For No Reason

During the closing days of Israel's 1982 "Peace in Galilee" campaign in Lebanon, I was one of a group of ten Chabad Chassidim who got permission from the army to enter Beirut to cheer up the soldiers.

 

The soldiers welcomed us as though we were announcing the end of the war. The entire night we went from group to group, singing, dancing, talking, laughing, and of course making L'Chaims.

 

There was no time to sleep. At the crack of dawn we got our tefillin out of our bags and began asking soldiers if they wanted to do a mitzvah and put them on for a minute.

 

At that hour of the morning most of the soldiers were still asleep. I walked around looking for "customers" and happened upon a line of about ten open jeeps with two soldiers seated in each. Their motors were running and they were waiting in the chilly morning to go out on a mission. It must have been some sort of combat foray, because they were armed to the teeth and were wearing bulky bulletproof vests and steel helmets.

 

I approached the first jeep and asked the soldiers sitting there if they wanted to put on tefillin. One soldier agreed. When he finished, I moved on to the next one and asked the driver the same question. But I was in for an unpleasant surprise.

 

He just listened, looking straight ahead. He didn't even react to my question. I stood there, waiting for a reply. After a few seconds of silence, he turned to me and said (loose translation): "Get out of my sight, you parasite, you religious scum! If you don't get out of my face I'll tear you to pieces! I hate you vermin!"

 

He was obviously not interested. I tried to smile and figure out something to say, when the driver of the next jeep in line called out to me in a desperate tone of voice: "Rabbi, Rabbi! Come here. I want to put on tefillin." I was relieved to get away, and began to walk toward the third jeep in the line. As I started walking toward his jeep, he yelled out, Rabbi, if I put on tefillin will G-d protect me?"

 

The man was very worried. Yesterday he had probably been sitting in his hardware store selling pipes and tools when they called him up to reserve duty. Now, suddenly, he was about to enter the front lines.

 

"Listen, my friend," I assured him, "G-d will protect you whether you put on the tefillin or not. Don't worry. He loves you because you are a Jew. But if G-d protects you for free, so why not do something for Him for free, and put on tefillin?"

The soldier in the second jeep — the one who had cursed me out — heard all this. He called out, "Hey Rabbi! Come over here!"

 

I turned around to see him rolling up his sleeve like he wanted to put on the tefillin and motioning me to come over.

I took a few steps towards him. "What do you want? What happened?"

 

"Listen!" he replied "What do you care? I want to put on the tefillin, too."

 

I gave him a look and an Israeli hand motion as if to say, "Are you for real?" And he replied:

 

"Listen, my friend. To put on tefillin in order to go to heaven or to be religious, that's not for me. But to put on tefillin for no reason… That I'm willing to do!"

 

This is the essence of the Jewish soul in action. A Jew may reject all reasons, all explanations, including mystical explanations, for doing a mitzvah, but will embrace the deed itself. Because a Jew inherently wants to do what G-d wants; he is one with G-d not only spiritually, but also — and even more so — through his everyday physical life.

 

 

 

(Adapted by Yrachmiel Tilles from the rendition of his friend and colleague Rabbi Tuvia Bolton, the popular teacher, musician and storyteller, in his weekly email for the yeshiva which he heads, Ohr Tmimim yeshiva@ohrtmimim.org; www.ohrtmimim.org/torah)