One of the most significant periods of my life was when I was in jail for six
years – as a volunteer. I worked with teenagers and young adults who were
incarcerated for everything from drug use to multiple murders.
asked why I would waste my time with criminals. My answer was always the same: I
got a lot more than I gave. I could see into the hearts of these kids who had
never known love, whose parents were aching and breaking from poverty,
turbulence, emotional imbalance, drug abuse or a criminal lifestyle. Every time
I left, after I passed through the sally port, I was grateful that I was not
raised with the socioeconomic odds stacked against me.
A few years ago, I
was told by Chabad rabbi Berel Levertov, who lives in my hometown of Santa Fe,
New Mexico, about a Jewish woman behind bars who was convicted of killing her
mother. Apparently, Michelle (not her real name) had no friends and no visitors,
so I went to see her. At first, we spoke on a phone through a thick glass wall.
She was a fashionista who was unhappily attired in an orange, prison-issue
jumpsuit. Her hair was limp from cheap commissary shampoo.
months, I was allowed contact visits with her. When I hugged Michelle, she said
no one had touched her or shown affection to her since her arrest.
time I left the state facility, I sat at the wheel of my car and
Michelle and I were not separated by the great socioeconomic divide. She
was a smart, funny, literate, neurotic New Yorker. I could have gone
to school with her. I could have ended up like her. I was the only
went to her trial. I sat there when she was convicted, and when she was
off to a women’s prison. She told me she was reading and rereading Man’s
for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl, about how he survived and found meaning
in a Nazi
concentration camp. She haunted me.
LAST SUMMER, I got a call from Rabbi
Levertov, asking me to come to his house to meet two 19-year-old Chabad
rabbinical students. “You share a passion for prisoners,” he said.
right. Peretz Schapiro and Dov Kalmensohn were in the middle of a most
unusual summer road trip: They were sent by the Aleph Institute
(http://www.alephinstitute.org) to visit Jewish prisoners around the
American Southwest. The Aleph Institute was founded in the early 1980s
rabbi Aaron Lipskar, from Florida, to look after the needs of Jewish
and their families. I spoke for several hours to the two, and we all
we would be in contact again after their trip was over and they had time
integrate and incorporate the experience.
Recently, we were in contact
again, and both Schapiro and Kalmensohn said the Jewish jail road trip had
deeply impacted them, and they filled me in on the details.
that to prepare for their mission, he and Kalmensohn had asked the head of their
yeshiva in Los Angeles what they should tell the prisoners. “He said that of all
the great personalities in the Torah, including Abraham and Moses, only Joseph,
while in prison, is called a successful man,” Schapiro reported. “He went on to
explain that when things are going right for someone and he enjoys success in
what he is doing, it’s not real success, rather the result of circumstance. When
things are not going right and the person still remains positive and focused on
his goal, that is a successful person.
“Joseph, who was hated by his
brothers, sold into slavery and thrown into a dungeon for a crime he didn’t
commit, had every right to be angry at society and lose his focus. However, even
after all these terrible things had befallen him, he kept a positive outlook and
a good attitude. He woke up one morning, and the fact that his fellow inmate
didn’t have a smile on his face bothered him. That is real success. When we
heard this, we thought it would be something nice to tell the inmates to try and
inspire them and lift their spirits a bit.”
The two yeshiva students were
surprised by the Jews they met behind bars. “I was astonished by the joyful
demeanor they all carried,” Kalmensohn reported. “From a very practical
perspective, there was really nothing to be happy about. However bad I thought
the yeshiva food was, the prison food makes the yeshiva stuff look like
delicious gourmet, both in quantity and in quality.
Confined to 100
[square] feet [9 sq.m.] or so with no contact to the outside world, living in
sweltering heat that can average a 110º [43ºC] would be enough to depress
Yet, against all odds, they showed up for our visits, which were
sometimes quite early.
I was still a bit groggy but I was greeted by a
cheerful ‘good morning.’” “Their dedication to Judaism is incredible,” Schapiro
added. “They are living with skinheads, white supremacist groups and people
whose attitude toward Jews is definitely not a welcoming one. Yet not only are
they not ashamed or embarrassed of their Judaism, many of them openly walk
around the yard with a yarmulke, and some even have their white tzitzit strings
proudly hanging out of their orange uniform. This is something that every Jew
can learn from. If prisoners in an anti-Semitic environment can be proud of
their Judaism, how much more so can the rest of us living in free countries not
be ashamed of our Jewish heritage.”
Schapiro described many inmates who
grew up in secular homes, or didn’t know they were Jewish until late in life.
Their first contact with Judaism came when they were locked up, and they longed
to know more about their religion. Since they had no access to the Internet and
the prison library – if it had any Jewish books at all – rarely had more than a
Bible and a prayer book, it was very difficult for them to get
The job of Schapiro and Kalmensohn was to find out what the inmates needed. They were not allowed to bring books into
prison, but they could try to arrange for the books to come from an official
“Their thirst for Judaism won’t be deterred by their
limited sources,” Australian-born Schapiro explained, “and they will just keep
reading whatever they have and try their best. We met one fellow who found out
that a Jew has to pray three times a day, but, since he had no siddur, he didn’t
know what to say. So he decided to recite the Ten Commandments three times a
day, as that was the only thing he knew.”
One man the duo met had access
to the Tanya (the central text of Chabad Hassidism) and learned that we all have
two souls; the bad things we do come from one of them and the good from the
other. When someone does the wrong thing, it doesn’t mean that he is essentially
a bad person, but, rather, that at the moment, he gave into his bad
I WAS ASTOUNDED at the sensitivity and maturity of Schapiro and
Kalmensohn. At their age, my focus was on boys, parties and pulling all-nighters
“Most of the inmates we met came from broken homes,”
Schapiro said. “They went through a divorce at a young age, were orphaned, or
just had a lack of TLC from people who were meant to love them. Some of them
lived on the streets, getting involved with bad things. Many of their families
cut them off, and we were their only visitors for the entire year. We can never
know how far a smile and a helping hand can go.
“It may have taken three
and a half weeks on the road, traveling more than 6,000 miles [9,600 km.] across
six states, living out of the trunk of a car, eating only tuna and crackers,
corn flakes with soy milk, eggs and rice, but I now have a much greater
appreciation of life in general and Judaism in particular. I would recommend
such a trip to anybody.”
Kalmensohn chimed in. He said one prisoner told
him a parable about a man who spent a long stretch of his life on an island,
amassing onions, which were the currency of the island. “Let us not lose focus
in our lives and amass bushels of onions,” the inmate told Kalmensohn, who was
startled to hear the parable and the inspirational, spiritually-infused
conclusion from the inmate.
“I bid him good-bye,” Kalmensohn said, “but
not before making him promise me he would pursue the rabbinate when he left
prison. I thought I was coming to inspire, but in reality I got
SANTA FE-BASED Jane Davis has also been inspired by Jewish
prisoners. “As a contributing writer for Prison Life magazine, I was always
aware of a column by Sid Kleiner of the International Coalition for Jewish
Prisoner Services [now Jewish Prisoner Services, Inc.] and out of curiosity I
got in touch with him,” Davis explained. “I learned of the work being done by
the Aleph Institute and the coalition, providing contacts and resources to as
many of the 8,000 incarcerated Jews and their families as they could.
spent six hours secluded in a room in the bowels of the Atlanta Federal
Penitentiary, as well as Metro Correctional Institute, a women’s prison in
Georgia, listening to stories of lost souls. Something that I can only ascribe
to my Jewish soul, my neshama, came forth. I responded to what I heard as an
area of tremendous neglect and an area that our forefathers understood as a
place to walk in spirit.
“The neglect was so astonishing to me that I
could not turn my back. Some of the women had not had a visit from a rabbi in 10
years. As a result, they turned to Christianity and Islam. I became a volunteer
in both facilities and went, every Shabbat, for seven years to the USP-Atlanta and
met weekly with the women. I made sure every Jewish holiday was celebrated and
brought community members in. I am still in touch with some of the
As a result of her work, Davis was asked to be one of five
required media witnesses for an electric chair execution on December 7, 1993.
Two months after that horrific, traumatic experience, she awoke in the middle of
the night with a vision of founding Hope- Howse, a service organization she
still runs today (www.hope-howse.org). Davis then wrote an article about the
execution for the Atlanta Jewish Times called “I met God on death row,” and
received an invitation from an attorney in North Carolina to visit his client on
death row in Texas. She did, and then began searching out the handful of other
Jews on death rows in the US.
“I was appalled at the lack of support or
interest from the Jewish communities,” Davis said. “Rather than point fingers, I
responded by doing the work myself. One of the men was told he would have a
minister when he got his execution date. As a result, I was eventually ordained
by Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi so that I could be present in the execution
chamber so that Jesus would not be evoked.
“The lack of Jewish
involvement sends a powerful message to the majority of people running the
prisons. Once, a Christian chaplain whispered to me, thinking we were bonding,
‘I know your people don’t care about these inmates!’ Prison is a humbling place
to walk. Maybe everyone can’t go into a prison but they can support the work we
are doing with Jewish inmates, on their behalf.”
When I asked Davis if
Jews on death row are different from other inmates, she responded, “What comes
to mind is an old incident where a man on death row fought to wear his yarmulke!
He actually won but it was a fight. There was another case where inmates on
death row were allowed to take Bibles in the yard. A Jewish inmate was stopped
and his Bible taken away because the guard did not acknowledge it as a
They only allowed the New Testament.
What most Jews don’t
realize is that the Jews in prison are fighting, often alone and at risk for
their lives, to simply be a Jew.”
When asked how Jewish readers can help
their incarcerated brethren, David replied, “I, and Hope-Howse along with Aleph
and Jewish Prisoner Services, need their help. I have not been able to visit the
men on death row. Can they donate miles and support some trips? This would be an
It was moving for me to talk to others who had been
deeply impacted by incarcerated Jews. They all concurred that their job is not
judging or figuring out who is guilty and who is innocent; there are courts,
juries, judges and the ultimate judge who do that.
People who hurt others
are most often people who were hurt and need love and support.
Joseph, if they can remain hopeful, optimistic and goal-oriented, perhaps they
demonstrate a kind of success that those of us on the outside can learn from and
be inspired by.