By Ida Dick
My story could have been a typical Jewish American immigrant story, if there is such a thing. Arrive, struggle, assimilate, achieve, assimilate some more and then live with the inevitable consequences. But the story has a different ending...
Still under the dark pall of war-torn Europe, we (a family of seven) left Russia and came to America in 1951, led by my father, of blessed memory. To my father, coming to the States meant that we could now, finally, live as Jews, the way he did in Poland before the war. However, I distinctly remember our friends coming into our house and saying to my father: "Pinchos Yair, America is different!"
“I Lived in Several Worlds”
Growing up I lived in several worlds. During the day it was public school, where I was so different. When I came home it was to our very European, Jewish home with all the memories. At night, I escaped into the world of books.
I knew that I was Jewish, but I equated being Jewish with traditional, irrational, complicated and antiquated rituals. Jewishness merged with the darkness and confusion of the war we had left behind. Surely, being a Jew in America would be better, brighter, and easier. I did feel something whispering to me, but I ignored that.
My husband, Rob, is the first American that I ever dated. I remember going to his house for my first Thanksgiving Dinner. Thanksgiving was a holiday that was easy to explain and keep. Put a turkey on the table, some cranberry sauce, a few sweet potatoes and....Voila! A holiday. I was amazed. This was easy.
“My Husband and I Were Establishment”
I was ready to start on my American road. There were a few things that I did not leave behind. We did have a kosher home. We did put mezuzos up on all the doors. We did join an Orthodox shul. But with the rest, we compromised.
My husband and I were establishment. Rob was and continues to be a computer wizard in financial services and international stock exchanges. I ultimately became an executive recruiter in finance. Cogs in Corporate America, we moved through a succession of suburbs.
These moves forced us to make choices. Where should we live? Where was the shul? The school? The kosher butcher? Through each of these questions, my Judaism asserted itself. In our moves, I made sure that we were walking distance to the shul. We sent our children to a Conservative Day School. We were confident in what we were giving our children.
When we rented our vacation homes, I made sure that I brought up all the food so that it was kosher. We had Shabbos dinner every Friday night and went to shul almost every week.
We looked at our lives and said: "We are Jewish and we can still reap the best of America." Amongst our friends we were Mr. & Mrs. Judaism and Family.
The surprises began when our son and two daughters went off to college and became part of the college social scene. When they came home, their Jewish practices fell right back into place, but away was something else.
Rabbi Moshe Herson and Rabbi Shmuel Lew
When our three children graduated, they were Americans dedicated to their careers. Like the original immigrants, they were prepared to give up the details of their Judaism to get ahead. Whatever Judaism they learned, whatever Judaism we lived, was easily pushed aside.
Dismayed, I wondered how this had happened. Weren't we Mr. and Mrs. Judaism? So why were we now being forced to justify our practices and, as a result, Judaism? The questions were endless and I became determined to find the answers. It wasn't enough to serve them latkes, kreplach and gefilte fish. It wasn't enough to feel it in my bones; I needed to be able to put it into words. And even action.
I started to think about my parents and what had sustained them. I saw my father putting on tefillin, wearing tzitzis, not eating in restaurants, not working on Shabbos. It was a given. He didn't talk about it he just did it.
Rob and I had bought into the American way. We had pointed our children toward financial and social success. At the time we had thought we were pointing them to religious success as well. After all, hadn't we provided them with a solid Conservative Jewish education, including a term in Israel?! Weren't we members of an Orthodox shul?! Didn't our home look Jewish?! Hadn't we kept Judaism in our hearts?!
I turned to my old friends, books. The Jewish books I read were all good for me, but how could I pass it along....
Seeing a Judaism He Had Never Experienced
A friend of ours introduced us to Rabbi Moshe Herson, director of Chabad in New Jersey. Rabbi Herson called on Rabbi Shmuel Lew in London to try to influence David, who was in London by that time. After several months of learning with Rabbi Lew and seeing a Judaism he had never experienced, David decided to put his banking career on hold and study in yeshiva in Kfar Chabad, Israel. A summer course stretched into several years. At each of the holidays, he came home and shared with all of us the deeper perspectives he had learned.
Intrigued, we too began to tap into the worldwide Lubavitch network. Rabbi Lew's children in New York became among our closest friends and had a profound influence on us, and even more so on our daughter Stephanie. They influenced her to go to Bais Chana, where the young women don't just learn but also live Judaism.
The network of the Rebbe's institutions and emissaries stretches around the world. Jerusalem, London, New York, Morristown, Kfar Chabad. Bais Chana, Machon Alta, Machon Chana. And always, always Crown Heights!
A Twelve-Month Miracle
We were blessed. Within a twelve-month-period our whole family decided to keep Torah and mitzvos.
I feel enormous gratitude to the [Lubavitcher] Rebbe and his emissaries. Not only are we assuring that my father's grandchildren put Judaism first, but with G-d's help, there is now a realistic expectation that even my children's grandchildren will do so as well.
Reprinted from the May 31, 2002 (Parashat Behaalotcha 5762) edition of L’Chaim, a publication of the Lubavitch Youth Organization in Brooklyn.
