Last year, it was right before Tekias Shofar when I noticed a man standing sheepishly at the door, clearly unsure whether he should enter or not. You could see—and almost feel—the inner battle and turmoil he was experiencing. Should I go in? Shouldn’t I?

 

When I realized who it was, my jaw dropped. Not because of his ponytail or piercings, but because I immediately recognized him. I was stunned. Shocked. I couldn’t believe he had actually shown up.

 

I had met him years earlier when he worked at a medical office in Flatbush. He had a very Jewish, even frum-sounding first name, but he wore no yarmulke. He had a ponytail and a secular appearance. He was very dismissive, even slightly defiant, of any overture from frum people—especially a rabbi.

 

Nevertheless, after several attempts, I made eye contact, smiled, took an interest in him, and got his phone number.

 

Over the next five years, I reached out numerous times, but I never elicited a response. Until, out of the blue, he finally replied last year.

 

I invited him for Rosh Hashanah, and he said he would come.

 

And then he showed up—in the middle of davening—with his ponytail.

 

I thought about the fact that if I had given up after a year or two, he never would have come. All those efforts and attempts had been building toward this moment. He realized that someone sincerely cared enough to keep persisting. Someone was willing to look beyond the veneer and facade of a distant-looking Jew and see the spark burning within.

 

The fellow with the ponytail immediately felt comfortable at BJX. By Mussaf, he was fervently shuckeling, davening with tremendous kavanah.

 

It seemed almost like an irony—a dichotomy, a contradiction. If he looked so secular, how did he know how to daven?

 

Everyone saw this young man, but no one knew the backstory.

 

The fellow with the ponytail was someone who had grown up frum but had gone astray. Without knowing his entire story, one could easily judge him. But if only we would understand that there is so much more to a person than meets the eye, we would be more patient, more compassionate, and more loving.

 

The Mishnah in Avos tells us to judge “kol ha’adam” favorably. The Sfas Emes asks: Why the seemingly extra word “kol”? Why does the Mishnah say “kol ha’adam”—the entire person? It could simply have said “adam”—judge a person favorably.

 

What does “kol ha’adam” teach us?

 

The Sfas Emes explains that when assessing, analyzing, or trying to understand a person’s actions, conduct, or behavior, we need to look at the entire person. We cannot judge someone based merely on what we see in front of us.

 

We must understand that every person comes with a history—a background, life circumstances, challenges, and struggles that we may know nothing about. A person may not be acting a certain way simply because he wants to. There may be battles being fought beneath the surface that we cannot see.

 

We must take the entire person into account—and lovingly help bring that person back to Hashem.

 

Long story short, the young man with the ponytail is now enrolled in the BJX weekly learning program. He is enjoying learning Torah, growing, and reconnecting. He is fully Shomer Shabbos.

 

Baruch Hashem—another BJX miracle!

 

And none of this would have happened if we had looked only at the “Adam” and not at the “Kol HaAdam.”

 

The next time you meet someone, remember: There is a background. There is more than meets the eye. There is always more to the story.

 

And beneath it all, there is a neshamah—a soul waiting to be kindled, nurtured, and brought back home.