Tales from the Mitzvah Tank This synagogue on wheels provides New Yorkers with blessings—and house calls. By Allan Ripp
http://www.wsj.com/articles/tales-from-the-mitzvah-tank-1479427418
A few months ago, I popped into a Winnebago parked at the corner of 57th Street and Fifth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, right across from Tiffany and Bergdorf Goodman. This was the Mitzvah Tank, a roving synagogue on wheels operated by the Chabad Lubavitch movement. The “tank” brings old-school Judaism to high-traffic parts of New York. In five minutes or less, anyone can drop by for a quick blessing and some Talmudic wisdom.
I wanted to honor my dad—it would have been his 98th birthday—by putting on tefillin, the miniature black box containing verses of Torah that observant Jews attach to their forehead to be physically closer to God. As a child, I had watched him go through the ritual with his father and found it spellbinding, though I always need a tutorial.
Stepping into the tank was like entering a rabbi’s study, with biblical texts on the table and laminated prayers taped to the cabinets. Also displayed were portraits of Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late, charismatic leader of the Lubavitchers known as the Grand Rebbe. Versions of the tank have been driving around New York since 1974.
The tefillin part was over in a flash, including a reciting of “Hear O Israel” and a rousing cheer for the imminent arrival of the Messiah—whom many Lubavitchers believe was personified by the Grand Rebbe.
“So, what’s going on?” asked the cheerful Chabad rabbi who helped me through the prayer, including wrapping my arm seven times with the long leather strap.
I told him that my daughter was getting married in a few weeks, immediately regretting it, knowing what the response would be. “Mazel Tov!” he announced, before asking me if the man was Jewish.
I had to admit he was not, which drew stern clucking from the rabbi. “It could be worse,” he said. But will he convert? Highly unlikely, I told him. The rabbi reassured me that at least my grandchildren would be Jewish, then a look of urgency came over him.
“Does your daughter have a Mezuzah?” he asked, referring to the sealed parchment of Torah portions that Jews traditionally affix to their doorjambs—the universal sign of a Jewish household. I meekly shook my head.
He asked for her cellphone number, offering to go put one up for her. I wasn’t used to such personal attention from a rabbi. In 20 years of attending a shul on the Upper West Side, none of the rabbis ever offered a house call. I doubt they would consider a missing Mezuzah grounds for an emergency visit. I politely demurred.
Yet I kept visiting the tank for more tefillin and schmoozing. Lest I forget, I received regular text and phone messages from my new friend Rabbi Stone reminding me that it was Wednesday—the tank’s regular day on Fifth Avenue. Sometimes he was out making office visits when I came, so I went through paces with Rabbi Baumgarten, a youthful father of eight who’s been running the tank since 1989. His son Avi also helped me enunciate every word of the bracha. CONTINUE AT SITE
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