He
approached me in the subway, a good-looking African-American boy about 11- or
12-years-old wearing a green winter jacket and no head covering on a frigid
day. I stood alone at the end of the platform. He walked up to me, bold and
carefree.
“You
know those straps that you put on when you pray?” he said. “What are they for?”
“The
one on the arm binds our emotions and actions to G-d, and the one around the
head binds our thoughts,” I answered. “Your actions and your thoughts are
focused on G-d.”
In
my career as a New York subway rider, conspicuous in beard and fedora, I’ve
been asked two kinds of questions: the Evangelical Question on a verse or
passage in the Bible aimed at provoking an argument or proving a point; and the
Limited Curiosity Question seeking relief from puzzlement over a Jewish
practice once observed.
This
boy was different. His questions were personal and serious.
“What
about putting the strap around the hand?” he asked, wrapping an invisible
Tefillin strap around his left hand.
I
hesitated, searching for the answer. I could see him on the periphery of a
large synagogue closely watching Jewish men putting on Tefillin. Then suddenly
he cut to the point.
“How
do I become a Jew?” he asked.
I
paused, stunned by his question.
“Do
I need a bar mitzvah?”
The
three train arrived. I didn’t have a lot of time now – now that our time seemed
suddenly precious.
“Well,
first you study a lot,” I answered, as we stepped onto the crowded car. I was
traveling only one stop.
A
gentile who declares his intention to convert is not automatically accepted. To
consider someone as a candidate for conversion, a Jewish court must determine
if the person sincerely wants to convert. To discern the candidate’s sincerity,
the court apprises the prospective convert of the difficulty and sacrifice demanded
by the keeping of the commandments and of the history of suffering and
persecution experienced by the Jewish people.
For
those not inclined to take on the obligation of the Torah and its commandments,
the Seven Noahide Laws function as a path to serving G-d available to all gentiles
at all times. With that in mind – and considering he couldn’t convert now,
anyway, since he was apparently younger than 13 – I decided to introduce him to
the Noahide Commandments.
“You
know, conversion is not your only option,” I said, hanging on to a handrail
with passengers all around me. “You can keep what’s known as the Seven
Commandments of the Children of Noah.” I then specified the Seven Noahide Laws:
1) do not worship idols; 2) do not curse G-d; 3) do not murder; 4) do not commit
incest or adultery; 5) do not steal; 6) do not eat a limb from a living animal;
7) establish courts of justice.
I
told him that G-d gave seven commandments to Noah and transmitted them again
with the Torah on Mount Sinai, making them incumbent on all gentiles. A
follower of the Noahide Laws must believe that their authority derives from G-d’s
commanding them in the Torah.
The train stopped at the Utica Station
and the doors opened. I regretted leaving him there. Even though we had talked
only a short time, I felt affection for him. He valued the thing most central
to my life – my Judaism. We shared a confidence unlikely to exist between two
other strangers meeting by chance.
The
wonder of two people from such different circumstances being drawn to the same
Truth reminded me of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s reading of the world: ripe to have
its essential goodness revealed. According to the Rebbe, the dissemination of none
other than the Seven Noahide Commandments has brought the world to its current
state – ready for the arrival of Mashiach. As I emerged from the subway and
headed toward my apartment to get ready for Shabbat, I felt joy at having been
shown a glimpse of that new world awaiting.