There have been three times in my life when I have seen something that has taken my breath away. The first was when I beheld Victoria Falls. The broad panorama of this mile-wide behemoth plunging into the abyss, spraying it's plume of spray an equal mile into the air and roaring at a million decibels – took my breath away. You can read about it in greater detail here (http://meanderwithmenahem.blogspot.com/2008/03/victoria-falls-smoke-that-thunders.html).
The second time I gasped for air was when I entered the hallowed gates of the Esnoga, the Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam. I wasn't quite ready for this sense of sanctity that enveloped me. The ancient wooden pews and bima, the wavy-curved candle-chandeliers that light the synagogue to this day, the sand spread over the wooden floor beams, all came together to transport me to a different age, to a place dissimilar to any I had known until then. The result has been that every time I have ever been in Amsterdam (and I worked in the Netherlands for 18 months some years ago) – I would make a point of going back to the Esnoga.
The third time I felt a sharp intake of breath upon seeing something for the first time, was when I walked into the Ohel Shelomo Synagogue in Kobe, Japan. Once again, I was taken by surprise. I had been into the two wonderful Chabad Houses in Tokyo, which are shtibel-like in their warmth and friendship, and I love returning to them whenever I am in Tokyo. But somehow, walking into Ohel Shelomo jolted me. The Holy Ark draped with the flags of Israel and Japan on either side caused me some feeling of imbalance. I was having difficulty wrapping my mind around the sight of a Japanese flag in a synagogue. Quite honestly, every time I have returned it takes me a few minutes to settle in my brain that there a fully functional Orthodox synagogue in Japan. I still find it literally mind-boggling.
But I have written about it once before. So what moves me to write again? I'll tell you.
I was recently in Japan with a wonderful tour group, made up of folks from the UK, the USA and Israel. We spent our second Shabbat in Japan with the Jewish community of Kobe. There was another group spending Shabbat there at the same time, a much larger group than ours. They were also a much noisier group; and somewhat offensive too. Among the things I overheard some of them saying, were the following statements:
"What a miserable looking place."
"Half these guys are married to non-Jews."
"I bet the rabbi is not a real rabbi."
I must confess hearing these things enveloped me in great sadness. My late father z"l used to say that "Hachnassat Orchim" - extending hospitality - is a very important mitzvah. And, he used to say, it's also important to know to behave like a guest.
These people did not behave like guests. While the rabbi was delivering his Dvar Torah, they talked incessantly. When the rabbi translated into a language that some of the other guests spoke, they talked even louder. They enjoyed the hospitality of their hosts, while denigrating them at the same time. It was a shame and an embarrassment that supposedly observant people behave in this manner.
I thought to myself, how can anyone be so judgmental? Who set them up as arbiters of what is and is not miserable? And if some of the young men have married Japanese women, is it not commendable that they make it their business to come to synagogue services every Shabbat? And did they inspect the Semicha of the young, charming, intelligent, knowledgeable and very sincere rabbi who was newly appointed to the synagogue that they dared question the authenticity of his training?
I think the young families who maintain the synagogue in Kobe ought to be carried through the main street of Judaism on the shoulders of us all. There is a small group of folks who could just as easily have walked away from the synagogue and not taken it upon themselves to maintain it. They could have lifted the phone to Chabad headquarters and offered them a building ready-to-go, Holy Ark and all. But they didn't do that. They decided that they will keep up the synagogue. They will, voluntarily, pay out of their own pockets to ensure the upkeep of the synagogue building, the maintenance of the mikveh, the hiring and paying of a full-time rabbi and family. They will ensure that every Shabbat there will be a minyan and that they will pray in the Nusach of the founders of the synagogue out of respect for the efforts made by those who came before them to establish a tiny Jewish island in this most un-Jewish of places. And they will be hospitable and open their doors to any and every Jew who lives near and/or far.
So I write these lines to you, Moti and Moshiko, and Tony and Michael, and the other Michael and Jack, and to all of you who are out there on the "front lines." You are deserving of my respect and I give it gladly. I give it along with my admiration and my affection, my longing and esteem and my appreciation. And I attach my love and enjoyment in coming to be with you. And my gratitude that you are there… so that I too can be there.
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