A Branch and a Bar Mitzvah

(Edited from a post in 2018. Chanukah this year — 2021 — will be celebrated from Sunday night Nov. 28, until Moday Dec. 6.)

Happy Chanukah.

I sit down to write this article, inspired and enthused, after lighting two candles on my menorah. Yesterday I lit one. And every night I intend to increase a candle, until all the eight lamps of the menorah will be alive and aglow on the eighth and final night of the holiday. This is the custom — with the simple purpose of marking the exact night of Chanukah for the onlooker. The Talmudic sages provided another another reason for this nightly increase; the menorah lighting is holy, and as a Jewish principle we always add and climb in holiness. You have a candle? Good! Now light a second one. You did a mitzvah? Wonderful! Now allow that energy to bring to more mitzvot. More positivity. Greater heights of Holiness and stronger connection to the G-dly.

As I sat by my Menorah, watching the two flames as they danced and flickered, engulfed in the warmth of the celebration, holiday and family, I contemplated the following: Maybe the menorah is not only a directive but also a story. Not only a command to always increase but a message that goodness will increase. You started with one candle, now there are two. Just like the acts of selflessness, courage and devotion — performed by Matityahu, his children and those who followed — brought about a holiday and celebration for all the generations. Because holiness grows. And every good deed brings goodness in its wake.

In this post, I would like to share a story of two random mitzvah encounters. This is the story of a mitzvah branch, and of a Bar Mitzvah.

It all started in the fall; Tishrei — the Jewish holiday season. The month is full of celebrations and biblical traditions. To make sense of this story I’d like to quickly add some words to your lexicon:

The holiday of Sukkot — is a week-long festival during which we are accustomed to eating in a sukkah,

The sukkah — is an outdoor hut covered in greenery,

The lulav — is a branch of a date palm,

and every day of the holiday we make a blessing while holding a lulav, to thank G-d for the harvest.

As it is a mitzvah — and not every Jew has a date palm at hand — I took up an outreach mission in Philadelphia, where we received the go-ahead to set up a small sukkah with a lulav in the driveway of Acme, the local supermarket. Thank G-d, it was well received as many appreciated the opportunity to enter a sukkah and took up the offer to make a blessing over the lulav. Some expressed their emotional gratefulness as the sukkah reminded them of the celebrations they would have with their parents and grandparents however many years ago — and they were so very sure that their Bubbes and Zeides were smiling at their mitzvah.

Needless to say, I left that holiday feeling warm in the heart and encouraged in my work. The story should’ve ended here. But holiness grows, doesn’t it?

The story continues in Montreal. That summer I took up another outreach mission with a friend; to be at hand for the many tourists (and locals) traveling the Old Port. To inform them of the local Chabad — for meals and services for Shabbat, to provide Shabbat candles on-the-go, and offer the donning of tefillin.

My friend and I were standing at our booth. Approaching was an American family; mom, dad, two kids. I took a deep breath as I prepared myself.

“Shalom! Excuse me, are you Jewish?”

The father stopped.

“Yes. Why?”

“Would you like to put on the tefillin?”

His children, in the middle of conversing, were moving past.

“No thank you,” he said, glancing forward as he took a step to keep up with his family. But his wife had stopped, regarding me with a look I couldn’t read.

“Were you ever in Philadelphia?”

“Yes.”

“Acme?”

“Yes!”

At this point, the entire family had stopped to listen in.

“We blessed the lulav together, didn’t we?” she finished with a smile.

I was speechless. I nodded.

“What is it you are offering here in Montreal?”

“The tefillin,” I said, lifting the velvet bag.

The husband joined in now, “What is that? I haven’t heard of this before.”

Well, this is something I could tackle, “Tefillin is a biblical Jewish prayer which has been part of our heritage for three thousand years. The straps are the wires, binding the ancient scroll of “Shma yisroel — Hear O Israel, the Lord is our G-d, the Lord is one,” G-d’s ultimate Oneness, with our mind and heart. As the mitzvah begins for the boy at the age of thirteen, it is considered a sort of bar mitzvah the first time one dons them. I’d be happy to guide you through this.”

Intrigued, he stuck out his left arm and my friend and I led him through the ritual. We said together a prayer. His family took a picture of him. If my memory serves me correctly, we even made a little dance to the tune of mazal tov. Right there, in the streets of Montreal. And after a warm parting I couldn’t help but overhear, wife to husband, “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

And it was only as the excitement died down that I truly understood. First it was a branch, and then a bar mitzvah.

At times when I feel the need to inspire a mitzvah, I think of this story. Of how every good deed has its effect on our universe; how every candle latches on and will kindle others; how one light will turn into two.

Until the world is full of light. I pray it will be soon.

Happy celebrating!