Everyone agrees that something must be done, that the situation cannot stand as it is. The destruction cannot go unanswered. This, every thinking, feeling human being can see. Heartbreak, outcry and urgent mobilization are the instinctive response to an assault on Jewish lives.

Yet there is, right here in America, a destruction on a far greater scale, a widespread destruction that robs the world of millions of Jewish souls, not just for their few decades of life in this world, but for eternity.

This fact in no way diminishes the acute pain of all the recent tragedies in Israel and in Jewish communities around the world. It merely stands in contrast, for these massive losses elicit no headlines and no outrage. That is because they are invisible to most human beings, whose vision can perceive the surface, but not the spiritual reality beneath it.

back to top

This catastrophe is the loss of Jewish children to secular society. For most observant people, lost Jewish brothers and sisters are part of the background. They've always been here and, it would seem, they always will be. But if one could imagine the view from Heaven, the manicured lawns of the suburbs and the elegant streets of the city would be littered, like a battlefield, with withering Jewish souls.

Worse yet, religious men and women would be seen strolling right past them, offering them not a crumb toward their survival.

This is the reality -- the spiritual reality stripped of all physical illusions. These children appear educated, but they are starved for wisdom. They appear successful, but they are wandering without direction. They appear healthy, but a soul that has not even begun to search for its worldly purpose is surely languishing.

If the average individual could see through the outward appearances to the great mass of starving, wandering souls that populate most of America's Jewish communities, there would be a mobilization of massive proportions to save them. Yet up to today, this clear vision has been sole province of the generation's Torah leaders. They are the ones who see the tragedy for exactly what it is.

Some, like Oorah, have responded by establishing kiruv organizations. Cumulatively, these groups reach out to tens of thousands of Jews, giving them their first taste of Torah's sweetness and guiding them toward a true connection with Hashem. Through these organizations, the horrific spiritual casualties are being reduced every day.

Oorah's particular brand of spiritual life-saving is aimed specifically at school-age children. Founded in Staten Island, its volunteers knock on doors in dozens of communities across the country, armed with a simple challenge: Why not send your child to a Jewish school? More often than anyone would dream possible, they receive a positive response. Then Oorah digs in and lays the foundation of a new, Torah-connected generation.

Oorah's philosophy is one of total support. Finding the right school for the child and paying the tuition is only the beginning. Oorah does all it can to give its children a full and fulfilling Torah-oriented life. Shabbatons and Chol Hamoed outings help bring them together with peers for memorable, enriching experiences.

Guidance for the parents help them to maintain their central role in their children's development. Oorah builds succahs for its families, provides lulav and esrog, Purim shalach monos, shmurah matzah, mezuzos, tefillin and most important of all, unfailing warmth and friendship.

But this urgency and involvement -- even on a much more limited scale -- is absent from the wider Jewish world. The physical illness of one child is enough to draw hundreds of friends and strangers together to raise money, say Tehillim, and help the family arrange treatment. And that is as it should be, since compassion is the hallmark of the Jewish people.

Yet if just a small percentage of this care and kindness could be marshalled to alleviate the widespread spiritual plague afflicting hundreds of thousands of Jewish children, the view from Heaven would be so different.

And "plague" is indeed an apt description. The Torah teaches that every Jew comes into this world with a purpose. His route to fulfilling that purpose is to seek Hashem through learning Torah and fulfilling its commandments. Without a connection to Torah, he is completely disabled -- a marathon runner who has no legs, a surgeon without hands.

A Jew without Torah lives in a state of spiritual paralysis; he cannot do what he was put in this world to do.

Giving him that connection to Torah is not just a simple one-step process. It is a labor-intensive, cost-intensive process that can take years -- even decades. But just as a person would scrape together every last penny to bring a life-saving procedure to an ill child, the Jewish world must find the resources to provide this soul-saving procedure to the thousands of spiritually ill children who stand to lose forever their connection to their people and Hashem. And as each of these children disappear, so do the generations that are theirs to bring into the world.

"People don't understand the great need for money in kiruv," said one professional. "But think of all the help and support a religious person receives from his family. He may get help with tuitions, with Yom Tov expenses, with camps. To do kiruv effectively, we have to provide that same network. Otherwise, we are not allowing these families to succeed."

back to top

When a person hears an ambulance screaming down the road, he pulls over and lets it pass. He recognizes the primacy of the ambulance's mission and puts aside his own agenda for a time. Kiruv today is that screaming ambulance, announcing to all within the range of its siren that lives are at stake.

The unfortunate spate of tragedies afflicting Jews in America and Israel have brought into sharp focus the pain of loss. The pain is real, even though the loss is a physical one that, in the World to Come, fades into insignificance. From Hashem's perspective, the pain is infinitely greater, the loss infinitely deeper, for He is losing children by the thousands each day, and He is losing not just ephemeral physical bodies, but eternal souls.

Just as Hashem cries for the souls of all these lost children, so must the Jewish people feel the void and pour its strength, resources and energy into healing it. The Alter of Slobodka, the mentor and rebbe to many of the greatest Torah leaders of the last century, taught what it means to care for a Jewish soul. In his old age, he suffered from great pain in his feet.

The source of the trouble, he said, was wear and tear from all the hours he had spent standing in prayer, all the fasts he had undertaken -- all to plead with Hashem on behalf of his students' souls. His students were not wayward children; they were the saints and scholars of the coming generation. Yet he poured his strength into praying that they would grow and develop on a straight, upward path.

Those who see clearly are able to see past the flesh and blood, into to the eternal core of each Jew. Although the average person may not be able to see what they see, he can hear the siren's cry. He can trust the vision of those who see the malnourished souls wandering across the Jewish landscape, and do his utmost to help in the rescue effort.

The Jewish people once again have been forced to learn how to react with urgency and energy to crises that threaten Jewish lives. Now it is time to take what tragedy has taught, and apply it to the unrelenting forces that threaten Jewish souls.

Every dollar given to Oorah is a concrete, active response to this ongoing crisis. It translates into a child's first day of yeshivah...a family's first Sukkah...a life enriched and elevated by Shabbos, Yomim Tovim and hundreds of precious mitzvos. The Oorah child becomes the root of a flourishing new family tree capable of standing strong, bearing fruit and bringing its own unique gifts to the world.

back to top

Look at an average assimilated Jewish child. He may be smart, successful, happy and productive. He may not look like a victim of tragedy. But what other word can you use to describe spiritual starvation? When a Jewish soul is disconnected from its roots, it cannot reach its real source of nourishment -- the Torah, mitzvos and traditions. Oorah Kiruv Rechokim is here to tenderly and carefully reconnect each Jew to this life-giving source.

Starting with the children, Oorah gradually brings a solid Jewish education and true observance back to each family. It finances yeshiva, day school and summer camp tuition, conducts shabbatons and yom tov programs as well as adult education for the parents. Oorah also provides mezuzahs, tefillin, sukkahs -- everything the family needs to live a full religious life. Oorah stays with the child through high school, study in Israel, the chuppah and beyond. It nurtures each family until it is firmly rooted in its precious heritage, blooming and thriving on the sustenance that only Torah can give.

Every dollar given to Oorah makes this miracle available to more children, and by extension, their families and future generations. Every Jewish soul deserves our utmost effort, and you can do your part by helping Oorah to continue doing ours.

back to top

Chinese Auctions are, of course, neither Chinese nor an auction. But the question many are asking these days is, are they tzedakah? Or, more specifically, should Jewish institutions be promoting this as a way to give tzedakah? Does one need to dangle a late-model van, a custom-made sheitel, a trip to Israel in front of people before they'll open their wallets for a worthy cause? Are we training ourselves away from purer forms of giving?

On the positive side of the Chinese Auction boom are several points.

First, there's the result: Thousands upon thousands of dollars have been raised for institutions and causes -- money that may never have been raised otherwise. The Chinese auction expands the institution's reach beyond people who are naturally interested in its welfare to the general public, whose only interest might be the buffet, a night out and a crack at some of those fabulous prizes. No doubt, mountains of good have come from the money Chinese auctions have wrested out of the hands of those whose motives might be purely self-serving.

Secondly, there's the mitzvah: we learn that doing a mitzvah for the wrong reasons, in most cases, still counts as a mitzvah. Do it, the commentators tell us, and the right reasons will follow. The important thing is to do it. That's why teachers are allowed to offer candy and prizes to children for their learning. First get them into the habit of learning - let them love it and enjoy it - then, let the right reasons come.

Furthermore, motivations are not divided into bad and good. There are degrees. Someone who does a mitzvah for the honor it brings - his name on the new wing - is not in the same league as someone who donates anonymously. One person gives so his business associates won't think he's going broke, another because his neighbor is on the board of directors, another because the organization has his rabbi's endorsement. Often, these motivations are mixed together with the purer one of, "it's a good cause and it's my duty to support it."

Yet, there is still a negative side, something vaguely distasteful about all this "stuff" being proffered to entice would-be givers.

Isn't there supposed to come a time when the child no longer needs to earn a peanut chew for his learning? Are we setting ourselves back spiritually by linking more and more tzedakah to grand prizes? If someone becomes accustomed to giving only when there's a material incentive, will he later be willing to give when all that's sent is an envelope, and maybe a letter.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll feel that, without the chance to score a big prize, the outlay isn't "worth it."

Another negative aspect of the trend is the expense it creates for the institution. Much is made of the amount of overhead charitable institutions incur. Generally, people don't like to give money that will go to pay agencies, executive salaries, car leases - even postage. They want money for the hungry to buy food, money for yeshivos to promote Torah learning and buy books or computers or scholarships.

But the competitiveness of the "giving" market has become such that, without a professional media campaign, expensive fund-raising events and plenty of overhead, an organization's message can barely be heard from beneath the pile of solicitations. If donors feel more inclined to write a big check when part of the pay-off is an elegant five-course dinner, or a star-studded concert or a chance at big prizes, organizations can hardly be blamed for responding to the trend. It may be that, by requiring more pizzazz to grab their attention, the donors themselves are creating the need for an all-devouring overhead budget.

One experienced fundraiser offered this sobering observation: "If everyone gave half what they give to tzedakah, but gave it directly without the fundraising events, yeshivas would have a lot more money."

This is, or course, all just food for thought.

Just running a Chinese auction calls upon the hard work and good will of dozens, if not hundreds of people and certainly brings out the charitable instinct in them. It opens up new streams of support for vital causes, and transforms money that might otherwise land in the cash register of a restaurant or movie theater into money donated to avodas Hashem. The issue is rising in our community's consciousness, but an answer - if there is one - may take much more time, thought and discussion to emerge.vation in spreading Torah Judaism.

back to top

Rabbi G. is a Kolel Yungerman living in New Jersey; his sons are in third and sixth grade at a prominent yeshiva, where they excel.

"I learned about Oorah when I was in public school; they visited our home to convince my parents to send my older siblings to Yeshiva," Rabbi G. recalled. "My siblings weren't interested, but I was. It's a shame, because today they aren't frum, and look at me... My wife and I have lots of nachas from our boys, who are at the top of their class in Gemara. When I was their age, I didn't understand a word of Hebrew!"

Incidentally, Rabbi G.'s parents are frum today. "They followed my example," he said, "after they saw how I turned out, and compared it to my siblings, who are still single and live far away, trying to 'find themselves' and figure out where they want to go. If not for Oorah, I might have turned out just like them... I am my parents' only nachas," he said emotionally.

Rabbi G. recalls the love and warmth that Oorah showed him throughout the sometimes difficult adjustment period. "I was a sixth grader, the top of my class in public school, excelling in science, aiming to be a doctor.

During my first few months at yeshiva, I was too ashamed to open my mouth and reveal my ignorance - I couldn't read, understand or write Hebrew. They quickly arranged for a tutor, and I spent a few months in the first grade, mastering the basics. "Within a short while, I was tested by the principal, who bounced me up a few grades, where I joined the other boys my age. In the summer, Oorah paid for me to attend camp, where I 'lived it up' with my religious classmates, and now I was truly 'one of the gang.'

"But you know what touched me the most?" he concluded with feeling. "Reb Chaim came to visit me at camp, and brought me care packages, filled with goodies, tapes and games. Oorah made me feel so privileged, so special - I remember being moved to tears."

Rabbi G. wasn't the only camper who received these care packages. Not one camper was forgotten; each received a personalized box of goodies, replete with loving wishes for a happy summer. At summer's end, hundreds of children and their parents were invited to families for the Yom Tov meals, and taken on exciting Chol Hamoed trips. In addition, Oorah provided many, many Sukkahs and Arba Minim sets, all free of charge.

The Oorah volunteers - some of them children whom Oorah has placed in yeshivas, are only too glad to help out, lugging the heavy Sukkah boards and setting them up, or delivering the mounds of Mishloach Manos for Purim. These projects take enormous amounts of time and money.

"It's simply a financial question," said one volunteer. "We have the energy, we have the commitment. Another few dollars will pay the tuition of yet another child. Think of it! One future generation! One branch of a tree whose roots will spread deep into the fertile soil of Torah, producing succulent fruits whose aroma will spread to encompass many more."

The menahalim and principals at the yeshivas are eager to help out, and do their share by charging a fraction of the usual tuition. Still, the expenses, when added up, can be daunting.

Kiruv need not be a big to-do, Reb Chaim emphasizes.
"It could start in the gas station, while you're filling 'er up and talking to the attendant. Perhaps he's also one of ours, and maybe you can have a little chat with him and try to convince him to send his kids to yeshiva. People tend to be intimidated of doing kiruv, they're afraid others will laugh in their face, or turn them away.

"They don't realize how easy it is - all you need is a little warmth, to show the other person that you care. Once you cultivate a relationship, the rest usually follows. Invite people for meals, show them what a Shabbos is like. You never know where it will lead."

And in case you're still unsure, just take an example from Oorah. It all started with a challenge, and a man who wouldn't back down.

You can also gain by helping Oorah in its newest fundraising technique. Sign up with Oorah's long distance phone service and save on your monthly phone bill while helping to save yiddishe neshomos. For more information on Oorah's rock bottom telephone rates, see the advertisement on the back page of this issue.

back to top

"We work with our parent body to develop a ben Torah."

"We, the yeshivah, can't do it without you, the parents."

"The rebbeim and teachers can only do so much. The heart of chinuch is the home."

You've seen these lines before -- in your child's yeshivah handbook, in the advertisement for the new school in town, in your favorite book about chinuch. But what happens when a yeshivah student comes home to a non-kosher kitchen? Saturday morning cartoons? Parents who can't help him translate a line of Chumash or read a Rashi? If the parent-child partnership is so integral to a child's Jewish development, does such a child have even a half of a chance to succeed?

When one considers the deficits such a child must overcome, one begins to understand the real, hands-on, day-to-day struggle that is kiruv. A child from a non-religious home is missing half the equation that the Torah world has well accepted as essential for successful chinuch. Yet, the Torah world operates on the assumption that kiruv schools, organizations and programs can make up for this deficit -- that an organization can be to a child the loving zaidy, the understanding aunt, the father and mother who cherish a vision of the Jewish man or woman the child will grow up to be.

This misapprehension stems from the fact that in most cases, supporting an institution financially is all it takes to get the institution's goal accomplished. Money given to a yeshivah translates directly into learning. Money given to a "Tomche Shabbos" type of organization turns into food on someone's table. A donation to Hatzalah puts ambulances and life-saving equipment on the street. But a donation given to a kiruv organization cannot translate directly into a "saved soul." It can only help create a possibility for Jews to find their way back to a Torah-oriented life.

That's because, even after they begin to learn and daven, even after they begin to identify themselves as committed Jews, they need to compensate for the full cast of characters -- the role models, relatives, friends and neighbors -- that keep a religiously-raised child on track.

Clearly, even children who grow up with all these advantages face the challenge of finding their own place in Klal Yisrael, and some meet up with a mighty struggle. So, children who grow up with none of these advantages obviously have an almost superhuman task cut out for them.

back to top

The task is made doable, the challenge winnable, by people. Organizations can provide a point of access for Jews looking for their heritage, who are not likely to just call up the local Orthodox rabbi and ask for a Shabbos invitation. Organizations can also provide structure for those doing the outreach. They can be the locus of seminars, beginner minyanim, Yom Tov and Shabbos programs that maximize the use available of resources.

But organizations can't be family. Even the people in organizations can't be family to each and every person the organization touches. They can't be there to find the right page in the siddur or introduce a newcomer to his neighbors. They can't be there to translate every word of "yeshivish" or Yiddish that creeps into a conversation. They can't compensate for the awkwardness of people finding their way socially and culturally in a new environment. For this, the energy and good will of the Torah community at large needs to be enlisted.

"In a frum family, there's someone there to pitch in every step of the way," explains one kiruv rabbi. "Neighbors, friends, parents, siblings are all there to give us the support we need, and we should appreciate having this. There is a need to create that kind of total environment for people who become frum."

Without this network of community support, kiruv organizations simply cannot make the miracle happen. There is widespread dismay over the long-term results of schools geared toward Russian children, yet the schools and organizations are doing and have done as much as an organization can. What's missing is a sense or urgency from the Torah community at large, the kind of urgency that motivates people to open their homes and extend their hands.

In Pirkei d'Rav Eliezer, the question is posed: Eliezer, Avraham's servant, absorbed all of the Torah from his master. He "created" many, many Jews. But what happened to them? Why is there no record of their descendants in Klal Yisrael? The answer is an allegory: No matter how hard you throw a stick into the air, it will eventually come back down. To stay aloft, it needs constant uplift, constant support. Teaching another person Torah is not enough; one must keep him spiritually aloft.

This is a labor-intensive job. But it's one that Klal Yisrael has an obligation to perform.
And not just for the sake of the "recipients" of kiruv.

back to top

"Each and every Jew has a unique purpose and strength; otherwise, Hashem would not have created him," explains Rabbi Chaim Mintz, founder of Oorah Kiruv Rechokim. "The sum of these strengths creates the ultimate situation for the potential dwelling of the Shechinah among us. If one Jew is missing, the shechinah in our midst is diminished. Then what about 2, 100, 1,000 or 10,000? There are perhaps 11 million Jews in the world, and 8 million are so far removed that they most likely don't even know they're Jewish."

The effect of this great gap is a drastic erosion of the blessing and protection the Shechinah, in its completeness, affords Klal Yisrael. For the Shechinah to be complete, Klal Yisrael must be complete; every Jewish soul is an essential ingredient in the formula.

Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt'l, in an address to yeshivah students, urged them take an active role in kiruv. The greatest single prerequisite for the work, he maintained, is a solid rooting in Torah learning and a commitment to following the guidelines set by Torah leaders. Those in the kiruv world who make their own rules, he said, present a great danger to themselves and those they purport to help.

The dilemma for yeshivah students, of course, is that kiruv requires time away from learning. Rav Moshe declared the current situation of mass estrangement from Judaism to be of such drastic proportions that such a sacrifice is warranted. He advised the students to take one tenth of their time for kiruv, much as they would take one tenth of their income for charity. By staying solidly rooted in learning, and consulting frequently with Rebbeim, b'nei Torah can reach into the secular world without sacrificing their own integrity, Rav Moshe said.

Yet, even with Rav Moshe's endorsement, there are still many who see kiruv as an inappropriate use of time for a younger yeshivah student who may have only a few years to devote himself completely to learning. But as one kiruv rabbi noted, we are living in a time when a considerable number of men are able to learn full-time well into adulthood.

"What about the older ben Torah?" he asked. "What about the 30- or 40-year-old? For him, putting time into kiruv is a different story. And who better to go out and to do kiruv than someone who has been learning all his life?"

A person grounded and settled in a life of learning should have a solid Torah perspective to offer to others, and he is less susceptible to the temptations of the secular world.

" 'Yaakov came complete to the city of Sh'chem,' " Rav Moshe quotes. "Rashi comments that he returned from Lavan complete in body, possessions and Torah. He had followed the way of the Torah, and no harm could befall him."

The Chasam Sofer points to the patriarch Avraham as an example of the heights that can be reached because of, and in spite of, putting time into kiruv. Avraham was constantly occupied bringing others to an awareness of Hashem. Therefore, he never had the still, contemplative time required for reaching a state of prophecy. Yet, prophecy came to him; the angels were permitted to inform him about the destruction of Sodom. The time Avraham spent teaching others the rudiments of Jewish belief lifted him to the stature of a prophet. He reached the same level teaching alef-bais to the ignorant that he would have reached by dedicating himself to communing with Hashem.

back to top

The need for every Jew to try to take some responsibility for kiruv is obvious if one simply does the math. "Even the most active people, people who work their whole lives on kiruv, are likely to succeed with 20, 30, 40 people at most. And that's with a continual effort, with constant involvement in these people's lives," said Rabbi ---------, a kiruv professional. Thus, to make any kind of significant dent in the mass of people disconnected from Torah, a widespread mobilization is needed.

"People don't really understand what this means," he observed. "People are not really doing kiruv in America to the extent that it needs to be done. It involves a change in lifestyle, a change of priorities, a constant awareness of the opportunities that are out there and how to capitalize on them."

And it's not necessary to be an expert. In times when alienation from Torah is at epidemic proportions, every weapon in the arsenal is needed. The Chofetz Chaim explained the situation with an allegory. A wealthy businessman traveled from town to town buying and selling. One particularly poor town had no clean running water; the inhabitants boiled the water before drinking. The businessman decided to help the people, and paid to have a filtration system installed. The next year, when he returned to the town, he found it had burned down.

"There wasn't enough filtered water to put out the fire," a local explained.

"My unfortunate man," the businessman replied. "Don't you know that to put out a fire, any water will do?"

According to Rabbi ----------, getting people involved in the "feel-good" aspects of kiruv is relatively simple. There is no shortage of people willing to make a good-will tour of Russia's Jewish communities. There are plenty places at Shabbos tables for the pleasant guests who express no challenging ideas and ask no uncomfortable questions. But such people are not, by and large, reality. A potential baal teshuvah is in the epicenter of a spiritual earthquake, and he or she may not be content to just roll quietly with the shifting ground.

back to top

Furthermore, he or she maynot buy a wholesale change of lifestyle. Years -- decades -- can go by before certain observances are fully embraced, and if the person experiences ostracism because he isn't where others feel he should be, he may never get there. There's a general feeling that once a family places their child in yeshivah and begins to keep Shabbos and kosher, everything else should come along in synch. The television that's been the family's best friend for years should be tossed immediately into the garbage. The wardrobe should be instantly revised to eliminate any color, sleeve, hem-line, neck-line, slit or style violation. The 1970's rock-and-roll album collection should be dumped on top of the television and the periodical subscriptions should be cancelled, or at least censored. After all, you're frum now.

But what if a family can't get there so fast? Will a yeshivah still take their child, or is he considered a bad influence? There's understandably a great deal of concern about allowing secular ideas and popular culture into the Torah observant world. But the truth is, even if all the accoutrements of the old life are discarded, they remain in the family's hard-drive. They remain in the references and allusions in their conversation, in the songs they hum and the memories that form their past. Yet, if such a family is surrounded with warmth and inclusion, these remnants gradually fade away to be replaced by new, deeper and more meaningful ideas.

back to top

Patience is key. One woman, who became observant with her husband, grew up with a strong feminist ideology. To her, covering her hair was an anathema, even though she loved most everything about her new observant life. Her husband, too, was strongly anti-hair-covering, fearing it would turn his beautiful wife into a dour matron. So, the couple labored to establish themselves, categorized by that one decision as "modern," yet constantly seeking higher spiritual levels.

"It's ridiculous," the woman once complained. "I walk into the bakery, and they don't even think I'm a Jew unless I'm there with my son, who has a yarmulka. All of a sudden when they see him, I get acknowledged. Otherwise I'm invisible."

Fortunately, however, the family belonged to a shul that catered to baalei teshuvah, and included everything from Sefardim to Lubovitchers to former feminists. There, nobody stood out from the crowd, because essentially, there was no crowd -- only a very diverse range of individuals.

It took fifteen years. Then, one day, a feeling that had been building in her for a long time came out. "I really want to cover my hair," she told her husband. His priorities had changed enough that modesty fit with his idea of beauty. And so they agreed that the time had come.

"We need tolerance," says Rabbi -----------. "We need to let our children play with their children, let them into our yeshivos and neighborhoods. They need to be part of the community. They need to have what he have. Someone to make a Shabbos for them after a hard week. Someone to watch the children once in awhile. Someone to ask for friendly advice on simple things like summer camps or chol hamoed trips. They need the personal touch. It doesn't take one individual to mekarev a lot of people. It takes a lot of people to mekarev one individual."

Part of what keeps people away from active involvement in kiruv is the fear that contact with the not-yet-frum, almost-frum or just-now-frum -- especially for children -- could leave indelible marks that undo years of sheltered upbringing. And there's no doubt that caution, common sense and the advice of experienced Rabbonim are all essential.

back to top

However, as one Rabbi pointed out, many people have in their own families people who don't fit the mold -- sometimes it's even their own child. "Do they cut this person off?" he asked. "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. But the truth is, every Jew is part of the family."

This image of kiruv as a dangerous occupation rubs off on all aspects of the endeavor. "It's unbelievably hard to get people to do anything except for the most glamorous things -- even to put together lulovim and esrogim. There are very few people really willing to get involved. And everything is pay, pay pay. What if we had had to pay for everything we got from our families and friends?"

Yet in Israel, kiruv has become one of the hallmarks of religious life. There are hundreds of stories of amazing transformations of families and communities. One might wonder why this same momentum hasn't taken hold in America.

"It's harder here," says Rabbi Uri Zohar. "But just because an obligation is difficult doesn't exempt you from it. The next generation will ask, why didn't we do more? When we meet our fellow Jews in Shomayim, they will ask, why didn't we try to reach them? And most of all, Hashem will say, 'You had my children living all around you, and you didn't do anything... you didn't even try to start a conversation.' How will we answer?"

back to top

The limo pulls up to the house, but you know its coming five minutes before its arrival. That's when your ears first detect the booming bass of the music blaring from the car's stereo speakers. Now, nine young men dressed in army camouflage -- obviously just back from front-line duty -- pour out the car, across your front lawn and up to your front door. Your children aren't terrified -- they're delighted! It's Purim and here comes another leibedig troop of tzedakah collectors.

Is it the "ad de lo yodah" or the pure simcha of the day that makes people open their wallets on Purim without the second thoughts that usually dampen their enthusiasm? It doesn't matter if it's your child's yeshivah or not; your town's yeshivah or not; a convincing sad story or an outlandish one. You open up and give, as in fact we're commanded to, because on Purim, there are no cheshbonos. Hashem delivered every Jew on the original Purim, whether he was deserving or not. And now, we give to all who ask, without first conducting an assessment.

The open-handed spirit of Purim has two beautiful results: It puts everyone in a happy, expansive mood, and it brings thousands upon thousands of dollars into the coffers of Torah mosdos throughout the country.

back to top

But at this moment, the Jewish communities of the United States stand at a crossroads, and which way we turn will determine if we manage to maintain this pure spirit of giving, or, G-d forbid, sully yet one more aspect of our Avodas Hashem with the seemingly uncontainable toxin of materialism.

It's the incentives. "What incentives?" you may wonder if you're not up on the latest trends in philanthropy. Here's how it works, as told by the brother of a yeshivah bochur.

"My brother called me and asked my advice. Should he go out collecting for one organization that was offering each boy a free ticket to Florida plus $300 spending money, or another one that was offering $1,000?"

Why, he wondered, were these organizations offering anything? Obviously they were looking for a competitive advantage over other organizations in need of collectors. Like head-hunters in a tight job market, they were offering big perks, assessing that it would be better to come out with a smaller percent of a larger amount than suffer from a lack of collectors and come out with 100 percent of a smaller amount.

back to top

But where does that leave everyone else? Once the competition gets started, human nature is such that those who are looking for a few good men to do the job strictly for the mitzvah will find fewer and fewer of these good men available.

In a world in which most fundraising events -- Chinese auctions, dinners, journals, raffles -- eat up a large portion of the funds raised, Purim has always stood alone as a day of pure tzedakah. But now, with this latest trend, a new ingredient is being introduced. Before every institution in the Torah world finds itself under pressure to add this new ingredient, it behooves Klal Yisrael and its institutions to consider whether or not this is a healthful ingredient. The genie isn't totally out of the bottle yet; it can still be stuffed back in if there's a resolve to do so.

Rabbi Berish Broyde, a veteran fundraiser for Oorah Kiruv Rechokim, sees the new ingredient as one with potentially harmful long-term effects. "First of all, it will put smaller institutions at a big disadvantage. They will be forced to spend money that they don't have on incentives that should never have become necessary. But there's also a more fundamental question, which is, why shouldn't the bachurim spend one day a year collecting tzedakah without having to receive something in return?"

Perhaps it starts with the trinkets the children receive in elementary school for meeting certain quotas in collecting for a few major organizations that use this form of fundraising. How many parents have heard the accusation from a child that a certain organization is "cheap" because "I gave them $50 and all I got was a slinky!"

back to top

By the time they reach high school and bais medrash, they're primed for the big prizes. On the other hand, they could also be primed for a lifetime to doing mitzvos for their own sake, if given the chance to develop that trait. But if the trend continues, there will be one fewer chance available. Incentives will soon enough become "the way it's done," and those who recall the old days will seem as antiquated as those who remember when you had to salt and soak your own meat.

A further variation gradually taking over the fundraising terrain is that of paid campaign organizers. Well paid. Some receive as much as $10,000 for a few weeks of preparing, conducting and wrapping up the Purim drive. These paid organizers are also taken from the ranks of yeshivah bachurim, probably the only people with the schedule, temperament and energy to do the job.

No doubt, a hefty sum of money can be a big help to many families struggling to keep their sons in yeshivah. But $10,000 is an enormous sum for an unmarried young man, far in excess of what would be needed to get someone enthusiastic and capable to do the job. "Once again," said Rabbi Broyde, "it's a question of whether there is a need to create this kind of overhead, especially for Purim, which until now was the one fundraising opportunity that had practically no overhead expense."

There are, no doubt, many good business reasons for organizations to have embarked upon this route in collecting their Purim tzedakah. But too many trends have taken root, to Klal Yisrael's detriment, to simply sit back and let it all happen without giving thought to where this trend might lead. Good business moves meet a risk-benefit analysis. The risks here are significant -- a damper on the open-handed spirit of Purim; discouragement of performing a mitzvah l'shma; a huge new layer of overhead standing between the donor's money and the cause to which it goes; and a new, possibly untenable burden upon organizations that must compete for those donations. The day that celebrates our survival against the odds stands to become yet another example of "survival of the fittest."

Klal Yisrael has managed to say "no" to many trends that the rest of the world takes as a "given." The inexorable tide of materialism is perhaps one of the mightiest forces of all, but here is one place where it might still be possible to stop the tide.

Don't worry about the Lower East Side. All those who have already written the obituary on this historic, thriving Jewish community should reconsider, because its heart is beating just as strong as ever. Proof of that fact came last Purim, when six bochurim, led by Yackov Fishelis, grandson of Harav Dovid Feinstein, shlita, "invaded" the neighborhood to collect tzedakah for Oorah Kiruv Rechokim.

Every year, teams of bochurim, dressed in costume and armed with song and shtick, go from house to house in towns across the country, spreading Purim spirit and collecting funds for Oorah. Last year, Yackov Fishelis suggested taking a group to the East Side. Everyone advised against it. "There's hardly a community there anymore," people said. "It's dead there. You're not going to make a penny."

But the six young men had a feeling, and they were right. When the East Siders heard Oorah was coming, an already active, cohesive and charitable community gave its best. From apartment to apartment, from building to building, the boys were welcomed with open arms and open checkbooks. By the time the day was done, the Lower East Side had yielded the highest contribution of any community.

Perhaps it was the challenge to the East Side's venerable reputation. Or perhaps it was just a sincere desire to support Oorah's unique brand of kiruv. Nearly every penny it collects pays a tuition for a non-religious child whose family has agreed to send him or her to yeshiva or day school. Hundreds of children each year embark on a life of Torah and mitzvos thanks to this organization.

The money also pays for the extras that make yeshiva education successful. It sends the children to camp so they can spend their summers in a Torah atmosphere. It educates their parents so they can support what their children are learning. It pays for Shabbatons and chol hamoed programs so the children get the full flavor of the Jewish year. But most importantly, it pays off, because a vast majority of these children -- and sometimes their parents and siblings as well -- become committed, enthusiastic observant Jews.

Naturally, this Purim, the young men from Oorah will be back on the East Side, as well as dozens of other cities and towns across the country. Wherever they go, they've become a welcome addition to the day's festivities. In some towns, they've actually succeeded over the years in changing the whole tenor of the day. Where people had once given out a few shalach manos and then gone off to work, they now stay home with their children and eagerly await their yearly visitors. As a result, Purim has been transformed into a day of enjoying friends, Purim seudos and Purim parties.

Many people call Oorah to request a visit to their own homes. Some send the boys to friends, grandparents or others as a "living shalach manos" to spread the spirit further. Prior to Purim, homes on Oorah's list receive a post card reminding them of their guests' arrival. This year's card shows six bochurim mounted on an elephant. "We're not coming for peanuts," it announces.

In fact, Oorah's spokesmen say anyone who wants to invite the bochurim and their special brand of Purim spirit into their home can still arrange it by calling 732-901-1113. It's a unique way to perform the Purim mitzvah of giving tzedakah, to liven up the holiday atmosphere, and to help bring the joy of Yiddishkeit to children who are just waiting for their first taste.

back to top