A Rabbi's Mission: Bridging Cultures to Preserve Jewish Identity

It was about ten years ago when Avshalom Baskin was living in Miami. As someone who had started working in outreach, he visited a secular school intending to engage Jewish children and teach them a bit about Judaism. With one of the kids, he tried to learn the basic Hebrew letters, but the child seemed upset. "He told me that during the previous recess, a friend pushed him without any reason," Baskin recalls. "When he asked, 'What did I do to you?' the friend answered, 'It's because you're Jewish.' The child then told me it didn't end there: 'The friend told me that we will meet in ten minutes in the yard, fight, and see who wins. I was so scared that before we started fighting, I recited the *Shema Yisrael*...' "Hearing this gave me chills," says Baskin. "We're not talking about Russia during the Communist days or World War II, but about Miami in 2012. These are the experiences Jewish children face there." **_Source: Dissolving Traditions Through Assimilation_** Baskin repeatedly encountered harsh tales from Jewish families moving abroad and was shocked every time. "I'm originally Israeli myself," he shares. "I was born and raised in Jerusalem, studied at the *Yeshiva Or Israel*, then moved for a short while to stay with my grandmother in Miami Beach. During that period, I attended a yeshiva in Miami led by Rabbi Yochanan Zweig, who suggested a special match for me—his niece. This way, I married my wife, Sherry, and moved to Miami Beach." As time passed in the U.S., Baskin became increasingly aware of the significant issues among Israelis who emigrated and lived abroad. "It's genuinely heartbreaking," he explains, "because private school tuition, including Jewish schools in the U.S., costs around $20,000 per year per child. Assuming a typical emigrated family from Israel has three school-aged children, they need over $5000 a month just for their education, which is not feasible for most families. As a result, they often compromise, sending their children to secular schools. "The problem is further compounded because most people sending their kids to these schools hardly see any issue with it. They think sending them to a Jewish school on Sundays or for afternoon classes suffices. While it might seem logical when the children are young, years later, they marry someone from a different background, and then it's too late to change things. "This personally pained me greatly," he notes, "and I tried initiating conversations with these families to explain how they are risking their children's future. Unfortunately, the families, even those considered traditional, couldn't comprehend my explanations. Some even questioned, 'What’s the issue if the child marries someone non-Jewish? He’ll still be Jewish himself.' "This is a severe state that people back in Israel can't even imagine," adds Baskin. "In the U.S., there is a significant allure to marrying non-Jewish partners, and these partners themselves often seek Jewish men. I know that in places like Florida, some schools officially teach students how intelligent and wealthy Jews are, naturally encouraging girls to pursue Jewish boys." **_The Decision: Opening a School_** Early on, when Baskin began reaching out to the Jewish population and engaging in outreach, he realized he had a unique ability that not everyone possessed. "Since I grew up in Israel, I came with all the slang and Israeli language, being able to communicate with Israeli immigrants in their language. On the other hand, since I speak English and am knowledgeable about American culture, I can represent American mentality. Having studied in esteemed yeshivas also enables me to voice *halachic* opinions. I discovered I could influence a significantly large audience without even meaning to." Baskin understood he had to act. "Even then, I started visiting secular schools, voluntarily taking out Jewish kids to study with them during recess. Of course, this was done with the parents' and schools' permissions. I primarily taught them the Hebrew *alef-bet*, thus connecting with groups of Jewish children in each school." In the process, he heard personal struggles, like the one mentioned at the beginning of this article. "In another case," he recalls, "a child told me that during lunch recess, some 'friends' shoved a ham sandwich up his nose, saying, 'Smell it, smell it. If you eat it, we'll give you 20 dollars.' The kid told me he didn’t succumb, but it's certainly a challenge." Over time, Baskin realized the importance of transferring Jewish children from such institutions to Jewish schools. Sometimes he succeeded, but other times, factors such as financial limitations of the parents or Jewish schools' inability to accept children from non-practicing Jewish homes hindered the process. "I reached the conclusion that the only way to make a change was to establish a school for children from immigrant Jewish families," says Baskin. He pauses to emphasize, "This was not just my idea; I had significant partners—Rabbi Kornfeld and Rabbi Zev Eretz, who supported me with administrative work and the essential funding required." **_Facilitating Outreach: Community Building_** Baskin's approach was not an ordinary one. "Going to supermarkets or other stores, I'd try to spot Jews. I spoke everyone's language. For some, the right approach was a reprimand, pointing out the grave damage they're causing their kids by not raising them within the Jewish nation; for others, I emphasized our academic standards when parents sought high-quality education for their children, and in other cases, I talked about values and morals. "One thing we strictly adhered to was not labeling our school as 'a school for Israeli immigrants,' knowing this would scare off those identifying as Americans, detached from Israel. In America, among Israeli immigrants, there is the concept of 'Israeliyada' they try to escape. So, we treaded carefully and named our school 'An Institution for Sephardic Communities.' We managed to create a unique staff, where the management is *Charedi*, as well as the educators, creating an environment free of religious coercion but deeply rooted in Torah education. "Eventually, the school opened under the wide umbrella of the Torah Umesorah network, which operates institutions across the U.S. Although this provided us with funding and allowed us to charge reduced tuition fees, it also demanded a great deal of effort, as we had to meet the expectations of all associated rabbis." Baskin talks about the exhausting yet rewarding journey of establishing the school. "After enrolling one child, then another, and hosting registration events, we reached 36 students in the school. While it might sound like a small number, in Miami, it's equivalent to a school with 360 students in Jerusalem." Managing the school was both challenging and thrilling. "As a principal, it was tough to see the situations Jewish children face, but at the same time, there was immense satisfaction knowing they are in the right hands. For instance, one day, a child approached me and asked, 'Rabbi, you mentioned we shouldn't drink wine touched by a non-Jew. Last Shabbat, we went to eat at McDonald's and brought wine for Kiddush. The waitress who served the food touched our wine. Were we supposed to continue with Kiddush or not?' "On the flip side, often, I'd hear of children who returned home from school questioning their parents, asking 'Why don't we do Kiddush?' or 'Why don’t we light Shabbat candles?' This led to an increased awareness, and many families strengthened their practices." **_Future Aspirations_** Baskin pauses and underlines that the establishment of the school in Miami was only the start of a broader initiative to promote Judaism. "As time passed, we realized there’s no reason to establish a school and community in Miami alone and not in other areas across the U.S. Thus, I found myself establishing the organization 'I Am Jewish,' which has branches in various communities nationwide, all working towards the same goal—to reach out to Israeli immigrants, gather them in communities, and strengthen them. In some places, we also establish institutions. I should also mention we’re looking for additional activists living in the U.S. with a suitable background." One of the main places where this success was replicated is in Orlando, Florida. "A few years ago, I relocated with my family to Orlando," Baskin shares. "We discovered a vast state that continually absorbs more and more residents, including Israeli Jewish immigrants. Many Jews also visit for vacations, as Orlando is considered a major tourist destination, and just the neighborhood we lived in draws 70 million tourists annually. The sad statistics reveal that there's a 98% assimilation rate among the Jews residing in Orlando, meaning that it's almost miraculous for a Jewish individual to marry a Jewish partner. When we arrived, we found only 40 Shabbat-observant families. It was a profound pain." But Baskin didn't focus solely on the pain; he saw opportunity and fertile ground for development. "I believed that if so many Israelis were arriving here, it was only natural to establish a Jewish community. It wasn't easy at all because, unlike Miami, where there are kosher stores and strong institutions for children, Orlando lacks kosher food outlets, and buying meat or poultry requires hours of travel, but we felt the need, and that’s how we arrived here." Initially, they relied on the foundation built by the existing community—North America's Chofetz Chaim community. "But we wanted to establish a community specifically for Israeli immigrants, so we gathered families around us. I was appointed as the community rabbi, and shortly after we moved, I was delivering 40 Torah classes a week." According to him, these classes were conducted in various unique locations. "Sometimes in malls or restaurants, and later we also redirected families to the Jewish school. One innovative idea we introduced was conducting study sessions with fathers who came in the mornings to drop off their children. My wife baked them delightful pastries, and I invited them to stay a bit longer for morning prayers and a coffee and pastry. What started as a ten-minute delay quickly led to a synagogue being established, fostering a growing community." The Orlando community developed a slightly different character from that in Miami. "I discovered many business people residing there, and over time I became involved in their lives, expressed interest in their experiences, and even offered to organize events like birthday parties, housewarmings, or celebrations of business successes. They invited community members to their homes, and I'd share *divrei Torah* at the events. Success was tremendous, and the community grew day by day. We now have a large synagogue building, many community-led events, and we're working on constructing a Mikvah." Baskin constantly looks forward, which has led to the foundation of even more communities across the U.S. through the organization he established, creating genuine connections with Jewish immigrants. "Initially, I'd send families through the organization across the country for outreach activities. Nowadays, because the coronavirus pandemic prevents residential changes, I mainly focus on contacting people already residing in these locations and asking them to participate. We’re present in areas like Arizona, Canada, Carolina, Los Angeles, and numerous other cities, where we’ve had the privilege to change the landscape. It’s clear to me it’s the most effective way to engage with this community," he reflects with excitement, "that’s my aspiration." **Where do you see yourself in ten years?** "I believe we will be all over the U.S. I don’t settle for anything less and don’t see this aspiration as an exaggeration." For further contact with Rabbi Baskin, email: [email protected].