Timeless Passover Story. Barrels on a Riverbank

Note: One of the central figures in the history of Chassidism was the famed “Seer of Lublin,” Rabbi Yaakov YitzchokHorowitz (1745-1815), who presided over the spread of Chassidism in Poland and Galicia; many of the great Chassidic masters of the time were his disciples. This story, however, is not about the “Seer” but about his maternal grandfather, Rabbi Kopel of Likova; in fact, it happened many years before the Seer’s birth.

Reb Kopel earned a living by purchasing barrels of vodka and beer from the local distillers and selling his wares to the taverns in and around his native village of Likova. It was not an easy life, with the heavy taxes exerted by the government and the hostile environment facing a Jew in 18th-century Europe. Yet his faith and optimism never faltered.

Each year, on the morning before Passover, Reb Kopel would sell hischametz to one of his gentile neighbors. Chametz is “leaven” — a category that must famously includes bread but also all food or drink made with fermented grain. The Torah commands the Jew that absolutely “no leaven shall be found in your possession” for the duration of the Passover festival, in commemoration of the leaven-free Exodus from Egypt. In the weeks before the festival, the Jewish home is emptied and scrubbed clean ofchametz; on the night before Passover, a solemn candle-lit search is conducted for every last breadcrumb hiding between the floorboards. By the next morning, all remaining household chametz is eaten, burned or otherwise disposed of.

What about someone like Reb Kopel who deals in leavened foods and has a warehouse full of chametz? For such cases (and for anyone who haschametz they don’t want to dispose of) the rabbis instituted the practice ofselling one’s chametz to a non-Jew. Reb Kopel’s neighbors were familiar with the annual ritual. The Jewish liquor dealer would draw up a legally-binding contract with one of them, in which he sells all the contents of his warehouse for a sum equal to their true value. Only a small part of the sum actually changed hands; the balance was written up as an I.O.U. from the purchaser to the seller. After Passover, Reb Kopel would be back, this time to buy back the chametz and return the I.O.U. The purchaser got a tip for his trouble — usually in the form of a generous sampling of the merchandise that had been legally his for eight days and a few hours.

One year, someone in Likova came up with a novel idea: what if they all refused to buy the Jew’s vodka? In that case he would have to get rid of it. Why suffice with a bottle or two when they could have it all?

When Reb Kopel knocked on a neighbor’s door on the morning of Passover eve, Ivan politely declined to conduct the familiar transaction. Puzzled, he tried another cottage further down the road. It did not take long for him to realize the trap that his gentile neighbors had laid for him. The deadline for getting rid of chametz — an hour before midday — was quickly approaching. There was no time to travel to the next village to find a non-Jewish purchaser.

Reb Kopel did not hesitate for a minute. Quickly he emptied the wooden shack behind his house that served as his warehouse. Loading his barrels of chametz on his wagon, he headed down to the river. As his neighbors watched gleefully from a distance, he set them on the river bank. In a loud voice he announced: “I hereby renounce any claim I have on this property! I proclaim these barrels ownerless, free for the talking for all!” He then rode back home to prepare for the festival.

That night, Reb Kopel sat down to the Seder with a joyous heart. When he recited from his Haggadah, “Why do we eat this unleavened bread? Because the dough of our fathers did not have time to become leavened before G-d revealed Himself to them and redeemed them,” he savored the taste of each word in his mouth. All his capital had been invested in those barrels of vodka and beer; indeed, much of it had been bought on credit. He was now penniless, and the future held only the prospect of many years of crushing debt. But his heart was as light and bright as a songbird. He had not a drop of chametz in his possession! For once in his life, he had been given the opportunity to truly demonstrate his love and loyalty to G-d. He had removed all leaven from his possession, as G-d had commanded him. Of course, he had fulfilled many mitzvot in his lifetime, but never at such a cost — none as precious — as this one!

The eight days of Passover passed for Reb Kopel in a state of ecstatic joy. Then the festival was over, and it was time to return to the real world. With thoughtful steps he headed to his warehouse to look through his papers and try to devise some plan to start his business anew. Clustered in the doorway he found a group of extremely disappointed gentiles.

“Hey, Kopel!” one of them called, “I though you were supposed to get ridof your vodka. What’s the point of announcing that it’s ‘free for the taking for all’ if you put those watchdogs there to guard it!”

They all began speaking at once, so it took a while for Kopel to learn the details. For the entire duration of the festival, night and day round the clock, the barrels and casks on the riverbank were ringed by a pack of ferocious dogs who allowed no one to approach. Reb Kopel rode to the riverbank. There the barrels stood, untouched.

But he made no move to load them on his wagon. “If I take them back,” he said to himself, “how will I ever know that I had indeed fully and sincerely relinquished my ownership over them before Passover? How could I ever be sure that I had truly fulfilled the mitzvah of removingchametz from my possession? No! I won’t give up my mitzvah, or even allow the slightest shadow of a doubt to fall over it!”

One by one, he rolled the barrels down the riverbank until they stood at the very brink of the water. He pulled out the stops in their spigots and waited until every last drop of vodka and beer had merged with the river. Only then did he head back home.

Passover’s Inner Joy

All The King’ Soldiers. Parsha essay for Torah Reading: Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11 – 34:35)

Our Parshah recounts the famous story of the Golden Calf. One of the highpoints (or low points) of that account is the fact that the Tablets containing the Ten Commandments, which Moses had received directly from G-d, had a very short life. Immediately upon returning from Sinai, Moses saw the Jewish people worshipping the Golden Calf and he shattered the Tablets.

We know that G-d had subsequently given Moses a second set of the tablets, but what ever happened to the broken Tablets?

The Talmud discusses their whereabouts and states that they are kept together with the second set of whole Tablets in the Ark. (And according to Maimonides, the Ark is still around today hidden in a subterranean chamber beneath the Temple mount.)

Of what import is the knowledge that the shattered Tablets are housed together with the whole Tablets?

The Talmud addresses this matter by stating, “Be careful to honor a scholar who forgot his learning because of infirmity, because the whole Tablets and the shattered Tablets are both in the Ark.” In other words, since we honor the broken Tablets by putting them in the Ark, though they apparently have no use now since they can’t be read, so too must we respect a scholar who might not have his knowledge with him now in his old age, since he used to have his learning.

This statement appears in the Talmud together with two other teachings of apparently totally unrelated themes that the Sage Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi imparted to his sons:

“Complete the parsha together with the congregation reading the Hebrew text twice and the Targum (Aramaic translation) once.

“And be careful with the veridim (jugular vein or carotid arteries). [Make sure to sever them while slaughtering a chicken so the blood will drain.]”

“And be careful to honor a scholar who forgot his learning because of infirmity, because the whole Tablets and the shattered Tablets are both in the Ark.”

These three teachings appear to be totally disjointed.

Let us try to understand the significance of these teachings and their connection to one another.

We read the weekly Torah portion (known as the parsha or sidra) with its translation on a weekly basis because, as Jews, we must “live with the times.” This means we must allow the timely teachings of the Torah to inform our lives on a weekly basis. Although all of the Torah is relevant to us every day of our lives, there is a need to focus on the weekly parsha for its guidance during the specific week the congregation reads it.

But, it is not enough to read the parsha once. One must read it twice. One way of explaining this is based on the fact that we tend to read things through the prism of our own minds and hearts. We sometimes color what we read by the preconceived notions we have and thereby distort the true import of the Torah. By doing so, we deny ourselves the benefit of reading the Torah portion for direction in our lives. Instead of hearing what G-d’s message to us is, we may hear how the Torah confirms what we think the message ought to be. The Sages therefore admonished us to read it again to instructed us that although the first time we read it the way it appears to us, the second time we must read it from the perspective of the Author of the Torah.

After reading it twice to ensure that we do not distort or color the message, we must then read the translation. This requirement addresses the opposite concern that necessitated reading the Torah portion twice. Whereas reading it twice was intended to preserve the integrity of the message, reading the translation is intended to make the teachings of the Torah resonate with each and every one of us in our state of mind and being.

Now that we see the words of Torah in its pure and unadulterated Divine form we might discover that the Torah teachings are too lofty and distant from the realities of our lives. We cannot glean any practical and relevant insights that can impact our lives because we are inhabitants of a universe that is “light years” away from the Torah’s source. Particularly in the times of exile, we will feel the existence of a serious dichotomy between our world and the world of Torah.

It is therefore crucial that we have a mechanism to take the pure teachings of the Torah and translate them into the realities of our physical existence. This is what the Aramaic translation (known as Targum Onkelus) as well as Rashi and other classical Jewish commentaries provide for. While they remain faithful to the original, they have the capacity to bring the message into our universe and consciousness.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi was instructing his children to maintain this delicate balance; to maintain the integrity of Torah even as it could be made relevant to those who are “in the real world.”

This teaching is followed by a second one that admonishes the shochet to make sure that the veins or arteries that contain large volumes of forbidden blood be drained after the bird is slaughtered.

To understand this process on a spiritual level, we must preface how the entire process of shechitah (ritual slaughter of animals and birds) is more than just killing these creatures for their consumption. It is about elevating the world in which we reside.

While Torah—especially through its official translation, Onkelus —is G-d given energy that flows downward to us and enters into our consciousness to make us more spiritual and Divine, the human being has to then take the world around him or her and elevate it. If Torah is bringing G-dly knowledge down into our experiences, the Mitzvot we do involve taking the physical world and our experiences and bringing them to closer to G-d. This we do, among others Mitzvot, by the process of shechitah. The word shechitah—while referring technically to the act of kosher slaughter—actually derives from a root that means to pull or draw, as in moving something to a higher place.

So Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi tells his sons that in the process of elevating the physical world and making it more spiritual one must drain the blood from it. Figuratively speaking, this means we should divest ourselves of the life and passion we invest into our physical and material pursuits. We cannot rise upward if we are tied down.

And at this point, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi imparts the third and final message to his sons:

Even if you live your life in accordance with these principles—of effectively translating the untainted and lofty teachings of Torah into our daily lives, and successfully elevating our physical existence by divesting ourselves of passion in the pursuit of materialism—we may nevertheless experience periods in which our Tablets become shattered.

Frequently, we can reach a high and then fall down thinking that we are no longer in the game. And even if we don’t degenerate into shameful behavior akin to worshipping the golden calf, we nevertheless feel that much of our energy has been spent; we become a shadow of who we were, and now we feel we are left with nothing or very little.

This leads to the depressing thought: What good is it that we’ve achieved such progress when it all reverts to nothing? And while it is undeniably true that a person can always turn a new leaf; it is precisely the thought of having to start anew that is so daunting and demoralizing. If only we could recapture our original youthful achievements; if only we can put the shattered Tablets back together and make them whole again.

The answer to this unsettling thought is that even if our Tablets our broken, they do not lose any of their holiness.

Similarly, when we lose some of our spiritual attainments and the energy that we invested in our early achievements in life, they did not go to waste. This is so because the Divine writ has been etched into our souls by G-d Himself. Nothing can destroy that which is an integral part of us just as no one or nothing—even the shattering of the Tablets—could diminish their holiness.

As we stand on the threshold of the Era of Redemption we discover that these three challenges assume even greater significance:

Challenge number one is to balance the reading of the Torah with its translation. Since we are still in exile—and before the dawn of Redemption we are told the darkness can be greater- we must double our efforts at seeing the Torah from G-d’s perspective. And indeed, because we are on the cusp of the Messianic Age we are provided with even greater potential to see the Torah from G-d’s perspective. Simultaneously, we have the challenge of having to translate the Torah and apply it to the dark exile conditions that exist in these times.

Challenge number two is to drain the passion from the “other side.” Because we are so close to the age concerning which it is written there will be no more impurity and evil, the forces of evil can be far greater and more potent than ever before. It behooves us now to learn how to drain the “blood” (read: passion) for all that is incompatible with Torah.

Challenge number three is to realize that as broken as we may think we are because of the painful protracted exile we have endured, we have never lost our inherent holiness. On the contrary, every Mitzvah we have done, notwithstanding the pressures of society, have etched into our souls and bodies G-dly energy and light that can never be erased.

In the Messianic Age, all of us—those of us whose Tablets were never shattered because they lived in the days of old when the Holy Temple stood and spirituality was rampant, as well as the righteous people of all times, together with the majority of us who have had set backs and whose Tablets have been shattered to one extent or another, will be united together with our righteous Moshiach.

Purim Paparazzi. Concepts Packaged in Purim Humor

It wasn’t that long ago that my partners and I were apprehended, imprisoned and reprimanded on the prejudiced, presumptuous, preposterous pretext that we jolted the proper protocol of the proud Pritish Empire! This prompted me to abandon my previous preoccupation, and to make Purim my priority.

Instead of joining an exasperated press probing into prominent people’s privacies, I would pursue celebrities like King Ahasuerus, Queen Esther and Vashti of Persia. I will serve a much greater purpose by getting a better picture, or portrait, of the Megillah’s principal personalities. It gives me the opportunity to report on the grand procession of Mordechai, Haman and his sons Parshandatha, Parmashta and Poratha, to name only three. Now, with the approach of Purim, I prefer to devote my expertise to promote the proper performance of the Purim procedures and its prerequisites.

Perhaps you are perplexed and perturbed why a prestigious publication such as this should make such a big production out of Purim, exaggerating it out of proportion to other projects or programs. Why must we twist ourselves into a pretzel with all this perennial Purim propaganda? I propose that this is precisely Purim’s Problem. If Purim is not paramount in your mind, it probably needs more and better PR.

Purim represents the promise of Jewish perseverance under pressure and persecution. Although it transpired in Persia approximately 2,300 years ago, Purim is not an ancient anachronism, but part and parcel of the present. As the Baal Shem Tov paraphrased the Talmud: “One who reads the Megillah backwards has not fulfilled his obligation,” for Purim is as current and contemporary as today’s newspaper.

Purim is pervaded by Divine Providence, as the Megillah prefaces with the Royal parties and profaning of the pure priestly vessels, the priceless perfumes, progressing with Mordechai’s premonition of peril, and the evil oppression and persecution perpetrated by Persia’s prejudiced premier, Haman, may he and all his conspirators perish. Esther and the Jews prepare to preempt Haman’s evil plot, while Mordechai is promoted to prominence, protected by purple and imperial paraphernalia. Purim’s profound principles may appear to be compromised by the peripheral pranks, silly improvisos, superficial pretenses, parodies and parades. Yet paradoxically, scriptural interpretation compares Purim to Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year!

Purim pertains to each and every one of us. It speaks to every person of every profile and persuasion, from the lowest to the uppermost; from a protesting preppie to a presiding provost; from the poorest, perspiring paparazzi to the prim & proper president of Purdue U., or the paradigm of any other prosperous corporation.

Please permit me now to express my paranoia. If this prattling will continue to prevail, I may develop a permanent and perpetual purring like a cat, that will stray afar into perpendicular perspectives way beyond the parameters of this precious piece of PR. But without Purim, all these permutations are nothing but parenthetical presuppositions and superfluous superlatives that serve no purpose.

I will thus stop right now, and leave my impressive PR portfolio to the professionals. For a simple paparazzi like myself, this is enough, period. May the inspiration of Purim purimeate our whole year!

Rather than preach Purim principles in the abstract, we should be particular and specific, for proverbially, practice makes perfect. So here is a paragraph on Purim’s Five important precepts:

1) The Megillah parchment is proclaimed on Purim day, and the preceding night.

2) We send our friends and peers, by proxy, a pair of provisions: Hamantashen (poppy or prune), Perrier, Pringles, pirogen, pears, apricots, peppermint candy, or other appropriate foods portions, whether or not they have that persistent PR pronunciation, as long as they are edible.

3) It is imperative that we open our purse, and provide to the deprived on Poorim. We should proffer a coin (a least a quarter) each, to two poor persons. It is your prerogative how much to give, but the more the merrier. If you can’t personally locate poor persons, participate by placing the proceeds into a pushka/charity can.

4) On Purim we partake of a Party, and pour a L’chaim!

5) We say the appropriate prayers, express appreciation and sing G-d’s praises.

Happy Purim!

Masquerade!Purim Insight

On Purim, nothing is as it seems.

That ferocious monster is really sweet shy Sarah from second grade. That beautiful Queen Esther with the jewel-studded crown is really your brother Moishe. Is that a gigantic three-cornered-poppy-seed-filled-cookie walking down the street? And how did little Michael grow that luxuriant white beard?

Why do we disguise ourselves on Purim? Because on Purim nothing is as it seems. Was the banishment of Vashti simply one of those things that happen when a debauched Persian emperor gets drunk? Was it just coincidence that Mordechai happened to overhear a plot to kill the king? Did Achashveirosh choose Esther to be his queen because she happened to be the most beautiful woman in the empire? Was it plain bad luck for bad Haman that he happened to come visit Achashveirosh just when the king was having Mordechai’s heroic deed read to him? Was it Esther’s charm and Achasveirosh’s flippancy that made the king suddenly hang his favorite minister?

Purim was instituted because the Jewish people at the time understood that it was G-d Himself who did all of the above, to save His people. He was just disguising Himself as a Persian palace soap opera.

When G-d took the Children of Israel out of Egypt on Passover, the entire neighborhood, from Giza to Gaza and from Memphis to Mesopotamia, resonated with the miracles wrought by the G-d of the Hebrews. When a small jug of oil burned for eight days on Chanukah, the most skeptical Hellenist saw that it was an act of G-d. Purim (“lots”) is unique in that the most miraculous of salvations was shrouded in the garments of nature, luck and coincidence. G-d was hidden and remained hidden–His name does not once appear in the entire Megillah (Scroll of Esther)!

Purim is a masquerade. The Scroll of Esther (“I shall hide”) is scrolled up. Even the poppy-seed filling is barely peeking out of the folds of dough of the Hamantash (or is it prune?), not to mention the wholly concealed meat (chicken?) filling in the kreplach.

Not paradoxically, Purim is also the most joyous festival on the Jewish calendar. It’s great to celebrate miracles, but how often does a miracle come your way? Far more exhilarating is the realization that nothing is as it seems, that G-d is always pulling the strings, even when things seem to be “just happening.”

Road Work: A Story about The Rebbetzin (the Rebbe’s wife)

Told by Chessed Halberstam

Note: Chessed Halberstam worked in the employ of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneersohn, wife of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, for eighteen years — from 1970 until the Rebbetzin’s passing in 1988 — performing household chores and serving as the Rebbetzin’s driver.

The Rebbe requested that I try to see to it that the Rebbetzin gets out of the house every day for fresh air. Usually we would drive out to a park in Long Island. In the years that my son, Ari (may G-d avenge his blood1), was a young child, we would often drive by his school on Ocean Parkway to take him along; the Rebbetzin enjoyed playing with him, pushing him on the swings in the park playground, etc.

One day, as we neared the park, we found our regular route closed off due to road work, and were forced to proceed instead on a parallel street. As we drove along that street, we heard the sound of a woman screaming in Russian. When I stopped at the next traffic light, the Rebbetzin turned to me and said: “I heard a woman screaming; can you go back and see what that was about?”

We drove back to the beginning of the street. There we saw a woman standing on the curb and weeping, while near her workers were carrying furniture and household items from a house and loading them on to a truck belonging to the county marshal. At the Rebbetzin’s request, I parked behind the marshal’s truck and went to learn the details of what was going on. The marshal explained that the woman had not paid her rent for many months and was now being evicted from her home.

When I reported back to the Rebbetzin, she asked me to go back and inquire from the marshal how much the woman owed, and if he would accept a personal check; she also asked that I should not say anything to the family being evicted. At this point, I still did not realize where all this was leading, but I fulfilled the Rebbetzin’s request. The sum that the family owed was approximately $6,700. The marshal said that he had no problem accepting a personal check, as long as he confirms with the bank that the check is covered; he also said that if he received the payment, his men would carry everything back into the house. When I informed the Rebbitzin of the details, she took out her checkbook and, to my amazement, wrote out a check for the full amount, and asked me to give it to the marshal.

The marshal made a phone call to the bank, and then instructed his workers to take everything back into the house. The Rebbitzin immediately urged me to quickly drive away, before the woman realized what had transpired.

I was completely amazed at what I had seen and later, when we were in the park, I could not contain myself and asked the Rebbetzin what had prompted her to give such a large sum to a total stranger?

“Do you really want to know?” asked the Rebbetzin.

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

“Then I’ll tell you,” she said. “Once, when I was a young girl, my father2took me for a walk in the park. He sat me down on a bench and started to tell me about the idea of hashgachah peratit (’specific divine providence’).3 Every time — said father — when something causes us to deviate from our normal routine, there is a divinely ordained reason for this; every time we see something unusual, there is a purpose in why we’ve been shown this sight.

“Today,” continued the Rebbetzin, “when I saw the ‘Detour’ sign instructing us to deviate from our regular route, I remembered my father’s words and immediately thought to myself: Every day we drive by this street; suddenly, the street’s closed off and we’re sent to a different street. What is the purpose of this? How is this connected to me? Then I heard the sound of a woman crying and screaming. I realized that we have been sent along this route for a purpose.”

Jewish Guilt

by Yakov Tauber

When you build a new house, you shall make a fence for your roof, so that you shall not cause blood [to be spilled] in your house, when he who falls shall fall from it(Deuteronomy 22:8)

Among the many interestingmitzvot enumerated in the Torahreading of Ki Teitzei(Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19) is the mitzvah of maakeh–the commandment to built a fence around one’s roof, lest someone fall from it and hurt himself. In its broader application, this includes the prohibition to “raise a dangerous dog, or keep a wobbly ladder in one’s home”–to own or maintain in one’s possession anything that can cause injury to a fellow (Talmud, Bava Kama 15b).

The commentaries note the curious terminology employed by the Torah–”when he who falls shall fall from it” (ki yipol hanofel mimenu).Rashi explains: “Even though this person deserves to fall anyway, you should not be the cause of his injury.”

A guy climbs up on my roof in the middle of a snowstorm, decides to do cartwheels on its icy ledge, falls and breaks his nose. I could blame his foolhardiness, I could blame the weather, I could blame G-d (since nothing happens unless G-d wills it); instead, says the Torah, I should hold myself responsible. Given the type of guy we’re dealing with here, this was bound to happen anyway; but the very fact that it happened on my roof means that it is my responsibility–it even means that I could have somehow prevented it.

“Jewish guilt” entered American literature half a century ago, and dozens of Woody Allen movies and Bernard Malamud novels later, the idea evokes a caricature of neurotic self-absorption: the Jewish father who, sixty years later, still blames all his son’s failings on the fact that he couldn’t afford the bicycle his kid wanted for his seventh birthday; the Jewish mother who’s convinced that her failure to impress the shul president’s wife marked her family as social outcasts for all generations; the Jewish rabbi who believes that all the world’s troubles are caused by his own sins. Quite a self-centered, dismal and pessimistic view of the universe.

In truth, it is a self-centered view, but in the most positive sense of the word. And rather than dismal and pessimistic, it is the most encouraging and optimistic perspective of reality in the history of human thought.

Think about it: the notion that we, as creatures of choice, are responsible for all that occurs within our domain also implies that we do have control over what happens there, that our choices and actions do make a difference. The notion that even though my choices and actions overlap only a miniscule area of another person’s life, and an even smaller area of human history, what I choose and do will profoundly influence the fate of the guy dancing on my roof, the achievements of the community of which I am a part, and the course of humanity’s progress through time. What I choose and do will even make the difference between death and life, between failure and success.

The Rebbe would often say: if you see your fellow Jew traveling down a self-destructive path, and you seek to set him straight but fail, the fault is yours. The reasoning behind this conclusion is both profound and simple. Our sages have declared that “words that come from the heart enter the heart.” So if your words did not enter his heart, this can only mean that they were not spoken in complete sincerity. Had you been truly sincere–had you spoken with no objective in mind other than his good–your words would have entered his heart and would have had their desired effect.

The guiding principle behind Judaism’s perspective on reality is: If G-d has placed me here, that means I can make a difference. The fact that I can make a difference means that it is my responsibility to do so. It also means that I have the power to do so–for G-d does not place a responsibility on me without providing me with the ability to execute it successfully.

We will never be free of “Jewish guilt”–it’s hardwired into our Jewish soul, programmed into our spiritual DNA. But how will it blossom in our life? Will it surface as a neurotic, debilitating pessimism, or as an empowering confidence in our ability to effect true change in our lives, the lives of our fellows, and the world as a whole? That, of course, is up to us. And the more we understand the dynamics of this sense of responsibility we carry in our souls–where it comes from and what its purpose is–the better we will be able to actualize to its innately positive function.

When the Rebbe Asked me for $100 Million

…And then He Began Quoting Zorba The Greek

By Gordan Zacks (for the Yeshiva.net)

In tribute to the 60th anniversary of the leadership of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, this Monday, 10 Shevat (1950-2010)

In 1969, I was the Chairman of the Young Leadership Cabinet of the national United Jewish Appeal. As such, I was invited to deliver the keynote address to the Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare Funds Annual Conference, being held that year in November in Boston. The theme was “Youth Looks at the Future of the American Jewish Community.” I spent six months preparing for this talk. Usually, I speak extemporaneously with at most a one-page outline. This time — because of its importance — I elected to read the entire speech.

In it, I thanked my parents’ generation for supporting the creation of the state of Israel and rescuing survivors from the Holocaust. In its aftermath, two million Jews had been delivered through their efforts from lands of oppression and resettled to lands of freedom. Nonetheless, I pointed out that we faced a disaster in the field of Jewish education. We ran the risk of losing more Jews through assimilation than we had saved through affirmation. We needed to address the failure of our Jewish educational system to inspire many young Jews to continue to be Jewish. I recommended that we create a national Jewish research and development venture capital fund to invest risk capital in innovative approaches to make Jewish education relevant to young people and to create an Institute for Jewish Life that would manage the process.

To fund this Institute, I proposed that the Jewish community endow the Institute with $l00 million of State of Israel bonds for a pe¬riod of ten years. The purchasers would receive a tax deduction. At the end of ten years, they would get their principal back. The Institute would get the use of the interest. Annually it would provide about $6 million in revenue. We would have ten years in which to evaluate the results. If the concept didn’t produce worthwhile results, that would be the end of the Institute. Ultimately the idea was adopted in an abbreviated form with funding of $3.5 million. In this truncated version, it failed in its mission and was eventually closed. Still, it stimulated a lot of discussion about Jewish education, and placed it right behind rescue as a priority for the American Jewish community.

In December 1969, I received a call from a man named Leibel Alevsky. He was a rabbi with the Lubavitch movement in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn. He said the Lubavitcher Rebbe wanted to meet me. Given the tone of the phone call, I thought I was being invited for a royal audience. I immediately said yes to a date in January, but I didn’t even know who the Rebbe was! My rabbi gave me some background and urged me to go ahead with the meeting. On the appointed day in January, Alevsky and I were finishing dinner in his home at 11:15 at night. We got a call that the Rebbe would see me now. I walked with Alevsky to a modest building to find 300 people — from around the world –each waiting at the Rebbe’s headquarters, the Chabad Center, in the middle of the night for an audience with the Rebbe!

Later I learned that the Rebbe held these audiences three times each week, lasting from sundown often until the middle of the night.

I went in alone to see the Rebbe. In his office, illuminated by a single ceiling light, books were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. He was a slight man with translucent skin and absolutely clear whites of his eyes — the sclera encircling his sparkling blue irises, his beard outlining an impish grin. The Rebbe was sixty-seven at the time. He looked at me in such a penetrating way that I felt like I was being x-rayed.

“Mr. Zacks, I have read your speech,” he began, “and it’s clear you have taken good care of your mind. I can look at you, and it’s clear you have taken good care of your body. What have you done to take care of your soul?”

No small talk about how I was or if I had a pleasant trip. I was stunned.

“The Jewish house is on fire,” he continued. “We have an emergency, and this is not the time to experiment with new ways to put out the fire. Instead, you call the proven and tested fire department. We are that fire department. We — the Lubavitchers — don’t have drugs or intermarriage problems with our children or kids opting out of Judaism. Our tradition works, and our children are being educated. We have a worldwide outreach program that contacts and impacts non-observant Jews and saves souls. Give us the $100 million, and we will spend it to correct the problems that you are concerned about.”

“Rebbe,” I asked after pausing for a moment, “what if the house is on fire, but people have forgotten your telephone number?” “G-d will provide,” he answered me.

“There are millions of Jews whose houses are on fire,” I said to him. “Most of them are Jews who will not call you, either because they have lost your number or they won’t accept the lifestyle compromises you expect. They’re still worthy of saving in their own way, and they are entitled to a quality Jewish education that makes Judaism relevant to their lives. That’s why we need this Institute.”

“Do you believe in revelation, Mr. Zacks?” he asked me next.

“I believe in G-d and I believe he inspires… but I don’t believe he writes,” I answered.

“You mean, Mr. Zacks, that there is this vast structure G-d has created of plants, animals, food chains, stars, and planets. And, that the only creature in all of creation that doesn’t understand how to fit in and live their life purposefully is the human?”

I told him yes.

“What about the complexity of the human body? What about the jewel of the human cell? How does the body ingest food and renew itself with absolute consistency?”

I had no answer.

“Why, Mr. Zacks, is the nose always where the nose belongs? Why are the eyes always on the face for generation after generation?”

I could only shrug my shoulders, but my respect for him deepened by the moment.

“And, how can you account for the brain and the mind? How do they steer this remarkable system in a purposeful and precise way? And, what about how we fit into the earth’s ecosystem, where we inhale the oxygen that plants so wonderfully manufacture for us? Could this all be accidental?”

How could I answer him?

“And, beyond what happens on earth. What about all the heavenly bodies in the sky that seem to follow such a perfect order and don’t collide with each other? Is man the only creature on the planet earth without guidelines for living its life? Should man ignore the Torah given to us by G-d as a roadmap to guide us? This is the missing link which connects us to the complexity of Nature!”

So it went. Comment after comment. More times than not, I could not begin to answer his points.

He quoted Kazantzakis’ book Zorba the Greek to me during our conversation. “Do you remember the young man talking with Zorba on the beach, when Zorba asks what the purpose of life is? The young fellow admits he doesn’t know. And Zorba comments, ‘Well, all those damned books you read — what good are they? Why do you read them?’ Zorba’s friend says he doesn’t know. Zorba can see his friend doesn’t have an answer to the most fundamental question. That’s the trouble with you. ‘A man’s head is like a grocer,’ Zorba says, ‘it keeps accounts… The head’s a careful little shopkeeper; it never risks all it has, always keeps something in reserve. It never breaks the string.’ Wise men and grocers weigh everything. They can never cut the cord and be free.

“Your problem, Mr. Zacks, is that you are trying to find G-d’s map through your head. You are unlikely to find it that way. You have to experience before you can truly feel and then be free to learn. Let me send a teacher to live with you for a year and teach you how to be Jewish. You will unleash a whole new dimension to your life. If you really want to change the world, change yourself! It’s like dropping a stone into a pool of water and watching the concentric circles radiate to the shore. You will influence all the people around you, and they will influence others in turn. That’s how you bring about improvement in the world.”

“Rebbe, I’m not ready to do that,” I told him. I remained firm despite the incredibly woven tapestry of the universe he presented to me.

“What do you have to lose?” he asked, “One year of your life? What if I’m right? It could gain you an eternity if I’m right, but only cost you one year if I’m wrong.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said as we wrapped up our hour-and-a-half conversation. The normal audience with the Rebbe was thirty seconds to a minute. Three hundred people were still waiting to come in at one in the morning.

***

The Rebbe took people the way they were. His ultimate goal was to bring you to the ways of Jewish life, but his means were not confrontational and demanding. You could literally feel his warmth and love in addition to the power of his vast intellect. Once he established the Chabad Center at 770 Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, I don’t think he ever left it. Yet he was totally wired into the events of the world. I sensed this in my first meeting with the Rebbe. He radiated compassion, love, and respect for others — a servant leader totally committed to serving G-d through helping others.

The Rebbe wrote me letters encouraging me to devote myself to Jewish education. Over a series of years, I received five letters from him saying that he wanted to send his representative to me to spend a year teaching me how to be Jewish. I responded to each of them and declined.

Beginning in 1986, the Rebbe had a receiving line on Sunday in which he passed out a dollar bill to be given by the recipient as tzedakah to charity. His reasoning: “When two people meet, something good should result for a third.” People waited in line for as long as four hours to be greeted by him and receive his blessing and the dollar bill. The Rebbe was eighty-four when he started doing this. An older woman in the line asked him how he could manage to perform this demanding task. “Every soul is a diamond,” he answered. “Can one grow tired of counting diamonds?”

In 1987, my youngest daughter, Kim, had just returned from Israel and she wanted to participate in the custom of Sunday Dollars. I said fine I would take her. I neither called nor told anyone who I was when we arrived. I stood in line with her. It had been seventeen years since I had seen the Rebbe and ten years since he wrote me his last letter. When it was our turn to speak with the Rebbe, he looked at me and asked “What are you doing for Jewish education?” His eyes had the same penetrating look that had scanned me seventeen years earlier and asked, “What are you doing to take care of your soul, Mr. Zacks?” It was as though I had just walked back into his office. In truth, hundreds of thousands of people had filed past him over those years.

“You are amazing!” I exclaimed to him.

“What has that to do with saving Jewish lives? What are you doing for Jewish education?” he retorted. He may not have gotten exactly what he wanted from me, but the Rebbe surely taught me the power of changing yourself to influence others. He wanted to enlist me as his fundraiser for Jewish education. While I certainly considered his invitation, I declined it. Still he may have been the most charismatic man I ever met. He had an incredible aura to him, partly because he was such a combination of charisma and pragmatism. This man came out of the scientific community to return to the religious life. Every Israeli prime minister and Israeli chief of staff found his way to the Rebbe’s doorstep when they came to the United States.

The most amazing thing? The Rebbe saw himself as perfecting G-d’s will. He had no power in the sense that a police commissioner, a general, or a tax collector does. He had no one enforcing his decisions. What he did have was the authority of his holiness, which caused others to connect to him. It wasn’t his title that gave the Rebbe authority. It was his presence and his profound grasp of bringing the principles of the Torah to life in himself and in others. The Rebbe didn’t declare himself a leader. His overpowering presence inspired those around him to declare him their leader and to revere him. Through earning respect and trust, people endowed him with leadership.

About ten years after I first met the Rebbe, I attended a dinner in Cleveland at the home of Leibel Alevsky. At the table with us was the man the Rebbe sent to the Soviet Union to save Jews. When the Rebbe sent him on this mission, he didn’t give him a plan or give him money! This was during the Stalin era. The anti-Jewish, anti-Zionist mentality of the Soviets may have been at its very worst. The Rebbe’s designate went to the Soviet Union, lived and worked by his wits, and figured out how he could smuggle Jews out to Poland by train. He succeeded. At the same time, he was smuggling in prayer books, religious articles, and calendars for those still in the Soviet Union. And, he set up secret schools to teach Hebrew. The Lubavitchers are incredibly resourceful people, whose outreach is one-on-one.

The Lubavitchers are the essence of true believers. As I traveled abroad, I first noted their presence in Morocco. They ran schools for kids in the ghetto. That may sound noble, but not earth-shattering until you understand the kind of “social security system” that prevailed in Morocco at the time. Children were the system. At birth, many infants –Arabs and Jews both — were maimed and deformed by their parents so the kids could beg more effectively! The Lubavitchers bought the children from their parents for one more dirham than the market value of the child begging on the street for a year, and then they gave the children an education.

You could see the evidence of the Rebbe’s positive work all over the world in places like the Soviet Union, Morocco, and Iran. How did these devout Lubavitchers get there? The Rebbe would simply say, “Go to Morocco and save souls.” They didn’t get a dime or an ounce of organizational help. They saved thousands and thousands of Jews physically, and they spiritually changed many more. The conviction they are doing G-d’s work carries them forward. Their passion brings them to college campuses all over the United States. They will send out a representative wearing payos and a black frock coat and open up a Chabad house on campuses like University of California at Berkeley. They get kids off narcotics and give them a spiritual jolt instead of a buzz on drugs. “Get high on G-d!” they preach. Their individual missions are great illustrations of the power of one. The Rebbe’s passion for saving Jewish souls lives through them.

Unlike every other Jewish figure in this book, the Rebbe was not a Zionist. Though very supportive of the state of Israel and its defense forces, he felt that redemption would only be ushered in by the Messiah. He also drove home the point that a commitment to the state of Israel does not exempt us from fulfilling age-old Judaic commandments. In fact, it should actually elicit more loyalty to the Torah. The Rebbe was completely devoted to fulfilling G-d’s will.

The essence of the Rebbe’s teaching is celebration of G-d. The Chabad radiate a wonderful joy of life that is a reverberation of the Rebbe’s spirit. I wish I could believe the way they do, with their absolute confidence in their answer. Their sheer love in celebrating the Jewish traditions with singing and dancing is unmatched. Nothing equals the celebration of a Shabbat with a Chabadnik. The food is homemade, delicious — though not necessarily healthy for your arteries — but it’s only the beginning of the positive energy that flows in each Shabbat from celebrating the birthday of the world!

*) Mr. Gordon Zacks was general chairman designate of the National UJA and was a founding member and chairman of the Young Leadership Cabinet of the UJA. Excerpted from his book Defining Moments, published by Beaufort Books. Our thanks to Rabbi Aryeh Caltman (Columbus, OH) for sending us this chapter of the book with permission.

Haiti: When the Slaves of Haiti Revolted Against Napoleon

“Let My People Go!” But Can they Let Themselves Go?

By: Rabbi Y. Y. Jacobson – The yeshiva.net

Tragedy in Haiti

The devastation in Haiti is beyond words. Last Tuesday, more than 100,000 human flames were suddenly extinguishes by a brutal earthquake which struck the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. In a Hiroshima-scale disaster, infants, children, teenagers, mothers, fathers, grandparents and entire families and dynasties have been destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Now is the time to act—to extend our prayers, our hearts, and primarily our bank accounts to the three million shattered survivors.

Why? Oh Why?

As I watched on the web the horrific images of rescue workers desperately trying to rescue children trapped under rubble for two days, I asked the same old question: Why? Oh Why?

For the atheist, “why” does not constitute a serious question. “Why not?” is his answer. Do we expect earth’s plates to be sensitive to the cries of parents whose children have been buried alive? If nature evolved and is governed by pure chance, it must be a-moral. Suffering, in the doctrine of atheism, makes perfect sense.

Yet notwithstanding this justification of human suffering, all of us – believers and non-believers alike – never cease to ask “why?” Why do innocent people suffer? How can 100,00 human beings perish so tragically? When natural disaster strikes and claims the life of innocents, the very core of our identity senses that something very wrong has occurred; that nature should have behaved differently. For the great Jewish mystics, this is the stamp of the Divine in the consciousness of every human being causing him or her to sense that the world is governed by moral justice. When reality smacks that belief in the face, we cry out “how?” How can a moral and benevolent Creator cause so much anguish to innocent human beings, including thousands of children? How?

[In Ivan Karamazov’s words: "Tell me frankly, I appeal to you -- answer me: Imagine that it is you yourself who are erecting the edifice of human destiny with the aim of making men happy in the end, of giving them peace and contentment at last, but that to do that it is absolutely necessary, and indeed quite inevitable, to torture to death only one tiny creature, the little girl who beat her breast with her little fist, and to found the edifice on her un-avenged tears -- would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me and do not lie!" (The Brothers Karamazov, by Feodor Dostoyevsky).]

Never in history did G-d answer this question, the greatest of all questions and the one good argument for atheism. The book of Job, dedicated to the question of why the innocent suffer, concludes with a revelation of G-d to Job, telling him, in essence, that there is no way the human mind can create the logical constructs in which G-d’s behavior can fit. The finite and the infinite just don’t meet. When it comes to human suffering, there is no human fathomable answer. Let us not dear to explain and rationalize what can never be explained and rationalized.

A “Pact with the Devil?”

One man decided this week to play G-d and offer us an “explanation” for the unspeakable suffering in Haiti, as though any human has the power to explain tragedy. But it was not only that he said anything to explain why the Haitians deserved to suffer so, it was also what he said by way of rationalizing the earthquake. The TV preacherPat Robertson said that Haitian slaves made a “pact with the devil” 200 years ago in order to free themselves from the hated clutches of Napoleon Bonaparte’s regime – resulting in a curse that led to the destruction of much of Port-au-Prince and a massive loss of life in Tuesday’s earthquake.

Besides getting some of the facts wrong (he said that the slave revolt came during the reign of “Napoleon III, or whatever,” when the Haitian Revolution was completed in 1804 when the world famous Napoleon Bonaparte 1769-1821) ruled France, 44 years before his nephew Napoleon III came to power), what Robertson was referring to is a fascinating and tragic piece of history. After the French revolution, in 1794, the 500,000 slaves brought from Africa to work Haiti’s lucrative sugar and coffee plantations, were freed by decree. But Napoleon Bonaparte, seeking empire, wealth, and territory, tried re-enslave them in 1802.

But once the slaves breathed the free air, they did not wish to return to their former status as drones or fodder for empire. The French abused them badly. They were whipped and beaten mercilessly. According to many historians, Haiti had been “a hell on earth” for the slaves. “Each year, 50,000 slaves were brought to Haiti to compensate for the terrible mortality among the slaves. Order was upheld through terror and violence.

Now was their time for revolt. Toussaint L’ouverture (pronounced: too-san loo-ver-tyr) (1743-1803), a house slave whose liberal master allowed him to read and educate himself, stepped up and let a ferocious war against the colonial masters.

By 1803 Napoleon was ready to get Haiti off his back: he and Toussaint agreed to terms of peace. A few months later, the French invited Toussaint to come to a negotiating meeting will full safety. When he arrived, the French—at Napoleon’s orders—betrayed the promise and arrested him, putting him on a ship headed for France. Napoleon ordered that Toussaint be placed in a prison dungeon in the mountains, and murdered by means of cold, starvation, and neglect. Toussaint died in prison, but others carried on the fight for freedom.

Years later, in exile at St. Helena, when asked about his dishonorable treatment of Toussaint, Napoleon remarked, “What could the death of one wretched Negro mean to me?”

Rabbi Schnuer Zalman and Napoleon

This unknown story is, by the way, relevant to the Jewish people. When Napoleon suddenly invaded Russia on June 23 1812 (Hitler also suddenly invaded Russia on June 22 1941), most leaders of Russian Jewry enthusiastically supported Napoleon as the man who would finally grant liberty and equality to the isolated and persecuted Jews. Some Jews even hailed him as a Messiah. There was one leader, Rabbi Schnuer Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), the founder of Chabad and one of the greatest Jewish thinkers and leaders, who loathed Napoleon. He felt that the French emperor’s thirst for power and self-aggrandizement knew no bounds and that his secret motif tearing down the ghetto walls was not human dignity but a desire to take over the world and to destroy the inner spiritual and religious core of the Jewish people. The Rebbe believed that Napoleon would cause mass Jewish assimilation and millions of Jews would be lost to our people and he actively supported the Czar against Napoleon.

When Napoleon advanced deep into Russia, Rabbi Schnuer Zalman, not wanting to live under his rule, fled. He passed away on December 27, 1812 (the 24^th of Taves 5573), while running from Napoleon.

Indeed, when it came to the half-a-million black slaves in Haiti, the ethos of freedom was obliterated from Napoleon’s vocabulary. The fact remains that the Haitian slaves are the first to collectively and successfully overthrow their colonial masters, in this case, the French. The slaves ended Napoleon’s ambition to dominate the Americas and have paved the way for the first black republic. After the Egyptian Exodus, this is the first recorded instance in history where a nation of slaves set themselves free.

The tragedy of Haiti is that if it was a hell on earth under slavery, it did not change after the slave revolt. Africans plucked and sent to Haiti to work under the lash and suddenly freed were not a model constituency for civil society. Some of the former slaves became tyrants. Haiti went from the largest sugar exporter in the world to chaos. The plantations were deserted. The former slaves refused to work on the places they were enslaved. Haiti may have been called “the mother of liberty,” but after 200 years of independence, it remains an impoverished and troubled nation. Two-thirds of the country’s workers are unemployed, and most Haitians live on about $1 a day. Life expectancy is little more than 50 years.

The last thing Haiti needed was this devastating earthquake. It is our duty and privilege to help this crushed nation and an ode to the United States of America for contributing 100 million dollars to rebuilding the country.

A Strange Commandment

This entire tragic story clarified, for me, a deeply enigmatic passage in the Talmud.

The Biblical account of the Jewish Exodus from Egypt has been the most inspiring story for the oppressed, enslaved and downtrodden throughout history. There was a reason that Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin chose a depiction of Exodus story as the Great Seal of the United States, though it did not come to fruition. More than any other historical narrative, it was Moses’ story which inspired the Founding Fathers. From the slaves of the American South, to Martin Luther King’s “Let Freedom Ring,” the Exodus provided slaves with the courage to hope for a better future, and with the ambition to act on the dreams.

The Bible relates how Moses’ first visit to Pharaoh demanding liberty for his crushed people only brought more misery to the Jews. The Egyptian leader increased their torture. The Hebrews by now would not listen any longer to the promise of redemption coming from Moses and Aaron. Now let us pay heed to one strange verse in the weekly portion, Vaeira.

So G-d spoke to Moses and to Aaron, and He commanded them to the children of Israel, and to Pharaoh the king of Egypt to let the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt. [i]

G-d is charging Moses and Aaron with two directives: Command the people and then command Pharaoh. However, the verse is truly ambiguous: What did G-d command Moses to instruct the people? The message for Pharaoh is clear: let my people go. But what is it that Moses is supposed to command the people themselves, even before going to Pharaoh?

The Jerusalem Talmud (completed in the third century CE, one hundred years before the Babylonian Talmud) [ii]tells us:

וידבר י”י אל משה ואל אהרן ויצום אל בני ישראל. על מה ציום? על פרשת שילוח עבדים.

G-d instructed Moses to command to the Jewish people. What did he command the? The laws of freeing slaves. [iii]

The Talmud is referring to a biblical law recorded later in Exodus: [iv]

If a Jew sells himself as a slave, the owner must let him go after six years.

Generally, the Torah, written 3300 years ago, imposed very strong restrictions on the slave owner. The owner was forbidden to show any disrespect to his slave (he can’t even have him carry his clothes to the bathhouse), and he must share with him all the delicacies he has. If the owner owns only one pillow or blanket, who gets it according to Jewish law? The slave. If the owner has only one plate of food for dinner, who gets to eat it? The slave. The Talmud put it best when it said, “if you acquire a Hebrew slave it is as though you acquired a master!” [v]

But in addition to all of this, the owner is forbidden to hold on to the slave for longer than six years. No matter how much he paid for the slave, once six years pass, he is automatically set free. (In addition, if the slave compensates his master for the money he paid him for his service, he could leave his master whenever he wishes.) So before G-d sends Moses to Pharaoh to instruct him to liberate his slaves, Moses is sent to the Jews themselves to communicate to them this particular Mitzvah of freeing slaves.

Yet this seems like a cruel joke. The Children of Israel themselves were now enslaved laborers, completely impoverished, powerless and hunted down by despot and a tyrannical regime. They have been stripped from their most basic human dignity. Their children were systematically murdered and they were beaten and abused. Yet at this point in time G-d wants Moses to command them about the laws relevant to the aristocrat and the feudal lord? Does it make sense to command a hungry, impoverished man, while he is still starving, that one day when he wins the lottery he should feed the poor?

The Jews were now groaning under Pharaoh’s yoke. What sense is there is instructing them that one day – psychologically a million light years away—they ought to free their slaves.

What is more, as the Torah states, “G-d commanded them to the children of Israel, and to Pharaoh the king of Egypt to let the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt.” Before sending them to the Egyptian leader to liberate the downtrodden slaves, G-d first sends Moses and Aaron to instruct the Jews that one day after many many years they must set free their own slaves. What’s the connection between the two things?

Who Is Free?

The answer is simple and moving, and it is a critical idea for history.

The message the Torah is trying to convey is that freedom is a gift and you are only entitled to it if you are ready to share it with others. If you are enslaving others, you deprive yourself of the right to be free.

This is true not only morally but also psychologically.

Before Pharaoh could liberate the Jewish slaves, they must be ready to become free. You can extricate a man from slavery, but you cannot extricate the slavery from within the man, that is up to him alone. He must learn to take responsibility to create his own life and make his own decisions. He must learn the joy and dignity of freedom, of self-accountability, and of self-respect.

What is the first symptom of bring free? That you bestow freedom on others.

The dictator, the control freak, or the abusive spouse or parent, is not only an enslaver but also a slave. He is too small, too insecure, mediocre, narrow minded, to allow others to shine. He feels compelled to force others into the mold that he has created for them because he never truly embraced himself as a free human being. He lives in a cycle of psychological imprisonment, in fear lest someone else overshadow him, expose his failings, or usurp his position. Outwardly he attempts to appear powerful and successful, but inwardly he is miserable and alone, shackled and insecure.

The truly free human being is comfortable with himself or herself in a very deep place. He is aware that he has his individual calling in life, and that no one can replace his true contribution. He knows that he has a light all his own, but that others carry a light all their own and must be encouraged to share that light.

Only when one learns to embrace others, not for whom he would like them to be, but for whom they are, then can he begin to embrace himself, not for whom he wishes he was, but for whom he is. When we free those around us, we are freeing ourselves. By accepting them, we learn to accept ourselves.

Who is powerful? He who empowers. Who is free? He who can free others. Who is a leader? He who creates other leaders.

Absolute Freedom is a Recipe for Chaos

There is something more. Freedom without limits can be dangerous, because I may define my freedom as the freedom to deprive you from yours. History has proven that absolute freedom is a recipe for chaos and cruelty. Freedom must mean that I am liberated from the shackles of man so that I can surrender to the authority of G-d, ensuring that my freedom ennobles me, rather than corrupts me.

Freedom, in the Jewish perspective, is a Divine calling. G-d commands Moses to command the Jewish to be free and to set others free. Only when freedom is seen not only a privilege but also as a duty, an a commandment of G-d, are we certain that the freedom will create a civil and peaceful society based on respecting the dignity in each person.

Pharaoh may set you free physically. But that would not suffice to create a free nation. Former slaves can become the new tyrants. Before Moses went to Pharaoh he had to come to his own people and inculcate them with this message: You will be worthy of freedom only if you are committed to free others. You will experiencefreedom only if you bestow it upon others.

Friendship Circle

There is another category of people and precious children who are restricted, confined, imprisoned, and enslaved by life’s circumstances. I am referring to children with special needs. To the outsider, they seem to be ‘prisoners’ of their own bodies, of their physical handicaps, and like slaves, they seem to be the unfortunate victims of insurmountable circumstances.

But once again, Torah revolutionizes our perspective. Judaism teaches that, just like everyone else, have perfect and liberated souls, because the soul can never be shackled. Our great duty in life is to help these beautiful souls to shine and share with us their incredible light.

15 years ago, Chabad founded an enormously successful organization known as The Friendship Circle, with now 80 chapters across the US. It did not begin with a board of ten major Jewish philanthropists, but by a young couple of shluchim, Levi and Bassie Shemtov, ambassadors of Chabad in Detroit. The Friendship Circle creates lifelong friendships between children with special needs and typical children and teenage volunteers. Today, there are 11,000 teenage volunteers servicing the same amount of handicapped and mentally challenged children.

The greatest gift we can give a ‘special child’ is to see past their physical imprisonments and peer into their shining soul – which is untainted and pure. And the greatest gift that we can give a typical teenager is to allow him or her to reveal their own soul by connecting them to a special child. The teenagers involved have become transformed and open to far more learning and a greater appreciation and sensitivity to life and people. The program has spread like wildfire all over the country.

Friends, we now each have a unique opportunity to effortlessly help this amazing organization. Chase Bank sponsored a contest for over 500,000 U.S. charities to compete for votes on Facebook. After the first round, only the top 100 most-voted-for charities remained. I am very proud that one of the remaining 100 was The Friendship Circle of Michigan, “the mother of all Friendship Circles around the country,” the only Jewish organization left in the contest. The next round of votes begins tonight, and the winner will receive one million dollars.

This would be the first time a Jewish organization, one that has transformed the lives of tens of thousands of youngsters, to receive such an award. We need your votes!

I encourage you all, after Shabbos, to go on Facebook and vote. Please ask your friends to do the same.

For special children too—let freedom ring!

Story. The rest will come.

by Mordechai.

In Russia, 1967, after some thirty years without possessing a siddur, a prayer-book, my grandfather, Lev ben Moshe Halevi, was fortunate to purchase one for $180 dollars, his entire lifesavings. The Communists had banned the use of prayer-books and all other religious articles. My mother, ten years old at the time, still remembers how her family struggled financially the next two years.

Yet that lone blue siddur became the fulcrum of our family and community life, and was used daily for the next twenty-five years. My grandfather would go to the park and pray; upon returning, he’d hand the siddur to my grandmother, and she’d leave to the park and pray. Then she’d pass the precious book to the neighbors and they’d go to the secluded spot and pray. Each Shabbat, the siddur was used by fifty people, one by one. Luckily, no one was caught. When my grandfather passed away, my mother gave this beautiful siddur to me. It is one of my most priceless possessions. I do not yet know how to pray from it, as it has no vowels, Russian or English translations, but I am learning.

My family’s story is a difficult one. Both my parents are children of survivors of the Rîbniţa Ghetto. The Romanian forces ordered my paternal great-grandfather to dig his own grave, and then shot him. My grandfather, eleven years old, was forced to bury his wounded father lest they murder his mother, sisters, brothers and cousins. Until this day, he has nightmares.

When I was five years old, my maternal grandfather sat me down upon his lap and said, “Morty [my Russian name is Maksim and Hebrew name, Mordechai], I am going to tell you a secret. Do not tell it to your mama and papa, or to your brother. It is a secret just for you, and only you.” Being a five-year-old, I was extremely excited. Amazingly, I kept the secret until I came to the USA. I was too afraid to tell anyone, as I was pushed around in school for being a Jew.

He continued, “Morty, I will teach you the holy Torah, the sacred scroll of our people passed from generation to generation. Those who know it lead happy lives filled with mitzvot that only the bravest knights undertake. Those who don’t are lost in the enchanted forest in search of the knights.” He then paused and continued, “Do you want to know the secret?”

“Yes, Grandpa, I do,” I replied with unrestrained excitement.

He then declared, “Will you keep this a secret until you feel ready to express it?” I assured him that I would.

He kissed my cheeks and said, “Morty, every morning when you wake up, I want you to look at the mirror and strike your heart three times. While you are striking your heart, recite, ‘I was born a Jew [strike heart]; I was raised a Jew [strike heart]; and I will die a Jew [strike heart]. When you finish, I want you to raise your hands towards the sky and proclaim, ‘And the rest will come later.’ When you go to bed, I want you to cover your eyes and repeat the same routine.”

After making sure that I understood, he said, “This is the Torah of our people.”

We shook hands, kissed and hugged each other, and the deal was sealed. Every day (and I still do it to this day), I would practice my grandfather’s routine without thinking twice.

When I came to the USA, I went to the Jewish day school in my city. My parents worked three jobs each to afford the tuition, but they never complained. However, though I went to the Jewish day school, I was often absent from my Jewish classes in order to study ESL. So I went through three years of Jewish day school and learned close to nothing about Judaism.

One day, my ESL teacher got sick, so I joined the Torah class. I was totally lost and not paying much attention. The rabbi realized my mind was elsewhere, so he called on me and said, “Mordechai, do you already know the Torah? Is that why you aren’t listening? You hardly come to my class… at least now, take advantage of the opportunity, and learn Torah with us.”

I looked at him and said, “Rabbi, I know the Torah like I know the back of my hand. I’ve been reciting the Torah for the last seven years, twice a day.”

The rabbi responded, “Really, tzaddik? Why don’t you do it right now?”

I stood up, adjusted my shirt, and began to reveal the “secret” my grandpa taught me. Needless to say, the students began to laugh, but the rabbi was stunned. He asked me to repeat it, and I did. By this time, the students were laughing their hearts out. I started to cry. I felt that they were making fun of the holy Torah. The rabbi asked the class for silence, and instructed me to repeat the routine again.

Through my tears, I saw the rabbi approach me. He hugged me and said, “Mordechai, when do you say this? And why do you say it like this?”

“This is how Jews recite the Torah,” I said.

He replied, “No, Mordechai only the brave Jew recites the Torah like this.”

I went home later that day, and I asked my grandpa to explain the Torah he taught me all those years ago. After explaining what has transpired in school, my grandpa placed me before a large mirror and said, “Morty, look at the mirror and tell me what you see.”

“Myself,” was the reply.

He said, “Look. What is on your head?”

I looked up, saw my kippa, the skullcap I’d forgotten to remove after the Torah class.

“Morty, how many times were you beaten up for being a Jew?”

“Three.”

“How many times were you hospitalized because of your injuries?”

“Twice,” I said, recalling the stitches I received when a a piece of iron was thrown at my head and a rock at my knee cap.

He kissed me and replied, “Morty, every day you strike your chest indicating that they – the anti-Semites – may break your bones, but your heart will always beat for G‑d.”

He continued, “How many times have you heard that Communism, Socialism, Liberalism, Capitalism, Christianity or Islam is better than Judaism? By covering your eyes at night, you are indicating that the nations may blind you with their philosophies, but at the end of the day your sight will always be aimed towards G‑d. And as for your hands raised to the sky, if you don’t understand this now, you will know when the right time comes. For the rest will come later.”

Armed with new knowledge, I went back to the rabbi and told him everything. He said, “Mordechai, you know more Torah at 12 than I know at 28, and I studied in Jewish schools all of my life.”

After graduating the day school, I went to public school. Since I knew almost nothing about Judaism, I simply put it on hiatus. It was only two years ago that I slowly started to return to Judaism. Now, thank G‑d, I pray three times a day, wear my kippa always, and keep the Shabbat. I may not yet study Mishnah or Gemara, but I know Jewish and Israeli history, philosophy, and Jewish Eastern European literature (I even teach it). And as for the rest – “the rest will come later.”

My grandfather’s words ring true.

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