The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

He looked confident as he went up for his Aliyah; no one could have realized that just a few years back, he had no formal knowledge of Judaism.

He said the Brochus flawlessly as my mind waxed nostalgic as I recalled our initial meeting.

It was more than eight years ago when a heavily accented Turkish Muslim sat before my desk, attempting to communicate his aspirations for his future life.

He looked nervous, yet at the same time, he was determined.

As I struggled to understand his English, he stated the words as clearly as he could: “I want to convert,” the words hanging in the air.

The fact that a non-Jew was sitting across from me inquiring about conversion was not unusual.

Generally, during the year, about a dozen people reach out to me regarding conversion.

Most are locals who either claim to have always “felt Jewish” or people who have had exposure to Orthodox Jews in different venues.

They are almost always not affiliated with any organized religion, and their birth religion is always a form of Christianity.

The man sitting in front of me was born in the tiny village of Kandilli, Turkey.

Of the close to ninety million people who live in Turkey, over 99% are Muslim.

This was the first time a Muslim man from a muslim country had reached out to me for conversion.

Needless to say, even without the Halacha’s mandate to dissuade converts from joining the tribe, his Turkish birth, coupled with his Muslim background, certainly was a serious concern and caused me to hit the pause button.

Yet he persevered,

After doing my due diligence, I decided to give him a chance.

As can be imagined, and perhaps rightly so, I began to receive weekly calls, emails, and face-to-face warnings from people who were convinced he was a Turkish/Muslim spy.

Yet, he persevered.

It took almost two full years.

There were times I wondered if he would stick with the program.

Yet, he pushed on, learning diligently with the Chavrusas I arranged for him and attending davening regularly.

Soon, his gentle nature and kind soul were recognized and appreciated by all.

Finally, on the fifth day of Adar Beis 2019, Erhan Deri became Yehudah ben Avrohom.

And now, as I looked up as he received his Aliyah, I shared in his Simcha.

Yehudah has continued to learn and grow, and on this Shabbos, Parshas Pinchas, he was celebrating his first siyum.

Yehudah and his Chavrusah had completed, after over three years of learning, the entire Massechta Brochus.

Normally, one’s family would be there to celebrate with the man making the Siyum.

However, as Yehudah is still searching for his Bashert and his birth family still resides in Turkey, I knew it was up to all of us at the Shul to celebrate this momentous occasion with him.

As I rose to speak that Shabbos, I realized that we are Yeuhdah’s family.

After relating the well-known insight of the Chofetz Chaim —that all converts trace their roots back to the minority of non-Jews who voted to receive the Torah, yet were “out-voted” by the majority —and Hashem orchestrates their “return “ to their actual roots, I did something I have never done in almost thirty years at the pulpit.

As I concluded my Mazel Tov to Yehudah, I announced, “Yehudah, today is your Bar Mitzvah. And as many a Bar Mitzvah boy marks the occasion with a Siyum, so too, you mark your coming of age with your Siyum. We must therefore celebrate as we would at a Bar Mitzvah.”

I then began a rousing niggun of “Siman Tov U’Mazel Tov!”

As the Shul sang, I descended from the Bimah and embraced Yehudah.

I grabbed his hands, and spontaneously, the entire Shul erupted in a spirited and heartfelt rikkud around the shulchan.

As the singing and dancing concluded, I gave Yedhuah one more hug.

With tears in his eyes, he responded in his simple and humble manner, “Thank you, Rabbi.”

As I walked back to my seat, I too quietly wiped away a tear shed with genuine happiness.