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.

Smooth Talker. Parsha Essay, Torah Reading: VaEra (Exodus 6:2-9:35)

Our Parshah begins with Moses once again being commanded by G-d to speak to Pharaoh that he let the Jews leave Egypt. Strangely enough, Moses demurs. The reason for his hesitation is summed up in one sentence: “If the children of Israel did not listen to me then how will Pharaoh listen to me, and I am a man with a speech impediment (literally: uncircumcised lips.)”

Commentators raise the question: When Moses was first asked by G-d to be the liberator of the Jews, at the Burning Bush, Moses argued that he had a speech impediment and was therefore not fit to lead the Jews. Yet G-d assured him that he would succeed and that Aaron would be his spokesman. Why did he now bring up the same argument?

The key to answering this question lies in contrasting the terminology Moses used in this week’s Parshah with the terminology he used above. Earlier, at the Burning Bush, Moses speaks of himself being “slow of speech and slow of tongue.” In this week’s Parshah, however, Moses describes his speech impediment as “uncircumcised lips.” Why the change?

Upon deeper reflection, one may suggest that the speech impediments of which Moses spoke were twofold and that there is a difference between being “slow of tongue” and having “uncircumcised lips.” The former impediment is physical in nature, while the latter is expressive of a spiritual defect.

Initially, when G-d asked Moses to speak to Pharaoh and the Israelites, he humbly submitted to G-d that he lacked the physical ability to speak clearly and eloquently. “Why choose me,” was Moses complaint, when there are other more competent speakers. However, when G-d told him that Aaron could be his spokesman, Moses could no longer protest. Aaron would do the talking and Moses was convinced that Aaron would be effective.

However, in this week’s Parshah, after Moses speaks to the Israelites and they refused to listen to Moses and Aaron, he was concerned that there was a more serious problem than just having a physical speech impediment. Moses was now concerned that he lacked more than just clarity and eloquence in his speech. In his humility, he imagined that he lacked the ability to touch other people and to move them. Moses’ reference to having “uncircumcised lips,” did not refer to his physical handicap-for that was remedied by having Aaron be his spokesman-but rather to his inability to pierce through to the hearts of his fellow Jews. In his mind, Moses felt his words were dry and uninspired and could not penetrate.

To understand this, we should refer to the famous pronouncement of our Sages: “Words that emanate from the heart, enter the heart and have their desired effect.” Moses, thus reasoned, if one’s words do not come from the heart – if they are insincere and perfunctory – they will just bounce off their intended recipients.

Thus when Moses saw how he was not getting through, and the Children of Israel were not listening, Moses attributed this to his own spiritual deficiency. Moses was convinced that it was his fault-due to his “uncircumcised lips.” The term uncircumcised is used Biblically in relation to the heart, as in “an uncircumcised heart,” where the connotation is that one’s emotions are blocked. When used in relation to lips, it can be interpreted to mean that the crucial emotions that are necessary for one’s words to have any impact were not coming through his lips.

Perhaps, Moses thought, that the lack of feeling on his part was actually having the opposite effect and undermining the words that Aaron spoke for him. G-d assured Moses that he would succeed. All Moses had to do, G-d told him (Chapter 7, verses 1-2 and Rashi), was to deliver the message one time, verbatim, as he heard it from G-d. Aaron would be the interpreter to express the message in terms that would be understandable to Pharaoh.

One lesson we learn from this episode is that when it comes to teaching and transmitting the beliefs and values of Judaism, one must combine the method of Moses with the method of Aaron. It is imperative that we present the teachings of Judaism, unembellished and edited, but then follow it up with words of elaboration and commentary.

More specifically, this lesson can be applied to the way in which we are to tell our fellow Jews that Moshiach is coming to redeem the Jewish people and the entire world from the state of exile. To get the message across, we must use the double-pronged approach that G-d employed prior to the exodus from Egypt: One must employ the Moses-Aaron approach. First, one ought to transmit the message simply, unadulterated. One must quote the Torah sources that point to the significant times in which we find ourselves and how we find ourselves on the threshold of Moshiach. We must then apply our oratorical and pedagogic skills to make this claim intelligible and acceptable.

The Taxi Ride. A Most beautiful story…

I arrived at the address where someone had requested a taxi. I honked but no one came out. I honked again, nothing. So I walked to the door and knocked. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets…There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the cab. She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated’. ‘Oh, you’re such a good boy’, she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’ ‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly. Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice’. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. ‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired. Let’s go now’. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, reaching into her purse.’Nothing,’ I said.’You have to make a living,’ she answered. ‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

You might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending it on.

Thank you, my friend…

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance…

The amazing story of our church that en masse decided to convert to Judaism.

by Yosef Juarez – Aish.com

I was born in Honduras, 23 years ago, the oldest of four children. I lived in a neighborhood with all my cousins, on a street named after my mother’s ancestors. We attended a church that is non-denominational, but with a strong evangelical bent.

When I was three years old, I fell from the second story of my house and dropped head-first onto the concrete, fracturing my skull. I was rushed to the hospital and wasn’t moving at all, just gazing off into the distance. The situation was very grave. But then something strange happened. The next day, it was as if nothing had happened. The doctor ordered new x-rays, and there was no sign of any damage — no fracture, not even a scratch.

Due to this, our family grew as religious Christians, and throughout my life I was focused on the service of God.

When I was eight years old, we moved to America, which offered better financial opportunities. We settled in a suburb of Houston and looked around for a good church to attend, but nothing seemed as good as what we had back in Honduras.

Our old church was based in Honduras, but has branches in U.S. cities that have a sizable Central American and Hispanic population. So together with one other family, we requested that the church send us a minister. They sent us a man named Hector Flores, who at the time was still training to be a minister. And that’s how our Houston church started — in one room in a house.

Minister Flores was fascinated with the Holy Temple, and its predecessor the Tabernacle (Mishkan). He had access to books and resources, and he started teaching Torah ideas that were unique in a Christian setting. We would spend months and months delving into aspects of the Torah.

The church membership grew steadily, as we were very outreach-oriented. The city was divided up into districts and groups, and we would literally go out into the streets and preach to people. During high school, I studied in my church’s discipleship program, where they train young people in leadership skills and how to preach. We’d bring people into the church and provide them with family counseling and programs for all ages. It functioned very much like a family. And we would train the new members to reach out and bring more people to church.

Of course, people who came to our church for the first time would wonder why we were discussing Jewish topics, and not preaching so much about the typical teachings of Jesus. But Minister Flores continued on his unique path, and the church eventually split into two congregations. We got our own building and bought land to expand.

Hebrew Songs

One of the unique customs of our church was something Minister Flores called “festivals of consecration.” These were patterned after the festivals in the Torah, where people would bring large donations to fund the church activities. From there it was constant small steps toward Torah: the obligation to tithe, where we’d give 10 percent of our income to church activities. After a while our festivals got assigned Jewish names, like Purim and Shavuot, corresponding to the Jewish holiday they fell close to.

This was definitely not consistent with mainstream Christianity. And the closer we got to Torah, the more some congregants became uncomfortable and started to drop out. It was a filtering process.

Unbeknownst to us, behind the scenes, Minister Flores was going through an intense personal transition. After much research, he discovered many inconsistencies and contradictions in the New Testament, making the tenets of Christianity untenable.

Minister Flores started secretly going to a rabbi, to pester him with questions. Then he’d come back and teach us, slowly getting us closer and closer to Judaism.

Soon after, Minister Flores made the decision to convert to Judaism. But he struggled to find a way to tell us, as he didn’t want to tear down Christianity without being able to offer us an alternative. So he kept teaching Torah, but in a way that was as subtle as possible. He gradually peeled away the things that were wrong and got us closer to Torah. Our church started replacing Jesus’ name with Jewish, Hebrew names of God, and the songs became Hebrew songs. We began to incorporate real Jewish traditions into our festivals, and we even got a Torah scroll for the church.

At that point we resembled more of a Jews for Jesus group, in the sense that we were Christians with a lot of Jewish traditions. The difference, of course, was that we were moving in the direction toward authentic Judaism, not the other way around.

During this process, our biggest resource for information was Aish.com, and its Spanish sister site. At one point the church printed out reams of Aish.com articles on all the holidays, and gave a binder of these articles to each family.

Some of the church members became resistant to all these changes, and a number of people dropped out. There were occasional confrontations where people would question the minister, “How far are you going with all this?” And he would simply answer, “As far as the Torah takes us.”

Revelation

About six months after Minister Flores made the private decision to convert, my mother had been at a Jewish bookstore and bought the book, “The Real Messiah” by Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan. This book lays out all the evidence for why Jews don’t believe in Jesus, in a very scholarly and convincing way. We found that a lot of Christian teachings were based on mistranslations or taking biblical verses out of context.

So my mother suspected there was more to this “Torah teaching” than the minister had been letting on.

Every Sunday after services, the entire congregation would go together to the park. One Sunday, my mother confronted the minister: “You know more than you’re telling us, don’t you.” He would never lie or deny such a direct question, so he saw this was the right time to reveal his plan to convert. That Sunday, we all stayed at the park for hours and hours, discussing and explaining, until long after dark.

At that point, about 100 people wanted to keep studying with the possibility of conversion. But many others took the choice of becoming Bnei Noach, following the seven pillars of human civilization that the Torah presents for non-Jews to observe. Minister Flores explained that any human being who faithfully observes these laws earns a proper place in heaven, and this was an appealing alternative for many church members.

My mother, however, wanted to stick with the group who was interested in conversion. So we kept on learning, and eventually our group decided to attend Shabbat services. So one Saturday morning our entire congregation showed up at the United Orthodox Synagogues. It was a bit of a shock to the community, because such a huge influx upset the social balance. But the leader of the synagogue, Rabbi Joseph Radinsky, was like an angel to us; his kindness and sincerity is clear to anyone who knows him.

When they saw things were serious, the Houston community sent a Spanish-speaking rabbi, Jose Gomez, to help each family clarify the right path. (He himself had converted 10 years earlier in Houston along with his entire family — parents, siblings, aunts and uncles.) As expected, all of this caused a real stir in the Christian community in Houston.

First in the Family

Minister Flores was amongst the first to convert, and since then many of our church members have converted, while others are in the process. My own conversion was finalized a year ago, and my mother and siblings are still in the process. I chose the name “Yosef” because in the Bible, Joseph was the first of his family to go down to Egypt. He established himself and was able to help bring the rest of his family along. My mother says that in our path to conversion, I have been sent ahead as our family’s “Yosef.”

After my conversion, I came to Israel and was really amazed. I saw a variety of Jews, and a whole different side of Judaism. There was something special about everything. I even found myself taking pictures of grass and rocks! I felt truly Jewish for the first time.

I started doing research into my roots, because I knew that this awakening to Judaism comes from a very deep place. I found out that on a voyage to the New World in 1502, Christopher Columbus reached the Bay Islands on the coast of Honduras, which became part of the Spanish empire. Jews undoubtedly came to Honduras at this time, on the heels of the Spanish Inquisition when many Jews “converted to Christianity” but secretly remained Jewish. I’m anxious to find out more about my ancestors, but it’s very hard to track.

So where am I today? I am studying at the Aish HaTorah yeshiva in the Old City of Jerusalem and I love it. I’m so enthusiastic about everything that I learn, and cannot wait to share it with all my friends and family back home. At this point, my plans for the future are pretty open. I want to continue to study Torah, finish my undergraduate degree, and see what opportunities develop.

But one thing I know for sure: I am committed to reaching out to my fellow Jews. If I was fortunate enough to discover this gold mine of spiritual wealth and fulfillment, then those who were born Jewish surely must be given that opportunity. And who knows — just as Aish.com spurred my Jewish growth, maybe this article will be the spark that someone else has been waiting for.

“Diminished Assets”. Torah Reading: VaYishlach (Genesis 32:4 – 36:43)

Torah Reading: VaYishlach (Genesis 32:4 – 36:43)

In our Parshah, Jacob was returning to his homeland, nervously anticipating a hostile reaction form his brother Esau, who had expressed the desire to kill him years earlier when he “stole” his blessings from him. Jacob speaks of his fear that Esau will harm him and prays to G-d for assistance. To explain why he was so apprehensive, Jacob offers the following statement: “I have become diminished from all of the kindnesses…”

Several questions come to mind. First, what did Jacob mean when he said that he had become diminished? In what way was he smaller? Second, why would G-d’s kindness diminish him? Third, why was Jacob so fearful of his brother Esau? Hadn’t G-d already promised him that He would be with him and guard him wherever he would go? Did Jacob harbor doubts about G-d’s promise? Rashi addresses all these questions by saying that Jacob felt that he had exhausted all of the merits he had accumulated in the past. G-d had already protected Jacob throughout his entire stay with Laban. Whatever righteousness he possessed-that earned him G-d’s blessings for protection in the past-he might have depleted. Moreover, Jacob was concerned that he might have regressed and was therefore no longer worthy of the original promise of protection.

Thus, the meaning of the phrase “I have become diminished” is that his merits may have become diminished and depleted as a result of all the “claims” he has already made, banking on the “premiums” that he paid into the system. The word “diminished” thus refers to his merits, but not to Jacob himself.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (the founder of the Chabad movement, whose festival of liberation from Czarist imprisonment we will be celebrating next Sunday, Dec 6th, Yud-Tes-Kislev, the 19th of Kislev) provides another way of understanding Jacob becoming diminished as a result of G-d’s kindness, in a letter he wrote after being released from prison. There are two reactions people experience when they are the recipients of divine generosity. Some people develop a sense of superiority and arrogance. This personality type uses his gifts as an instrument of his ego and they tend to look down at those who are not so blessed.

The second approach to becoming a beneficiary of G-d’s kindness is the reverse. Whenever this personality type experiences a positive thing in life, they become more humble because they feel an incredible sense of closeness to G-d. Rabbi Schneur Zalman describes this as if G-d was embracing them. When a person is exposed to something so much greater than himself, it engenders a natural sense of insignificance and humility. When a relatively tall person stands next to a much taller person, he will somehow feel short. Thus, the more good we experience, the more humble we become, and the more humble we become the less we feel that G-d still owes us anything.

Jacob was a member of the latter group. Jacob, who had so benefited from G-d’s generosity on so many occasions, felt an incredible closeness to G-d.  Hence Jacob states that by virtue of all of the kindnesses that G-d showered upon him, he had become humbled, and therefore prayed to G-d that he continue those blessings despite his newly recognized shortcomings.  And though G-d promised him that He would protect him, he agonized over the fact that he might no longer be worthy of those blessings and promises.

The Midrash states that before the future Redemption, Moshiach will announce the new era by declaring: “Humble ones, the time of your Redemption has arrived.” Why, some ask, does the Moshiach, refer to the Jewish people as humble ones? Is there no other  more appropriate quality to highlight? Why doesn’t the Moshiach state: “Righteous ones,” or some other similar expression of virtue? One answer to this question is that as Moshiach is about to usher in a new age of peace and goodness, we are about to experience the greatest manifestation of G-d’s kindness. It is imperative, then, more than at any other time, to not follow the approach that causes one to become egotistical and arrogant.  On the contrary, Moshiach exhorts us to be humble, because you are about to experience the greatest Divine embrace in history. And even before this becomes a visible reality, we already have to feel the sense of closeness and the resultant humility. One of the “by products” of humility is that we never look at another condescendingly. Jealousy, strife and discord give way to peace and harmony. All of the pettiness disappears and the world is more ready than ever to greet Moshiach and usher in the age of Geulah Shleimah, the complete Redemption.

Money Talks: Is Cash King? Torah Reading: Vayetze (Genesis 28:10 – 32:3)

Our parshah of VaYetzei opens as Jacob fled his brother Esau’s wrath and came to live with his uncle Laban. After staying with him for a month, Laban says to Jacob: “Just because you are my brother (meaning, relative) shall you work for me for nothing?” In the end Jacob works for Laban for seven years. His pay was not monetary, but the ability to marry Laban’s daughter, Rachel.

Or Hachaim, one of the great Sephardic commentators, asks two questions: First, who says Jacob was not planning to ask him for remuneration for his work? Second, why did Laban so dislike the prospect of Jacob working for free? After all, Laban was a scoundrel who had no qualms about stealing Jacob’s hard earned possessions. Why would he be so reluctant to accept Jacob’s gift?

A third question can be asked: If Laban did not want Jacob to work for free, why did he wait a month before offering to pay Jacob?

Fourth, why did Laban not ask simply, “How much do you want to get paid for your work?” Why did he have to throw in the words: “Just because you are my brother shall you work for me for nothing?”

The following explanation is based on the Hungarian Chassidic work, Rav Tov, who addresses some of these questions.

When Jacob arrived, Laban said to him: “You are my bone and my flesh (my blood relative).” With these words he invited Jacob to stay with him. However, in the course of the first month of Jacob’s stay with Laban, he discovered something about Jacob he did not know previously.

When Jacob arrived, he thought he was a person no different from himself; someone who had basically the same material interests. Thus, Laban said to Jacob “you are my bones and flesh.” We both share the same physical properties. We are genetically related.

After staying with him for a month, however, Laban realized that he was not his “brother” in the true sense of the word. While he was a blood relative of Jacob—he was his uncle—in terms of their upbringing, goals and aspirations, they could not be further apart. Laban was a materialist, opportunist and the “ends justify the means” type of person, while Jacob was a thoroughly spiritual person. Laban realized that there was a huge, unbridgeable gulf that separated them.

Thus, Laban declared to Jacob, “Are you my brother?”

These words do not mean that despite the fact that he was his brother he still must pay him. On the contrary, he was disabusing himself from the notion that they were brothers. Laban therefore tells Jacob: “Are you my brother? You are as far apart from me temperamentally and spiritually as one could possibly be! How then will you fit into my business? How can we coexist, when we have such disparate interests and goals in life? What can I possibly pay you to make you a contributing partner to my less than holy enterprises?”

Jacob would not feel comfortable working for Laban no matter how much he would pay him. The sole form of remuneration that would suit Jacob, Laban came to realize, had to be one that was of an ethereal nature and not ephemeral. It had to involve a Mitzvah. If Jacob were to become rich without it contributing to his service of G-d and humanity (which is also a service to G-d) he could never feel comfortable with his gain. When one receives something for nothing, it is referred to as “shameful bread.” One cannot enjoy a handout. Human nature is such that we have to earn what we get. And for a person of Jacob’s caliber, earning means doing a Mitzvah.

Laban, in effect, said to Jacob, “since you are obviously not my soul-brother, you will not want to work for me for all the money in the world, because for you it will be considered as if you had received nothing.”

Indeed, the term “for nothing-chinam” employed by Laban here is also found elsewhere in the Torah. When the Jews were in the wilderness they complained abut the manna. They fondly remembered the food they ate in Egypt—“chinam.” What does the word chinam mean there? It cannot possibly mean that they did not have to pay for their food, since they were slaves and broke their backs for the measly rations they received. It was hardly gratis!

Our Sages therefore explain that they meant to say that in Egyptthey did not have to perform any Mitzvot in order to get their food. They had no spiritual obligations. They complained that when they followed Moses into the wilderness everything was quid pro quo. Their needs were provided for them, it would seem, as payment for their commitment to G-d’s commandments. This was a radical departure from their lives in Egypt, to which they were accustomed.

And so Laban sensed that Jacob would not want to work for nothing – without truly earning his right to work and live off this work. in other words, Jacob needed a spiritual connection.

What Mitzvah could Laban possibly give Jacob? If there was a mitzvah that could be observed at that time, one could be sure that Jacob was already engaged in its performance.

There was one Mitzvah, however, that he had not yet performed. He was still single and could not establish a home and a family that would become the nucleus of the Jewish nation, to whom the Torah would be entrusted.

For Jacob, marriage was the Mitzvah par excellence. His love and passion for Rachel was was motivated by his passion to be the one to forge another link in the chain that started with Abraham and Isaac, and would end with the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinaito a Jewish nation. Jacob’s greatest passion was to be an integral link in that chain; a link and a chain that exists to this day.

This analysis can shed some light on the rather puzzling statement made by Jacob when he had to work for seven years to be married to Rachel: Jacob’s hard work for seven years, the Torah teaches us, “felt like a few days because of his love for her.” Isn’t that sentiment counterintuitive? If someone is in love with another, every minute should feel like a year. Yet here seven years felt like a few days.

The answer is that Jacob’s physical passion was an expression of his spiritual passion. In the spiritual world, every minute of preparation for the goal is no less a Mitzvah and source of fulfillment and bliss than the attainment of the goal itself. The journey to the Promised Land is as much the fulfillment of G-d’s will as the actual entry into the land. Thus every day that Jacob was working for the goal of marrying Rachel was creating the mechanism for the future. It was therefore so gratifying and fulfilling because he was becoming a conduit for G-d’s plan.

The lesson from the above is twofold:

First, in order for any of our activities or pursuits to be truly fulfilling it must ultimately be connected with a higher purpose. It must contribute to the betterment of ourselves and the world around us. In short, it must revolve around a Mitzvah.

Second, even when we are engaged in the prefatory stages of a Mitzvah, our joy and enthusiasm should not be any less than it is when we do the Mitzvah itself.

At this point one could raise a question. Why is there is such a clamor for Moshiach and Redemption, especially in the last few decades? As long as we are on the road towards that end, we are doing G-d’s will and we are part of the process. What difference should it make to us that we are not there yet? Isn’t every step along the way part of G-d’s plan and design.

The answer is that there is one fundamental difference between Jacob’s waiting to marry Rachel and our waiting for Moshiach and Redemption.

While Jacob knew that he was destined to raise the family that will forge ahead towards Sinai, he knew that the final outcome of his labor would not be realized in his lifetime. The final outcome was not his mission and challenge. Moving the process along was. He knew that he was but one pivotal link in that chain of events. As such he cherished every moment of it, not only because he knew that in each and every ensuing moment he was one step closer to that end, but also because each step possesses intrinsic value and meaning. In short, it was not his role to complete the process; just to be a part of it.

By contrast, we are now at the “tail end” of the process. All of the Biblical, Talmudic, Kabbalisitc etc. signs point to that which we have been told by the Rebbe on countless occasions that ours is the last generation of exile and the first of Redemption. We cannot be content with the knowledge that we are a crucial link in the chain. Because when one reaches the end of the journey, just “treading water” and not moving forward is not an option. Our generation has been endowed with an unprecedented mission to complete the process, which we hope, pray and trust we are about to do.

To be sure, every moment that we are still here in exile must be filled with meaning, good and therefore cherished. But the focus of our deeds should be to prepare ourselves to greet Moshiach, and internalize the Redemption—thereby completing the process begun by our forbears; crowning their efforts with success.

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