Many years ago, I was a messenger for a devar mitzvah. I want to tell you about this mission:
I had a relative, whom I will call Shmerel for the purposes of this story. He was a wealthy man, and his life’s dream was to build a shul. Many people knew about his dream, and he definitely had the means to turn it into a reality, but two kehillos in Eretz Yisrael saw in his dream the opportunity of a lifetime for them. Both of these communities were lacking a building for their shul. The members of each community would gather to daven in a drafty trailer, and each of them wanted a permanent building.
When they found out that Reb Shmerel wanted to donate a shul building, they jumped at the opportunity. They sent him letters, involved askanim, made phone calls and arranged face-to-face meetings. They included him in every community organization and kept throwing open hints his way, letting him know that they were really, really awaiting his contribution, while promising to remember him forever and always and to engrave his name in gold letters at the building’s entrance.
Reb Shmerel did not know how to decide. Both were beloved communities of the Holy Land. Who could tell him which community should take preference? He sought the advice of a chashuveh Rav, who gave him a great idea: Sent a trustworthy messenger to study both communities from up close and to describe each of them to you.
At that stage I entered the picture. Reb Shmerel told me his secret. He asked me to travel to Eretz Yisrael and visit both communities that were seeking his donation. The plan was that I would daven one Shabbos with community A and the second Shabbos with community B. Obviously, no one would know the purpose of my visit. In this way I’d be able to test and see the quantity and quality of each community, physically and spiritually.
I did as Reb Shmerel asked. I showed up to daven in the temporary shul of the first community, where I met dozens of elderly Jews and middle-aged baalei batim. There were barely any children there. The davening was quiet, no speeches were given, and at shalosh seudos, the people looked to and fro until they came over to me and asked if I could say a few words of Torah. That was the type of congregation this was: quiet, anonymous, small in both quantity and quality.
I spent the following Shabbos with the second community. The first thing that impressed me was the quantity. The small trailer was packed. There were people young and old, avreichim and small children, all of them davening enthusiastically. This was a community with a future. They were investing in chinuch. There was unity among all of them, and they looked like one family. Every tefillah was graced by a speech about the greatness of achdus and peace, and everyone listened, fascinated. The impression I got was: The second community is worthy of
