Rabbi's Corner

In the first parashah of the year of 2021, Parashat VaYechi, we find the following verses which become the basis for the blessing of one’s sons on Friday night after returning home from Synagogue: “And he [Ya’akov] blessed them on that day saying, ‘With you shall Yisrael bless saying, “May G-d make you like Ephrayim and Menasheh;”’ and he placed Ephrayim before Menasheh.” (B’reisheet 48:20) The fact is that Menasheh as firstborn should have been placed first.  In ancient Middle Eastern tradition, the firstborn son enjoyed a number of advantages (e.g.- a double portion in the inheritance of his father’s estate).  Our Tradition teaches that the reason Ephrayim was placed before Menasheh was due to the fact that Ephrayim had spent his time in Goshen learning Torah under the tutelage of his grandfather Ya’akov.  Because of this, he surpassed his older brother on a spiritual level thus earning to be placed first.  What this passage teaches us is that status (i.e.-in this case, being firstborn) guarantees nothing.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov once scolded his disciples and followers by saying the following: “Your problem is that you think the righteous attain greatness merely because they have a very great soul.  This is absolutely wrong!  Any person can attain my levels and become just like me.  All that it takes is true devotion and effort.” (Sichot HaRan, 165) What Rebbe Nachman is saying is that no one can complain that their Judaism is weak because they are not the son or daughter of a Talmudic scholar.  To be a spiritually strong Jew takes dedication and perseverance.  Perhaps this can be illustrated by the following Chasidic parable:

            In recognition of their loyalty, two peasants received an invitation to visit the Czar.  Both were directed to arrive at the palace within seven days.  Each lived 100 kilometers from the palace, yet one had a horse-drawn wagon while the other had neither a wagon nor a horse.  He would have to walk.

            The “pedestrian peasant” knew that he had no time to waste if he wanted arrive at the palace on time.  He calculated that at 20 kilometers per day, he could make the journey in 5 days leaving him the rest of the time to prepare himself for the biggest day in his life: a personal appearance with the Czar.  So, he packed a small rucksack with his best clothes and some bread and water for the journey and immediately set out on his way.  He managed to travel more than 20 kilometers each day reaching the capital city in 4 days.  On the day of his appointment, he arrived at the palace early, preferring to wait several hours for the Czar rather than making the Czar wait even a half minute for him.  He was not only well rested and well dressed, he had even made a complete tour of the capital city.  The Czar was immensely impressed with this simple but devoted peasant who had made the entire journey from his village to the palace on foot.  He granted the pedestrian peasant priceless gifts of gold and special royal privileges.

            The peasant with the horse-drawn wagon, on the other hand, figured that he had plenty of time to reach the Czar’s palace.  He estimated that his horse could cover an easy 50 kilometers per day.  Because of this estimate, he came to the conclusion that 2 days would give him adequate enough time to reach the palace.  Why should he rush?  4 days after receiving the invitation, a mere 3 days before the expected appointment with the Czar, the “wagon-driving peasant” left his home.  About 30 kilometers down the road, one of the wagon wheels broke three spokes.  Luckily, he had a spare wagon wheel, but it took him an entire half day to change the wheel.  By the time he had finished changing the wheel, it was night time and a bitter cold had descended.  He was forced to spend the night at a local inn, one that charged him much more than he was able to afford.  And yet, still undismayed, he slept late the next morning thinking that he could cover the remaining 70 kilometers in the remaining 2 days without any problems.  He proceeded to eat a lengthy breakfast, paid the innkeeper, and went outside to discover that his horse and wagon had been stolen.  Having no other choice, he walked and ran the remaining 70 kilometers both day and night finally reaching the palace at the very last minute.  He was out of breath, fatigued, disheveled, and disoriented.  Needless to say, the Czar was thoroughly disgusted by this wagon-driving peasant who did not have enough respect to bathe and change his clothes and properly present himself to his monarch.  The Czar’s guards sent him packing.

The pedestrian peasant of the parable symbolizes a person who is born into a family that does not have the advantages of a blue-blooded lineage.  Nevertheless, with effort and dedication and foresight, the pedestrian peasant surpassed the wagon-driving peasant who had more advantages than did he.  In the end, the wagon-driving peasant’s advantages meant nothing.  The ultimate deciding factors were the effort and devotion expended by the pedestrian peasant.

And so it is with Am Yisrael (the People Israel).  Our sons are blessed to be like Ephrayim and Menasheh in order to show our children, our grandchildren, and our great grandchildren that in order to “get something out of” Judaism, we must put something into it first.  We must be like Ephrayim putting dedication and hard work into being members of HaShem’s “Chosen People,” having been chosen to spread the Light of Torah throughout the world.  It is then that we will receive the bountiful blessings promised to us by Hashem.  May we not fail in our efforts!    

In this week’s parashah, Parashat Mikeitz, we find the following: “And they said to one another: ‘Indeed, we are guilty for our brother [Yoseyf], for we observed the distress of his soul when he pleaded with us but we did not listen; therefore, the distress has come upon us.’” (Bereishit 42:21) Who caused the distress of Yoseyf’s brothers?  Our Tradition teaches us that HaShem orchestrated the distress that came upon Yoseyf’s brothers.  Why did Hashem do this?  Rebbe Nachman of Breslov explains that HaShem causes everything that happens to us to become a message to us from H-m.  Why does HaShem need to send us a “message?”  Because He wants to bring us closer to H-m so that our relationship with H-m will better than before.  Perhaps the following Chasidic parable will help us to realize the importance of our understanding the messages we receive from HaShem:

The royal proclamation reached every province in the kingdom: the King needed a new Head Royal Courier, a person who should be of impeccable character, one who was loyal, reliable, and swift of foot.  The courier would be required to travel to the far corners of the earth in service of the King, delivering royal messages to their proper destinations and returning to the palace as quickly as possible.  Having interviewed thousands of candidates, the King’s closest advisors narrowed the field down to two candidates.  Both were veterans of the King’s elite cavalry.  Both were combat veterans whose loyalty and dedication to King and country were beyond a shadow of a doubt.  The first soldier was the King’s fastest runner, fiercest fighter, and best marksman.  The second soldier, while much less impressive on all counts than the first, was the unit’s intelligence specialist and map reader and was fluent in no less than a dozen languages.

The King was in a quandary.  He could not decide between the two candidates.  Each had relatively special advantages unique to himself.  The King debated back and forth with himself as to which of the two men was preferable.  Finally, he decided to give each of them a test.  The King sent the first candidate on a mission to deliver a greeting to a tribal monarch in the wilderness of Manchuria.  He sent the second candidate on a mission to deliver a gift to the Emperor of Japan.  Whoever would successfully complete his mission and return to the palace in the shortest amount of time would be rewarded the post of Head Royal Courier.   After issuing these instructions to the two candidates, they set out on their respective journeys.

The second candidate carefully planned his itinerary pouring over maps in order to find the best route to take.  Once he reached Japan, he easily found his way to the Emperor’s Palace, this because he understood Japanese and could easily understand the road signs.  Besides, when he needed to, he asked directions from the locals as he spoke fluent Japanese.  Within two short days, the second candidate had completed his task and had already begun his journey home.  The first candidate traversed Russia in record time.  After crossing the Manchurian border on horseback, he reached a certain crossroad and stopped dead in his tracks dumbfounded.  The road signs were all in Manchurian, and he could not read Manchurian!  He tried stopping a few of the locals he saw on the way in order to ask them directions, but they spoke only Manchurian.  He could speak only Russian and German.  Frustrated at the turn of events but determined to complete his mission, the first candidate spent months roaming the vast expanses of Manchuria.  Ultimately, because all of his efforts became focused on his survival, he completely forgot about the mission and why he was in Manchuria in the first place.  Eventually, he completely forgot about the King and his homeland as well.

While the new Head Royal Courier was eating pheasant-under-glass at his Majesty’s table, his lost and bewildered counterpart was roaming a Manchurian forest in search of a few pine nuts or plant tubers that would enable him to survive for just one more day.

Understanding the “messages” we receive from HaShem is exactly like what the second candidate did when he was able to decipher the road signs on his journey in Japan.  It did not matter how strong or brave or talented he was.  It only mattered that he was able to understand what each road sign said.  By not being able to understand the “messages” we receive from HaShem, we become like the first candidate who became totally disoriented eventually failing to complete his mission.  We can fail to perceive, let alone complete, what our mission as Jews is here on this earth, in this World.  We can better understand the “messages” we receive from Hashem through daily prayer and Torah study.

May we not be like Yoseyf’s brothers failing to pay attention to and understand the distress they had put him through resulting in their own.  May we be more like Yoseyf HaTzaddik, opening our eyes and hearts to HaShem in order to understand the “messages’ He sends us so that we may complete our Divine Mission here on this earth, in this World in spite of any distress we may encounter.  

In this week’s parashah, Parashat Vayishlach, we find the following: “And Ya’akov remained by himself, and a man wrestled with him until the rising of the dawn.  And he (i.e.- the man) saw that he could not prevail against him (i.e.- Ya’akov), and he (i.e.- the man) touched the “chof” (“socket”) of his (i.e.- Ya’akov’s) thigh and it was dislocated --- the “chof” of the thigh of Ya’akov --- when he had wrestled with him.” (Braysheet 32:25-26) It is interesting to note that the Hebrew word “chof” can also be translated to mean “palm” as in the palm of one’s hand. With this in mind, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov states: “When --- Heaven forbid --- severe judgements hover over Israel, dancing and the clapping of hands mitigate them.”  What Rebbe Nachman is saying is that dancing and hand clapping are the People Israel’s best defense against any evil decrees that are levied against it.  Perhaps the following parable will help with an understanding as to how Ya’akov was doing exactly what Rebbe Nachman was advising:

            Baron Rustikov was a ruthless tyrant who terrorized the poor Jews of Tockavitz, a village he entirely owned even to the last house.  He milked the Jewish villagers dry with the heavy taxes he placed upon them.  When they could not pay, he mercilessly imprisoned them in a damp and foreboding underground cellar that had no food, no water, and not a ray of sunlight.  No one could resist the evil Baron, for he had a private army of heartless Cossacks who were more than happy to shed the innocent blood of a Jew at the slightest pretext.  It is because of this that the Jews of Tockavitz were at a complete loss.  Their fervent cries to Heaven did not seem to help at all, that is until a Gypsy organ grinder passed through the village.

              The organ grinder had a small but precocious monkey that would not sit still for a moment.  When the Gypsy would play a merry tune on his hand organ, his monkey would dance and dance and dance.  When the two-minute or so tune was over, the monkey pranced among the spectators with a tin cup in its hand.  If a person refused to place a coin the cup, the monkey would scamper up the victim’s back and begin to dance on his head.  It would not take too long of a time before the unfortunate person would part with whatever change he had in his pocket by placing it in the cup.  One night, the Gypsy tried to steal a horse from the village blacksmith, Yudke, a big and brawny man.  Yudke and a group of his friends with pitchforks in hand chased the hapless Gypsy for a mile down the road while the terrified thief ran for his life.  The Gypsy abandoned everything he had including the hand organ and the monkey.

            Simcha Zissel, the village jester who possessed a wit as sharp as a razor, seized both the monkey and the hand organ recognizing a golden opportunity from Heaven.  He became the Ukraine’s first Jewish organ grinder.  “Now let the Baron send his nasty henchmen!” bantered Simcha Zissel between Mincha and Ma’ariv with everyone at the shtiebel gathered around him and his monkey.  “They are in for a big surprise.”

            The villagers posted sentries in all four directions leading to and from the village.  Whenever the Baron’s debt collectors would head in the direction of Tockavitz, the sentries would alert Simcha Zissel who was always ready for both action and a good laugh, especially at the expense of the Baron’s perpetually semi-inebriated Cossacks.  Simcha Zissel would play a ditty on his hand organ, and the monkey would begin to dance.  The amused debt collectors, listening to their favorite tunes, would remember that they were thirsty.  This time, the monkey’s cup was filled with vodka which Simcha Zissel poured for the Baron’s brutes.  Before long, they would forget about their boss and their assigned task as debt collectors, and they would turn their drunken wrath on each other rather than on the poor Jewish villagers of Tockavitz.  After a period of time during which three or four groups of the Baron’s Cossacks fell prey to Simcha Zissel and his monkey, the Baron decided that he could do quite well without the back taxes of the poor Jews of Tockavitz.

          Rebbe Natan of Breslov elaborated on Rebbe Nachman’s teaching: “Dancing and clapping can mitigate the harshest oppression.  Rebbe Nachman urged us to take his lesson at face value by making an effort to be merry on our joyous holidays such as Purim and Chanukah…We can make ourselves so elated that we actually dance and clap our hands in joy.  This is what abates the harshness of the evil decrees levied against us.”  We see by way of the passage cited from this week’s parashah that “the man” whom our tradition identifies as Esau’s angel (the Evil Inclination) who strikes the “palm” (“chof”) of Ya’akov’s thigh was making an attempt to neutralize the Jew’s clapping (using one’s palms of both hands) and dancing (using one’s thighs).  Why did Esau’s angel try to do this?  Because he realized that when Jews sing and dance and clap our hands, we repel sadness and depression --- the two strongest weapons that the “Yetzer Hara” (the Evil Inclination) uses against us in order to cause a separation between us and HaShem.

My Rabbi, Rabbi Jay Karzen, has always spoken of “Joyous Judaism.”  Not only does he speak of it, he practices it.  And it is the practice of “Joyous Judaism” that is the best defense against the vagaries of this world that would mean to harm us by separating us from HaShem.    

This is the parable about the nurseryman and the Treasury Minister:

There were two distinct neighborhoods that bordered the expansive grounds of the Royal Palace.  The minsters, members of Parliament, and other high-browed blue-bloods lived in the neighborhood just north of the Royal Palace.  Each mansion competed with each other in grandeur.  Diamonds and gold were as plentiful as were the squirrels and pigeons, so much so that no one would even deign to bend down and pick up a stray silver talon that lay in the street.  In stark contrast was the workers’ neighborhood that lay to the south of the Royal Palace.  This area consisted of plain and simple two-room bungalows where the King’s servants lived.  These cooks, chambermaids, laundrymen, gardeners, and other servants had little to their name except for the beautiful flower gardens and impeccable cleanliness that gave their neighborhood a delightful charm.

The Treasury Minister was one of the northern neighborhood’s most important residents.  Although he was as rich as King Midas, he was beyond stingy.  All the other ministers despised him for this, and they often made comment that it was easier to extract blood from a rock than it was to obtain a shilling from the Treasury Minister.  Behind his back, they all whispered that he did not care one iota about the welfare of the King; his only joy came from seeing the royal coffers filled with gold bars.  All too often, the ministers would complain to the King that they had not received their annual allotments to which the Treasury Minister would reply that his only concern was the welfare of the kingdom.  The King, however, knew otherwise suspecting the Treasury Minister of corrupt behavior.  In fact, the King strongly believed that the Treasury Minister had been stealing from the royal coffers for years.  But because the kingdom was currently engaged in a war, the King could not make the opportunity to expose the scandal.  Instead, he decided to give the Treasury Minister more rope with which to hang himself.

The nurseryman who lived in the southern neighborhood was a cordial, kind, and simple man of extraordinary character.  He was always ready to do a favor for anyone be they rich or poor.  His love for the King knew no bounds, and he was willing to go to any length to see to it that the King was always satisfied.  In fact, the entire kingdom expressed amazement at the nurseryman’s dedication to his beloved King.  Every morning at 9 A.M. sharp, the King would cross the main road that separated the Royal Palace from the Parliament building.  The nurseryman would precede the King by one hour clearing from the monarch’s path all the horse droppings that had accumulated the previous day.  By 9 A.M., the road was spotless and sweet-smelling in honor of the King.  The nurseryman would then take the manure that he had loaded in the wagon and use it to fertilize the King’s chamber gardens.

The King’s chamber gardens resembled a miniature Garden of Eden, a small piece of Heaven on Earth.  Aromatic herbs grew alongside exotic flowers that represented every color of the spectrum.  Fruit trees of every variety sprang up from lush, green lawns frequented by all kinds of birds and butterflies.  The King loved to stroll in his personal Shangri-La often picking a ripe plum or persimmon right off the tree.  All this came about due to the hard work and diligent effort of the nurseryman who never sought anything in return from the King.  He toiled for the King from before dawn until far after the sun’s setting.  In the morning he would clean and fertilize.  In the afternoon he would prune and weed.  In the evening he would plant and water.  The palace chamber gardens were his doing and his doing alone.

One day, the Treasury Minister decided to give in to his long-time desire for an enticing red Jonathan apple from the King’s personal apple tree, this in spite of the fact that he had more than a dozen such trees on the grounds of his own estate.  With no shame whatsoever, he trespassed into the royal chamber gardens.  Just as his hand was about to snatch the apple of his eye, the King suddenly appeared.  “You dare to pick my apples under my own nose, Treasury Minister?  Is there no limit to your audacity?”  The King, who had been secretly watching the Treasury Minister all along, had already summoned the Palace Guard to make haste to the doomed minister’s mansion in order to confiscate the hundreds and hundreds of gold bars of royal gold that the Treasury Minister had stolen over the years.

          In this week’s parashah, Parashat Toldot, we read the following: “And Yitzchak sowed in that land, and he found in that year a hundredfold, and HaShem blessed him.” (Braysheet 26:12) Rashi comments on this verse saying that the people of that generation used to remark that the manure of Yitzchak’s mules was better than all of Avimelekh’s gold and silver.  Yitzchak resembles the nursery man in the parable in that he, like the nurseryman, would take the crudest material waste and convert it into a thing of beauty and spiritual gratification for the King of Kings, for Hashem.  Everything that Yitzchak did became a path in this world for more prayer, more Torah, and more good deeds to honor Hashem.  Like the Treasury Minister, Avimelekh used the land for his own personal appetites, trying to steal everything Yitzchak owned from the wells he had dug to the wife he had married.  Thus, by the verse found in our Torah it is easy to see how the manure of Yitzchak’s mules made a greater impact on the world than did Avimelekh’s gold and silver.  Perhaps it is indeed a mitzvah to “stop and smell the roses” in order to recognize and appreciate what Hashem has given and continues to give us.aShemHh

          We, the People Israel, are called the “Chosen People.”  This unfortunately creates a great deal of angst among a large part of our People.  Why?  Because they believe what our detractors say about us: we believe we are the “chosen people” because we believe we are better than anybody else.  But this has absolutely nothing to do with our being the “Chosen People.” Among the non-Jewish peoples of this world, there are many who do good and perform charitable deeds for others just as we do.  So, why are they not included among the “Chosen People?”  Perhaps the following Chasidic parable will provide some guidance:

The King had twelve ministers, each in charge of a particular facet of government.  The King barely slept, for his workload demanded at least twenty hours/day.  As a result, he was unable to handle may urgent matters that demanded his personal attention.  After serious consideration, the King decided to appoint a viceroy who would serve as his personal assistant and chief minister.  Such a viceroy would remove a considerable load from the King’s shoulders.  Since the King wanted to ensure the cooperation of all his ministers with the new viceroy, he decided to let them elect their new superior from among themselves.  In the initial ballot, four ministers voted for the Minister of Defense, and four ministers voted for the Minister of the Treasury.  The remaining four ministers voted for various other candidates.  The King decided to hold a second and final ballot where the twelve ministers would choose between the Minister of Defense and the Minister of the Treasury.  The election would be held at a special cabinet meeting in thirty days’ time.

During the next thirty days, the Minister of the Treasury darted about feverishly from ministry to ministry campaigning among his peers in order to secure his election as viceroy.  Discreetly, he left a gift on the table of each one of his colleagues at the end of each of his respective meetings with each one of them.  To one, he gave a solid gold watch.  To another, he gave a priceless antique saber.  The Minister of the Treasury ended up spending thousands on diamond rings and ivory-handled pistols.  He knew how to find favor in the eyes of each individual colleague.  The upcoming election received his total attention, even at the expense of neglecting the pressing affairs of his own ministry.

On the other hand, the Minister of Defense paid no attention to the imminent election.  Because, rebel insurgents were making trouble in the northern part of the kingdom, the Minister of Defense left the comforts of the capital city to personally direct the army’s counter-insurgency campaign against the rebels.  He slept in a tent with the commanders in the field and ate the same food that the front-line soldiers ate, all the while sacrificing his personal convenience for the welfare and security of the kingdom.  Oftentimes totally exhausted, he would fall asleep on his spartan field cot with all his clothes on.

The King observed what both ministers were doing without intervening in any way.  He knew exactly where each one was and what each one was doing at all times.  He knew about the lavish gifts the Minister of the Treasury was giving to his colleagues, and he knew about the Minister of Defense’s sleepless nights on the battlefield.  Nothing escaped the King’s eyes.  He was fully briefed on all affairs of the kingdom from his own totally reliable sources.  The night before the election, a royal messenger knocked on the door of each of the ministers’ homes --- all except for the two candidates.  The royal messenger handed each of the other ministers a hand-written note from the King sealed with the royal seal.  The note read: “My dear Minister, for the good of the kingdom and as a gesture of your unshakable loyalty to me, please vote for the Minister of Defense.  With appreciation, the King.”

On the day of the election, ten minsters voted for the Minister of Defense.  The Minster of Defense abstained from voting altogether.  And the Minister of the Treasury voted for himself.  Needless-to-say, the Minister of Defense became the King’s capable and chosen viceroy.

In this parable, the Minister of Defense symbolizes Avraham Avinu, Abraham our Father.  Why?  Because Avraham’s life was filled with selfless and unwavering service and devotion to HaShem, the King of Kings.  We see this in this week’s parashah, Parashat Vayyeira.  In spite of the fact that he was recuperating from his circumcision while sitting in the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day, what did Avraham do? The Torah tells us: “And he raised his eyes, and he saw, and behold! Three men were standing before him, and he saw, and he ran toward them from the entrance of the tent, and he prostrated himself to the ground.”  (Brayshit 18:2) And Avraham did this in spite of the fact that he was being visited by none other than HaShem H-mself!    Because of this, he merited HaShem’s blessing that his offspring would be HaShem’s “viceroys” in this world.  His offspring would become HaShem’s “Chosen People” who would be obligated to do exactly as Avraham did: serve HaShem with selfless and unwavering devotion.

The history of the People Israel is replete with proof of this, especially in the darkest of times.  No other people in the history of this world has endured what the People Israel has endured all the while remaining steadfast to both the Torah and to HaShem.  May we continue to act like the Minister of Defense in the parable: expecting nothing from but giving everything to aShemHaShem.

In this week’s parashah, Parashat Noach, we read the following: “These are the generations of Noach --- Noach was a righteous man, perfect in his generations; with G’d did Noach walk.” (Bereishit 6:9) A midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 30:8) describes the following five people found in the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible): Noach, Yoseif, Moshe, Iyov, and Mordechai, all who saw “a new world” come about in their times.  Each saw what could have been permanent terrible tragedies that were transformed into uplifting experiences that created a better world.  In each of these instances, the Hebrew word “hayah” (commonly translated to mean “was”) is used in describing what each of these men experienced.  Why the use of the word “hayah?”  Rabbi Yissocher Frand in his book The Power of a Vort (“vort” is translated to mean “word”) suggests that the key as to how a person enters and engages with a “new world” is based on how s/he views the word “hayah.”  Either one can wallow in it never moving forward or one can “let the past fade into twilight.”  He uses Noach and the “Mabul” (“the Flood”) as an example.  Although Noach and his family were spared the fate of the rest of their generation, they could have said “woe is me” and stopped dead in their tracks.  Instead, they emerged from the “teivah” (“the ark”) and proceed in a totally different world, a world that was not the world that they had known and lived in prior to the Mabul.  “Hayah” --- the past is gone forever.  This brings to mind what is happening in our world at this time.

Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, I do not think that many would disagree with me that far too many of us took things for granted.  We were able to live and enjoy life as Jews without appreciating what we had.  And now, gone are things like celebrating with a chatan and kallah at the chuppah, celebrating a boy becoming a Bar Mitzvah or a girl becoming a Bat Mitzvah, going to shul three times each day to pray with the minyan, getting together with chaverim in the beit midrash to learn Torah.  They are prohibited in order to attempt to stem the spread of COVID-19.  If there is any overriding message that comes out of this pandemic, it is this: we need to better appreciate what we have been given by Hashem in our everyday lives and not just at those special times in which we all revel.  At this time, the old adage “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone” is an incontrovertible truth.  And this is where the word “hayah” plays a pivotal role in our lives.

Before it is too late (and none of us knows when that time is), we must realize how good we had it before the COVID-19 pandemic.  Instead of concentrating only on how bad we have it right now, how bad the economy is, how bad the health situation is, how bad the world is, we need to do what all five of the men from the midrash did: they fought back with every ounce of their strength in order to bring about a better world.    We need to do the same.  How?  By appreciating our families, by appreciating our friends, by appreciating what we can accomplish from our homes, by appreciating our ability to still explore our world and learn new things even while doing so in a brand-new way, by appreciating our health and the food we eat and the basic necessities we have.

In an article published in “Yated Ne’eman,” of March 27, 2020, Rabbi Baruch Rabinowitz puts what I consider to be the best perspective on this COVID-19 pandemic by imagining what his late father-in-law, a survivor of the Shoah (“the Holocaust”) might have said about our world today. 

You are restricted where to go and how many people can congregate, but you could stay home and be in your own bed?  You mean, you don’t have to stay in a bunker?  No ghetto?  No sleeping with animals in a barn?  You could go to sleep at night and expect to find yourself and your family in the same place in the morning?  You have enough food in your home to survive for a few weeks?  No rationing of a few grains of barley per person per day?  You have fresh water to drink and don’t need to limit it?  You don’t have to boil it first?  You can go to the bathroom and you don’t need to use a pail in a corner with other people around?  You can go outside to get food and there’ll be food available?  You can go outside to get food and you won’t be shot dead if discovered?  You can take a shower?  With soap?  With warm water too?  You have a tallis and tefillin?  You can pray as long and as loud as you want and not be afraid of being discovered?  You could gather on your own porches and sing “Kabbalas Shabbos” (the service welcoming the Sabbath) and let it fill the whole street?  You could have a Shabbos se’udah (“Sabbath meal”) with real chicken soup, not just a little salt in water and leave the rest to the imagination?  Real fish?  Fresh challah, soft and chewy, not hard and moldy?  White, and not coarse black?  You can get more than one slice of bread a day?  You don’t have to hide it from other people?  You could think about making plans for the next month or even the next year and have a reasonable chance of keeping those plans?  Heat?  You can feel your fingers and toes when you wake up?  You have air conditioning?  You don’t feel suffocated by the heat and stench?  You have shoes without holes?  More than one pair?  Really?  You have sefarim (“holy books to learn from?  Any sefer you want?  You have access to shi’urim (“lessons”) by phone or by computer?  You have a way to keep in touch with the outside world and at least know there is an outside world?  You could actually know what is happening out there?  You could be in touch with family and see how they’re doing?  You never think that maybe you’re the last one alive? There is nothing to complain about.  All is okay.

While all might not, in fact, be “okay,” as long as you are alive, as long as you can live in this world and love those who are important to you, as long as you can still say “Modeh/Modah Ani” each morning, it is just “okay.”  It is indeed tov me’od --- it is indeed very good!

The 7-day festival of Sukkot is known in Hebrew as “Z’man Simchateinu” – “the Season of Our Joy.”  In fact, this is the most joyous of the Shalosh Regalim (the three Pilgrimage Festivals), each of which required us to travel to Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) to bring special korbanot (sacrificial offerings) to be placed on the altar in the Temple.  In the special Torah reading for the first two days of this autumn festival we read the following: “Us’machtem lifney Adonai Eloheychem shiv’at yamim.” --- “You shall rejoice before HaShem your G-d seven days.”  Immediately after the conclusion of the seventh day of Sukkot which was punctuated by the ritual of the beating of the aravot on Hoshanah Rabbah, we enter the solemnity of Shemini Atzeret (the Eighth Day of Tarrying) and the joyousness of Simchat Torah, literally “Rejoicing of the Torah.”  So, you may ask, how much more joyful can one be after celebrating Sukkot?  Perhaps this story may provide an answer.

Goldzweig and Oppenheim were two wealthy merchants who traded in rare gemstones and fine jewelry.  Each year, they would travel from their respective homes in Warsaw and Munich to the great annual fair in Leipzig.  As old friends, they were accustomed to lodge, dine, pray, and do business together, often pooling their resources for their mutual benefit.

The week of trading was drawing to a close.  Goldzweig and Oppenheim had conducted more than satisfactory business, and were about to return home with an ample stock that promised healthy profits for each of them. Before catching their afternoon trains, they were left with one more significant task – buying a gift for their wives.  For them, returning empty-handed from Leipzig was a worse domestic sin than eating on Yom Kippur!  They had to find something for their better halves.  But what does one purchase for the wives of wealthy gem merchants who have every material amenity that a woman could dream of?  The business of present-purchasing proved to be a greater challenge for Goldzweig and Oppenheim than a week of bartering and negotiating they had just completed.  The two merchants had to be at the train station in just two short hours, but they were still empty-handed!  They could not seem to find a suitable gift for their wives.  Another gold watch or a diamond broach just would not suffice.

Suddenly an old Polish Chasid with long silver payos who was wearing a dashik (the black narrow-visor cap that was common among Polish and Ukrainian Chassidic Jews at the time) on his head approached the two merchants.  He asked: “Could I interest you gentlemen in rare Judaica?”  Goldzweig and Oppenheim looked at each other and smiled.  What a novel idea!  Judaica was always a good investment that never decreased in value.  The old Polish Chasid had two hand-illustrated copies of the classic Tzena U’rena Yiddish commentary for women that had been printed on rare parchment paper in early 18^th century Budapest.  Even 150 years later, the volumes were in near mint condition.  At only 80 crowns apiece, the books were indeed a bargain, and both men jumped at the opportunity to purchase the books.  After paying the old Polish Chasid, Goldzweig and Oppenheim hurried to the train station.

After arriving home in Warsaw and before he unpacked the rest of his bags, Goldzweig produced the carefully-wrapped volume and presented it to his wife.  As she opened the package, her eyes opened wide and filled with tears.  After she carefully examined the book, a tender smile illuminated her face as she clutched it to her heart.  “Shimon,” she said, “this is the most exquisite gift I have ever received!  I will cherish this forever, and I will read it every Shabbat!  This will become our most important heirloom to be given to our eldest daughter with the hope that she will pass it down to her eldest daughter and so on and so on until the end of time!  Only a G-d fearing, magnanimous, and loving husband such as yourself could have found such a priceless gift!  This Tzena U’rena is so very beautiful!  How can I ever thank you?”

Oppenheim, on the hand, unfortunately received a much less enthusiastic welcome upon his arrival at home in Munich.  “Another dust-catcher?!” his irate wife shrieked at him.  She took the rare antique volume from him and threw it into a corner treating it as if were last week’s newspaper.

On Simchat Torah, which “wife” will you be?  Will you be overjoyed at once again ending and beginning the greatest story ever told: the story of Am Yisrael – the People Israel as presented in our Torah?  Will you treasure it and use it every week as you journey through the next year and the rest of your life?  Or will you relegate it to the proverbial “dustbin of history,” never giving even a moment’s thought to its eternal truths and lessons?  The fact of the matter is that Simchat Torah can be a turning point in the life of each member of Am Yisrael.  The more we learn to love Hashem and H-s Torah, the happier we can be with ourselves and our lives.

May all of us sing and dance on this most joyous of days!

Recently we read the double parashah of Nitzavim-VaYeilech in which we found the following verse: "Now write this song for yourselves and teach it to B'Nei Yisrael...."  (Devarim 31:19) To what song is this verse referring?  The traditional answer is that the song mentioned is the one found in this week's parashah, Parshat Ha'azinu.  But there are those who state  that the song is nothing less than the words of the Torah itself that Moshe received from HaShem on Mount Sinai, and the reason for them to be written down is so that B'Nei Yisrael will learn them and study them and use them.  Notwithstanding this interpretation, the question must be asked as to why the words of the Torah are referred to as a "song."

In the second half of the verse whose words I quoted above we find the following: "...place it in their mouths, in order that this song shall be for Me as a witness against B'nei Yisrael."  It is interesting to note that in Sefer Yehoshuah, in the Book of Joshua, Yehoshuah is confronted by the image of a man with a sword in his hand.  When asked by Yehoshuah who he is, the "man" replies: "...I am the Commander of Hashem's Legion."  The Rabbis of the Talmud understood this scenario to mean that HaShem was displeased with B'nei Yisrael's lack of commitment to H-s Torah.  Why?  Because both Yehoshuah and B'nei Yisreal had not fulfilled the the intention behind the command of writing and teaching the words "Now," without delay.

This Shabbat is the "Sabbath of Returning."  It is the Sabbath when every member of Am Yisrael, the People Israel, hopefully returns and recommits to Judaism and the Jewish people.  One of the simplest and most effective ways of doing this is committing oneself to Torah in whatever way possible.  You may ask if this commitment is to be based solely upon the fact that there is an unbroken chain of inheritance from previous generations.  For many, it is.  But while one may commit to Judaism because one is happy to continue the history and values of our people, the fact remains that such a commitment is rarely based upon one's life being interwoven at any meaningful level with the Torah.  And this is sad, for such a commitment is not sustainable.

The verse from this week's parashah refers to the words of the Torah as a "song."  A song is meant to be sung and sung well.  And in order for a song to be sung well it must come from within, having touched the deepest levels of one's soul.  A song sung well expresses a deep meaning that transcends the logic of its words.  A song sung well bursts forth when one's whole being becomes absorbed in its deep inner dimensions.  That is what the Torah is to be to all of us who are a part of Am Yisrael, the People Israel.

We are at that point of this new year when we are about to return one-on-one to HaShem.  This is part of what Yom Kippur, the Day of "At-one-ment," means: being "at one" with HaShem.  To be "at one" with HaShem, we must strive with all the passion we can muster to make our relationship with HaShem the song of our lives.  And we do this by singing the Song of the Torah with all of our hearts, with all of our souls, and with all of our strength.  May each one us  sing it loud and sing it well.

Gamar Chatima Tova!  May you be sealed for good in the Book of Life for 5781!