This true story about ShiraLee will surely convince you to follow in the path of our matriarch Sarah. * Challa – not what you thought!
I heard the following moving story from ShiraLee herself, a charming woman who is a dynamic shlucha. It is absolutely true and has a powerful message.
“If today, 27 years after that first Shabbos when we were guests there, I am working so hard in our place of shlichus,” says ShiraLee, “it is much to the credit of the abundance of chayus that I drew from there and … thanks to one shlucha, utterly silent in thought, speech and action, but soft and particularly flexible with penetrating eyes, which can bring about unbelievable changes.”
How is that possible, you wonder? Read on.
ShiraLee tells:
I was in the eleventh grade. My parents were getting more involved in Judaism in general and Chabad in particular. I hopped along at my own pace. For me it was a particularly intense time with plans, matriculation exams, projects and assignments. I was disconnected from my Judaism except for the Shabbasos we spent as guests at a Chabad family in the city we lived in, in the center of Eretz Yisroel. They were a special family who opened their hearts and souls to us. They had endless patience and loved to explain things to us and greatly inspired us.
I remember that first Shabbos. That Friday, I was exhausted after having taken a history exam the day before. We had been invited for Shabbos by our host family (whom you will soon get to know) and this was a wonderful break for my parents and me.
We were greeted with the scent of Gan Eden and a table crowded with guests from all walks of life. After a warm welcome from our host, our host recited Kiddush and we were asked to wash our hands. I was guided, for the first time in my life, by the hostess, in how to wash and its significance. “And if you want,” she winked at me, “we can continue talking afterward.” I sat down together with my parents and was impressed by our host’s patience in waiting for the very last of the guests to sit down. Then he said the bracha, cut the challa, and distributed it.
A TASTE WHICH
COMBINED STRENGTH
AND GENTLENESS
I’ve always had a weakness for dough, but this taste … I never tasted this before! The taste was far more complex and refined than my ability to verbalize. Today I know that the taste is of Shabbos.
While I was enjoying my piece of challa, I found myself putting another piece and then another piece into my mouth. My mother could not understand what had happened to me. The hostess urged me to try the many salads but I could not eat anything but those heavenly challos.
My mother hinted to me, more than once, that I should be polite, for what I was doing was not acceptable, and even my father shot astonished looks at me, but I was somewhere else, as I thought I had discovered a magical world which began and ended with challa.
Until today, 27 years later, I don’t know what came over me. How did my senses of taste and smell become so absorbed and zero in on one taste, the taste of challa, and how was I not embarrassed to finish nearly an entire challa during the first course? Apparently, something stronger than me made me forget all my manners.
MY WEIRD DECISION
At that moment, I resolved that if I ever had a home like the home we were visiting, and if I became a baalas t’shuva, I would commit to baking amazing challos like these every week. I have no idea where this idea came from. I am the cool, rational type who is not swayed by emotion, nor did I know at the time what was involved and what sort of logistics awaited me … but let me not get ahead of myself.
There were Divrei Torah and niggunim which filled a deep void within me. When we said goodbye to our hosts I timidly asked, “Um, do you have … would it be possible … would it be okay … to bring some challa home?”
My parents, who were no less surprised than me, apologetically said to the hostess, “Her exhaustion from the matriculation exams and tests is having an effect on her …”
Fortunately, the hostess did not show any signs of displeasure and with her natural graciousness she placed a fragrant challa in my hand and said, “I am happy that you asked. I saw that you enjoyed it and had planned on giving you a challa. I was afraid I would forget so thank you for reminding me.”
My parents, as expected, rebuked me all the way home for my boorish behavior. I understood them but what was done could not be undone.
Now and then we went back to that family. My parents and I progressed. Every Shabbos there drew us into a gold mine of depth and beauty. We were good clients, it seems, and Hashem has many, creative ways to get people back to their roots. More than all the Shabbos experiences, I felt that I had a special connection with that heavenly taste and fragrance. There was something about the Challa that was mekarev me swiftly to my Father in Heaven.
I was accepted into seminary as a Bas Chabad in every respect, and at the end of my fourth year of study I married a Lubavitcher bachur and we went on shlichus in the south of the country. My dream was beginning to come true.
One of the first things that I did as a shlucha was of course to bake challos for Shabbos. At first I made challa out of just one kilo (2.2 lbs.), but the more guests we had, the more challa I made. Today, I bake four and a half kilo nearly every week. Homemade challos, as you probably all know, are unobtainable in any bakery no matter how wonderful.
“WHO IS GETTING A CHALLA TODAY?”
Five years ago, I committed to make Mesibos Shabbos every Friday night for children. I did not advertise my hachlata. That first Shabbos I just went out and gathered the children I saw and the rest is history. Word got around and we had mobilized a small army of children. The crowd is large and quite varied. The youngest is three months and the oldest is seventy. A few times already I have found myself sitting facing a child plus an accompanying parent (grandmother) who is there to see and hear and check out what the child is doing there for an hour every week.
It requires me to develop acrobatic tightrope walking in language, content, style and ideas in order to challenge, interest and to connect the content and Jewish-Chassidic message for the seniors, on the one hand, and to make it palatable for the youngest children, on the other hand. This is a challenging task which leads me to look into Likkutei Sichos, Mayan Chai, Shulchan Shabbos and stories of Chassidim to prepare for them. And then, to try and synthesize all that wondrous depth into simple language that is understood by all my “customers.”
It is very clear to me that Hashem hears prayers and helps me every Shabbos to arrange the words and sentences so that I don’t mess up. I pray that the message be understood and absorbed by young and old.
The structure of the Kabbalas Shabbos repeats itself as a ritual every week. I start with a message from a sicha of the Rebbe; we say the 12 P’sukim, make a good hachlata, give out a treat and … give out challa! Ever since I committed to making challa every week thanks to those challos which were m’chazek me and were mekarev me, I made another commitment to give a challa every week, in rotation, to a boy or girl who comes for the Kabbalas Shabbos.
The children look forward to the challa and since the scent hits them as they come in, they always ask, one after the other, “Who will be getting the challa today?” When the boy or girl gets a challa, everyone rejoices.
THE CHALLA THAT CHANGED THE LIFE OF RONI AND SHOSHI
Sometimes it happens that I am so tired from my Shabbos preparations that when Shabbos begins I wonder where I’ll get the strength to host 25 children and their parents and to give a lecture/presentation too. And each time, the tiredness makes way for a sense of shlichus and an inexplicable renewal of strength that comes from the meshaleiach himself.
That is what happened one Friday night for which I prepared from sun-up until nearly sunset. I prayed that I be granted new energy to complete the task ahead.
At precisely this point, two sweet girls came in and asked, “Is the Kabbalas Shabbos here?”
“Yes, of course,” I answered, “welcome.” I smiled and brought them in. They lit candles for the first time in their lives, saying it word by word after me. From the purity that shone forth from their faces, I could sense their excitement. That Shabbos was Parshas VaYeira and I spoke about the mitzva of Hafrashas Challa, about Sarah’s eagerness and joy, and about the meaning of this special mitzva. When we finished, I gave a challa to the two lovely girls and said, “Shabbat Shalom, I’d be happy if you joined us again.”
Three weeks went by and I had forgotten about them. Life on shlichus is demanding … Then Hashem, in extraordinary Divine Providence, had me see Part Two of the story. “Excuse me, are you ShiraLee?” I was suddenly asked when I returned from work.
“Yes, hello, how can I help you?”
“You live here, right?”
“Right.” I was tired from my morning shift and additional shifts awaited me at home. “Do you need something?” I asked, trying not to display my impatience.
“Yes … no … how I can tell you … I wanted to tell you something personal having to do with you …”
“Go ahead!” I said, and listened quite curiously.
“My name is Shoshi. I live on the next street. I’m not religious but I come from a home that is Shomer Shabbos to some extent. My father always made Kiddush over wine. When I grew up, I knew that I would have Kiddush in my home, just like in my father’s house. But it didn’t exactly work out. My husband comes from a HaShomer HaTzair (virulently anti-religious) kibbutz, and he greatly opposed all my Jewish wishes. For seventeen years now I have been pleading with him every Friday night, ‘Roni, please make Kiddush. What do you care? For you, for me, for the girls, and tradition …’ But he is not willing to do anything. I feel disappointed and frustrated and as far as doing it myself, I don’t want to. It reminds me of my father who passed away.”
She wiped away a tear and carried on. “Three weeks ago was my father’s yahrtzait. It was on a Friday and I went to his grave with the entire family and cried like a baby. I cried over my father, for the pain and sorrow, and also for the frustration that I cannot continue in his way. I promised my father that if a miracle occurred and my husband would make Kiddush, I would start to pray every day. When I left there, I felt an inexplicable feeling of relief.
“We went home and when I finished preparing for Shabbos, I went for a walk with my girls. We passed by your house and saw the children gathered there. I asked them whether something had happened and one girl said, ‘We get together here for Kabbalas Shabbos with ShiraLee.’ I loved the idea and said to my daughters, ‘I would like you to try joining this Kabbalas Shabbos. When you’re done, I will be waiting here on the bench.’ My girls caught my excitement and went in to you. When they returned, I welcomed them. I saw girls with shining eyes and a fragrant challa, one that could warm my broken heart. ‘Thank you, how beautiful!’ I enthused. ‘Come, let’s go home. Abba is waiting.’
“At home, I placed the challa carefully on a nice tray in the center of the table and stood there silently together with my daughters. My thoughts were a combination of prayers of thanks for the present, sad thoughts of the past, and hopes for a more Jewish future.
“My husband also came over to the table and my girls, who saw the surprise on his face, told him what happened when we went on a walk. I saw him contemplating the challa for some time as though trying to win over the storm raging within him.
“Then, as he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words, he mustered the strength and surprised us all when he said, ‘Such a beautiful challa and not to make Kiddush?!’
“I was in shock! I couldn’t move until I heard my husband say, ‘Shoshi, go bring your father’s Kiddush cup. For this challa, I am willing to make Kiddush!’”
Shoshi cried and I also shed some tears. I hugged her and said, “Your father and your Father in Heaven heard your prayer and on that same Friday they sent you an answer from Heaven with the gift of challa. Who ever said that challa cannot bring people back in t’shuva?”
G-DLY RECIPE. REALLY
It seems that the G-dly machinations within the reality of our existence extend beyond anything we can imagine. ShiraLee continued:
I recently went to Yerushalayim for my father’s yahrtzait. I prayed and hoped that this would be the last hour of galus and a year of Geula for all of us. It was a Friday and I got home exhausted. A quick glance at the time let me know that it would be Shabbos in four hours. The pace of the preparations was not especially gratifying and I remembered that I was having guests, one of whom called and said she got our number from Shoshi, her good friend. Because I was busy, I did not even ask her name.
I began giving orders from the front lines to the rear guard. The children, I was happy to notice, had an unusual fighting spirit, and within a four hour marathon we arrived at the finish line, Shabbos HaMalka, with smiling faces. I was just a bit bothered about my challos that did not have enough time to rise.
“You can’t have everything,” I repeated to myself for the umpteenth time. I sent up a silent prayer to Hashem and my father, whose grave I had visited that day: My father and my Father in Heaven, please help me so that from Above all the tastes of the finest and most heavenly baked goods that exist in the world will join my earthly, homemade challos on the Shabbos table… and not shame us and the Shabbos table, so we can fulfill our shlichus and our mission on this earth.
As I was finishing this prayer as I lit candles, I heard a knock at the door. “Shabbat shalom, I am Dalia who called to be your guest. My good friend Shoshi recommended that I call you. She lives one block over and loves you! She said you are a wonderful person. Thanks in advance for the fantastic hosting. I am happy I came to the right place, right?”
“Yes,” I replied warmly. “Shabbat shalom and welcome Dalia. Make yourself comfortable.”
While we exchanged pleasantries, the time passed and my husband walked in with our four sons plus two angels. As they sang the traditional “Shalom Aleichem,” I took advantage of the presence of the angels to express a silent prayer to the Creator of the world and His angels that they do something about my challos before they leave.
“Please G-d, do it for the sake of the ladies of the house so they are not shamed, do it for Your Name’s sake, do it for the sake of the Hafrashas Challa that is done as a part of the shlichus to reach out to Your children…”
“For you Dalia,” I placed a piece of challa in front of her and waited tensely. Dalia tasted it, closed her eyes and then … her face lit up.
“I can’t believe it. This is the first time I am tasting such excellent challa, baked inside, and baked outside, just right! How do you do it?”
“Uh,” I stammered. “It’s a G-dly recipe,” I said (and meant every word I said).
“You can tell,” nodded Dalia as I heaved a sigh of relief.
CLOSURE AFTER 27 YEARS
Before I served the second course and was collecting the challa, Dalia said to me, ‘I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I am usually particular about eating special organic spelt bread, and even if I’m a guest somewhere and forget to bring it with me, I don’t have any other bread, not even a taste. I manage with vegetables and grains. But here, something inexplicable is drawing me to eating more and more of this special challa. Please don’t take the challa near me.”
The meal was engaging, with niggunim and Divrei Torah. When it was time to say goodbye, I couldn’t help but ask Dalia, “How did you get to us?”
Dalia, as though waiting for this question, said, “Shoshi and I were junior detectives at the police station for ten years here until I moved abroad. I became interested in religion, Chabad in particular, and whenever I came to Eretz Yisroel I spent Shabbasos with Shoshi which was not a problem. But this time, I couldn’t stay with her. I keep a higher standard of kosher and Shoshi is still not there yet. I asked her before I flew in if she has an idea for me and she said, ‘Yes, I do. Our shluchim will probably be happy to have you, ShiraLee bakes fantastic challos thanks to which my husband makes Kiddush every Friday night.’”
I listened to Dalia and some things fell into place for me.
“If you wouldn’t mind my asking …” Dalia asked shyly. “There is something G-dly about your challos, an unusual flavor. If you have any extra challa … um, I’d be happy to have some.”
What?! I wanted to shout, but I restrained myself. I gave her a large and fragrant challa and we parted with a warm hug.
I barely managed to keep my tears in check until Dalia had left. They were tears of joy, emotion, and endless thanks to Hashem. Because precisely this very situation is one I had experienced 27 years ago when I asked for challa, and now I gave challa … Hashem has amazingly creative ways to connect the dots, to inspire people and to affect closure. For me, it was a special gift and a wonderful way to develop greater appreciation and deeper insight into Divine Providence.
Thank you Hashem for teaching me a lesson in hospitality that the calculations we make don’t necessarily match with the G-dly plan. G-d wisely directs His world so that very often the biggest disadvantages for us are advantages for others.
I took something else from this story. I made the firm hachlata to bake more and more and more challa! We have the ability to reach out to others with pleasantness and blessings, love and compassion; in the neighborhood, at work, on shlichus, and mainly within our own homes.