Last night, my older brother picked up some food at a kosher meat market. The Jewish guy behind the counter told my brother, “We’re having a Purim service tonight – why don’t you come?”
Purim, for those fine blog readers who don’t know, is the Jewish holiday remembering the story of Hadassah (Esther) in the Jewish and Christian bibles. Unlike the Feasts of Leviticus 23, Purim is not commanded by God; it’s truly a Jewish feast. It is a celebratory festival where Jews celebrate how Hadassah and Mordechai saved the Jews of Persia from an evil Persian politician, Haman, who attempted to exterminate Jews through political means.
So, back to our story last night:
My brother called me up, and off we went to a Chabad Orthodox Jewish synagogue for the Purim holiday. I wanted to record the experience here while it’s still fresh in my mind.
Heading there, I wasn’t sure what to expect. A little nervous, knowing that if anyone knew me to be a believer in Yeshua, I’d probably be unwelcomed. I knew for sure I wasn’t going as a means to convert Jews to another religion; I’m not a salesman out to sell Christianity. I certainly didn’t want to offend or cause discord; knowing full well the Chabadniks practice a very strict form of Judaism, I came decked out with my talit koton and tzitzit. (Still knowing I wouldn’t quite fit in – no beard, no big black hat or yarmulke!) I brought my Tenakh only. I didn’t come with any hidden agenda, I went to celebrate the fact that God saved his people, and to mingle with others doing the same.
When we arrived, the small building was packed to overflowing. We had no place to sit, so we stood in the doorways of the sanctuary where the book of Esther was being sung in Hebrew chant.
Looking around, many of the men were decked out in Orthodox Jewish garb: bearded men with big black hats, black suit, black pants:
But these weren’t the only folks there. A number of men, perhaps not as strict in their halakah, would wear only yarmulke and wear plain secular clothes. Others wore Purim costumes as is often the custom for this celebratory holiday.
During the reading of Esther, each time the evil Haman was mentioned, the crowd would boo, jeer, shoot children’s cap guns and swing their noise makers, as is customary.
During the reading, a Jewish man and his family came up behind us. Seeing our fringes, he asked if we would like some yarmulkes. Yes, we said. The man returned with 2 kippas for us. We talked with him during the service; he asked about our families, where we were from, where we attend congregation. That’s one clear thing I got during the whole time there – a strong sense of family. “Is your family here with you?”, the man asked. “No, it’s just me and my brother”, I replied. “You should bring them.” said the man without hesitation.
I got the sense that the Orthodox understand Judaism has helped preserve the Jewish people, and that to be Jewish, one ought to have his whole family part of the synagogue. It’s unlike a church, where there’s this underlying optional feeling to attending; for Judaism, it’s meant to be part of life, part of being Jewish. You’re Jewish, so you attend the synagogue. Doesn’t matter if you’re “secular”. You’re a son of Israel, so you’re there and welcomed.
The man asked about our family name, I assume in hopes to discover whether we’re Jewish or just goyim decked out in Jewish garb. I explained our last name, and my partial Jewish ancestry. We continued to talk until a man came up to us, “Guys, this will be a fun party tonight, but now we’re reading and ask you to be quiet, OK?”
Hushed we were, and a little embarrassed. Oh well.
The service ended. My brother recognized the cantor who was chanting the book of Esther, remembered the cantor as a customer in his store. We went up and talked to him. He said, “Oh yes, I remember you. And I saw you guys talking during my chanting.” Woops.
Food was served free of charge for everyone. That’s another thing about Chabad, I hear they never charge for their Passover services or other feasts. This was no different – a buffet of Chicken, rice, salad, pastries, and beverages for all attending, free of charge.
We got in line for the food and another Jewish guy started talking to us. While I was a little uncomfortable talking to the first guy when we arrived, this guy in the food line was really friendly and cool. “Where do you go to congregation?”, he asked. We replied, “A small group of us meets in homes on shabbat and studies the Scriptures.” “Cool,” he says, “Is it run by Chabad?” “No, it’s just family and friends. My dad runs the study.” He was cool with that. Nice guy, friendly. I could get along with him. We talked with him for awhile as the food line was long with so many people there.
Once we got our food, we had no place to sit as the place was overflowing with people. We started to eat our food standing, but one of the men from the congregation saw us, and without us asking, grabbed a man and setup another table with chairs right there in the walkway. That’s another thing I’ve heard about Chabad, they meet the need immediately without hesitation. I like that.
Par-tay!
We sat down to eat at our newly-provided table. We were approached by a gray-bearded rabbi, decked out in fanciful costume for Purim, wearing a big pink hair wig. He came up to us, holding a bottle of Crown Royal whisky. I had to laugh to myself, imagining what a foreign thing this would be to Christians, seeing a veteran gray-bearded religious man in a pink hair wig going table to table with a bottle of celebratory alcohol.
He came up to us and asked, “A little shot?”
Sure, why not.
“But first, I will say a bracha. And then you must say one to me.”
He proceeded to pour us shot cups of hard stuff, and of course one for himself. His blessing was,
“May you always get everything you need, but not everything you want.”
I fumbled for a quick return blessing. “May God always have his hand on you!”
“L’chaim!”
Ok, shoot back the Crown Royal. Youch, that’s strong.
A Russian family came to our table and sat with us. Really kind folks. A man and his wife and their 20 something year old son Greg. They came from a Reform Jewish background, not strict religious at all, but very kind people. Greg told us about his adventures to Israel, joining the military for 2 years. “It’s the greatest thing a Jew can do for his country”, he said to us. We chimed in agreement.
Another religious leader came by with a cart full of whisky and various liquors. Really is a celebration feast! I had a tiny bit of Irish whisky. Not nearly as hard as the Crown Royal.
We talked more with the Russian Jewish family about life, religion, Israel, aliyah. It was good. They were really nice people. The son Greg was especially nice, a very real guy. Too many religious people I know are so, um, religious and awkward. Greg wasn’t like that. Good kid. Greg explained that in order to prove his Jewish ancestry and join the IDF, he had to fill out 40 papers. “Makes filing your taxes look like a job application.” He had to get an Orthodox rabbi to investigate his family ancestry, seeing if his ancestors were buried in Jewish cemeteries, in order to move to Israel and join the military there. We talked more with them about our families and background. Explaining our partial Jewish ancestry, our gentile wives, all kinds of things, being pretty open with them. They were accepting of it all.
After all the mingling and food, we decided it was time to go. We wanted to talk one last time with our pink-haired friend before leaving. He was completely drunk now. I pulled out my phone and took a snapshot:
Too funny.
On the way out, we talked with Greg again. The cantor came up to me and talked for a few minutes. Then another Jewish guy talked with me for a few minutes more on my way out the door.
We had a good time. It’s hard to judge the religious nature of people at such a weird time. Purim is definitely a weird time to visit a Chabad Orthodox Jewish synagogue. It’s strange to see people who are so strict in their religious observance be all…crazy and partying.
Relaying all this to my wife when I got home, she said, “Um, aren’t they supposed to be religious? Isn’t drinking against the Bible?”
Heh.
I suspect the picture I’ve painted of Chabad for you, fine blog readers, is one of a rowdy gang of Jews. Don’t be fooled. I think I caught them on the one day of the year the Chabad just let loose and party like this. I’d like to attend a shabbat service and see how they worship and pray in their normal form to get a better picture of them.
My closing thoughts is that the people were friendly and opened. Chabad, strict as they are, were accepting of even the least religious Reform Jews, all the way to awkward, partially Jewish guys like myself.