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By Mendel Hecht, Beis Moshiach Magazine

Every summer, bachurim travel around the United States to visit Jewish inmates in prisons. Coordinating and facilitating these visits is the Aleph Institute, the largest institution in America focused on advocating for and aiding Jewish inmates and military personnel.

This summer, the Rebbe MH”M sent us to Texas to visit Jewish inmates across the state, traveling throughout Dallas, Austin, Houston, and S. Antonio.

To obtain appropriate clearances for the various state, federal, and private prisons we intended to visit, we needed to complete numerous security forms well in advance of our trip. A few weeks later, we boarded our flights to Houston, where we bought kosher food for the next week, which would be a scarcity in some of Texas’ most remote areas. We booked our hotel, and the next morning we embarked on our mission.

Death Row

On our first day in Texas, we entered a maximum-security prison with some of the most notorious inmates in the country, including some on death row, one of whom we met.

Upon our arrival, the guard stationed at the entrance informed us that we could not visit until tomorrow when the prison would be open to visitors. When we insisted that we had an appointment set up, he gave us a phone number for inmate services and told us to reach out to them. We were nervous we would not be able to gain entry, and that we could not meet David, who had no more planned Aleph visits this summer. But we were prepared for situations like this, and thankfully, all we needed to do was mention the chaplain’s name, and baruch Hashem, we were in.

Every facility varies in terms of its security protocols, depending on the severity of the prisoners’ crimes. At this particular facility, our meeting took place across a glass partition equipped with two phones on the visitors’ side and one phone for the inmate on their side.

When we met David, what deeply impressed me was the remarkable optimism he exuded, despite his circumstances. Despite being slated for execution later this year, he radiated a vibrant smile and expressed a profound gratitude throughout our visit. He shared how he utilized his time to engage in introspection and self-assessment, leading to a significant personal transformation. David shared his involvement in self-improvement programs and the meaningful relationships he had nurtured as well as his efforts to inspire others to make positive changes in their lives.

He shared that there was one inmate who was legendary among the inmates for violently beating a guard to death. David made it his business to befriend and ultimately get this inmate out of “the Hole,” a solitary confinement cell where he was placed for punishment and safety purposes. It is a small room, and all food or books are given through a tiny hole on the bottom of the door. The toilet and bed are in the same room; it is a subhuman container. David told us that this inmate’s only free time was for playing basketball, thanks to David who had convinced the guards to let him join.

Since there was a thick glass window separating us, putting on tefillin was going to be a challenge. So, the chaplain brought the tefillin around to David and slid it beneath a small window, where David took it. For the first time ever, instead of just putting the teffilin on the person, we explained how to put on tefillin step by step. When he was done, we said Shema together. When we got up to V’haya, I asked if he’d like to say the whole thing, which I usually do not do, but I figured this might be his last time to wrap, so I asked. We said the whole Shema and then explained to him that before a person returns their neshama to Hashem, Vidui is said. Word for word, we said Vidui together, and when we were done, I briefly translated. We said goodbye and expressed our hope that next time we see him it would be with Moshiach in Yerushalayim.

Shortly after our visit, we received an anonymous message through our Aleph coordinator, Mendy Hendel:

“Hello Moshe and Mendel! I just received the most exciting and overwhelming phone call half an hour ago from the inmate, David – it was a beautiful surprise for him to receive the visit today at 12 PM. Additionally, he was amazed that we were all involved in facilitating his visit and trying our very best to give him an uplifting spiritual experience, especially when he was permitted to put on Tefillin too! The excitement in his voice was indescribable! He felt like a human being, a Jew, and part of a family which he has always longed for.”

Two months later, we learned that David had been executed since our visit. Though he has left this world, his mitzva remains etched into eternity. And though his actions had at one point led his life far from Hakadosh Baruch Hu, David had strove to come closer in his final days, and we felt incredibly grateful that the Rebbe had sent us to this neshama, to give it her respite before returning to her Maker.

MBD Music in Prison

In our travels, we encountered all sorts of individuals – men and women, young people and elderly people, healthy people and ill people, with charges ranging from minor to major, both at state and federal levels, and across all security levels from minimum to maximum and everything in between.

One facility had such lax security, that one could simply open a door and walk out to freedom. However, the odds of getting caught were high, which would mean relocation to worse conditions and more time behind bars. Upon arrival at this location, we saw Josh ecstatically bouncing his head back and forth to Mordechai ben David’s music blasting across the room. We were pleasantly surprised to see he was able to play Jewish music here, and he told us, “Every Friday before Shabbos, I love to play Jewish music so all the goyim know how proud I am to be Jewish!” Even though it was during the “Nine Days,” he was so happy we did not want to dampen his spirits, and he eagerly shared the various interpretations he had encountered while learning Chumash and Nach.

Other institutions were not as inviting, where long grayish hallways lined the floors, and gigantic men with bulging muscles gawked at us behind black metal bars. More often than not, though, we received a positive greeting from the inmates with a cheerful remark like, “Hey, what’s up rabbis.”

One memorable personality was Sarah. She resided in a maximum-security medical facility, a place designated for individuals in need of serious medical attention. Although a high-security federal facility, the environment resembled a hospital more than a prison, with nurses, medical equipment, and wheelchairs dotting the corridors. Sarah, an elderly woman, spoke with a charmingly stereotypical Jewish kvetch, and she shared her observations about the goyim who “don’t quite understand me.” Her concerns and pains, both emotional and medical, struck a deep chord within me. Her most cherished wish was to reunite with her son, whom she had not seen since her imprisonment, as he, too, was incarcerated and could not visit. In a comically frustrated tone, she also mentioned that for twenty years, she had not had a salad, and that “All I want is some lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes!”

I could not help but feel a sense of strange gratitude for the George Foreman grill that we had been making grilled cheese sandwiches with at our hotel, and the skillet for eggs and chicken which provided our culinary luxuries. Despite the many smoke alarms we had triggered, and our subsequent makeshift transformation of a service room into a kitchen, I did not take for granted that our access to basic goods far outweighed life behind bars. Sarah’s plight resonated with me as I learned the full extent of Texas’ worst prison conditions.

In the next facility we visited, the prison guards forced us to wear body-armor protective vests. When the gentleman giving out the vests asked for what size, without blinking an eye, the chaplain answered for us, “Extra-large.” He said this would “protect our vitals,” even though our clothing sizes are medium and extra small. We were confused, however, because we would be walking near a high-security solitary confinement hall, where no prisoner could seemingly hurt us. So, why would we need vests at all? We learned from the chaplain that in the section we were about to enter, inmates sometimes threw sharp objects through little windows at the guards.

In this area, inmates atrophied in solitary confinement for years at a time. Some inmates even spent their entire sentences within 80 square feet, where psychological breakdown is inevitable. Most prisoners we interacted with in solitary confinement struggled to carry basic conversation, and I could not help but wonder where the balance lay between effective punishment and rehabilitation. Indeed, the Torah tells us to make cities of refuge for those who have committed manslaughter, but never does it prescribe incarceration as a form of punishment. We know in Chassidus that no matter what, every person comes down to this world to fulfill a specific Divine purpose. Reflecting back, it is hard to understand how many of these individuals (who are certainly responsible for their crimes) have the opportunity to contribute toward their Divine mission again. As we tread across the prison’s dim hallways, we tried to speak with inmates as much as possible since human interaction is so rare and vital. Perhaps the one kind word they exchanged with us had been their entire life’s purpose, as the Baal Shem Tov similarly taught.

A Story of a Tzaddik, A Moment of Geula

Throughout our visits, our primary goal was to convey our genuine care for the prisoners we met and to provide them with a tangible connection to Yiddishkeit. For some inmates, this was their only opportunity to interact with fellow Jews throughout the year. Behind prison walls, surrounded by diverse demographic groups, feelings of spiritual isolation and loneliness were palpable.

My friend Mendy Zwiebel, an experienced Aleph volunteer with a rich history of participating in various Aleph activities, including numerous summer visits, suggested that we sing niggunim and farbreng with the inmates. As singing is not our strong suit, Moshe and I focused on the farbrengen aspect. During our visits, we engaged in a lot of listening, answering questions, and discussing various topics, including the concepts of hashgacha pratis, mesirus nefesh, the significance of the three weeks, and the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash. Most importantly, we delved into discussions about Moshiach.

During our visits, we answered a wide range of questions. Some were deeply theological, such as pondering the purpose of our existence in this world, while others were more technical, like deciding which Jewish books and films to purchase given their expanded budget for religious items. As we were sometimes their only gateway to Jewish life, we also addressed very basic questions, like which prayers to say on Friday night, and we would open a siddur to educate them on the appropriate tefillos.

A significant portion of our visits was dedicated to active listening. We heard their stories about life in prison, including heart-wrenching narratives of desperate circumstances, childhood abuse and neglect, mentally challenged parents, and, most loudly, we saw the feelings of estrangement across their faces.

What could we possibly say to someone who faced challenges far more difficult than our own? The answer is simple: we listened. We asked open-ended, non-invasive questions, and we inquired about their families and experiences with Jewish life while growing up.

We also shared stories of hope and hashgacha pratis, which is itself a form of hope. We explained that while there are many things we may not fully understand, everything that Hashem does has a purpose; nothing is a mistake. He is carefully watching over everything and directing every creature in His universe. One story, in particular, was that of the Shpoler Zeide.

As he was leaving a town where he had stayed for Shabbos, a fellow traveler, with whom he had lodged at the same host, asked him to watch his bags, to which he willingly obliged. Almost immediately, the sounds of galloping horses could be heard, and a group of police officers checked everyone’s bags. It turned out that a thief had stolen precious items from the host’s home, and, to everyone’s surprise, these items were found in the possession of the Shpoler Zeide. He was then incarcerated, bewildered and wondering why Hashem had allowed this to happen to him.

While in prison, he met a young gypsy boy who was born as a Jew, but who had never learned about his Yiddishkeit. The Shpoler Zeide befriended and taught the boy, realizing that this unfortunate circumstance had a clear purpose, to bring the young boy closer to his Jewish heritage.

Since we were visiting around Chof Av, we also had meaningful discussions about Reb Levik and the tremendous mesirus nefesh he displayed to preserve the Jewish way of life in Yekaterinoslav. In Texas’ high-security prisons, many seemingly simple mitzvos require a significant degree of mesirus nefesh, and many inmates often skip meals because they cannot verify if the food is kosher.

Most importantly, we tried infusing our interactions with stories of Geula and open miracles, which remind us that beneath the reality we are used to experiencing, there lies infinite wonder. Miracles are those moments in time that step beyond the mundane and touch the etzem ha’neshama of a Yid, kindling the fire that has lain latent for so many years. The stories we shared gave a new and hopeful perspective to the prisoners we met, who lived in an environment of doubled and redoubled darkness, where it is difficult to see Hashem’s hand guiding one’s life.

As the Rebbe told us over and over again, our personal Geula brings the collective Geula, and we saw the potency of this teaching manifest across our shlichus in Texas.

Stringfellow, the “Jewish prison”

At every place we visited, the name “Stringfellow” resounded consistently. It was the establishment boasting a kosher kitchen, regular visits from the legendary chaplain, Rabbi Goldstein, and ample assistance for properly practicing Yiddishkeit. Notably, there were even one or two frum inmates, one of whom seemed to serve as the de facto rabbi. Our anticipation for this visit kept on building as we heard about it more and more, as it was one of our final destinations. Upon our arrival, we encountered the largest gathering of Jews yet, nearly a minyan. They were seated in rows and handed us a microphone, as if prepared for an elaborate dvar Torah. However, we encouraged them to arrange their chairs in a circle to farbreng together instead. We went around, with each person contributing, posing questions, and sharing tales of inspiration.

In prison, divrei Torah could easily be accessed through the Aleph newsletter, The Liberator, or one of the various Aleph “correspondence courses.” Aleph offers wonderful Torah learning courses for inmates, which, depending on the charges for which they went to prison, can reduce prison sentences. This is thanks to a federal program called the First Step Act, a criminal justice reform bill signed into law by President Trump on December 21, 2018. The law aims to reform various aspects of the federal criminal justice system, particularly focusing on reducing recidivism and improving prison conditions. It includes provisions related to the reduction of sentences for certain nonviolent offenses. Part of this law allows for approved learning courses to expedite the release date. These “correspondence courses,” as Aleph calls them, include titles like “GPS For the Soul,” “Messiah Mystery,” and “Aleph Champ: Hebrew Reading and Writing.”

There are a plethora of classes to choose from, including one geared for non-Jews that teaches the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach, which several non-Jewish inmates that joined our visits said they studied. For some inmates without access to all the people and books we have access to, these informative courses are sometimes their bread and butter for basic knowledge about Yiddishkeit. Most inmates now have tablets, granting them access to these prison-approved Aleph classes that cover various Jewish topics.

Whenever we had the opportunity, we would encourage inmates to take up on this offer that could, in many cases, fill two needs with one deed, learning Torah while simultaneously getting their sentence reduced. The success of the correspondence courses became evident when one inmate who was enthusiastically reading from a Chumash, told us he had learned Hebrew from the Aleph Hebrew reading and writing course within just a few short weeks. The correspondence courses also gave us common ground that we could talk about; for example, an inmate would share how much they appreciated the Rambam’s 13 Principles of Faith course and then we would segue to the Rambam’s life and deeper teachings. In particular, we would emphasize that the world is like a scale and one mitzva could tip it and bring Moshiach, and any person has this potential.

Excuse Me Sir, Are You Really Jewish?

For each facility, Aleph would consistently provide us with a list of confirmed Jewish names. They have a rigorous vetting process to ensure that everyone is a Yid k’halacha. Within the prison environment, being religious often holds certain conveniences, like during Pesach when identifying as Jewish could grant access to grape juice and extra food.

However, during our visits, we frequently encountered a most curious conundrum. Inmates shared that the chaplain allowed them to officially change their religion once a month, which meant that certain inmates would declare themselves Jewish during Pesach and be seasonal Christians or Muslims when it seemed suitable. Consequently, we had to exercise caution to verify the authenticity of an inmate’s Jewishness.

One particular concern was the presence of “Jews for J” who always promptly showed up to our visits. We heard stories about complications arising from Messianic groups misusing resources and special foods designated for the Jewish inmates, as well as harassment to accept their flawed beliefs.

On one occasion, we received a list of two or three Jewish individuals to visit, but upon arrival, we found a large group waiting for us. We asked everyone to raise their hands if they were traditionally Jewish, and a mere two hands went up, while the majority identified as so-called “Messianic Jews”.

Another time, we spent an hour with two women, and as time went on, something seemed off; as it turned out, they were both Messianic as well. This story kept on repeating itself again and again. Only after confirming inmates’ mothers were born Jewish, we would offer them the opportunity to don tefillin and fulfill the mitzva of tzitzis. Almost everyone gladly participated, and our mission was clear: we aimed to make them feel like an integral part of Am Yisrael which they are.

The Last Tefillin

One facility we visited was meant for the elderly and for people who suffer from dementia or Alzheimer’s. We met with an old man, Jacob, whose hands were shaking violently. We put on tefillin with him, listened, and spoke with him. Before we left Texas, we learned that Jacob was no longer with us, and my chavrusa Moshe shared with me that during that meeting, he felt an unexplainable spiritual energy. Thinking back, it is all at once sobering and fragile and painful that we put on tefillin with him for his very last time, shortly before he returned his neshama to Hashem.

Aleph Lends a Hand

We are just one component of Aleph’s operations. Aleph offers an abundance of invaluable resources to both inmates and their families. Due to the limited exposure inmates have to Yiddishkeit, Aleph holds profound significance. From The Liberator magazine to Matza for Pesach, as well as supplies for other Yomim Tovim, two-week-long Yeshiva learning programs, and practical assistance through legal advocacy and sometimes even medical aid, Aleph provides comprehensive support. Furthermore, they assist inmates in reintegrating after their release, extend help to struggling families, facilitate facility transfers, and much more.

Each person we met with is their own world. And though he may have strayed, he is never estranged from Hakadosh Baruch Hu. Throughout our interactions, we encouraged those we met with to continue learning about Yiddishkeit, to find the intrinsic goodness within others and oneself, and to stay hopeful for a brighter tomorrow, when the moon will shine like the sun and Knesses Yisrael will crown her King. Only the power of shlichus could have given us the fortitude in those somber cells, where we truly saw how a little light dispels much darkness.

*Note: Pseudonyms have been used to protect the identity of inmates referenced

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