from the heart of jerusalem: rabbi binny freedman

Loving the ‘ger’ as we love ourselves

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That we should love the stranger, the ger, is the fourth mitzvah in Maimonides’ Hilchot Deot (laws of ethical relationships). And as one is not meant to remind a person that he or she is a convert, I will change the names and details of this story, but the story is true. 

A number of years ago a student in our program always perked up when I was teaching the special mitzvah of loving the convert. His mother was a giyoret (convert) and he shared the following story with me:

Since he was already a boy old enough to understand when his mother converted, our student himself also had to undergo a conversion of sorts, including immersion in the mikveh. Having grown up in a small farming community in the middle of no-where and now moved to a big city, he was more than a little intimidated at the thought of immersing in a mikveh and being questioned as to his intentions of joining the Jewish people by a rabbinic court of three rabbis. 

He was ready to start a new life, to join the Jewish people; but wondered if they would accept him. At that point, a tall bald rabbi whose name he has since forgotten, but whose voice is forever seared into his memory, changed his life. The rabbi, tasked with ascertaining whether this boy was ready to join the Jewish people, asked his parents if were from the South. 

“Yes,” they replied hesitantly, “North Carolina.”

The rabbi’s eyes lit up as he told his story which began in Pittsburgh. He had been a young rabbi, travelling the country performing ceremonies and presiding over rituals in smaller remote Jewish communities. One of the remote areas he used to frequent, he recalled, was a small town called New Bern, North Carolina. Everyone’s ears perked up; no one they met had ever heard of New Bern before.

The rabbi recalled that every time he had stepped off the train in New Bern, he was met by a kind-hearted Jewish man named Harold Orringer who greeted him with a kosher corned beef sandwich and a homemade pickle. He had never forgotten the kindness of that special man. 

For a moment, time simply stopped. Finally, our young student’s father broke the silence: “That kind man was my father.”

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