In the first couple of months after we moved, we only knew of a couple of Jews. One of them, Mr. Goldstein*, a sweet, elderly man, had fallen and needed to spend time in a rehabilitation center. Of course, we went to visit him there. As we were leaving, I couldn’t help but ask the nurses at the front desk if there were any Jewish patients. Morgan Hill is not the type of place where you meet Jews on every corner, so I didn’t really expect a positive response.
I was amazed to hear her reply, “Do we ever! Mrs. Epstein* is not only Jewish, she’s extremely proud and vocal about it too!”
“I’ve got to meet her!” I said. They showed me to her room and introduced me to the sweetest, happiest old lady I’ve ever met. After just a few minutes of conversation, I saw what the nurse meant. Mrs. Epstein was very proud to be Jewish, but it was not a pride born of knowledge and education. Just then, her son, Isaiah*, walked in for a visit. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he shook my hand heartily and introduced himself, apologizing for being “a heathen.” Mrs. Epstein’s condition didn’t allow her to leave the rehab, but Isaiah happily accepted my invitation to join us for Shabbos.
As Isaiah joined us more often, I realized that he knew next to nothing about Yiddishkeit, but he was open and excited to learn more. He told me that he was going through a crisis of sorts, and had asked G-d to send him a sign. A few minutes later, he’d walked into his mother’s room and saw a bonafide rabbi sitting at her bedside. He felt that my arrival was G-d’s answer to him.
The first real “event” I invited Isaiah to was Shavuos davening. “We need you for the minyan,” I told him. “I’m counting on you!” Isaiah agreed, not exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but happy to do the rabbi a favor nonetheless. He was the tenth man for our minyan, and we were able to read the Aseres Hadibros from the Torah.
“That’s a nice Torah,” Isaiah commented. “Whose is it?”
I explained that I’d borrowed it from another shliach, and Isaiah nodded thoughtfully.
A few days later, Isaiah called. “Rabbi, it’s just not right that you have to borrow a Torah. I want to buy you one!”
“I’m extremely touched,” I answered. “That’s a very generous offer.”
“Yeah... about that,” Isaiah inserted, with a chuckle. “I went on Amazon to order one, expecting it to cost a couple hundred dollars, but I can’t seem to find the exact product. About how much are we talking, exactly...?”
“Torahs cost tens of thousands of dollars,” I answered, gently.
“I - I can’t... that’s...” Isaiah sounded crestfallen.
“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “We only use a Torah when we have a minyan, and that really doesn’t happen often enough for it to be an issue. We can borrow a Torah for the few times a year we need it.”
When I repeated the story to a fellow shliach, he was quick to point out another angle.
“You have a Jew who’s found a way to connect to Hashem and Torah that he’s passionate about!” he explained. “You must grab this amazing opportunity!”
Acknowledging the justice of his words, I called Isaiah back. “Let’s figure out a way to make this Torah happen,” I told him.
Over the next few weeks, we researched and discussed various ways to fundraise for and acquire a Torah. In the end, Isaiah decided to purchase a brand-new Torah and to pay for the entire thing personally in installments.
Isaiah and his Torah have become pillars of our community. Isaiah joins us often, making strides in his journey to Hashem and His Torah.
