I leaned my seat back and closed my eyes, tired, as Leibel drove the two hours back to our hotel. “Look,” said Leibel excitedly, nudging my shoulder. “That’s the state park John told us to visit this morning. Should we go?”

We turned into the dirt parking lot. This was our first bit of sightseeing during our outreach in Maine.

The park was empty. No one was in sight. We walked five minutes through a forest toward the shore. The lake was peaceful, surrounded by tall trees. The only sounds were the gentle splashing of the water and the trees swaying in the wind.

A large stone jutted out into the water. At its edge, a man sat quietly typing on his phone.

“Are you Jewish by any chance?” we asked him. He looked up with a big smile. “Was it the nose that gave it away?” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m married to a Catholic, and I practice Catholicism myself,” he said. “I didn’t grow up with any Jewish tradition. I just know that I’m Jewish. How can I help you?”

“We’re the Chabad Roving Rabbis,” said Leibel. “We’re spending our summer break in Maine, visiting Jews who live far from Jewish communities.”

“Would you like to put on Tefillin?” I asked.

He declined. “I don’t do that,” he said coldly. Then he paused, watching a bird glide low over the water. When he turned back, something in his face had softened.

“I believe in Divine Providence,” he said. “Nothing happens by mistake, and I feel something powerful about this encounter. If you insist, I’ll lay tefillin.”

He was very focused as we wrapped the tefillin on his arm. He said the Brocha and repeated the Shema word by word. 

When he finished, he closed his eyes for a silent prayer.

Leibel and I stood still. We put on Tefillin with many people in Maine, but this one stayed with us.

We took off the tefillin and sat down on the rock, looking out at the water.

"My family is on vacation now," he said. "At the last minute I decided not to join them, to catch up on work." He shook his head. "We could have never met."

We talked for a while longer about his parents and the upcoming High Holidays, until the light began to fade. We stood to go.

He had one request. "Can I keep the kippah?"

“I don’t plan on ever wearing it,” he said. “I just want to remember this encounter with you guys.”