We went today to visit a town by the name of Terezin (Theresienstadt), located in the Czech Republic. It was a very powerful visit, as this was a former ghetto/concentration camp used by the Nazis (may their names be blotted out) to fool the world into thinking that they were treating the Jews well. Thank G‑d we brought our tefillin with us!

When we first arrived, we headed to the ''small fortress,'' which was used to house prisoners as well as where those deemed enemies were tortured and executed. We saw people from all over the world there, coming to see the monstrosities that had taken place. We were able to speak to many of them about how to keep peace and love in this world. Many of the non-Jews who we saw there were extremely interested in the 7 Noahide laws.

We headed over to the old Jewish ghetto, to see the synagogue and crematorium. As we were heading into the main complex at the cemetery we saw a few men walking out. One of them had a guitar in hand and was singing Hebrew songs. As I said, "Shalom Aleichem," he began to speak to me in Hebrew. After a quick minute of conversation I asked the man with the guitar if he'd like to put on tefillin, affirming a live and positive Judaism in the face of tragedy and death." He responded by telling me that he would love to, but that they were late to catch a bus...

As I wished them success in all of their journeys, I let out a sigh, as I saw the place where they used to burn the bodies of murdered Jews. We looked around and felt a strong emotional wave crashing over our heads. After a half-hour we realized that we needed to head back to the main square to catch the last bus back to Prague. As we reached to center complex, I saw a familiar face sitting on a road-railing. I breezed up to my Israeli friend with a smile, as he began rolling up his sleeve...

The cynical words posted above the entrance to the concentration camp read, "Work makes free."

Rabbi Barash of Prague sent us to explore some of the areas surrounding Prague, where we could make contact with some of the 3,000 Jews who live scattered around the Czech Republic. The day’s destination was a town called Karlovy Vary, a spa city situated in western Bohemia, where thousands of tourists and residents of Prague go to visit. It is known for its relaxing atmosphere and therapeutic hot springs. We have heard that rebbes of Chabad visited this spa resort. (Most notable are the visits made by the third and fourth rebbes.)

The moment we got off the bus, we ran into a family visiting from Israel. The ladies asked us for some candles for Shabbat, and we gave them some. We offered the men a chance to put on tefillin, and they were excited to do so.

Hekping our newfound friends with the Shema prayer.

Throughout our journey, we met several tourists who were amazed that Chabad sends students around the world for the summer. It seems like the locals are thankful that their city doesn’t go unnoticed, and they appreciate the efforts taken to help keep Judaism alive in the outlying regions of the Czech Republic.

We made a stop at the kosher hotel/restaurant, Lauretta, home to great kosher dining. The owner treated us to a delicious lunch, as well as some personal stories of life in the city. It is amazing how Jews from all over the world meet each other in this corner of Eastern Europe.

In front of the kosher hotel.

After lunch, we made a stop in the Pupp Hotel—believed to be the place where the rebbes of Chabad stayed during their visits.

Toward the evening, we started to make our way to the bus station to go back home. Looking at the time, we realized that we had about 30 minutes to walk all the way back across the city to the bus terminal and get on the bus. Along the way, we continued to meet several tourists from Israel and France. We directed them to the kosher restaurant, dispensed mitzvahs, and even gave directions to spas. Apparently, we were now regarded as natives.

The Pupp Hotel.

With ten minutes to go before our bus would leave, we met a Jewish resident of Karlovy Vary—a rarity in the tourist area of the city.

One minute after we arrived at the bus terminal, the bus pulled up, and a line formed. The bus was full, so it was a good thing we had bought tickets beforehand. While on the bus, we reflected back on the day, and how G‑d’s miracles and His divine providence aren’t just confined to the city of Prague, but also its neighboring cities . . . and the world.

A few days ago I mentioned to Leibel that despite the fact that we’ve met at least three hundred Poles on our travels throughout the Czech Republic, not one of them had been Jewish. Leibel responded by rhetorically asking me, “You know why?” We both looked downward in silence; no more needed to be spoken on the subject . . .

We were stationed by our mitzvah booth in the old Jewish quarter of Prague. As I saw a man and his son walking in our direction, I approached them with a smile. “Shalom, where are you guys from?” I asked. “Poland!” With our prior conversation on my mind, I began to say that we’ve spoken with a lot of people from Poland, but never had we met a Jewish Pole. The man innocently smiled as he turned his hand and pointed towards himself. I lit up with excitement, “Really, you’re Jewish? It’s so great to meet you!” I shook his hand and he returned my energy, as he explained that his mother’s mother had been Jewish.

He went on to say that he wasn’t raised Jewish, and wasn’t really sure if he was even Jewish at all. I quickly reassured him that he is 100 percent Jewish, just as much a Jew as I. He told me his name is Robert, and the conversation turned towards the tefillin that he saw I was holding in my arm. As I explained a little how the tefillin affect us, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually, he seemed very interested—as was his son. It turned out, however, that his son is not Jewish.

Before we knew it, Robert was rolling up his sleeve, eager to begin. We put on the tefillin, said Shema together, and spoke about the unity of the Jewish people, who are like one body. We spoke about the seven Noahide mitzvahs incumbent on all mankind, and I gave Robert’s son, Peter, a card with the name of a website that he could visit. Robert walked away with his son, but kept looking back over his shoulder at the tefillin, smiling . . .

After eating lunch at the Chabad-operated kosher restaurant, Shelanu, we decided to set up our Judaism stand for a second round. It had been a good day: we already had helped eighteen men put on tefillin, including four first-timers. We stood outside the Maharal’s synagogue for another forty-five minutes. However, the crowd had thoroughly thinned, and there were no longer any tourists.

We decided to split up: Leibel was heading back to the Chabad House to learn, and I agreed to put away stand and supplies at the restaurant. I only asked that he leave with me his tefillin, just in case . . .

It was nearing 6 o’clock as I headed back. For reasons unknown to me at the time, I decided to take an unusual route.

On my way, I met a fellow named Ari who was in Prague just for the day, on his way home to Berlin. He asked me about the gravesite of the Maharal. They actually charge for entry. I told him that, as a Jew who wants to pray at the gravesite of a tzaddik (righteous man), it was unnecessary to pay, but he would have to go to the Jewish Community Center in order to receive a free admission pass. He didn’t know where the building was, and I told him it was actually closed for the night, and he would have to come back tomorrow. He replied that he was leaving Prague within the next hour. We were stumped. Just then an Israeli couple I had met earlier at our stand approached me to say hello and see how everything was. We explained the situation. The man smiled widely as he reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a ticket! He said he was leaving in the morning and had no further use for the ticket, as he handed it over to Ari.

It was now very close to the closing time of the cemetery, and Ari would have to hurry if he wished to have enough time to say Tehillim (Psalms) there. Ari thanked my friend earnestly as he took off towards the entrance of the graveyard, grinning from ear to ear.

After exchanging a few parting words with Yair (the man from Israel), I gave him some money to give to charity in Israel, thus making him an agent of goodness.

I continued on my way back to Chabad. Less than two doors from the Chabad center, I saw someone wearing athletic gear and a backpack walking opposite me. I felt it appropriate, and I asked him, “Excuse me, are you Jewish?” Surprised, he replied, “Yes, I am. Good eye you have.”

After learning his Jewish name—Zev Wolf, it was—I asked him what he was doing in Prague. He told me he is a professional track runner, sponsored by and working for Nike. Nike had sent him and his colleagues to Prague for a meeting, and they were all headed to Sweden the next day for an international competition. I showed him the tefillin I had in my hand, and told him that this was the best way to receive blessings for success. Intrigued, he told me he had never heard of tefillin before, but he was quite interested to hear more now. I showed him toward the Chabad House, which was within arm’s reach, and we walked inside together.

He grew up in a town in Oregon where there were only two other Jews. We started to talk about tefillin, the unity of G‑d, and the G‑dliness that is hidden in this world. Zev was amazed. He told me that he heard of similar concepts, but had always associated them with Eastern philosophies. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that these concepts have their roots in Judaism!

After we put on the tefillin and said Shema together, we exchanged information as I walked him out of the Chabad House and down the block.

As we were finishing up a conversation with some tourists from Spain, I suddenly glanced over at our table with tefillin and Jewish literature, to find a whole family of four looking curiously at our setup and speaking Russian. I walked over, and with the few Russian words I know, greeted them and found out they were visiting from Russia.

The mother of the family was really the only one who could communicate well in English. She said to me, “your table caught my eye because I remember this man.”

She was pointing to a picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe (on a Twelve Torah Passages card we had on display). She then continued:

“I saw the Rebbe many years ago, back when he was giving out dollar bills in New York. He gave me one dollar for a much-needed blessing, and then, thank G‑d, not too long after, my son was born. Then I went back a year later, got another dollar from him, and my daughter was born.”

The lady was almost in tears. She had such a warm smile on her face as she introduced me to her two children and her husband.

Finally, she asks me, “Please, you can help me? My son, he has never put on tefillin before. Can you help him put it on for the first time?”

I helped the young man put on tefillin, and the whole family got to share in the joy. The young man said the Shema prayer with such excitement, realizing his connection to his Jewish roots.

It’s such an amazing thing. To be in the old Jewish shtetl in Prague, where tens of thousands of Jews long ago fought for their Judaism with self-sacrifice. And, after the many hardships the Jews of Eastern Europe experienced, we find a young man from Russia, on his family vacation to the Czech Republic, reconnecting to his Jewish soul, and leaving a lasting impression on me, his family, and the old city as a whole.

The other evening, we headed over to the Chabad-run restaurant, Shelanu, for dinner. As I walked inside I saw three tourists sitting at the corner table.

I had to squint to make sure I was seeing correctly, and sure enough, I was!

There, sitting in front of me, was my roommate from Stony Brook University, Jack Kurtz. (We had formed a kosher living suite in SBU. After finding six guys who wanted to keep strictly kosher, we petitioned the administration to give us a suite with a kitchen, which was kept to the highest kosher standards.) We both jumped with joy! He leaped out of his seat and we embraced in a long overdue hug. It’s been well over a year since we’ve seen or even spoken to each other last.

Jack comes from a religious Syrian Jewish family in Brooklyn, and plans to go to medical school in Israel after he graduates this upcoming year. Besides for discussing the Talmud that we had last learnt, we spent the next few hours enjoying a meal together, reminiscing and catching up.

He was in Prague only for two days, and was leaving at five in the morning. He and his friends are traveling around Europe, and are headed to Vienna next. I invited him and his friends to come join me in Yeshiva Tiferes Bachurim in Morristown for a Shabbat, and he readily agreed! It was decided that the week we both get back to the States, before he starts his new semester, he and his friends will come for a weekend.

The hashgacha pratit (divine providence) in this event is unbelievably clear to me: I had only one Jewish roommate in my entire college career, I happened to be assigned to Prague, he happened to walk into this kosher restaurant out of a couple other choices, the restaurant happened to be opened later than usual that night, so we just “happened” to bump into each other. Thank G‑d!

Simcha Evan Finkelstein

It was already after 3 PM, and we’d been standing outside the Maharal’s Altneu Synagogue for hours, but Leibel and I decided to stay a few extra minutes at our Judaism booth this past Friday afternoon.

We saw a couple and asked if they were Jewish. They responded with an enthusiastic “Yes!” We invited the young man to don tefillin. He told us that it’s been years since he last wore tefillin, but he was happy to do so now.

As I was wrapping him up, his friend asked us where we were from. Leibel answered that he’s from Canada and I’m from Long Island, New York.

Their faces lit up. The girl told us that they’re both from L.I. as well! She asked what town, and Leibel told them I was from Jericho. She told me that the person I was wrapping tefillin with was also from Jericho. (Until then I had a large smile on my face, but now I started to laugh.) He asked which street I grew up on, and then told me his street name. We grew up less than three blocks away from each other.

After finishing the Shema prayer, he asked my full name. After hearing my family name, he told me my sister’s name and said, “That’s not your sister, is it?!” I responded in the affirmative. Apparently he and my sister knew each other quite well. Both I and the couple I had just met recognized the hashgacha pratit (divine providence) involved. We spent the next few minutes chatting about all kinds of things, including Shabbat, Jewish dress, and the role Jews play in this world.

And then we hastily ran off to prepare for Shabbat.

Simcha Evan Finkelstein

On our way from New York to Warsaw, Poland, we had a short stopover in Prague. Along with the four of us traveling to Poland, there were two fellow Roving Rabbis heading to Romania, and yet another two heading to Siberia!

Already eight, we figured we could find another two men and pray with a minyan - the quorum of ten required for communal prayer. A French student heading on his way to Israel for Passover meant we had nine. Just one to go.

And so, we set out on a search for a tenth, in this most unlikely of places.

We soon found an Israeli bussinesman on his way to Germany. He agreed to sit with us, despite seeming total uninterested in praying, or Judaism in general. We were extremely grateful that he gave of his time strictly to do us a favour. That generosity of spirit make the Prague Airport a place we will never forget.

I was putting Tefillin on someone whom I had met on the street.

After he had finished saying the Shema and we were unwinding the Tefillin, I began to talk to him.

"How are you; what brings you to Prague?"

To my surprise, he was silent!

I tried again, but he just stood there, calmly unwrapping the Tefillin.

When he had finished taking the last strap off his arm, he looked at me and asked, "What did you say?"

He's a Russian Jew, living in New York. Every week, some nice Chabad boys come over to his workplace to share a Jewish thought and help him with Tefillin. They taught him that when one is wearing Tefillin, one should concentrate on their sanctity and not speak of mundane matters.

For this reason, while wearing Tefillin, he did not even notice my question, let alone answer it.

Now that is a lesson that I can learn!

Hi all,

We just arrived in Prague a few days ago. Over a million tourists pass through the old quarter a year, checking out the crooked streets which gave birth to Franz Kafka and the Golem.

During the day we man a booth in the old Jewish quarter; laying Tefillin and schmoozing with the tourists. People often mistake us for tour guides and pepper us with questions. Eventually I'll have all the answers figured out…

The city is flooded with tourists from all over the world. Standing on the street you can hear a dozen or so languages. I'm picking up on languages and improvising my Yiddish in order to communicate with the Germans. My buddy uses his poor Russian to converse with the Czech speakers.

The other day, some guy comes over to me sweating buckets '' Where is the Chabad restaurant? I've been walking around the block five times!'' he says in a southern drawl.

I give him directions and ask him if he'd like to put on Tefillin.

''What's that?''

"Are you Jewish?"

"No."

I started laughing and ask him why he needs the Chabad restaurant.

''What do you mean, where else can I get good kosher food?!"

During lunch break, I went to the restaurant and lo and behold my friend, who is in the process of imbibing a classic corn beef deli sandwich, gives me two thumbs up.