I like finding heroes.
By hero, I am not referring to the honorees at annual dinners. You may not even find their names in the long list of thank-yous in the weekly Shabbos bulletin. These men and women don’t necessarily hold titles of distinction in the community, yet they are the volunteers that contribute so much to our communities in their quiet, humble and devoted ways.
I always knew these heroes existed, but tended to take them for granted. It was only when I traveled to a small Canadian Jewish community to interview for a rabbanus position that a lightbulb went off in my head. As a firm believer that a rabbi should interview a community simultaneous to being interviewed himself, I wasted no time asking probing questions about the history, vision and current state of the warm and polite congregation.
Shabbos lunch was hosted by an ER doctor and his wife who are members of the shul. As the other lunch guests left after the meal, I excused myself from the company of the hosts as well. Having delivered four community shiurim and with many meet-and-greet handshakes behind me, I needed to put my head down on the table for a quick rest before my afternoon women’s shiur. The doctor stood in the doorway, with one hand on the doorknob, and asked me if I needed anything else. A sleepy realization dawned on me as I pieced together the last twelve hours.
“You’re carrying this whole community,” I told him. “You spend hours in private conversation with the young members of the shul, sensitizing them to the needs and perspectives of the older members, and vice versa. You’re the one quietly fundraising for the mikvah and the shul programs. You’re the one whispering to the board, suggesting they search for a rabbi who’s more Torah focused and less politics focused. You even make sure the kiddush is cleaned up when the cleaning crew doesn’t show up! It seems most people in the community don’t even realize it. You see a need and you help, without any recognition.”
He smiled, revealing his humility even while taking obvious pride in his endless klal work. “Sleep well, Rabbi,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Who shops for the specialty items for the shul kiddush you enjoy every week? Who privately fundraises for boys and girls to attend yeshivah and seminary when the families can’t afford it?
Through my years of community rabbanus and school administration, and in my current role as OU director of Torah and Halacha Initiatives, I have met hundreds of such heroes. They may come in many different shapes and sizes, but they all have one thing in common: that same pure fire of humble devotion to the community.
“You are involved in the chevra kadisha?” a coworker once asked me rhetorically. “When I was growing up,” he shared, “my mother would often leave in the evening for a few hours, even on busy Thursday nights, to do a taharah for a community member or stranger. We didn’t resent it. We felt part of it, like our family was doing the taharah. She’s been doing taharos for almost thirty years. I once asked her if she gets thanked for her chevra kadisha work. She smiled and told me that most people in the community don’t know that she’s a member of the chevra kadisha.”
In 2019, when I was a school principal, my staff prepared for the first Shabbaton of the school year. We sent out an informational email to the parent body, which naturally included a note about the trip fee that would be required for each student to attend. Within minutes, I received the following email reply:
“Rabbi, if you sense a family can’t afford it, just put it on my card. Tell them there was an anonymous grant and not to worry about it.”
A few months into my rabbanus, while preparing a derashah in my office one Friday afternoon, I noticed one of the older geirim in the shul walking down the hallway lugging two very large plastic bottles. I stepped out of my office and asked, “What do you have there? Need some help?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just some chemicals.”
I lifted an eyebrow in confusion.
He chuckled. “You think the chlorine levels in the mikvah monitor themselves?”
Would it shock you if I confess that I had never thought about it until that moment?
Did you know that there are men and women who make shidduch reference calls for the orphans of their community?
I’ve been called and asked if I would be willing to have an extra guest for a Shabbos meal. Do you know who called me? A woman who tries her best to make sure everyone has a meal to join on Shabbos.
And there are so many more unsung heroes.
Who walks each week, regardless of rain or heat and sometimes even through densely wooded areas, to make sure the eruv is up so that you can carry on Shabbos?
Who shops for the specialty items for the shul kiddush you enjoy every week?
Who privately fundraises for boys and girls to attend yeshivah and seminary when the families can’t afford it?
Who are the peacemakers who will spend hours on the phone with various community members and organizational leaders to avoid machlokes and division?
Shall I go on?
Are you inspired by them?
I know I am.
Every day.
When you’re sitting in shul, look a little harder. Think about the devotion exemplified in the hero sitting just one row over. Or maybe you are, in fact, a hero yourself.
Rabbi Ezra Sarna is director of Torah and Halacha Initiatives at the OU.