It started at an airport.Strolling through Mactan-Cebu International Airport last month, I noticed a bearded man in a top hat looking confused.'Excuse me, sir,' I offered, 'do you need some help?'He did, and so I assisted as best I could. Then he asked for my name.'I'm David,' I said, holding out my hand.'Oh, are you Jewish?' he inquired, showing the first stirrings of a rapidly growing excitement.'Yes,' I said, 'I guess I am.''Have you been Bar Mitzvahed?' the black-hatted man wearing white fringes wanted to know.I reluctantly confessed that I hadn't.'Well,' he said, 'why don't we take care of that right now.'Which is how it came to pass that at age 75—some 62 years after it was supposed to have happened—an ultra-Orthodox rabbi reciting Hebrew prayers ushered me into Jewish manhood near an airline counter in Cebu.'And now we must dance!' he gleefully insisted after wrapping me in the leather straps called 'tefillin' traditionally worn by 13-year-old boys at their Bar Mitzvahs. When he'd danced me out of breath, the energetic rabbi-with-a-mission sent me on a mission of my own; to reach out to someone just like him, much closer to home. And that's how I discovered the amazing Jews of Siargao Island.They haven't always been there, of course. Like the rest of Mindanao, Siargao has a rich history rife with Muslims and Catholics, but not with too many Jews. The island's earliest inhabitants were probably Moros, seafaring Muslims who cared little for the land. When the Spaniards arrived in the early sixteenth century, they claimed everything for the Church. And, three centuries later, new American conquerors replaced Bibles with schoolbooks and, eventually, swords with plows.Then the surfers came and changed everything. That began in the early 1980s when golden-haired youngsters from around the world discovered what many considered the most awesome waves ever right off the town of General Luna.Much, much later, an Israeli named Tal Oran showed up and started recording it all on YouTube. 'Hey,' he declared in one video posted two years ago. 'My name's Tal and I've been traveling the world for the last eight years. A little before the global pandemic, I fell in love with a small island in the Philippines. I experienced complete freedom, fell in love with surfing, and made memories to last a lifetime. So much so that I've decided to build a house here.'He also decided to contact Rabbi Yossi Levy, head of Chabad House in Manila, to suggest that Siargao needed its own rabbi to serve the stream of fellow Israelis he saw arriving there daily.And that's how it all got started.Chabad, also known as Lubavitch, is a branch of Hasidic Judaism known for its worldwide outreach to Jews and non-Jews alike. Its goal for Jews: to strengthen their identities by urging them to embrace their religion, both in practice and in spirit. And for non-Jews: to help them grow closer to God in preparation for the coming of the Messiah and a world of peace, tranquility, and love.'U'faratzta,' Lubavitchers declare in their well-known motto, a Hebrew phrase meaning 'You shall spread out.' And so Rabbi Levy reached out to Mendel Shpindler, (cq) a young Canadian rabbi just getting started himself. 'I had never heard of Siargao,' Shpindler, now 23, told the Sunday Times Magazine. 'My first question was, where is it on the map? I had no idea.'The more he thought about it, though, the more intriguing he found the idea. And so, in August 2023, Rabbi Shpindler and his wife, Rivka, set out for the adventure of their lives, becoming Jewish 'missionaries' on a remote Philippine island covered with coconuts and caribou.'We had no idea what to expect,' the rabbi recalls.What they found, he says, was a community of warm-hearted 'people of God' eager to welcome and help the newly arrived foreigners in any way they could. Which isn't surprising, given the Philippines' long history of loving relations with Jews of the world.Probably the best-known example is the country's hospitality, during the Holocaust, to more than 1,000 Jewish refugees fleeing the horrors of Europe. In 1947, the Philippines cast the sole Asian vote for the United Nations resolution creating the State of Israel. And on Oct. 7, 2023, four brave Filipinos got murdered by Palestinian terrorists after refusing to abandon the elderly Israelis placed in their care.'Unimaginable honor in the face of evil,' is how Jerusalem Deputy Mayor Fleur Hassan-Nahoum described the actions of one. After which, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. assured Israel's ambassador to the Philippines of the nation's undying support.Rabbi Shpindler and his wife spent their first week on Siargao Island at a hotel. Then, with help from locals, they leased a former resort on the beach at General Luna with enough space for a synagogue, sitting lounge, kosher kitchen, large dining hall and seven bedrooms. 'It was beautiful,' the rabbi sighs. 'By divine providence, we found this place.'Back then, he estimates, there were about 150 Jews—mostly Israelis—on the island at any given time. The Shpindlers dug right in, offering weekly Friday night and Saturday morning Shabbat services, meals, temporary housing, friendship, and counseling to anyone who needed it.Then October 7th hit like an earthquake. And what had been a steady-but-modest attendance dwindled to less than a trickle. 'The place emptied out,' the rabbi says. 'We'd have Shabat with two or three people.' The reason: most of the patrons—almost all of them young Israelis of military age—had gone back home to fight a war. 'It was literally empty,' Shpindler says.For a few months, they made do as best they could. Then a miracle happened. The Israelis began coming back. Returning from military service, they were looking for fun. And what better place to find it than on a tropical surfing paradise in the Philippines?Last April, more than 300 celebrants showed up for Passover, 'and that,' Rabbi Shpindler says, 'was when it started going crazy.' Beginning with 90-100 worshippers each Friday, attendance has steadily grown at about 5% per week, he says, until so many crowded into the dining room on a recent Shabat —about 220 in all—that a new table had to be set up downstairs to accommodate those left standing.'That was a record,' Shpindler says, 'but now every Friday sets a record.'To be sure, Siargao's Chabad House is only one of six in the Philippines, with others in Manila, Clark, Cebu, Boracay, and El Nido. Lately, though, its leader says, Siargao has drawn the largest crowds by far, more than twice the number of its nearest competitor. 'And they just keep coming,' he says.Opinions vary as to why. 'We come for fun, quiet, and rest, especially after the war,' says Elazar Moshe, 24, a former fighter for the Israel Defense Forces who'd been on the island a week. 'We are all soldiers, so after our service we come for vacation.'Yes, but why Siargao in particular? 'Because it's paradise,' Moshe gushes. And how long does he plan to stay? 'Until the money's finished,' the former soldier predictshn7.Sitting at another table, a Lithuanian Catholic visiting for the second time because, he says, 'I like the food,' offers a corollary explanation. 'I know why the Israelis like Siargao,' the young man says. 'Because it's safe.'Eventually, Rabbi Shpindler says, he'd like to add a Jewish pre-school, kosher market, and kosher restaurant. And recently the Siargao Chabad started distributing soup and rice daily to local schoolchildren.But a dark obstacle looms up ahead, threatening to derail the whole shebang: the property they now inhabit has just been sold. 'We have three months to move out and find a new place,' the rabbi reports. 'And, as of now, we don't have the funds.'So he's working with a local broker to find new quarters large enough to encompass his plans. And soon will embark on a global fundraising tour to add an extra $1 million US to the operating funds already contributed by Israeli donors.'I'm placing my trust in God,' the rabbi says. 'I believe he will help us, knowing we are doing good on this island.' And how long does he expect to make Siargao his home? 'I'm here until the redemption,' the rabbi vows, or 'until the Messiah comes.'All of which makes me consider my own place in the eternal order of things. Many years ago, preparing a newspaper feature on another Chabad House in Palm Springs, California, I ran into Herman Wouk, a famous Jewish author and one of my literary heroes. Among other things, he had published an epic novel called 'War and Remembrance,' the story of two Jewish families traversing the years encompassing World War II, the Holocaust, and the post-war era.'I just read your book,' I timidly told the aging author whose tome explored the theme of Jewish identity in the aftermath of those horrific events.'Oh,' he responded, raising an eyebrow with interest, 'and what did you think?'So I told him my story, how I'd been raised in the no-man's-land between two competing worlds by a Holocaust survivor whose tragic experience had almost killed her religion and mine too. How I'd struggled with the question of who I really am; a Jew, an American, or some crinkly amalgam of the two? And how his book had brought that overarching question into focus.When I'd finished, the great man looked at me in silence. Then, gripping my shoulders, drew me closer as a father would a son. 'You,' he announced with tears in his eyes, 'are exactly for whom this book was written.' Then he pulled out a pen and scribbled something down. 'Here's my private number,' he said. 'Call me and we will find out who you are.'I never made that call. And years later, hearing that the celebrated author had died at 103, wondered again what might have happened if I had. Would I have become a black-suited religionist greeting fellow worshippers in Hebrew on Friday nights? Would I be wearing a white prayer shawl accentuated by a nifty set of 'tefillin?' And what would that person think of the untethered wanderer I have actually become?I will probably never know the answers to those questions. And I will probably never be an ultra-orthodox Jew like my new friend, Rabbi Shpindler. This much, however, I can say: I am thankful, at least, to have been Bar Mitzvahed.Even at an airport terminal.And I am thankful to have finally found the wonderful Jews of Siargao Island.
