Drive-Bike Tefillin.

Overcoming My Fear and Doing a Mitzvah for Our Hostages

– as featured on Chabad.org

Baruch Hashem, this is the story I needed. I rush out my front door and glance at my bike helmet. “I should bike there,” I chide myself. But the car’s right outside. I’ll get there quicker in the car. Just take it. But I know I can’t. Because that’s the easy way out.

The real reason I want to take the car is because it’ll provide an air-conditioned cocoon of safety. Of not having to interact with anyone in public. And that’s what I had resolved not to do.

Inspired by my brother Rabbi Yehudah Leib Welton and a wild mountain-top story of Divine serendipity by my friend Yitzi Stern, I had recently decided I would stick my Tefillin in my backpack the next time I go biking. Just in case I meet a fellow Jew who hasn’t put on Tefillin. And that time is now.

But I don’t want to do it. What if I get rejected? What if they say I’m weird? Worse, what if they don’t say that but give me the look? My palms begin to sweat, begging me to preserve the car keys and my fragile self-esteem. Instead, I grab the helmet.

A minute later, I face my first choice. Which route to take? I sit on the sun-soaked seat of my bike, looking both ways. Head right, it's a quieter block, less likely to meet anyone, a small voice urges me. I swallow and go left.

Why is it that I’m a full-grown adult and yet still afraid of rejection? I pedal faster, hoping I run into a sweet old man or someone who doesn’t speak English. Then I can ask, discharge my obligation, and relax. Instead, up ahead, I see a middle-aged man with slick trousers and dark hair crossing the street. I pull up behind him, ready to ask the question. He’s wearing a Yarmulkeh. I breathe a sigh of relief and pedal past.

Ok, Ok. I’ll ask the next person. The next person will be the one Hashem has sent me. I race under the shade of a large tree and turn the corner onto the next block. Is the reason I’m so nervous because of all the anti-Israel haters out there? Am I afraid if I ask someone if they’re Jewish, they’ll curse me and spew poison? I see a figure up ahead. It’s an older lady in a lacy hijab. I wave and smile. She’s on the phone but smiles back.

I’m almost at my destination. I did it. I almost asked two people. I can relax now. But I know I can’t. My resolution wasn’t for myself. It was for the hostages. I can not bear to think about the suffering and pain they’re enduring. The breaking of body, mind, and spirit….if they have to suffer that, the least I can do is suffer a fleeting moment of social disdain. My sisters and brothers are fighting. I must help. Even if it’s pathetically small in comparison.

And then I see what I don’t want to see. A young, good-looking guy on the phone. His face says it all. I’m busy. Don’t bother me. I begin to pedal past him. After all, I don’t want to make a bad name for Jews. Then I swerve, right towards him. Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” This is my thing. It’s not big but it’s mine. And it’s not for me. It’s for them.  The hostages.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Jewish?”

He looks at me and gives me the look. I feel my entire body tensing up. Then he responds slowly, “Yes, I am.”

“Would you like to put on Tefillin?”

He sizes me up. A bushy beard on a bike. And then breaks into a grin. “Yes, I would.”

I don’t believe it. But it’s happening. He’s finishing his phone call. Then, right there on the street, as cars pass by and people stare, he’s rolling up his sleeve and donning the boxes that proclaim the unity of G-d and the pride of our people. He says the blessings. We say the Shema together. He tells me about the recent Bar Mitzvah of his son. And the entire time I can’t stop smiling.

Because I did it. I moved past myself for the greater good. For someone else. And no one else will know this silly battle I fought in my head.

Until now.

#MoshiachNow