tefillin – definition series
I remember my first time putting on tefillin. It was a whole big thing. I actually wrote down an interesting series of events that happened to me revolving around tefillin – it appears underneath the picture.
Tefillin and Car Crashes
A couple years ago something hit me and I started to dive back into the rich history, culture and religion of my Jewish roots. I don’t know what it was exactly that sparked this drive to connect with my heritage but I remember feeling invigorated and if I’ve learned anything from my short time here in this world it’s that motivation often dies quickly so you have to grab it while it’s alive and kicking. I made connections with different rabbis and started to learn a little bit of Torah, I brushed up on my own family history, and I decided that this might be a good time to try on my old tefillin.
I remember rummaging through my parents house trying to find where I had hid this treasure when the better part of an hour suddenly zipped by and I was still empty handed. As I sifted through old school papers and scratched CDs I finally came upon the little bag that housed my tefillin. I brushed the lint off the black velvet and ran my fingers across my Hebrew name that my father had embroidered on the face of the bag. With a slow, swift motion I unzipped the top of the sack and the unmistakable smell of leather straps and plastic encasings hit me in the face. A sudden rush of memories from my Bar-Mitzvah ran through my mind. My mother trying to peek at me through the mechitzah that kept men and women separate at my temple, the shaky nerves that overcame me as I read my first aliyah from the Torah, and the foggy scenes of a crazy party with an open bar that followed.
I loosened the strap and slid the house of the arm tefillin up to my bicep and pulled it tight when I realized that I had no clue how to put on tefillin. I thought, foolishly, that it would be like riding a bike but over ten years after my Bar-Mitzvah all I could muster up in my mind was some vague notion of seven loops and a weird pattern on the hand. I was a lost Jew and as most Jews do when they’re lost, I went to YouTube. With the help of a few Chabbad rabbis and a couple of webcams I found myself wrapping tefillin in fifteen minutes. I stood in the center of my parents’ house trying to remember which way was east and said the first line of the shema – the only blessing I could remember.
As I stood there wrapped in my tefillin I saw a picture of my 13-year-old self starring at me on the wall. It was a snapshot of me smiling as I held the Torah, wrapped in tefillin with a full head of hair – three things that I thought only existed in my memory. Yet there I was wrapped in my Bar-Mitzvah straps trying to cling to something that was once so readily available at my fingertips. I felt my lips part and start praying to G-d. It wasn’t the amidah or aleinu, it wasn’t organized, it wasn’t even in Hebrew. I just stood there and for the first time in over a decade I found myself talking to the Almighty. What do you say to someone who already knows everything about you? What could you say to someone who knows your darkest secrets, your deepest desires?
“Hi, G-d.”
I paused half-expecting an answer. I suppose the narcissist in me thought that if I had taken the time out of my very busy day to put on tefillin the least G-d could do was say hello.
“It’s Jon Dabach,” I remember saying thinking that G-d might not remember me or at least he might not recognize me since it had, after all, been a long time since I checked in with him.
And slowly but surely I managed to get through an entire conversation. I told G-d about all that had happened to me in the last ten years, reminding myself at the same time about all the things I had been through and what college was like. I told G-d about my plans for the future and what I dreamed my family would one day look like. It was a good conversation and left me feeling like there was someone in my corner. Amazingly I had forgotten that G-d was a great listener.
It was such an invigorating experience that I promised G-d that I would put tefillin on everyday from that point on. I would take the few minutes time necessary to wrap my tefillin on at some point of the day and check in with him.
Months passed and I had stayed true to my promise. I found time, sometimes longer than other, but at the very least a few minutes before nightfall (as I had learned that we’re not supposed to wear tefillin at night) to wrap myself in tefillin and check in with G-d. I had learned the whole shema and started getting comfortable reading Hebrew again. I even sprung for a new siddur as the one I had was old and falling apart.
Sadly, as the months passed I found myself rushing through the process. I would quickly wrap the tefillin on my arm and head. I would rush through a hurried prayer or two and tell G-d that not much has changed before unwrapping and placing everything back into the velvet bag until the next day where I would routinely go through the motions again. I even started to wonder if G-d was listening or if it was all just the product of an over-active imagination coupled with a yearning to connect with something bigger.
This habit continued until one day in June when, in celebration of my brother Michael getting into college, my brothers decided it would be fun if we went to an amusement park for the day. As is a common practice in my family, we got up early and got to the park in the first hour of opening so that we could get on all the rides without getting stuck in the mid-day lines. The day quickly faded and it suddenly dawned on me that there was no way we were going to make it back before nightfall and my chance at wrapping tefillin for the day was gone.
Although I was a bit upset I stayed quiet on the drive home as everyone had seemed to have a great time. Everyone, that is, except for my older brother Alan who hadn’t been to an amusement park in a few years and had forgotten how much the movement of a fast roller coaster could upset your stomach. About twenty minutes into the ride my brother couldn’t take it anymore and asked me to pull to the side of the freeway so he could get some fresh air. A few minutes had passed and my brother hadn’t come back to the car. In my concerned state, I opened the door and got out of the car when I heard a WHACK and felt left arm fly into the air.
A side-view mirror of a small white car had driven into my hand at over 70 miles per hour and I let out an audible scream. My poor, sick brother, thought that I had been hit by a car and panicked but thank G-d, it was just my hand. A couple minutes later my fingers started to swell up until they were double in size. We stopped at a gas station to get some ice and popped into an urgent care facility to x-ray about an hour later and found that nothing had been broken. I was all set to go home just let it rest.
The next morning the swelling started to go down but the pain started to set. It was a weird pattern of pain and swelling that affected some parts of my hand more than others. I grabbed my tefillin soon after I woke up and started wrapping them tightly against my arm ready to tell G-d all about the day at the park when I reached the part of the wrapping that went around my hand. I looped the strap around my palm and stood there in shock as I saw that the only finger not affected by the incident was my middle finger – the finger we wrap tefillin around. I found myself with a new, strengthened sense that G-d was listening and continued to wrap tefillin for months.
Of course that exciting feeling that let me know G-d was listening faded again and just as my brother was ready to leave for college he decided to go out for one last meal with his friends. I had grown very close to him over the years and he invited me to join his small entourage in this one final soirée at his favorite local restaurant. I had known very well that I hadn’t put on my tefillin that day and knew that going to dinner would mean missing my opportunity but I thought “what’s one day? I’ll pick it all back up tomorrow.”
Dinner was great fun and we split up into two cars to drive back home. My brother Michael, a confident 18 year old with a clean driving record, was behind the wheel but in light of what happened the last time I skipped my tefillin session I took it upon myself to remind him to drive carefully. “You’re going to college tomorrow,” I said. “Don’t get in a car accident. That would totally ruin your trip.”
Ten minutes into the drive we were all laughing when a small white car slammed into our passenger side sending us swerving through the speeding traffic. My brother and his friends screamed in horror and I locked up in defense as I saw our car’s steering wheel freeze. The car swerved head-on into the center divider of the freeway. The unmistakable crunch of metal sounded as the airbags deployed. Just as mysteriously as the small white car had appeared it had vanished. Witnesses were kind enough to pull over and give testimony to the police of the hit and run. Thank G-d nobody was seriously injured, just a few bumps and bruises. I, myself, had bruised my tailbone and remember thinking to myself “my hands are fine this time….not like last time. This can’t have anything to do with my tefillin.” The power of rationality is often times scary.
The next morning I got up and put my tefillin on, still a bit shaky. My tailbone throbbed whether I was sitting or standing so I decided to do it right and stand as I recited the amidah. I took three steps back and started to pray. I bent my knees on the first word as I had learned to do and as I moved into a full bow with my back and legs straightened the throbbing stopped of my bruised tailbone stopped and the pain went away. I must have stayed in that prostrated position for a full three or four minutes before continuing with the rest of the prayer.
I wish I could say that between the two car accidents I learned my lesson and kept putting on tefillin but that, unfortunately, is not the case. It wasn’t long after the second car accident that I found myself driving the highway around 6:00pm and I had not yet wrapped tefillin. I kept searching the road for small white cars and prayed that I should get home safely and I did. This time, the third time, there was no car crash, there was no accident sent from above to wake me up. I was able to get home without a scratch and I was a bit surprised to find myself disappointed instead of relieved. One would imagine my gratitude for getting home okay but I felt like a child who got an F on his term paper but instead of being punished my dad just plain old didn’t care. G-d, I felt, was giving me the silent treatment and it hurt much more than the car accidents did.
Does G-d listen? Of course he does. The question we should be asking ourselves is do we want G-d to listen?
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