Give Us Two&nbsp;

One of the intriguing things about the Ten Commandments<a id="_edn1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>, given to the Jewish people&nbsp;is that they were engraved on two separate tablets. Was G-d short of granite that He needed to use two tablets? Why could He not carve the commandments onto a single stone?&nbsp;

There is the stereotypical Jew-bashing joke about this. Before coming to the Jews, G-d approached all the nations and asked if they would like to accept the Torah. Each of them refused because of some commandment in the Bible to which they could not possibly adhere. When G-d presented the offer to the Jews, their sole question was: How much do you want for it?&nbsp;

To which G-d responded: “It’s for free.”&nbsp;

So the Jews replied: “Give us two.”&nbsp;

Yet the issue demands sincere reflection. Why indeed was there a need for two tablets?&nbsp;&nbsp;

Two Versions&nbsp;

The rabbis in the&nbsp;midrash&nbsp;proposed a novel answer. The Ten Commandments, they suggested, were engraved on two tablets, five on each stone,&nbsp; so that they would be read in two directions -- from top to bottom, and from side to side<a id="_edn2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>.&nbsp;

The simplest way of reading the Ten Commandments is, of course, from top to bottom:&nbsp;

On the first stone:&nbsp;

1) I am the Lord your G-d who has taken you out of Egypt...&nbsp;

2) You shall have no other gods...&nbsp;

3) You shall not swear in G-d's&nbsp;name in vain...&nbsp;

4) Remember the Sabbath...&nbsp;

5) Honor your father and your mother...&nbsp;

And the five commandments engraved on the second tablet:&nbsp;

6) You shall not murder.&nbsp;

7) You shall not commit adultery.&nbsp;

8) You shall not steal.&nbsp;

9) You shall not bear false witness against your fellow.&nbsp;

10) You shall not covet your fellow’s house; you shall not covet your fellow’s wife&nbsp;…&nbsp;nor&nbsp;anything that belongs to your fellow.&nbsp;

This was the way of reading the Ten Commandments vertically. Yet due to the fact that the first five commandments were engraved on one stone and the second five on a separate stone, there was another way of reading the commandments -- horizontally instead of vertically, from commandment No. 1 directly to No. 6; from No. 2 to No. 7; 3 -- 8; 4 -- 9; 5 -- 10.&nbsp;

This version of the Ten Commandments would then read like this:&nbsp;

1) I am the Lord your G-d/You shall not murder. 2) You shall have no other gods/You&nbsp;shall not commit adultery; and so forth with the rest of the commandments.&nbsp;

But why is it necessary to read the Ten Commandments horizontally? What insight can we gain from this alternative reading of the commandments?&nbsp;&nbsp;

In this essay we will discuss the juxtaposition of the first and sixth commandments: "I am the Lord your G-d/You shall not murder." The significance of this “horizontal” reading from a historical, political and religious standpoint cannot be overstated. It embodies one of the most stunning aspects of Judaism. What is at stake in this juxtaposition is nothing less than the future of human civilization.&nbsp;

Two&nbsp;Historical&nbsp;Attempts&nbsp;

Two groups have made an attempt to divorce commandment no. 1 from commandment no. 6 -- to sever the idea of a Creator, who conceived the world for a moral purpose, from the imperative to honor the life of another human being. The first group was comprised of the philosophers of the Enlightenment during the 18th and 19th centuries, the second of religious leaders in many and diverse ages. The result for both was moral defeat.&nbsp;&nbsp;

The thinkers of the Enlightenment ushered in the Age of Reason and the modern secular era, founded on the belief that the great ideal of “You shall not murder” did not require the prerequisite of “I am the Lord Your G-d” in order to be sustained. Religion was not necessary to ensure moral behavior; reason alone, without G-d, would guide humanity into an age of liberty and to the achievement of moral greatness. The sixth commandment could operate successfully independent of the first.&nbsp;

While religion embodied the vision of man standing in a continuous relationship with G-d, the essence of the Enlightenment represented the vision of man without G-d. It was a vision already introduced during the first days of creation near the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, by the most sophisticated animal of the time, the serpent. “You shall be like G-d,"&nbsp;it promised Eve<a id="_edn3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>. Man could, and ought to, replace G-d. Left to his own (de)vices, the thinking&nbsp;went,&nbsp;the human being will&nbsp;achieve&nbsp;greatness.&nbsp;&nbsp;But the Holocaust spelled the end of this grand faith in the promise of human progress based on human reason. In Auschwitz, the belief that modern man felt a natural empathy for others was ruined forever.&nbsp;&nbsp;

The gas chambers were not invented by a primitive, barbaric and illiterate people. To the contrary, this people excelled in sciences and the arts, but nevertheless sent 1.5 million children, and 4.5 million adults, to their deaths solely because they had Jewish blood flowing in their veins. SS guards would spend a day in Auschwitz, gassing as many as 12,000 human beings, and then return home in the evening to pet their dogs and laugh with their wives. As the smoke of children ascended from the crematoriums, these charming romantics would enjoy good wine, beautiful women and the moving music of Bach, Mozart and Wagner. They murdered millions of innocents in the name of a developed ethic, and they justified genocide on purely rational grounds.&nbsp;

In "Schindler’s List," there is a scene during the liquidation of the Krakow Ghetto where a little girl hiding in a piano is shot dead by an SS guard. As her little angelic body lay in a river of blood, another guard sits down to play the piano.&nbsp;

First SS guard: Was&nbsp;ist&nbsp;das?&nbsp;Ist&nbsp;das Bach?&nbsp;

Second SS guard: Nein. Mozart.&nbsp;

First SS guard: Mozart?&nbsp;

Second SS guard:&nbsp;Ja. And they both marvel at the exquisite music.&nbsp;

This was Nazi Germany at its best.&nbsp;

Elie&nbsp;Wiesel, who gripped the world’s imagination with his book "Night," a personal testimony of life and death in Auschwitz, once asked the&nbsp;Lubavitcher&nbsp;Rebbe, who himself lost many members of his family in the Holocaust, how he could believe in G-d after Auschwitz. If G-d existed, Wiesel asked, posing the single greatest challenge to faith, how could He ignore 6 million of His children de-humanized and murdered in the cruelest of fashions?&nbsp;

The&nbsp;Rebbe&nbsp;shed a tear and then replied, “In whom do you expect me to believe after Auschwitz?&nbsp;In man?”&nbsp;

This must remain one of the lasting legacies of Auschwitz. If there is any faith at all left after the extermination of 6 million people, it must glean its vitality from something transcending the human rationale and its properties. If morality is left to be determined exclusively by the human mind, it can become a morality that justifies the guillotine, the gulag and the gas chamber. As Dostoevsky famously put it in "The Brothers Karamazov," “Where there is no G-d, all is permitted.”&nbsp;

The atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell wrote: “I cannot see how to refute the arguments for the subjectivity of ethical values [resulting from atheism], but I find myself incapable of&nbsp;believing that all that is wrong with wanton cruelty is that I don’t like it.” Russell’s point is critical. Without G-d, we cannot objectively define any behavior as good or evil. As difficult as it is to entertain, no one can objectively claim that gassing a mother and her children is any more evil than killing a mouse. It is all a matter of taste and opinion. The validity and effectiveness of “You shall not murder” can be sustained only if it is predicated on the foundation of faith in a universal moral creator who gave humanity an absolute and unwavering definition of what constitutes good vs. evil.&nbsp;

Professor Abraham Joshua&nbsp;Heschel, who escaped Warsaw a few weeks before it was invaded and lost most of his family in the Nazi&nbsp;Holocaust,&nbsp;captured this sentiment succinctly: “If man is not more than human, then he is less&nbsp;then&nbsp;human.” Either we climb to a place beyond ourselves, or we are likely to fall to a place below ourselves.&nbsp; When the vision of the sacred dies in the soul of a person, he or she is capable of becoming a servant of the devil.&nbsp;

Religious Evil&nbsp;

But this is far from the whole picture.&nbsp;

While the Enlightenment abandoned commandment no. 1 in favor of no. 6, various religions over the ages abandoned no. 6 in favor of no. 1. Theirs has been the atrocious belief that as long as you believe in the Lord, or in Allah, you can kill and maim whomever you brand an "infidel." Whether it is a business executive in New York, or a teenager eating a slice of pizza in Jerusalem, or a child on the first day of school in&nbsp;Beslan, or a commuter in Madrid, or a tourist in Bali,&nbsp;or a&nbsp;Chabad&nbsp;couple in Mumbai,&nbsp;if the person is not a member of your faith, G-d wants him or her to die. For the religious fundamentalist, "I am the Lord your&nbsp;G-d" has nothing to do with "You shall not murder."&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

This is the greatest perversion of faith. When thousands can rejoice gleefully in the torture of Jewish babies, in the rape and beheading of Jewish women, as the Hamas monsters did on October 7th, 2023, while millions of others celebrated, is the most vile desecration of Allah.&nbsp;Faith that does not inculcate its followers with the sanctity of every single human life desecrates and erodes the very purpose of faith, which is to elevate the human person to a state beyond personal instinct and prejudice. If you delete “You shall not murder” from religion, you have detached yourself from “I am the Lord your G-d.” To believe in&nbsp;G-d means to honor the life of every person created in the image of G-d. What the juxtaposition of the two commandments is telling us is that you can’t believe in G-d and murder<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')" id="_edn4" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>.&nbsp;

Conversely, if you truly believe that taking the life of another human is wrong -- not just because you lack the means or motive to do so or are afraid of ending up in jail, but because you recognize the transcendent, inviolable value of life -- that's just another way of saying you believe in G-d. For what confers upon human life its radical grace, its transcendent sanctity and its absolute value if not the living presence of G-d imprinted on the face of the human person?&nbsp;

3,336&nbsp;years ago, Judaism, in the most ennobling attempt to create a society based on justice and peace, established its principle code in the sequence of the two commandments – “I am the Lord your G-d/You shall not murder.” A society without&nbsp;G-d can become monstrous; a society that abandons the eternal and absolute commandment&nbsp;“You shall not murder” is equally evil. Both are capable of burning children alive during the day and then retiring to sleep with a clear conscience.&nbsp;

The Mountain&nbsp;

The Talmud captures this notion in an intriguing&nbsp;fashion<a id="_edn5" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>.&nbsp;

The Talmud cites a tradition that when Israel approached Sinai, G-d lifted up the mountain, held it over the people's heads and declared: “Either you accept the Torah, or be crushed beneath the mountain.” (The Talmud bases this tradition on the verse in Exodus, “And they stood beneath the mountain<a id="_edn6" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a>.”)&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

This seems ludicrous. What worth is there to a relationship and a covenant accepted through coercion<a id="_edn7" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>?&nbsp;

The answer is profoundly simple. What G-d was telling the Jewish people is that the creation of societies that honor life and shun cruelty is&nbsp;dependent&nbsp;on education and on the value system inculcated within children of the society. The system of Torah, G-d was suggesting, was the guarantor for life and liberty. If you reject the morality of Torah, if you will lack the courage and conviction to teach the world that “I am the Lord your G-d” and that I have stated unequivocally “You shall not murder,” the result will be humanity crushed under a mountain of tyrants.&nbsp;

Seventy-five&nbsp;years since Auschwitz and after two decades of incessant Islamic terrorism, the mountain is hanging over our heads once again. Shall we embrace the path of divine-based morality? Shall we never forget that religion must always be defined by “You shall not murder<a id="_edn8" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref8')">[8]</a>?”&nbsp;

_________

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')" id="_ednref1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Exodus chapter 20.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')" id="_ednref2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Mechilta&nbsp;to Exodus ibid.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')" id="_ednref3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Genesis 3:5.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')" id="_ednref4" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> The&nbsp;Midrash&nbsp;(Mechiultah&nbsp;ibid.) in discussing the connection between the first and sixth commandments presents the following parable to explain the evil behind murder: “There was a king who entered a country and put up portraits of himself, and made statues of himself, and minted coins with his image. After a while, the people of the country overturned his portraits, broke his statues and invalidated his coins, thereby reducing the image of the king. “So, too, one who sheds blood reduces the image of the King, as it is written (Genesis 9:6): "One who spills a man's blood... for in the image of G-d He made man."

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')" id="_ednref5" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Talmud,&nbsp;Shabbas&nbsp;88a.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')" id="_ednref6" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> Exodus 19:17.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')" id="_ednref7" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> This question is raised among many of the Talmudic commentators. Many answers have been offered.&nbsp; See&nbsp;Tosfos,&nbsp;Eitz&nbsp;Yosef,&nbsp;Pnei&nbsp;Yehoshua,&nbsp;Shabbos&nbsp;Shel&nbsp;Mi&nbsp;and&nbsp;BenYehoyada&nbsp;to Talmud&nbsp;Shabbos&nbsp;ibid.&nbsp;Midrash&nbsp;Tanchumah&nbsp;Noach&nbsp;section 3.&nbsp;Daas&nbsp;Zekeinim&nbsp;Mibbalei&nbsp;Hatosafos&nbsp;on Exodus 19:17.&nbsp;Maharal&nbsp;Tiferes&nbsp;Yisroel&nbsp;ch.&nbsp;32,&nbsp;Gur&nbsp;Aryeh&nbsp;on Exodus ibid. and Or&nbsp;Chodash&nbsp;p. 45.&nbsp;Sources noted in&nbsp;Pardas&nbsp;Yosef&nbsp;to Exodus ibid. Rabbi Yaakov&nbsp;Yosef&nbsp;of&nbsp;Pulnah&nbsp;in Ben&nbsp;Poras&nbsp;Yosef&nbsp;Parshas&nbsp;Vayeishev. Torah&nbsp;Or&nbsp;Megilas&nbsp;Esther p. 96c; 118c.&nbsp;7) This essay is based on&nbsp;a Yiddish&nbsp;letter&nbsp;by&nbsp;the&nbsp;Lubavitcher&nbsp;Rebbe&nbsp;written&nbsp;&nbsp;to Dr.&nbsp;Elie&nbsp;Wiesel&nbsp;in 1965&nbsp;(published in&nbsp;Likkutei&nbsp;Sichos&nbsp;vol. 33 pp.255-260) and on a 1962 public address&nbsp;by&nbsp;&nbsp;the&nbsp;Rebbe&nbsp;(published in&nbsp;Likkutei&nbsp;Sichos&nbsp;vol. 3 pp. 887-895), and on other sources.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn8')" id="_ednref8" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> This essay is based on a Yiddish letter by the Lubavitcher Rebbe written&nbsp;to Dr. Elie Weisel in April, 1965 (published in Likkutei Sichos vol. 33 pp.255-260) and on a 1962 public address by&nbsp;the Rebbe (published in Likkutei Sichos vol. 3 pp. 887-895), and on a lecture presented by Rabbi Dr. Benjamin Bleich, and other sources.

The Islamists and Hitler - The Two Great Evils of History

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ten commandments

terrorists

radical islam

hitler

nazis

islamists

 The Two Great Evils of History: The Islamists and Hitler

Parshas Yisro/Shavuos Essay

Behind the War On Hamas

There is a fascinating teaching in the Talmud: By bringing joy to a bride and a groom, which Jeremiah described in five voices, we merit the wisdom of Torah which was also transmitted via five voices. 

But this does not seem to make sense. What is the connection between the two? Also, what are these voices, or sounds? And why five?

Is it possible that an idea introduced to our world only in 1995 was being intimated in the Talmud 1700 years earlier?

Gary Chapman is a renowned marriage therapist. After many years of counseling it was obvious to him that couples were missing each other when one would say, &ldquo;I feel like he/she doesn&rsquo;t love me.&rdquo; And the other would say, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what else to do. I try to show her that I love her.&rdquo; He heard this pattern over and over again. He noticed that the trust, passion, excitement in so many relationships has eroded, because deep down there was a lack of love. So, he went through 12 years of notes that he had made when counseling couples and asked the question: When someone said, I feel like my spouse doesn&rsquo;t love me, what did they want?&nbsp; What were they complaining about? Their answers fell into 5 categories. He called them the 5 love languages; five ways that people speak and understand emotional love.

Is it not, then, fascinating, that the Torah described a marriage as consisting of &ldquo;five voices.&rdquo; A voice represents a &ldquo;language,&rdquo;&nbsp;a form of communication. A good marriage is comprised of all five voices. 

The Torah is also given in &ldquo;five voices.&rdquo;&nbsp;The giving of the Torah was a marriage&mdash;between the Creator and creation. How do we marry G-d? How is it possible for two completely separate worlds to meet? This is where the kolos come in, the &ldquo;sounds&rdquo;, the &ldquo;voices&rdquo;; the only way to reach out across infinity to truly connect with another, to initiate any relationship, is through the extraordinary gift of communication. The kol, then refers to communication. And, just as in a marriage, there are &ldquo;five love languages,&rdquo;&nbsp;five voices that make up the body of Judaism.

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shavuos

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five love languages

Words of Affirmation; Spending Quality Time; Giving Gifts;Acts of Service; Physical Touch

Shavuos Essay 

The Five Love Languages of Judaism

The Bet on David and Goliath 

An archaeologist was digging in the Negev Desert in Israel and came upon a casket containing a mummy. After examining it, he called the curator of a prestigious natural history museum.

"I've just discovered a 3,000-year-old mummy of a man who died of heart failure!" the excited scientist exclaimed.

The curator replied, "Bring him in. We'll check it out."

A week later, the amazed curator called the archaeologist. "You were right about the mummy's age and cause of death. How in the world did you know?"

"Easy. There was a piece of paper in his hand that said, '1 million Shekel on Goliath'."

The Story of the Codex

Secured in the lower level of the famed Shrine of the Book at Jerusalem’s Israel Museum sits the Aleppo Codex. Its story is thrilling and mysterious, mirroring the story of the people who authored the Codex, the oldest, most complete, most accurate text of the Hebrew Bible, preserved in its entirety in important Jewish communities in the Near East: Tiberias, Jerusalem, Egypt, and in the city of Aleppo, Syria.

As we celebrate this holiday of Shavuos when we were given the Torah, it is worth recalling this story.

Some call it the Aleppo Codex, some call it the Crown of Aleppo. Its Hebrew name is כֶּתֶר אֲרָם צוֹבָא‎ (Keter Aram Tzova), the "Crown of Aleppo."

What is its uniqueness? This manuscript of the Hebrew Bible—the Tanach—was written around the year 930 by the scribe Shlomo ben Buya and was annotated (with the vowels—nekudos—and cantillations—trup—of the entire Tanach) by Aharon ben Asher. Aharon was considered the greatest expert on biblical texts and devoted his entire life to researching the most accurate version of the Tanach. How is each word spelled? What is its exact pronunciation? What is the musical note with which it is read in shul? How exactly is it written in the Torah Scroll? Although all Torah scrolls were copied from a previous one since there was no printing at the time, all were copied by hand, and over millennia, a mistake here or there creeps in. Aharon ben Asher spent a lifetime discovering the most authoritative text—and it was this Codex that he edited, time and time and time again until he perfected it.

Despite its name, the Keter (the Aleppo Codex) was not written in Aleppo, but in the northern Israeli city of Tiberias. Soon thereafter, the Keter would travel to Jerusalem and quickly become the authoritative text of the Bible for Jews and non-Jews alike.

Now, if you know your history, you know that eleventh-century Jerusalem was no place for a nice Jewish boy or a Jewish Bible. When Jerusalem was ransacked by the Christian Crusaders, the Keter was saved and ransomed from the Crusaders by Jews of Egypt.

In Fustat, Egypt, the Keter came into the possession of the most famous Jew of the day and perhaps of all times – Rabbi Moses Maimonides, the Rambam (1135-1204).

Before his passing in 1204, Maimonides, upon whose contributions to Jewish law, philosophy, and exegesis we still rely, referred to the Keter as the authoritative text of the Bible.

<big>רמב"ם הלכות ספר תורה פרק ח הלכה ד: וספר שסמכנו עליו בדברים אלו הוא הספר הידוע במצרים שהוא כולל ארבעה ועשרים ספרים שהיה בירושלים מכמה שנים להגיה ממנו הספרים, ועליו היו הכל סומכין, לפי שהגיהו בן אשר ודקדק בו שנים הרבה והגיהו פעמים רבות כמו שהעתיקוּ, ועליו סמכתי בספר התורה שכתבתי כהלכתו.</big>

And the book that we relied upon in these matters is the well-known book in Egypt, which contains twenty-four books, which was in Jerusalem some years ago, to revise the books from it, and everyone relied on it since it was revised by Aharon ben Asher, and he worked meticulously on it for many years and revised it many times, as they copied, and I have relied on it in the Torah Scroll that I wrote according to the Halakha.

Here Maimonides is telling us of a complete manuscript of the Bible (twenty-four books), which was revised by Aharon ben Asher over and over again for many years. Maimonides prefers this manuscript to all the other Torah Scrolls and manuscripts, and he decrees as Halacha that Torah scrolls should be written according to this manuscript. Because of the great authority of Maimonides, within a few generations, all Jewish communities accepted his ruling, and all the Torah scrolls of all the Jewish ethnic groups are written according to his instructions, which are based on the codex revised by Aharon ben Asher.

Now, you must understand the significance of this. Maimonides transcribed in his code of law the accurate way the Torah scroll must be transcribed—and it was all from this Codex that fell into his hands and which he trusted more than any other scroll.

As to how the Keter arrived from Egypt to Syria, we are not sure. We know that Rabbi Dovid ben Yehoshua, a direct descendant of Maimonides, traveled through Israel in 1375, going to live in Damascus and eventually Aleppo, a historically strong and rich Jewish community. Some speculated he might have brought it to Syria.

There the Keter sat, in the old Aleppo Synagogue, for over five hundred years, in a chest with two locks, like a nuclear briefcase, not to be opened except in the presence of the bearers of the keys. Two leaders of the community had the keys, but the pact was that nobody would open it not in the presence of the other.

The Riots

The Keter slumbered for centuries – a sacred text under the protectorate of the Aleppo community – right up until November 30, 1947, the morning after the UN General Assembly voted in favor of the establishment of a Jewish State.

That morning a mob attacked the Jewish quarter in Aleppo, setting fire to the synagogues, the start of a riot that would go on for days. The attack, a part of an anti-Jewish wave of unrest across the Middle East and North Africa, resulted in some 75 Jews murdered and several hundred wounded. Following the attack, the Jewish community went into a steep decline. The wealthy Jews escaped the day after the pogrom and many more fled in small groups in subsequent months. Their property was forfeited and on December 22 the Syrian Government enacted a law forbidding Jews from selling their property. Within a few years after the pogroms, most Jews left Aleppo, a large majority of them relocating to Israel. By 1959, about 2,000 Jews remained in Aleppo. As of 2012, no Jews live in Aleppo.

What about the Crown stored away in the synagogue that was attacked? At first, people thought that it had been completely destroyed. Later, however, it turned out that most of the manuscript had been saved. The synagogue sexton, Asher Baghdadi, and his son ran back into the smoldering synagogue to gather the pages of the Crown!

From that day on, the writing was on the wall for the Aleppo Community. For ten years, the Keter went from hiding place to hiding place. It traveled from hand to hand, hiding it from the Syrian authorities. Eventually, in 1958 the Codex was wrapped in cheesecloth and smuggled out by a dairyman to the fledgling new State of Israel. It arrived in Jerusalem and was delivered to the President of Israel, Yitzchak Ben Zvi.

The Missing Pages

The Aleppo Codex originally had 487 pages. Yet, as it reached Israel, it had only 294 parchment pages, written on both sides. Examinations revealed that many pages were missing because of the damage to the Codex during the 1947 pogrom. Mainly the first part of the manuscript was damaged, the Pentateuch (the Five Books of Moses), of which only the last eleven pages remained. Almost all the Chumash (Five Books of Moses) had been lost, except the final chapters of the Book of Deuteronomy, which were preserved.

Many efforts were made to locate the missing pages of the Aleppo Codex. Despite years of research, and all of types of mysterious and criminal stories circulating, we do not know what happened to the missing pages. Were they burned or destroyed? Were they, perhaps, hidden somewhere? Were they stolen? Did Jewish families from Aleppo take them?

The efforts to ascertain the truth met with many disappointments. Nevertheless, there were two successes: an entire page of the Aleppo Codex from the book of Chronicles reached New York and was preserved by a family from the city of Aleppo. Eventually, that page was given to the National Library in Jerusalem and added to the Aleppo Codex. Then another clue was discovered: a fragment of a page from the Book of Exodus had been preserved in the United States in the wallet of a man from Aleppo, who used it as a kind of lucky charm. This piece of parchment has not yet reached Jerusalem, but a photograph of it has been published.

Today one can see the Codex—whatever parts they found—in the Israel Museum. Its silent pages tell an incredible story, the story not only of a manuscript but of a people holding on to its Torah for the last 3,333 years.

The Soul of a People

In my mind, this narrative captures the story of our people. The book has been the soul of the people, and the people have been the soul of the book. &nbsp;

Just like the Crown of Aleppo, we too traveled from country to country, yet we held on to our Torah, and it held on to us. As a result, we retained our identity if sometimes only in fragments, ultimately returning—like the Codex—to our eternal homeland.

Just like the Crown of Aleppo, they said about us too that we are no more; that we have been destroyed. But in some inexplicable way, 3333 years after Sinai we are still going strong.

The Jewish people are under attack again. Three millennia later, our foes still crave genocide for the Jews, and the world blames the Jews…

We must stand united and strong and always remember that as long as we hold on to the book, eternity belongs to us.

(My thanks to Rabbi Nir Gurevitch, Spiritual leader, Surfers Paradise, Australia, for his assistance with this essay).

Secured in the lower level of the famed Shrine of the Book at Jerusalem&rsquo;s Israel Museum sits the Aleppo Codex. Its story is thrilling and mysterious, mirroring the story of the people who authored the Codex, the oldest, most complete, most accurate text of the Hebrew Bible, preserved in its entirety in important Jewish communities in the Near East: Tiberias, Jerusalem, Egypt, and in the city of Aleppo in Syria. As we celebrate this holiday when we were given the Torah, it is worth recalling this story.

The Keter (the Aleppo Codex) slumbered for centuries &ndash; a sacred text under the protectorate of the Aleppo community &ndash; right up until November 30, 1947, the morning after the UN General Assembly voted in favor of the establishment of a Jewish State. That morning a mob attacked the Jewish quarter in Aleppo, setting fire to the synagogues, the start of a riot that would go on for days.&nbsp;

At first, people thought that it had been completely destroyed. Later, however, it turned out that most of the manuscript had been saved. The synagogue sexton, Asher Baghdadi, and his son ran back into the smoldering synagogue to gather the pages of the Crown. Eventually, in 1958 the codex was wrapped in cheesecloth and smuggled out by a dairyman to the fledgling new State of Israel. It arrived in Jerusalem and was delivered to the President of Israel, Yitzchak Ben Zvi.

The incredible story of this Codex mirrors the story of our people.

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aleppo codex

The Incredible Loss & Recovery of the Most Authoritative Tanach Manuscript

The Crown of Aleppo

The Experiment

It is an incredible story.

14&nbsp;years ago, an intriguing experiment made the news. The experiment – arranged by the Washington Post to study how people react to unexpected, out-of-context art – called for Joshua Bell, the Jewish world-renowned violinist, to stand in a Washington D. C. subway and play classical music.

It was a Friday morning, January 12, 2007.&nbsp;Bell played for about 45 minutes, during which time more than a thousand people passed by. Ordinarily, when Bell gives a recital, he earns about a thousand dollars a minute (not bad for a nice Jewish boy).

How many people, do you think, stopped to hear the brilliant music? How many people were moved by the masterful renditions of Joshua Bell?&nbsp; 0.006 percent of the people who passed by paused to absorb the magic.

In the three-quarters of an hour that Joshua Bell played, seven people stopped what they were doing to hang around and take in the performance, at least for one minute. Twenty-seven gave money, most of them on the run. Throughout the entire time, there was never a crowd, not even for a second. In the 45 minutes he played in the subway, only 27 out of the 1,075 passersby threw a donation into his violin case, netting him a grand total of $32.

In its aftermath, scores of articles were written about the experiment, and all kinds of questions were asked. Have we grown so superficial as to not appreciate art without a frame? Beauty without PR? Is there really no truth left if it is not "advertised" as such?

Why would people shell out upwards of hundred dollars a ticket to hear Josh Bell play and not stop to listen when the music was free? Is it all part of our herd mentality – if we aren’t told something is good, we cannot realize it is good?

When you watch the video of the event, it is sad. It is sad to observe the opportunities that slip through our hands never to return; the rush of life which sucks up the essence of life itself.

The Taxi

In a wonderful article in Ami magazine,<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')" id="_edn1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> Roizy Waldman highlighted a trivial detail that the Washington Post mentioned. Bell, the paper reported, took a taxi from his hotel to the subway station, merely three blocks, because his violin was too expensive to risk walking with on the street. What kind of violin was this to merit such care and protection?

As it turns out, the writer explains, the answer to this question leads us not only to the story of the violin, but also to a story about courage, perseverance, and the making of history.

The Story of Bronislaw Huberman 

<figure class="image" style="float:right"><img alt="Bronislaw Huberman playing his Strad" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/theyeshivacnd-d/content/itemcoverpics/default/7205_theviolinthatwitnessedhistory.d670.jpg" style="margin: 20px; width: 500px; height: 291px;">
<figcaption>Bronislaw Huberman playing his Strad</figcaption>
</figure>

The story leads us to the previous owner of the violin, another Jew by the name of Bronislaw Huberman.

Born in 1882 to a secular Jewish family in Poland, Bronislaw Huberman’s musical genius was discovered early. At that time, classical music was the music that mattered. He gave his first public concert at the age of 7. When Bronislaw was 11, he garnered the support of arts patron Count Zamoyski of Paris, who gave young Bronislaw a gift of a Stradivarius violin.

A Stradivarius is an instrument made by Antonio Stradivari, an Italian craftsman born in 1644. During his lifetime – he died in 1737 – he crafted more than 1,100 instruments. Of those, 540 violins, 50 cellos, and 12 violas still exist today. A “Strad” (as it is called in short) produces the most magical tones, unequaled by any other stringed instrument. An ordinary violin you can buy for 70 dollars; a Strad sells today for 5 to 20 million dollars.

(Though many have attempted to reproduce the exact sound, none have succeeded yet. Over the years, music historians and researchers have come up with various theories about why a Stradivarius produces such exceptional sounds. Some claim it’s the wood Stradivari used; others say it’s the varnish, and still others believe it’s the waters of Cremona, the city where Stradivari lived. While others say it is all fantasy. Yet it still sells for millions.)

The Stradivarius gifted to Huberman by Count Zamoyski was crafted by Stradivari in 1713 (the Baal Shem Tov was 15 at the time; George Washington, l’havdil, was not born yet), making it more than three hundred years old now. He soon became one of the greatest violinists in Europe. Playing in the world-renowned Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Huberman became world-famous.

But then darkness descended. The Nazi Regime came to power. “The true artist,” Huberman once said, “does not create art as an end in itself; he creates art for human beings. Humanity is the goal.” And he lived up to his words. In 1933, as Hitler took control of Germany, Jewish musicians who’d been employed for years by the prestigious Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra suddenly found themselves jobless. Each month, Hitler ordered more and more Jewish musicians to be fired, and no other orchestra was allowed to hire them. However, to preserve his reputation among foreign countries, Hitler tried to retain a handful of the most famous Jewish musicians in the orchestra. One of the musicians he was persuaded to keep was Bronislaw Huberman.

The orchestra’s conductor, Wilhelm Furtwängler, sent Huberman a personal offer of employment. He would be from the few Jews allowed to remain. But Huberman refused and even issued a public letter denouncing Nazism.

But he did something else truly remarkable—and for this, he shall always be remembered, not only as a great violinist but as a great human being and a glorious Jew. Realizing that Jews will face danger in Germany, he created, for the first time ever, the Palestine Symphony Orchestra, inviting all the victimized Jewish musicians to join. In order to be granted entry, refugees had to demonstrate that their prospects of earning a living were strong. The soon-to-be Palestine Symphony Orchestra ensured that these refugees would be gainfully employed.

Huberman insisted that the musicians could only emigrate if they were accompanied by their spouses, siblings, children, and parents, and so managed to snag certificates for all of them. Unlike many who believed that this European anti-Semitic wave would soon pass, just as earlier anti-Semitic waves had, Huberman believed that Jews were no longer safe in Europe. He worked tirelessly to rescue as many people as he could from the Nazi&nbsp;clutches. He ensured the British government that he’d employ many more people than he possibly could.

While Huberman was struggling to persuade cultured musicians to make their home in a virtual desert, while he toiled to procure their visas, while he dissembled to the government in an effort to wrest more and more Jews away from Europe’s ever-increasing perilous situation, he also had to put together the orchestra itself. Money was needed. The musicians’ morale had to be maintained. A venue had to be found, a conductor procured.

On the latter front, Huberman lucked out. Italian Arturo Toscanini, one of the most renowned conductors in Europe, agreed to conduct the orchestra’s first few performances. Toscanini, who wasn’t Jewish, was a special soul, who despised Nazism and Fascism. He courageously spoke out against the Nazis and Fascists even at the cost of his personal safety. In fact, after one such outburst, a group of Fascists beat him bloody. But he refused to be silenced.

Toscanini traveled to Israel (then Palestine) in 1936 to train the orchestra and ready them for their first performance. In keeping with his idealism, he declined payment for his work, even paying for his travel expenses himself. “I had to show my solidarity,” he said. “It is everyone’s duty to help in this cause according to one’s means.”

Toscanini cemented the orchestra’s reputation. He was held in such high regard that as soon as it became known that he would be the orchestra’s conductor, fund-raising become easy, musicians clamored to become part of the orchestra, and people bought tickets to the concerts. In no time, nine concerts – in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Haifa, Cairo and Alexandria – were sold out.

“One has to build a fist against anti-Semitism,” Huberman once said. “A first-class orchestra would be that fist.”

The first concert took place on December 26, 1936, in Tel Aviv. Crowds of people who couldn’t get tickets stood outside the windows and climbed up onto the roof to be able to hear the gorgeous music. When the concert was over, the audience gave the musicians a standing ovation that lasted close to thirty minutes—unheard of in the history of concertos.

Indeed, a first-class orchestra it became! The Palestine Symphony Orchestra toured the entire world, wowing audiences with their beautiful performances. In 1948, when the United Nations recognized Israel as a country, the orchestra changed its name to the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra, which plays to this very day. Huberman died a year earlier, in 1947.

The Stolen Violin

But the story is not over.

On February 28, 1936, Huberman came to New York to give a recital at Carnegie Hall. Huberman always carried a double violin case, in which he kept his expensive Strad and another cheaper violin.

That night Huberman chose to play the second half of his concert on his “other violin,” a Guarneri del Gesu. In the middle of the performance, the Strad was stolen from his dressing room. When the theft was discovered, the police were called while Huberman tried not to panic, continuing optimistically with his encores. The instrument had previously been stolen in 1919 from a hotel room in Vienna but was recovered days later when the thief tried to sell it. This time, Huberman was not so lucky.

Heartbroken, Huberman never saw his Stradivarius again. However, his great dream was fulfilled when the new Palestine Orchestra made its debut in December 1936 with the great Toscanini on the podium.

50 years passed. It is now 1985. A New York Violinist, Julian Altman, was diagnosed with stomach cancer. As he lay dying, he called his wife to his deathbed and told her he had stolen the violin from Huberman’s room at Carnegie Hall back in 1936. Altman soon died.

His wife eventually returned the violin to Lloyd’s of London and received a finder’s fee. The instrument underwent a nine-month restoration by J&amp;A Beare Ltd., which noted it was like “taking dirt off the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”

The violin was soon sold to a British violinist, for 1.2 million dollars. In 2001, Joshua Bell paid almost four million dollars for the violin.

“This violin is special in so many ways,” Bell said at a recent concert.<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')" id="_edn2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a> “It is overwhelming to think of how many amazing people have held it and heard it. When I perform in Israel with the Israel Philharmonic, I am always touched to think how many of the orchestra and audience members are direct descendants of the musicians Huberman saved from the Holocaust — with funds raised by concerts performed on the very same instrument I play every day. Who knows what other adventures will come to my precious violin in the years to come? While it certainly will be enjoyed and admired long after I am not around anymore, for the time being, I count myself incredibly lucky to have been its caretaker on its 300th birthday.”

Now, I understood why Joshua Bell took a taxi from the hotel to the subway station in Washington; he did not want to take chances with Huberman’s Stradivarius.

A Parable for Judaism

It is a magnificent story. But, in my mind, it is also a parable for the story of our people from Sinai till today. Does it not capture the essence and theme of Simchas&nbsp;Torah?

Thousands of years ago, at the foot of Sinai, we were given a “Strad violin,” an instrument to generate the most exquisite music the world has ever heard—music for our souls, for our homes, for our communities, and for our world. “Your laws have been symphonies for me,” King David sings in Psalms. Life is a powerful symphony and you can contribute your sonata. The objective of Judaism is to allow each person, and each creature, to express their deepest music. It sees each of us as a “violin,” capable of producing our unique ballad. In the famous words of 12th-century&nbsp;Spanish poet Rabbi Judah Halevi (which made their way into the song Jerusalem of Gold) “ani kenor lesherayich,” I am a violin to your melodies.<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')" id="_edn3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a>

And just as the chords of a violin must be tied down to allow the music to play, Torah mitigates and restricts certain behaviors, not in order to tie us down, but rather to allow our music to play.

Our violin—our Strad—has endured a lot. Just like Huberman’s violin, our violin too was exiled, stolen, and almost disappeared. Our faith and our Torah came close to extinction, through Nazi and Soviet genocide on one hand, and mass assimilation on the other.&nbsp;

But the unpredictable happened. The violin was recovered—and today it plays in Jewish homes and communities all across the globe. We have “Joshua Bells” all across the world playing that ancient violin, with splendor, beauty, and exquisiteness. Judaism has experienced a renaissance. Jews are studying Torah; celebrating Mitzvos and living a Jewish life. On Simchas Torah, millions of our people the world over will dance with our Divine "violin."&nbsp;&nbsp;

Yet, so often the music can be playing right near us, yet we ignore it. We can have one of the greatest violinists on the subway playing the most beautiful ballads, but we are too busy, too stressed, too rushed, too lazy, too callous, too overwhelmed to even stop and take it in.

We were given the Torah—the most time-tested violin, not 300 years old, but 3333&nbsp;years old. And it produces the most profound music—not only classical music to enrich the spirit, but Divine music to give meaning to life, to offer depth, hope, vitality, spirituality, purpose to life; Divine music to keep families together, marriages fresh, intimacy alive; Divine music to be able to find happiness and joy in a world of chaos, fear, anxiety, depression, and confusion; Divine music to offer perspective, vision, wisdom, guidance in a time of moral ambivalence; Divine music that allowed us to stay the course and thrive over three millennia, despite endless challenges and savage suffering.

The music is right here, right now. But we can just pass by and ignore it. Not because we are bad, but simply because we are in a rush or we are just too entrenched in our comfort zones.

On Simchat Torah, we dedicate a day to dance with our eternal and sacred Torah. “Sisu V’simchu B’Simchat Torah,” rejoice and celebrate with the joy of the Torah.

Take pause and celebrate the music which has allowed our souls to soar and touch heaven, every day, every moment.

Happy Simchat Torah!<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')" id="_edn4" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a>

______________________________

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')" id="_ednref1" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Here is a link to her article, much of which I copied in the subsequent story: <a href="https://www.aish.com/ci/s/The-Violin-that-Witnessed-History.html">https://www.aish.com/ci/s/The-Violin-that-Witnessed-History.html</a>

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')" id="_ednref2" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> <a href="https://csosoundsandstories.org/how-a-once-lost-stradivarius-found-its-way-to-joshua-bell/">https://csosoundsandstories.org/how-a-once-lost-stradivarius-found-its-way-to-joshua-bell/</a>

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')" id="_ednref3" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> The Baal Shem Tov teaches that Halacha is the acronym of “Hareoo L’Hashem Kal Haaretz,” "let the whole earth sing to G-d.” For the function of Halacha, Jewish law, is to synchronize our lives with the symphony of nature.

<a onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')" id="_ednref4" href="javascript: void(0);" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> I have used these sources for the story: 
<a href="https://www.aish.com/ci/s/The-Violin-that-Witnessed-History.html">https://www.aish.com/ci/s/The-Violin-that-Witnessed-History.html</a> 
<a href="https://csosoundsandstories.org/how-a-once-lost-stradivarius-found-its-way-to-joshua-bell/">https://csosoundsandstories.org/how-a-once-lost-stradivarius-found-its-way-to-joshua-bell/</a> 
<a href="https://rhapsodyinwords.com/2015/08/24/the-astonishing-300-year-history-of-the-gibson-ex-huberman-stradivarius/">https://rhapsodyinwords.com/2015/08/24/the-astonishing-300-year-history-of-the-gibson-ex-huberman-stradivarius/</a> 
<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/style/wp/2014/10/14/gene-weingarten-setting-the-record-straight-on-the-joshua-bell-experiment/">https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/style/wp/2014/10/14/gene-weingarten-setting-the-record-straight-on-the-joshua-bell-experiment/</a>

Twelve years ago, an intriguing experiment made news. The experiment &ndash; arranged by the Washington Post to study how people react to unexpected, out-of-context art &ndash; called for Joshua Bell, world-renowned violinist, to stand in a Washington D. C. subway and play classical music. In the 45 minutes he played in the subway, only 27 out of the 1,075 passersby threw a donation into his violin case, netting him a grand total of $32.

When I initially read about this experiment, I noticed a trivial detail. Bell, the Post claimed, took a taxi from his hotel to the subway station, a distance of merely three blocks, because his violin was too expensive to risk walking with on the street. What kind of violin was this to merit such care and protection?

As it turns out, the answer to this question leads us not only to the story of the violin, but also to a story about courage, perseverance, and the making of history. The story leads us to the previous owner of the violin, a Jew by the name of Bronislaw Huberman. He was one of the greatest violinists in Europe before the war, Hitler allowed him to stay in Berlin, but instead he went on to create the Philharmonic Orchestra of Israel.

It is a magnificent story. But is it not also an appropriate parable for our entire people and our entire narrative from Sinai till today? Does it not capture the essence and theme of Simchat Torah? Thousands of years ago, at the foot of Sinai, we were given a &ldquo;Strad violin,&rdquo; an instrument to generate the most exquisite music the world&mdash;music in our souls, in our homes, in our communities and in our world.

7205_joshua_bell.a712.jpg

joshua bell

antonio stradivarius

violin

bronislaw huberman

stradivarius

simchas torah

strad

simchat torah

huberman

The Story of a Stradivarius which Escaped Nazism

Simchas Torah/Shavuos Essay

Joshua Bell’s Violin—and the Music of Jewish History

A Doctor’s Advice

A woman accompanied her husband to the doctor's office. Following her husband’s checkup, the doctor called the wife into his office to speak with her privately. He said, "Your husband is suffering from a very severe stress disorder. If you don't do the following, your husband will surely deteriorate and die." 
 
“Each morning," instructed the doctor, "fix him a healthy breakfast. Be pleasant at all times. For lunch make him a nutritious meal. For dinner prepare an especially nice meal for him. Have the dinner waiting for him on the table, hot, as he arrives home from work. Don't burden him with chores. Don't discuss your problems with him; it will only make his stress worse. No nagging is allowed. You must also compliment him at least five-six times a day, telling him how brilliant and talented he is. And most importantly, never disagree with him.” 
 
"If you can do this for the next 10 months to a year," the doctor said, "I think your husband will regain his health completely." 
 
On the way home, the husband asked his wife, "What did the doctor say?" 
 
"He said you're going to die," she replied.

The Proposal 

There is an enigmatic Talmudic passage explaining a peculiar phrase in the Torah reading of shvauos, from the portion&nbsp;of Yisro: "They (the Jewish people) stood in the bottom of the (Sinai) mountain <a name="_ednref1" title=""></a>[1]."

What is the meaning of the words "in the bottom of the mountain"? The Talmud explains <a name="_ednref2" title=""></a>[2] that the Jews were actually standing inside the mountain. "G-d enveloped them with the mountain as though it was an upturned vat, and He said to them: 'If you accept the Torah, fine; if not, this will be your burial place.'"

The event at Sinai is viewed as the marriage ceremony between G-d and the Jewish people <a name="_ednref3" title=""></a>[3]. Imagine a groom, who on the day of his wedding, placed his bride under an elevator and declared: "If you marry me, great; if not, the elevator will come down on your head." How enduring can such a relationship be? Couldn't G-d have found a more "romantic" way to convince the "bride" to marry Him?

What is even more puzzling is the fact that according to the biblical narrative <a name="_ednref4" title=""></a>[4], the Jewish people had already expressed their willingness to accept the Torah before this event. Why was it necessary for G-d to coerce them into something they had already agreed upon <a name="_ednref5" title=""></a>[5]?

Let us present the explanation offered by one of the greatest spiritual masters of all time, the Baal Shem Tov <a name="_ednref6" title=""></a>[6].

Numb Days 

There are days when we are emotionally in touch with our inner idealism, spirituality and G-dliness. At such times we are inspired to live deeply and to love deeply.

But then come the days when we feel estranged from our souls. We are emotionally numb, experiencing ourselves merely as self-centered and materialistic creatures seeking to satiate nothing more than our momentary cravings. We are simply not in the mood for our higher, refined aspirations. G-d does not appeal to us. At such times of spiritual alienation, we often succumb to mundane and selfish behavior. Since we feel disconnected, we act as though we are indeed disconnected.

This is a mistake. By G-d forcing the Jewish people to enter into the relationship—even though they had already agreed—He demonstrated to them the truth that their relationship was not based on the fact that they were consciously passionate about it. Instead, the relationship was inherent and essential to their very chemistry <a name="_ednref7" title=""></a>[7]. Man is an innately sacred and Divine creature. "Even when you are not in the mood of me," G-d was intimating, "our relationship is as strong as ever. You can act on it."

Yet you may still think, "Fine, I will behave, but let's face it, the relationship is not happening. It is all but dead."

So G-d says “no.” By placing the mountain on their heads at the moment of Revelation, during the profoundest moment of intimacy between G-d and his people, G-d was saying that a relationship inspired by the knowledge that this is the truth, though you may not feel it, is a genuine and authentic relationship. It is a real union. Though there is no passion, when you behave in a moral and sacred fashion knowing that this is who you really are, it is a true bond.

I don’t feel like spending time with my children right now. I do not feel like going to the wedding. I do it anyway. But I feel it is lifeless and devoid of meaning. So the Torah says: Not at all. It is real, authentic and valuable. What I feel or don’t is never the barometer of whether it is right or wrong.

Never confuse your moods with your values. I may not be in the mood of something, for 1000 different reasons. That does not diminish in the slightest my inner connection to it: it remains my value, my innate desire and commitment.

Rocky Moments

In the Jewish tradition, the marriage of each man and woman reflects the cosmic marriage between G-d and His people <a name="_ednref8" title=""></a>[8]. There are the days when we feel truly grateful for our spouses and experience deep love towards them. At such times we crave to give of ourselves to our spouses and make their lives happier.

But at other times we become cold and apathetic. We just want to do "our own thing" and simply are not in the mood of the relationship. Sometimes, a marriage goes through tough seasons.

In the majority of cases, it would be a sad error to act upon those feelings of detachment. For the Kabbalah teaches <a name="_ednref9" title=""></a>[9] that a wife and husband are essentially "two halves of a single soul." At their core, they are one. Thus, when a couple enters into marriage, it needs to recall what G-d reminded us on the day of His marriage: Whether we are in the mood of each other or not, we are married and we are one.

Such a commitment could save many marriages when they encounter rocky times. After all, it saved the marriage between G-d and the Jews.

<a name="_edn1" title=""></a>[1]Exodus 19:17.

<a name="_edn2" title=""></a>[2]Shabbos 88a.

<a name="_edn3" title=""></a>[3]See, for example, Mishnah Taanis 26b; Shemos Rabah end of section 15.

<a name="_edn4" title=""></a>[4]Exodus 24:7.

<a name="_edn5" title=""></a>[5]This question is raised among many of the Talmudic commentators. See Tosfos, Eitz Yosef, Pnei Yehoshua, Shabbos Shel Mi and BenYehoyada to Talmud Shabbos ibid. Midrash Tanchumah Noach section 3. Daas Zekeinim Mibbalei Hatosafos on Exodus 19:17. Maharal Tiferes Yisroel ch. 32, Gur Aryeh on Exodus ibid. and Or Chodash p. 45. Sources noted in Pardas Yosef to Exodus ibid.

<a name="_edn6" title=""></a>[6]1698-1760. This idea was transcribed by his famed disciple, Rabbi Yaakov Yosef of Pulnah (Ben Poras Yosef Parshas Vayeishev. Cf. Nesiv Metzvosecah Nesiv HaTorah 1:28). For alternative explanations see referenced noted in previous footnote as well as in Torah Or Megilas Esther p. 96c; 118c.

<a name="_edn7" title=""></a>[7]Cf. Tanya chapters 14, 18-19, 25, 28, 41, 44.

<a name="_edn8" title=""></a>[8]See commentaries to Song of Songs. Maimonides' Laws of Teshuvah ch. 10.

<a name="_edn9" title=""></a>[9]Zohar Vayikra p. 7b.

Not in the Mood of Your Spouse? - Sometimes the Deepest Romance Can Emerge When You Have a Mountain Over Your Head

879_new_essay_--_fighting-0.bmp

22_ac_vayigash.pdf

sinai

marriage

mountain over their head

moody

moods

Never Confuse Moods with Values

Essay Shavuos/Yisro

The Mountain Over Your Head

He was one of the most brilliant men of the Tanach, and one of its most tragic personalities. In his prime time he was considered the greatest Jew of his era, yet he ended up killing himself.

The Talmud tells us: Three things did Achitofel command his children before his passing: 1. Do not enter into quarrels. 2. Do not rebel against the sovereignty of David. 3. If the weather is clear on the holiday of Shavuot, plant wheat.

If these are his dying words surely they must contain his greatest and most profound insights gleaned from a lifetime rich in experience. What is the significance of these three ideas that warrant the fact that they are his last charge to his children? What is their underlying unifying theme? How do these three statements sum up his life?

Also, what does he mean, &ldquo;If the weather on Shavous is clear, plant wheat?&rdquo; Was this simple agricultural advice? If yes, what does it mean? And why did he decide to say it now moments before his death?

In a letter on the eve of Shavauos 1949, the Lubavitcher Rebbe offered a brilliant and extraordinary explanation.

2443_praising-god (1).jpg

1025_achitofelacf.pdf

dovid

shavuot

Before His Suicide, The Wisest Jew of His Era Offered Three Life-Altering Messages

Shavuos Essay

The Shrewdest Jew's Last Will and Testament

A Can of Beans

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Three guys are alone on a desert island: an engineer, a biologist and an economist. They are starving and don't have a thing to eat, but somehow they find a can of beans on the shore.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">The engineer says: "Let's hit the can with a rock until it opens."</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">The biologist has another idea: "No. We should wait for a while. Erosion will do the job."</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Finally, the economist says: "Let's assume that we have a can opener".</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">The Desert 
&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">What was the significance of the fact that Torah was given in a wilderness, in a barren and infertile desert, not in a civilized terrain, nor on soil conducive to human living and nature’s blessing. Why did G-d communicate His blueprint for life and enter into an eternal covenant with the Jewish people in the aridity and desolateness of a desert?</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">In a past essay, we discussed three explanations.&nbsp;1. The Torah was given on soil not owned by any particular people or community, to signify that the Torah belongs to every single Jewish soul. 2. The giving of the Torah in the wilderness represents the idea that Torah is not a product of a particular culture and genre. It enriches all cultures, but transcends them. 3. The function of Torah is to confront and refine the “barren wilderness” within the human psyche and the world.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Today we will explore a fourth and deeper dimension, articulated by the Lubavitcher Rebbe in a pre-Shavous address, 1972. It is a message that may be&nbsp;particularly relevant to the modern Jew.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Feel-Good Religion</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">One of the errors that a Jew living in the modern era is likely to make is that Judaism makes no existentially profound demands on its believers. Judaism is a feel-good religion, and its objective is to make one feel comfortable about ones self. For many religious leaders and teachers today, the primary objective is to present a version of Judaism that will fit nicely in to the mind-set and living patterns of their constituents and will reassure them that they are wonderful people. Many rabbis are committed above all to teach a Judaism that will not shake up our comfort-zones.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">In many ways this has become the hallmark of the American version of Judaism – designed to conform to the paradigms of modernity. “In the image of the modern, American Jew, have we created Judaism.”</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">“My goal is to study and practice a Judaism that does not interfere with my conveniences,” a man once told me. “I have my lifestyle, philosophy, schedule, habits, and social patterns; as long as Judaism can fit into this, I will make room for it and enjoy it too.”</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">But if we communicate a Judaism just to make people feel good, why do we really need it? Why not just figure out what works best for our lives and pursue that? Therapy, yoga, exercise, suburban living, meditation, nutrition, sports, the arts, music, etc. If Judaism is merely here to nurture my pre-defined identity and satisfy my ingrained appetites, why bother with it all together?</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">And can the feel-good Judaism inspire a future? Can such a type of Judaism take root in the hearts of the youth? Can it appeal to the idealistic dimension of the human soul, searching to touch the Divine?</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">A Tale of Two Images</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">But suppose that Judaism was real -- it was the authentic blueprint for life from the living G-d -- then the question should not be, “How do I find a Judaism that does not disturb me too much,” but rather – what does Judaism really say about my calling? What does Judaism believe about life, death and everything in between? What does Torah have to say about the most important question and dilemmas facing the human mind and heart? The question must be not&nbsp;how I can mold Judaism in my image, but how I can mold myself in the image of Torah? How can I revisit my image and recreate myself based on the visage of man articulated in Judaism?</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">If Torah is true, I must have the courage to take a hard, deep look at my preconceived notions, thoughts and behavior patterns, ready to discover truth that may challenge me.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">This is why Torah was given in the barren desert, in uncivilized wilderness, where it had no predefined culture to contend with and to be compared with. Only in the physical and artistic silence of the desert can we open ourselves to a radical search for truth. Only in a desert, can we walk into something with our whole being, ready to find anything.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">If Torah would have been given in a city or amidst a beautifully natural terrain, it would have, by definition, conformed to the culture prevailing in those particular areas. In the great river lowlands where civilization began (the Tigris-Euphrates rivers and the Nile), the eye is captivated by the shifting scenes of nature; in cities, the eye is overtaken by the works of man -- art and architecture. In such environments, the Israelites would only be able to absorb a religion that would fit into their psyches, patterns, and sensibilities, like all the Pagan religions of the time. The Jews could never attune themselves to the word of a G-d who transcends nature.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Sinai challenged the Jewish people to revisit all of existence from its deepest genesis; to reexamine life and history from its very nucleus; to see the world not from the human perspective, but from the perspective of G-d who cannot be confined in human modalities. A revolution of this magnitude cannot take place in a populated environment, not even in an environment where life blossoms and nature flourishes. Only in the emptiness and desolateness of the wilderness is the ego subordinate to the search for truth. Only in the silence of the desert, can a person bid farewell to all of his or her paradigms and allow his soul to absorb radical transcendence.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">A Rash People</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">This explains a deeply enigmatic episode which occurred at Sinai.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">The Bible relates that when Moses presented the covenant before the Israelites, they responded, "We will do and we will listen" (Exodus 24:7). This expression has always been a source of wonderment and surprise to rabbis and a refutation of the anti-Semitic portrayal of Jews as calculating and self-protective. "We will do and we will listen" implies a commitment to observe the covenant even before the Jews heard its details and understood its ramifications.</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">The Talmud (Shabbas 88b) tells a story about a Sadducee who once saw one of the great Talmudic sages, Rava, so engrossed in learning that he did not attend a wound in his own hand. The Sadducee exclaimed, "You rash people! You put your mouths ahead of your ears [by saying "we will do and we will listen"], and you still persist in your recklessness. First, you should have heard out [the covenant details]. If it is within your capacity, then accept it. If not, you should have rejected it”!</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">His argument was logical. Imagine somebody offers you to invest a large sum&nbsp;of money in a developing company. To respond, “Sure, here is the money, and then afterward I will listen to the details,” is ridiculous. If you do not know what the company is all about, why subject your money to possible loss? And yet, in this case, the Jews declared that they were ready embrace a life-altering covenant, even before they heard all the details and knew what Judaism was all about! Why? How?</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">Rava answered the Sadducee with these words: "We walked [into it] with our whole being.”</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">What Rava meant was this: By definition, a relationship with G-d cannot be created on our terms; it must be on His terms. If there is something called Truth, if there is something called Reality, we cannot define it; it must define us. We cannot accept it on condition that it suits our senses and expectations. On the contrary, we must realign our condition to it. Once the Jewish people knew that G-d was communicating with them, they did not want to fit religion into their imagination; they had no pre conditions for a relationship with truth. It was in the desert that the Jews can declare, “We will do and we will listen.”</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">This process must occur each year anew. To receive Torah, we must have the courage to walk into a desert; we must strip ourselves from any pre-defined self-identity. We need to be ready to hear the sound beneath the sounds we are accustomed to. Torah is not merely a cute and endearing document filled with rituals, to satisfy nostalgia or tradition. Torah demands that we open ourselves up with our whole being and declare, “We shall do and we shall listen!”</div>

<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; ">&nbsp;(This essay is based on a talk delivered by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, on Shabbas Parshas Bamidbar, 29 Iyar, 5732, May 13, 1972.)</div>

Entering into the Wilderness - The Feel-Good Judaism of the Modern Jew

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The Feel-Good Judaism of the Modern Jew

Entering into the Wilderness

The Nightingale

The story is told<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a> of a king who once decided to reward a peasant who had done him a great service. "Shall I give him a sack of gold? A bag of pearls?" thought the king. "But these mean virtually nothing to me. I want, for once, to truly give something -- something that I will miss, a gift that constitutes a sacrifice for me."

Now this king had a nightingale who sang the sweetest songs a human ear had ever heard. He treasured the nightingale over all else, and literally found life unbearable without it. So he summoned the peasant to his palace and gave him the bird . "This," said the king, "is in appreciation for your loyalty and devotion." "Thank you, Your Majesty," said the peasant, and took the royal gift to his humble home.

A while later, the king was passing through the peasant's village and commanded his coachman to halt at the peasant's door. "How are you enjoying my gift?" he inquired of his beloved subject.

"The truth to tell, Your Majesty," said the peasant, "the bird's meat was quite tough -- all but inedible, in fact. But I cooked it with lots of potatoes, and it gave the stew an interesting flavor."

Is This Freedom?

Why does Judaism prohibit me from doing whatever I want? people often ask. Why can't we just be free, liberated, and individualistic? Why are there so many laws, instructions and rituals in Judaism that govern every aspect of one's life, from the way we eat to the way we marry?&nbsp; Would it not have been nice if the opening of the Tem Commandments would have read like this: "I am the Lord your G-d who has taken you out of Egypt in order to set you free. Now, young women and men, listen ye to my words! You can do whatever you want, wherever you want, however you want, with whomever you want, as long as you don't hurt another person. I honor your individual rights to choose your own lifestyle and behavior, without anybody governing your decisions. Conform not to any standard; just live it up!"

But, as you know, G-d chose another script for the Ten Commandments. They were not written by Woody Allen, Alan Ginsburg, or Aldous Huxley. At Sinai G-d gave the Jewish people a Torah – filled with directives, instructions and restrictions. I am in the airport, my flight is delayed, and I am the only one who can’t enjoy a hot dog and fries in McDonald. As the sun rises, I am the only one who has to stand up in front of the entire plane and put on tefilin to the dismay of the flight attendants who will now testify that they have spent 11 hours with a UFO. Shabbos arrives and I am the only one who does not go to the golf course…

Is this why we left the house of bondage in Egypt – to become slaves to the Almighty?

And yet the Sages saw it otherwise. “There is no free man, save for he who occupies himself with the study of Torah” (Ethics of the Fathers, 6:2.) Really?! If anything, it is exactly the other way around: as long as you don’t learn Torah, you are free to engage in so many activities, the options are open. Once you embrace Torah, there goes your freedom Charlie… Torah mixes into everything… A life that is faithful to the precepts of the Torah is indeed greatly “constricted” and “confined.”

Why – people often ask me -- limit myself in any way? Why not give free rein to my thoughts, feelings and inclinations, and let them lead me where they may? Why automatically exclude certain pursuits and experiences from the possible paths my life might take?

Democracy and Laser Technology

Among the great technological achievements of the last half-century is the development of the “laser beam.”

Briefly: The nature of light is such that it scatters as it moves away from its source, thereby lessening its intensity and effect. The laser overcomes this limitation by concentrating its energy in a straight line, so that it retains its potency even at great distance from its point of origin; thus its utility -- as a source of light, heat, or other uses -- can be exploited in ways previously unimaginable.

A laser beam is narrowly confined so that the light does not spread to the sides. It is thus completely focused in one direction only, maintaining its strength even at great distances from its source. In fact, the laser beam can even make a hole through a metal barrier several inches thick at a distance of several miles.

The photons in a laser beam all move in the same direction, so they can be precisely focused. This focus concentrates enormous energies on a tiny spot, allowing mere light to vaporize even steel.

Lasers are now used in numerous technologies, from dental drills to CD drives to household tools. Lasers are also widely used in surgery. Laser technology has allowed surgeons to develop many new techniques to reduce injury to tissues and shorten the healing time for incisions. With the laser beams, surgeons silently and smoothly penetrate deep into the body and perform various procedures to bring healing to people.

It is not a coincidence that during the same decades when the concept of “freedom at all costs” has overtaken our society – Divine providence allowed science to develop laser technology, because it is through this technology that we can gain insight into the true function of Torah and Mitzvos, and the objective of Jewish law. Torah is the spiritual “laser technology” of the world.

Scattering the Energy

On the face of it, the Jewish code of behavior is a limiting factor, something that detracts from the great variety of possibilities that life has to offer. In truth, however, the very opposite is the case. As the example of the laser beam demonstrates, it is precisely the “limitations” imposed on a force that extend and amplify its potentials and enable its optimal realization.

A life without parameters is a life that quickly dissipates in the cosmic heterogeneity in which we exist, draining it of all power and impact. When we follow our instincts, habits, cravings and appetites without any restrictions – our inner momentum, focus and depth are weakened. When we allow ourselves the freedom to go in every direction, when there are no boundaries or imitations and we are free to do everything and anything -- our light scatters all over the place and we never realize our ultimate power and potential. Our energies are squandered, our richness is compromised, our creativity silenced, and our brightness dulled.

Conversely, when we “restrict” the light, and do now allow it to flow anywhere and everywhere – we fine-tune our inner creativity, we cultivate our power, we become the most powerful people we can become, we access all of our momentum and we can vaporize even steel…&nbsp;

It is like the chords of a violin which must be tied down to allow the music to play. Torah and Halacha do not come to tie us down, but rather to allow our music to soar.

The Baal Shem Tov teaches, that Halacha is the acronym of “Hareoo L’Hashem Kal Haaretz,” let the whole earth sing to G-d.” What for one person is meat-and-potatos is for another person a nightingale capable of producing of the most beautiful music in the world<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Rendition by Rabbi Yanki Tauber: http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/133024/jewish/The-King-the-Peasant-and-the-Nightingale.htm

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> This essay is based on a talk delivered by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Shabbos Chanukah 5730 (1969), said in honor of the “Pegisha”-Shabbaton, a weekend for secular students, which took place that Shabbos in Crown Heights. My thanks to Professor Yermeyahoo Branever and Rabbi Yanki Tauber for their renditions of this talk (<a href="http://www.meaningfullife.com/torah/ethics/6/Concentrated_Light.php">http://www.meaningfullife.com/torah/ethics/6/Concentrated_Light.php</a>) from which I culled a few paragraphs.

What&#39;s With All These Laws? - Laser Technology of the World

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Laser Technology of the World

Essay Shavuos

What's With All These Laws?

Always Late

Sarah was always late to work no matter how much she tried to be on time, or how many times her boss scolded her. She just could not wake up on time. Her boss said she would fire her if it did not stop. Sarah decided to seek the advice of her doctor. He prescribed her some medication and told her to take one pill before going to sleep, so she can fall asleep immediately and rise early.&nbsp;She did just that and she woke up before dawn and headed into work feeling well-rested. Sarah told her boss about the doctor’s prescription and how well it worked.

Her boss said, “That is great, Sarah, but where were you yesterday?”

Choosing the World &amp; the Jews 

It is a strange Midrash, found in this week’s Torah portion, Bo. At the surface, it seems baffling, but upon deeper reflection, it contains an extraordinary meditation on how we live our lives and manage our time.

The Jewish calendar has twelve lunar months. The first day of each month is known as Rosh Chodesh (the head of the month); the first day of the year (the first day of the first month of the year) is known as Rosh Hashanah (the head of the year.)

Says the Midrash:<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" name="_ftnref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>

שמות רבה טו, יא: דָּבָר אַחֵר, הַחֹדֶשׁ הַזֶּה לָכֶם. הֲדָא הוּא דִּכְתִיב&nbsp;(תהלים לג, יב) אַשְׁרֵי הַגּוֹי אֲשֶׁר ה' אֱלֹהָיו, מִשֶּׁבָּחַר הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא בְּעוֹלָמוֹ, קָבַע בּוֹ רָאשֵׁי חֳדָשִׁים וְשָׁנִים, וּכְשֶׁבָּחַר בְּיַעֲקֹב וּבָנָיו קָבַע בּוֹ רֹאשׁ חֳדָשִׁים שֶׁל גְּאֻלָּה.

When G-d chose His world, He established ‘heads of months’ and ‘heads of years.’ When G-d chose Jacob and his children, the Jewish people, He established the ‘head of the month of redemption’ (the first day of the month of Nissan, the month of the Exodus).

What does this Midrash mean? What does it mean “when G-d chose His world?” Why does the Midrash not say, “when G-d created His world?”

And what does choosing a world have to do with the establishment of the head of a month and the heads of a year? And what does the Midrash mean when it says that “when G-d chose Jacob and his children, He established the Head of the month of redemption?”

Delineating time into months and years is based on the astronomical lunar and solar orbits. The moon completes its orbit after one month. The sun completes its orbit after a year. What does any of this have to do with G-d “choosing His world,” or “choosing Jacob and his children?”

An Address to High School Girls

On January 16, 1964 (2 Shevat, 5724), the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994) addressed a group of teenage girls, the graduating class of a New York Jewish girls’ high school, Beth&nbsp;Rivkah.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" name="_ftnref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a> He offered them a most marvelous insight into this Midrash. This profound perspective can teach us volumes about how to view a one-liner in Midrash, and how to speak to the hearts of teenage girls.

(This coming Shabbos, 10 Shevat,&nbsp;marks the 74th anniversary of the passing of the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Scnheerson (1880-1950), who passed away on Shabbos morning, Parshas Bo, 10 Shevat, 5710, January 28, 1950. On the same day, one year later, the seventh Lubavitcher Rebbem succeeded his father-in-law as the leader of Chabad-Lubavitch. The following insight is characteristic of the profundity and richness of the Rebbe's&nbsp; Torah insights and perspectives.)&nbsp;

Three Types of Time

Aristotle said that time was the greatest teacher who killed all his students. There is no “teacher” like time. What we learn through time and aging is unparalleled by any class or teacher. The experience of life is the greatest teacher. The saying goes: When a man with money meets a man with experience, the man with experience ends up with the money; the man with the money ends up with an experience.

And yet the clock stops for nobody. “Suspect each moment, for it is a thief, tiptoeing away with more than it brings,” John Updike said. You may be sleeping, sipping a coffee, surfing the web, or getting angry at your boss or your spouse, the clock is ticking away. How do we deal with the merciless reality of time?

There are three ways, suggests the Midrash. There are three experiences of time: depressing time, meaningful time, and redemptive time. You choose in which time-zone you will breathe.

Depressing Time

For some, time is just an endless flow, a shapeless blob, a random stream that never ceases. A day comes and a day goes, and then another day comes and goes. Each day is the same as the day before, and they all add up to nothing.

Sometimes you watch people who allow their days and years to pass without goals. Every day is an invitation to squander yet another 24 hours until it too will bite the dust. If the boredom gets to you, you find ways to escape and dull the void.

This is an empty time: time devoid of any theme. Time as it is on its own, without human initiative and creativity. Shapeless and formless. One set of 24 hours is indistinguishable from another set of 24 hours.

Productive Time

Comes the Midrash and says, “When G-d chose His world, He established ‘heads of months’ and ‘heads of years.’” For the world to become a chosen place, a desirable habitat, a place worth living in, a place that G-d not only created but chose, we must grant the endless flow of time the dignity of purpose. Every day ought to have a productive objective, every month—a meaningful goal, every year—a dynamic rhythm. The world G-d chose and desired was one in which humanity learns to confer meaning on time, to utilize it for constructive and beneficial endeavors. A meaningful life is a life in which every day is filled with meaningful choices and experiences, utilized to promote goodness, righteousness,&nbsp;and justice.

This is what it means to choose your world and choose your life, to appreciate that G-d chose this world. There is meaning and purpose in each moment. You can view life as random and valueless, or you can see life as a gift, and view time as priceless, something I ought to cultivate in the fullest way.&nbsp;I choose to invest all my energy, creativity, and passion into each moment; and for me, each day is an invitation to deeper growth and awareness.

So “When G-d chose His world, He established ‘heads of months’ and ‘heads of years.’” For time to be utilized purposefully, every month must have a “head,” which gives the month its tone and direction. Every year must have a “head,” Rosh Hashanah, the time to put into focus the year that passed and the year ahead. For time to be used productively, it must be delineated. I&nbsp;must take note of sunrise and sunset, of a new month and a new year. Each presents me with a specific energy,&nbsp;calling, and opportunity.

Redemptive Time

You can live a productive life, mark your days with worthy objectives. Your life has rhythm. You have a morning, a night, a lunch break, a weekend, and a vacation.

But you are still confined within the realm of a mortal, finite and frail universe. As one wise man&nbsp;said, Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them. Or: Time is a storm in which we are all lost; time is free, but it’s priceless; you can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it you can never get it back.

Within the restricted structure of our bodies, life span, and circumstances, we can use our time productively.&nbsp;Yet, we can’t free ourselves from the prison of mortality. Even when I work hard and use my time well, it is still cruel to me. It ages me. At any moment something can happen which will shake up and destroy my entire structure and rhythm.

Here is where the Midrash opens us up to another dimension of time, and this is where the Jewish story is introduced into history. “When G-d chose Jacob and his children He established the head of the month of Redemption.” G-d gave us the ability to liberate and redeem ourselves from the natural, mortal, and finite reality. He allowed us to align our posture with Divine infinity; not just to be productive with our time, but to confer upon each moment transcendence, to grant it the resonance of eternity, to liberate it and ourselves from the shackles of mortality.

You can be productive with your time. You can use it to shovel the snow, mow the lawn, fix the garage, read a good book, shop in Costco, enhance your computer speed, sell a building, cook a gourmet meal, and help society. This is worthwhile. But you are capable of more: You can make each moment Divine, elevating it to the realm of the sacred, where each moment, hour, day, week, month, and year become infused with G-dliness and are thus transformed into eternity. You can allow your time to become a conduit for the timeless.

"When G-d chose Jacob and his children He established the head of the month of Redemption.” This is the month of Nissan, the month when we were set free of Egyptian bondage and were empowered to free ourselves from every form of bondage. Torah and Mitzvos make our time not only productive but Divine.

When you align your time rhythm with the Divine, realizing that every moment of time is an opportunity to connect with the infinite light vibrating through your body and the cosmos; when you use your time to study G-d’s Torah, to connect to G-d, to perform a mitzvah, and to live in the Divine consciousness of oneness, your time is not only productive, but it is redemptive, uninhibited by the shackles of nature finitude. You redeem and transform your time—by aligning it with the divine blueprint for life.

The Choice

When the sun rises, and I declare “Shema Yisroel” to align my posture with Divine oneness—the moment of sunrise is now etched in eternity. When the sun of Friday is about to set and I kindle the Shabbos lights, it is a moment transformed into transcendent peacefulness. When I take a moment to do a favor for another person, for tuning into the love of the universe, for studying Torah or praying, I elevate the moment into transcendence.

In the words of the Tanya (ch. 25), "In the higher reality, this union (between the soul and G-d when we perform a mitzvah) is eternal, for G-d and His will transcend time... Only here below is the union within the limits of time."&nbsp;

Each of us can choose in which “time zone” we will live. Do I live in a “depressing time,” letting my days and nights pass without meaning? Do I elevate my days into worthwhile experiences? Or, in my ultimate calling, do I turn each day into a redemptive experience, into a conduit for infinity?

How We Study Science and Physics

The Rebbe said one more thing to these girls about their academic studies. Some of us study the sciences and see them merely as interesting data, raw facts. However, much of humanity has come to appreciate that when we study biology, physics, history, or math it must be with a productive and meaningful purpose—to make the world a better place, to enhance life on our planet, and to promote justice and compassion.

Yet, our ultimate calling is to see all of our studies, all branches of wisdom, as an instrument to transform our world and our lives into an abode for the Divine infinite reality, to infuse all aspects of our lives with true and timeless meaning, with everlasting love and holiness, by revealing that ultimately, we are all one, and everything is part of that oneness.

__________________________

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" name="_ftn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Shemos Rabba 15:11. 
<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" name="_ftn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> The talk is published in Likutei Sichos vol. 4 p. 1263-1267. (The Rebbe bases his explanation on Or Hatorah Parshas Bo p. 264. This Sicha is an extraordinary example of how to “translate” a maamar into relevant language. The maamar in Or Hatorah is abstract and the Rebbe applied it in the most practical and relevant way.)

It is a strange Midrash. When G-d chose His world, He established &lsquo;heads of months&rsquo; and &lsquo;heads of years.&rsquo; When G-d chose Jacob and his children, the Jewish people, He established the &lsquo;head of the month of redemption&rsquo; (the first day of the month of Nissan, the month of the Exodus).

What does this Midrash mean? What does it mean &ldquo;when G-d chose his world?&rdquo; Why does the Midrash not say, &ldquo;when G-d created His world?&rdquo; And what does choosing a world have to do with the establishment of the head of a month and the heads of a year? And what does the Midrash mean when it says that &ldquo;when G-d chose Jacob and his children, He established the Head of the month of redemption?&rdquo;

On January 16, 1964 (2 Shevat, 5724), the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994) addressed a group of teenage girls, the graduating class of a NY Jewish girls&rsquo; high school, Beis Rivkah. He offered them a most marvelous insight into this Midrash. This profound perspective can teach us volumes about how to view a one-liner in Midrash, and how to speak to the hearts of teenage girls.

We are introduced to three forms of time: Depressing time, productive time, and redemptive time. Our calling in life is to turn depressing time into productive time and productive time into sacred time.

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time

beth rivkah

Is Time a Storm in Which We Are All Lost?

Essay Parshas Bo

Depressing Time, Productive Time, and Redemptive Time

The Grand Debate

Let me explore a fantastical and enigmatic story in the Talmud.

Some 1900 years ago, during the first century CE, only a few years after the destruction of the second Temple by the Romans in the year 70 CE, a great debate took place between the Jews and the Greeks.

The Talmud<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" name="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a> recounts the fascinating confrontation that occurred between the Wise Men of Athens and the great sage of Israel, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya. Athens was known in the ancient world as the seat of wisdom and philosophy, and its sages saw themselves as the representatives of progressive thinking. Amongst the sages of Israel, Rabbi Yehoshua stood out as the sharpest and most quick-witted, a fearsome debater and a brilliant scholar, though to earn a livelihood he would sell charcoal.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" name="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>

He was a Levite who played music back in the Second Temple<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" name="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a> (the Levites would perform a daily morning concerto in the Temple), and witnessed its destruction. In the following decades, one of the worst periods in all of our history, Rabbi Yehoshua served as the most prominent spokesman for Judaism.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" name="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>

When the Roman Caesar demanded to test who was wiser—the Jews or the Greek philosophers—Rabbi Yehoshua was the clear choice to represent the Torah of Israel.

A Conflict of Riddles

Sixty sages of Athens challenged the lone Jewish sage and the battle of wits began. The Talmud records the back and forth dialogue between these sages, that took the form of a cryptic exchange of riddles. The Athenian scholars would throw a challenge in front of Rabbi Yehoshua, and the Jewish sage would come back with an answer each time, usually in the form of a counter-question. Part of the exchange went like this.

בכורות ח, ב: ורצוצא דמית מהיכא נפיק רוחיה? מהיכא דעל נפק.

The sages of Athens asked: "If a chick dies while in the egg, before the egg is hatched [and it is sealed from all sides], from where does its soul escape?" Rabbi Yehoshua's response: "The soul escapes through the same place it entered [into the sealed egg]."

Here is another one:

משרא דסכיני במאי קטלי? בקרנא דחמרא! ומי איכא קרנא לחמרא? ומי איכא משרא דסכיני?

They further asked, "How do you harvest a field of knives?” Rabbi Yehoshua answered: "You use a donkey's horn." The elders: "But donkeys do not have horns!" Rabbi Yehoshua: "And knives do not grow in fields!"

Each one of these exchanges—and there were many of them—begs explanation. What do these bizarre questions really mean, and what lies behind the answers?

The various Talmudic commentaries agree that the conversations between the Rabbi and the Greeks were allegorical. They were discussing lofty issues of the spirit, the meaning of life and death, G-d's role in the universe, human destiny, the meaning of existence, the concept of the “chosen people,” the cardinal principles of Judaism. They spoke in symbolic terms.

Salting Salt 

Today I want to discuss the one of their other seemingly absurd exchanges.

מילחא כי סריא, במאי מלחי לה? אמר להו בסילתא דכודניתא. ומי איכא סילתא לכודנתא? ומילחא מי סרי?

They asked him, "When salt gets spoiled, what do we use to preserve it?" His response: "We use the afterbirth of a mule." (This is the embryonic sac which shelters and preserves the developing fetus.) "Do mules have an afterbirth?" they asked. [A mule cannot give birth.] "Does salt spoil?" he retorted. 

Is this an intelligent conversation between the representatives of the house of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, with the representative of Judaism?

In truth, this exchange symbolized a profound debate—one that endured for thousands of years and continues to this very day. It deals with the important question: What is the relevance of Torah and Judaism in the modern world?<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn5" name="_ednref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>

Time to Update the Religion

When the Elders of Athens spoke about salt, they were referring to Torah, the preservative of the Jewish People. They considered this preservative to be spoiled; they argued that it had become rancid, obsolete and irrelevant.

Judaism, the Greeks maintained, was old; it needed a tune-up. After all, those were the glorious days of Greek culture, and even many Jews were seeing the Torah as being old-fashioned. Rather than observe Shabbos, they wanted to join the Greek Gymnasiums. Rather than study Torah, they wanted to study Greek philosophy. Rather than sit in a Sukkah, shake a lulav or put on tefilin and daven, they gravitated to Zeus and Olympus, to Homer and Plato.

It was time, said the Elders of Athens, to alter Judaism to ensure its popularity. Judaism was ready for an upgrade, to make it more fresh, exciting and relevant to a new age inspired by Greek esthetics, philosophy, culture, athleticism, art, drama and literature. Mikvah, tefilin, kosher, Torah study, Torah education, Shabbos candles, Mezuzah, a ram’s horn on Rosh Hashanah, crunchy matzah, the laws of modesty, and the 613 Mitzvos of Torah would not cut it. In one word, the salt needs to be salted.

The Mule

Rabbi Yehoshua replied that they should use the afterbirth of a mule. It was a brilliant reply. What is a mule? The hybrid offspring of a female horse and a male donkey. At first sight, a mule seems like an awesome animal: it is strong, sure-footed, more resistant to disease, and long-lived. By taking elements of the donkey and of the horse, we seem to have the best of both worlds. It has been claimed that mules are "more patient, sure-footed, hardy and long-lived than horses, and they are considered less obstinate, faster, and more intelligent than donkeys."<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn6" name="_ednref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a> What a powerful combination. It’s just like a Hellenized, modernized Judaism – hybridizing the two cultures in order to have the best of both worlds.

But mules can’t breed; they are sterile.

Rabbi Yehoshua was conveying this message: If you try to alter Judaism, to “update” it and combine it with the latest fads, it will look great, it will doubtless be popular, the new show in town. But it won’t endure. It’s not authentic and it can’t perpetuate. When the sages of Athens explained to him that mules are sterile, Rabbi Yehousha responded, that salt cannot go rancid. Torah, the preservative of the Jewish People, will continue to preserve them, as long as it is left pure and unadulterated.

Torah is salt and salt does not get rancid. It will endure forever, because it is rooted in the source of all life and history. Torah is always relevant because its truths span and pervade all cultures, milieus, and circumstances. When we attempt to present a new Judaism, less ancient and more modern, it may be appealing for the short term, but it will prove sterile in the long term. It will not last. The grandchildren will be lost.

The Results

Who was right?

1900 years later, we know the answer. Samuel Clemens, popularly known as Mark Twain, famously wrote: "The Egyptian, the Babylonian, and the Persian rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, and then passed away. The Greek and the Roman followed. The Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts. All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?"

What is more, all movements within Judaism which have advocated (as a philosophy) that we alter the Torah and its mitzvos, in order to make it more appealing to the youth, have proved sterile. Perhaps they had good intentions, they wanted to preserve Judaism, but their preservatives have proven counter-productive: You don’t try to preserve salt with superficial preservatives. Salt itself is its own best preservative!

The secret of Judaism lay not in the fact that it addresses the fad of the day, that it accommodates the political sentiment of the hour; the true power of Judaism lay in the fact that it addresses the transcendent needs, yearnings and passions of the human being, truths that transcend a particular time or location; aspirations that are eternal.

Shabbas refreshed souls and sanctified homes 3,000 years ago, and it still does so today; tefilin synchronized minds and hearts to our mission in life 2000 years ago and it still does so today; mikvah gave intimacy its holiness and freshness 1000 years ago, it still does so today; Torah study gave moral vision and spiritual inspiration 500 years ago, it still does so today.

When I put on tefillin in the morning, I know that these very same tefillin were donned by Jews in Eretz Israel in 1200 BCE; by Jews in Babylonia in 500 BCE; by Jews in Iran in 100 CE; by Jews in Spain in 1000; by Jews in Poland and Austria in 1600; by my great-great-grandparents in Russia in 1850; and by millions of Jews from Sydney to Los Angeles in 2018.&nbsp;

If Moses enters New York today, he will recognize almost nothing. It’s a new world. If he enters our shul today, he will be familiar with so much: the same mezuzah, the same tefillin, the same talis, the same Torah scroll, the same Sukkah, the same shofar, the same lulav and esrog; 3,330 years, and the same Torah that Moses taught his people, we are teaching our children.

The Story of Henryk-Abraham<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn7" name="_ednref7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>

Henryk was very young in 1945, when the War ended and solitary survivors tried frantically to trace their relatives. He had spent what seemed to be most of his life with his nanny, who had hidden him away from the Nazis at his father's request. There was great personal risk involved, but the woman had readily taken it, as she loved the boy.

Henryk's nanny did not imagine that the father, Joseph Foxman, would survive the destruction of the Vilna Ghetto. He would surely have been transferred to Auschwitz — and everyone knew that nobody ever came back from Auschwitz. She therefore had no scruples about adopting the boy, having him baptized into the Catholic Church and taught catechism by the local priest.

The nanny saved his life—but also taught him to spit on the ground when a Jew walked by.

It was Simchat Torah when his father came to take him. The heartbroken nanny had packed all his clothing and his small catechism book, stressing to the father that the boy had become a good Catholic. Joseph Foxman took his son by the hand and led him directly to the Great Synagogue of Vilna. On the way, he told his son that he was a Jew and that his name was Avraham.

Not far from the house, they passed the church and the boy reverently crossed himself, causing his father great anguish. Just then, a priest emerged who knew the boy, and when Henryk rushed over to kiss his hand, the priest spoke to him, reminding him of his Catholic faith.

Everything inside of Joseph wanted to drag his son away from the priest and from the church. But he knew that this was not the way to do things. He nodded to the priest, holding his son more closely. After all, these people had harbored his child and saved the child's life. He had to show his son a living Judaism.

They entered the Great Synagogue of Vilna, now a remnant of a past era. There they found some Jewish survivors from Auschwitz who had made their way back to Vilna and were now rebuilding their lives. Amid the stark reality of their suffering, in much diminished numbers, they were singing and dancing on Simchat Torah.

Only 3,000 of Vilna's 100,000 Jews remained.

Avraham stared wide-eyed around him and picked up a tattered prayer book with a touch of affection. Something deep inside of him responded to the atmosphere, and he was happy to be there with the father he barely knew. He held back, though, from joining the dancing.

A Jewish man wearing a Soviet Army uniform could not take his eyes off the boy, and he came over to Joseph. "Is this child Jewish?" he asked, a touch of awe in his voice.

The father answered that the boy was Jewish and introduced his son. As the soldier stared at Henryk-Avraham, he fought to hold back tears. "Over these four terrible years, I have traveled thousands of miles, and this is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all this time. They were all murdered. This is the first live Jewish child I have come across in all these years... Would you like to dance with me on my shoulders?" he asked the boy, who was staring back at him, fascinated.

The father nodded permission, and the soldier hoisted the boy high onto his shoulders. With tears now coursing down his cheeks and a heart full of real joy, the soldier joined in the dancing.

"This is my Torah scroll," he cried, as he danced with the five year old Jewish boy.

The Abraham in our story came to be known as Abe Foxman (who is 78 today), the former national director of the Anti-Defamation League and presently serves as the head of the Center for the Study of Anti-Semitism at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City.

The Reunion

But this is not the end of the story.

For 65 years, the boy and the soldier carried that moment in their hearts. Unknown to each other, they told the story to family and friends.

But then something happened. The Jewish composer Abie Rotenberg put together a song, "The Man from Vilna," about the story. Foxman heard the song and he learned that the Jewish Soviet soldier was a man named Goldman, still alive and living in the United States.

In 2010, they met and embraced for the first time since 1945. As it turns out, the Soviet soldier was Rabbi Dr. Leo Goldman from Oak Park, Detroit, an Orthodox rabbi and an educator, who died in December of 2013 at the age of 94.

The two men hugged and recited the blessing of “Shecheyanu vekeymanu veheganu lizman hazeh.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn8" name="_ednref8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref8')">[8]</a>

Dance With Your Children

On Simchas Torah, we hold the Torah and dance. In a world where every fad turns into a mule, we celebrate the “salt” which never grows old, sour or rancid.

We are not in Vilna in 1945. We are, thank G-d, living in freedom. Abe Foxman’s life was changed because of that single dance. We ought not to deprive our children of that dance.

This Simchas Torah, lift up your children—or your friend’s children—or your grandchildren on your shoulders and dance with them. Dance with millions of Jews the world over, who will celebrate the Divine gift of Torah which becomes more fresh, relevant, and exciting each year.

Don’t let the ultimate preservative of history slip through your fingers.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" name="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Bechoros 8b

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" name="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> Talmud Berachos 28a

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" name="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Talmud Erkin 11

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" name="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> See Talmud Chagigah 5b

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref5" name="_edn5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> The following explanation is based on Maharsha to Bechoros 8b and Sefer Dorash Moshe derush 32. Cf. Chidushei Agados Maharal, Perus HaGra, and Likkutei Mahran for alternative explanations to this exhchange.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref6" name="_edn6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mule">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mule</a> footnote 3

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref7" name="_edn7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')">[7]</a> <a href="http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/159889/jewish/This-Is-My-Torah-Scroll.htm">http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/159889/jewish/This-Is-My-Torah-Scroll.htm</a>

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref8" name="_edn8" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn8')">[8]</a> <a href="https://www.adl.org/sites/default/files/documents/cc-survival-to-service-spring-2003.pdf">https://www.adl.org/sites/default/files/documents/cc-survival-to-service-spring-2003.pdf</a>

The Mule &amp; the Salt: The Secret of Torah: When the Soviet Soldier Placed the Child Survivor on His Shoulders

6011_goldman005.d297.jpg

sefer torah

salt

athens

leo goldman

yehoshua ben chananyah

abe foxman

hakafos

mule

When the Soviet Soldier Placed the Child Survivor on His Shoulders

Essay Simchas Torah/Shavuos

The Mule & the Salt: The Secret of Torah

Interruption of Shivah
A teaching in the&nbsp;Mishna&nbsp;defines the duties of a Jew who is in mourning at the outset of a festival. “Regalim mafsikim,”&nbsp;state the sages, “festivals interrupt&nbsp;shivah,” the seven-day period of mourning following the death and burial of a close relative (Moed Katan&nbsp;3:5).
In one of the most brilliant psychological responses to death, mourners, in the Jewish tradition, are supposed to step out of normal life when they have suffered the loss of a loved one. They don’t pretend to be brave and go on as if nothing had happened. They take time to grieve; their normal pattern of behavior is disrupted as a way of recognizing that a profound change has occurred in their life. Thus the custom is that they stay home during&nbsp;shivah, and people come to be with them, to share in their grief. Jewish law recognized that life will never be the same again, and the dramatic transition requires time off.
But the Mishna is saying that if one of the major Jewish festivals (Shavuos, Passover, or Sukkos) begins while you are in the&nbsp;shivah&nbsp;period you are supposed to put aside&nbsp;shivah&nbsp;and join with the community in celebrating the festival. So for example, if someone lost a loved one on Sunday and buried them on Monday, Shivah would only go till Saturday night, when Shavuos begins. The mourner takes part in a Shavuos celebration, attends a Passover seder, goes out to eat in the Sukkah, etc.
Why? At first glance this law seems insensitive. Seeing how sensitive Jewish law is to someone who suffered a loss, requiring them to stay home for seven days, why suddenly in this case do we display such brute insensitivity? How can we be expected to put aside our grief and go to a celebration? How can&nbsp;halacha&nbsp;command us to suppress natural human emotions for the sake of going through the motions of a ritual?
The Talmud, the commentary on the&nbsp;Mishna, explains the reason for this ruling: “aseh d’rabim”&nbsp;– a positive&nbsp;mitzvah&nbsp;incumbent on the community, overrides “aseh d’yachid”&nbsp;– a positive&nbsp;mitzvahincumbent&nbsp;on the individual” (Talmud&nbsp;Moed Katan&nbsp;14b). Celebration of the festivals is a mitzvah of the entire community; mourning is a mitzvah on the individual who suffered the loss. The communal time of joy overrides the individual’s time of grief. &nbsp;
But this does not seem to answer the question. After all, if someone lost a loved one, how do we ask of them to transcend their individual state of mourning because of the communal state of joy? Let the community celebrate, but let the individual mourn!&nbsp;&nbsp;
If I Am Only For Myself…
Each and every Jew can experience himself or herself in one of two ways, and they are both equally true. We are individuals. Each of us has our own “pekel,” our own baggage, our own unique story and narrative. I got my issues, you got yours; I got my life, you got yours. You fend for yourself, I fend for myself. In the words of Hillel: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?”
Together with this, we are each also an indispensable part of “klal Yisroel,” of the community of Israel. We are not only individuals; we are also an integral part of “keneset Yisroel,” the collective soul of the Jewish people. Like limbs in a body, each limb has its own individual character and chemistry, but it is also a part of a single organism we call the human body.
The difference between these two components is critical. The individual life can die. But, in the words of the Talmud, “tzebor lo mas,” the community does not die (Talmud Horayos 6a). The collective body we call “the Jewish people” never dies, it only changes hands. The very same “body” of “klal Yisroel” that existed 3000 years ago still exists today. Moses was a Jew and you are a Jew. Rabbi Akiva was a Jew and you are a Jew. The Ball Shem Tov was a Jew and you are a Jew. An individual can die; a nation does not die (unless the entire nation is obliterated.) Again in the words of Hilel: “But if I am only for myself, what am I?”
The tyrants and Anti-Semites in history could sadly wipe put individual Jews, but never the Jewish people. “Tzebor lo mas.” The community of Israel never dies.
Eternity
Now we will understand the explanation of the Talmud, that shivah gets interrupted for a holiday because the mitzvah of the community takes precedent over the mitzvah of the individual. This is not saying that the individual who suffered a loss must forget about his or her own pain because the community is celebrating. That would be unfair. Rather the Talmud is telling us something deeper.
When the community of Israel is experiencing a celebration, a festival, marking a watershed moment in the history of our people—that celebration of the “tzebur,” of the collective body of the Jewish people, includes also the person who passed away, because that aspect of us which is part of the community of Israel never ever dies. The “Jew” in the Jew cannot die, because it lives on in the collective body of the Jewish nation.
When the mourner interrupts his shivah to celebrate the holiday of Passover, Shavuos or Sukkos, he is not diverting his heart from his or her beloved one; rather he is given the ability to connect to the central defining moments defining Jewish history and eternity, and it is in that drama that his loved one still lives on. In the collective life of the Jewish people, and in our collective celebrations of Jewish faith and history, our loved ones continue to live.
A Lost Child
This may be of the reasons we recite Yizkor on each of the three holidays. During Yizkor, we don’t only remember our loved ones who passed on; we also ensure that a part of them never dies, by insuring that the collective organism of Am Yisroel—the people of Israel—survives and thrives.
A moving story is told by the Yiddish writer Shalom Asch, about an elderly Jewish couple in Russia forced by the government to house a soldier in their home. They move out of their bedroom, and the young man, all gruffness and glares, moves in with his pack, rifle and bedroll. It's Friday night, and the couple prepares to sit down for Shabbat dinner. The soldier takes his place at the table. Only now is it apparent just how young he is. He sits and stares with wide eyes as the old woman kindles the Shabbas candles. And he listens as the old man chants the Kiddush and Hamotzie. He quickly devours the hunk of challah placed before him, and speaking for the first time, he asks for more. His face is a picture of bewilderment. Something about this scene -- the candles, the chant, the taste of the challah, captures him. It touches him in some mysterious way.
He rises from his seat at the table, and beckons the old man to follow him, back into the bedroom. He pulls his heavy pack from the floor onto the bed, and begins to pull things out. Uniforms, equipment, ammunition. Until finally, at the very bottom, he pulls out a small velvet bag, tied with a drawstring. "Can you tell me, perhaps, what this is?" he asks the old man, with eyes suddenly gentle and imploring.
The old man, takes the bag in trembling fingers and opens the string. Inside is a child's tallis, a tiny set of tefillin, and small book of Hebrew prayers.
"Where did you get this?" he asks the soldier.
"I have always had it...I don't remember when..."
The old man opens the prayer book, and reads the inscription, his eyes filling with tears:
“To our son, Yossel, taken from us as a boy, should you ever see your Bar Mitzvah, know that your mama and tata always love you.”
You see, this boy was one of the cantonists. On August 26, 1827, Tsar Nicholas published the Recruitment Decree calling for conscription of Jewish boys between the ages of twelve and twenty-five into the Russian army. These boys were known as Cantonists; derived from the term 'Canton' referring to the 'districts' they were sent, and the 'barracks' in which they were kept. Conscripts under the age of eighteen were assigned to live in preparatory institutions until they were old enough to formally join the army. The twenty-five years of service required that these recruits be counted from age eighteen, even if they had already spent many years in military institutions before reaching that age.
Nicholas strengthened the Cantonist system and used it to single out Jewish children for persecution, their baptism being of a high priority to him. No other group or minority in Russia was expected to serve at such a young age, nor were other groups of recruits tormented in the same way. Nicholas wrote in a confidential memorandum, "The chief benefit to be derived from the drafting of the Jews is the certainty that it will move them most effectively to change their religion."
During the reign of Nicholas I, approximately seventy thousand Jews, some fifty thousand who were children, were taken by force from their homes and families and inducted into the Russian army. The boys, raised in the traditional world of the Shtetle, were pressured via every possible means, including torture, to accept baptism. Many resisted and some managed to maintain their Jewish identity. The magnitude of their struggle is difficult to conceive.
This thirty-year period from 1827 till 1856 saw the Jewish community in an unrelieved state of panic. Parents lived in perpetual fear that their children would be the next to fill the Tsar's quota. A child could be snatched from any place at any time. Every moment might be the last together; when a child left for cheder (school) in the morning, parents did not know if they would ever see him again. When they retired at night after singing him to sleep, they never knew whether they would have to struggle with the chappers (kidnapper, chap is the Yiddish term for grab) during the night in a last ditch effort to hold onto their son.
These kids were beaten and lashed, often with whips fashioned from their own confiscated tefillin (phylacteries.) In their malnourished states, the open wounds on their chests and backs would turn septic and many boys, who had heroically resisted renouncing their Judaism for months, would either perish or cave in and consent to the show of baptism. As kosher food was unavailable, they were faced with the choice of either abandoning Jewish dietary laws or starvation. To avoid this horrific fate, some parents actually had their sons' limbs amputated in the forests at the hands of local blacksmiths, and their sons—no longer able bodied—would avoid conscription. Other children committed suicide rather than convert.
All cantonists were institutionally underfed, and encouraged to steal food from the local population, in emulation of the Spartan character building. (On one occasion in 1856 a Jewish cantonist Khodulevich managed to steal the Tsar's watch during military games at Uman. Not only was he not punished, but he was given a reward of 25 rubles for his display of prowess.)
This boy in our story was one of those cantonists.
Let Them Live&nbsp;
At Yizkor, our mama and tata, our zeide and babe, our great grandparents for many generations, whisper to us how deeply they love us and believe in us. No matter how many years have passed, the bond is eternal and timeless.
And when we embrace and continue their story, we ensure that every single Jew who ever walked the face of this earth is still, in some very real way, alive.

It seems like an insensitive law: If one of the major Jewish festivals begins while you are in the&nbsp;shivah&nbsp;period, you are supposed to put aside&nbsp;shivah&nbsp;and join with the community in celebrating the festival. But how can we be expected to put aside our grief and go to a celebration? How can&nbsp;halacha&nbsp;command us to suppress natural human emotions for the sake of going through the motions of a ritual?
There are two dimensions existing in every Jew, one that dies, and one that can never die. On Yizkor, we connect to that part of our loved ones which never dies. On yizkor, we ensure that every Jew who ever walked the face of the earth, remains alive in some very real way.

2819_for email.jpg

mourning

death

yom tov

shivah

shiva

Is It Not Insensitive to Interrupt Shivah for a Holiday?

A Community Never Dies

$100 from G-d

A&nbsp;little boy wanted $100 so badly that he prayed for two weeks, but nothing happened. He decided to write a letter to the Lord requesting the $100. When the postal authorities received the letter addressed to "Lord, USA," they decided to send it to the President at the time, Donald Trump. &nbsp;

The President was so impressed, touched, and amused that he instructed his secretary to send the little boy a $5 bill. Mr. Trump thought this would appear to be a lot of money to a little boy. &nbsp;

The little boy was delighted with the $5 and sat down to write a thank-you note to the Lord, which read: &nbsp;

"Dear Lord, &nbsp;

"Thank you very much for sending me the money. It's just a pity you had to send it through Washington, D.C. and, as usual, those guys deducted $95."&nbsp;

In the Womb&nbsp;

In a passage demonstrating a keen sensitivity to the subconscious of a human being, the Talmud describes the experience of the embryo while in the uterus<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a>: &nbsp;

"A lamp is lit above the child's head, by which it can see from one end of the world to the other end; there are&nbsp;no days during which a person experiences more bliss than those days in his mother's womb. They [G-d and the angels] teach the unborn child the entire Torah, but as soon as the child is to emerge into the air of the world, an angel comes and strikes it on&nbsp;its mouth, causing it to forget the entire Torah." &nbsp;

But what's the point? Is it not futile to teach an embryo the entire Torah if it is made to forget it shortly thereafter? &nbsp;

Several answers are given to this question. As we approach the festival&nbsp;of&nbsp;Shavuos, commemorating the giving of the Torah 3,335&nbsp;years ago, I wish to present one of the answers, culled from the writings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of&nbsp;Liadi<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>.&nbsp;&nbsp;

The Inner Melody&nbsp;

It is extremely difficult to remain spiritually and emotionally inspired while living in this world. G-d may give us life, but He does not always grant us the ready-made inspiration required for living a meaningful and elevated lifestyle. We need to stimulate and motivate ourselves through our own efforts.

But how?&nbsp;Life is&nbsp;often stressful and burdensome. Also, our physical and animalistic cravings and temptations are so powerful that they almost completely eclipse our sensitivity to spirituality.&nbsp;

This is the accomplishment of G-d infusing each unborn child with the entire Torah before he is born, though he later forgets it all. This nine-month implantation of G-dliness&nbsp;and holiness in the brain of the child creates a condition in which the spiritual message of the Torah forever remains the most familiar information to the soul. &nbsp;

Affluence, power, good food, nice clothing, and physical temptations may excite us. Debt, responsibility, laziness, and numbness may bog us down. Yet despite all of these sensations being a real part of our lives, the voice of our inner spirituality -- the voice of Torah within us -- has a deeper, though often inaudible, resonance within us.  &nbsp;

It's like a melody that you once knew and have since forgotten. When it is sung to you again, you don't have to memorize it anew, because the song was always a part of you, stored in the memory of your brain.  &nbsp;

The melody of spirituality and Torah has been on the lips of our souls since time immemorial. Although in the process of growing up, we may have forgotten the tune, none of us have to learn it anew. We need only to&nbsp;pay heed to the silent vibrations stored within us since our days in the womb.&nbsp;

So although upon birth we were made to consciously forget, the truth remains etched in our unconscious psyches. When we discover a truth in our lives – when we are educated&nbsp;and taught wisdom – the truth resonates, because we already have it inside ourselves; it was just concealed beneath the conscious layers of existence.

The function of a true Torah teacher is never to teach people a new truth, but to help them access the truth ingrained already deeply within them. A good teacher is one who helps us cut away the weeds and uncover the flowers within.

Or as the Italian sculptor, Michelangelo once said: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”&nbsp;&nbsp;

Draw Me&nbsp;

This is the deeper meaning in King Solomon's presentation of the bride saying to her groom, "Draw me, we will run after&nbsp;You, the King has brought me into His chambers<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>." The grammar in the verse seems amiss: If the King already brought me into the chambers in the past, why is there a need to "draw me" close to Him in the present?

But King Solomon is addressing two different times in our lives, the time of pre-birth innocence vs. the time of adulthood disillusionment. We turn to G-d in our days of adulthood and say, 'Draw me, we will run after&nbsp;You,' which means that if G-d draws us in a little bit, we will run after Him.

The reason is that since 'the King has brought me (us) into His chambers' during the nine months in the womb, long before we developed&nbsp;our cynicism, we already have experienced the purity of G-dliness<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>.&nbsp;

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> Niddah&nbsp;30b. &nbsp;

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> 1745-1812. The following teaching is in&nbsp;Likkutei&nbsp;Torah&nbsp;Shelach&nbsp;43a. Cf.&nbsp;Likkutei&nbsp;Torah&nbsp;Shir&nbsp;HaShirim&nbsp;8d. &nbsp;

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Song of Songs 1:4.&nbsp;

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> Likkutei&nbsp;Torah&nbsp;Shelach&nbsp;ibid.&nbsp;

Oy! Festivals’ Future In Limbo

The Status of Yom Tov Sheni Shel Golyos After Moshiach's Arrival

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