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By Alan Morinis Two parts of my life collided last month, and I am very happy and grateful to report that the impact generated nothing but joy. From the moment I took my Mussar studies out of the library and into a search for a Mussar teacher, the two people filling those roles have been Rabbi Yechiel and Rebbetzin Shoshana Perr. You may have come to know both of them as central characters in my book, Climbing Jacob’s Ladder, or you may have seen their names in the dedication of my later book, Everyday Holiness. For more than ten years now, I have been the beneficiary of love and guidance, stories and help from my two primary Mussar teachers. My love for them runs so deep and strong. And, since 2004, my closest and most consistent companions and collaborators in the work of opening up the Mussar tradition to the current generation in an accessible way have been the board of directors of The Mussar Institute. So much has happened in such a short time, and most of the credit for that growth goes to the group of sweet and capable souls who sit around our board table (or would, if we had such a thing) to plan strategy, make decisions, and handle our work. When it was time for the annual meeting of The Mussar Institute, I had the idea of bringing the members of the board of directors to Far Rockaway, Long Island to spend Shabbat in the Perrs’ community and to meet with both Rabbi and Rebbetzin Perr. You could speculate that my reasoning was that I felt the board would be positively influenced by the Perrs, as I have been. Or maybe you’d think I was thinking that board members might be harboring deep questions that could now be asked directly of my teachers. But in reality, I just wanted to see what would happen when the board members and the Perrs sat down across a small table from one another. Though they were very related to each other, these two important parts of my life had been kept separate to that moment, and I wanted to see what would happen if I knitted the two together in some way. The weekend was festive. Each board member was housed with a different family, all of whom live within a short walk of the yeshiva. The community is thoroughly committed to Orthodox Judaism while the board of directors of The Mussar Institute is diverse. Yes, there are two Orthodox rabbis on the board. But another member is the Director of Education at a Reform temple, while other members belong to Conservative synagogues, and some are unaffiliated. Some board members had not had much exposure to Orthodox home life and were concerned that they’d make gaffes that would be embarrassing, if not worse. I told a story I had heard about someone being a guest at a Shabbat table who reached over to get the basket with the sliced challah, and as he brought it to himself the candles on the table ignited the napkin that was lining the basket. I reassured my friends that they were unlikely to find themselves holding a flaming breadbasket, so they should prepare to be considerate, but relax about the possibility of getting it wrong. Some members also had never prayed in a yeshiva, and for that concern I was able to offer the words Rabbi Perr spoke to me when I was the fumbling newcomer who worried that I’d embarrass myself by doing something totally boneheaded in the prayer hall. “What do you think?” he asked. “You think they’re here to look at you?” But as perhaps only I could anticipate, since I was the only one to be familiar with both parties to this blind date, it went off without a hitch. Every one of the host families received their guests with warmth and consideration, and the guests were just as warm, while being as careful as they could be to stay within the bounds of their host families’ ways. The “main event” (besides a very productive board meeting that took place all day Sunday in room provided by the yeshiva) was lunch on Shabbat, after prayers, when the members of the board and the Perrs shared the table. Envision five men and four women and just the Perrs, an intimate affair. Rabbi Perr made Kiddush for the table, and soon the gefilte fish was being passed and we were launched. We shared that table for over three hours. The Perrs were generous with their time, and they found before them a great audience for their stories, perspectives and personal views about the work we are doing and how we are going about it. The board members were unanimous in being touched by the warmth, humor and intelligence my teachers displayed. More than once Rabbi Perr started to answer a question, only to be interrupted by a quiet word or nudge from his wife, who either diverted where he was going or took over herself. One thing that made me very happy was to see the members of the board hearing stories of Mussar greats of past generations who were being discussed not as saintly historical characters or names in remote books, but as living, breathing people. Rabbi Perr told a long story about Rabbi Yisrael Yaakov Lubchansky, who was the Mussar mashgiach of the Baronovitch yeshiva. Rabbi Lubchansky married the daughter of the Alter of Novarodok, whose other daughter was married to Rabbi Avrohom Yoffen. Rabbi Yoffen was Mrs. Perr’s grandfather, and it was Rabbi Yoffen who gave Rabbi Perr rabbinic ordination. Suddenly, stories about Rabbi Lubchansky that board members may have heard from me, like about his Elul custom of addressing the yeshiva after Shabbat in a pitch-black room filled with spiritual electricity, took on a new and living quality. As respectful as the conversation was, no one felt reluctant to shy away if the topic veered toward contentious subjects. A good chunk of time was spent discussing the place and roles of women in Orthodox society, and a variety of different views and convictions were expressed, not all of them compatible. The world’s problems would be much less intractable if other people could manage the elevated quality of listening and thinking that occurred at that table, along with sincere attempts to communicate in authentic and respectful ways. Rabbi Perr was very clear in encouraging our work. When asked what role Mussar could play in helping people contend with the challenges, falseness and emptiness of modern life, he answered, “It’s the only hope.” The board members heard, and were strengthened. Now that the meeting has taken place, I feel more complete in my life. It isn’t just that the convergence of the two worlds went so well; my sense of greater completion derives more from the very fact that it took place at all. Having my Mussar teachers in one room and my close collaborators lin another introduced an impediment to the flow of energy in this work and in my life. That barrier no longer exists, and I can feel that something has been freed up to flow without obstacle. It is my hope, my prayer and my intention that the good will, love, respect and wisdom that came together around a lunch table in the basement of the Yeshiva of Far Rockaway last month will create a blessing for more and more souls, in real and tangible ways. I think that the Perrs and the members of the board of the Mussar Institute would join me in that. I hope you do, too.
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