, again," Aharon prodded her. They
knew that there was a long road ahead of Ginny until she
would be a real Jew and they told her but she was
enthusiastic about going through a halachic conversion.
During the hundreds of years of her family history, there was
no telling which non-Jews had gotten mingled into the family
line. In the meantime, they gave vent to their happiness.
"I'll come for Shabbos," Ginny promised, "But this time, I
won't light candles in the cupboard. I'll light them on the
table!"
