Chabad Magazine ~ Tuesday, Adar I 18, 5774 · February 18, 2014
Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
Editing can sometimes feel like a thankless job. Writers get a lot of recognition for their work, but editors don’t get much fan mail. And that’s the way it should be. Our job is to make writers look good. Still, there are moments when a small note of appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.
Reading this week’s Torah portion, though, changed my perspective. After the episode of the Golden Calf, the Israelites were deeply discouraged. Moses needed to take decisive action to revitalize his people. First, he gathered them—vayakhel—into a group. Then he gave them a mission: to donate the materials needed to create the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary where G‑d would dwell in the desert.
The people’s response was overwhelming—Moses actually had to tell them to stop giving. As Rabbi Sacks writes this week in Team Building, a project that can only be accomplished by a team unifies and motivates us like nothing else. It allows each member of the group to point to something great and say, “I helped make that.”
Working behind the scenes to help our writers shine, I know I’ve contributed to something that’s much bigger than I am. I’m proud to be part of the Chabad.org team.
Sarah Ogince,
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
Daily Thought:
Spring
We are not waiting for some great revelation from above to save us from our incompetence as guardians of this world and put everything in order. Rather, we are waiting to see the sun rise over everything we have done, to see the fruits of our labors blossom in an eternal spring.
It will come upon the world as a spring rain upon a plowed and seeded field. Plow and sow now, while there is still time.
This Week's Features:
Is There Life on Other Planets?
From inner space to outer space by Shlomo Yaffe
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2480059&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
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PARSHAH
The Temple of Our Home
Each of the five primary components of the Temple service has a counterpart in our homes and in our hearts. by Lazer Gurkow
To Live Is to Remember
Everyone grieves differently. Some try to ignore their memories of a loved one because it’s just too painful to remember; others work hard to preserve the memories, because without them they lose the gift of the past.
The Jewish people suffered a collective loss when the second Temple was destroyed. Some in the Jewish world have resolved to move forward as a diaspora nation. “Who needs the Temple?” they ask. “We have the Torah, our prayers and good deeds, and we get on well enough without it.”Everyone grieves differently
In truth, the Judaism we know today is only a shadow of its former self. We long for the Temple to be rebuilt so that we can observe all the mitzvahs that apply only when it stands. But even the memory of the Temple can enhance our observance, sanctify our homes, and deepen our connection to G‑d.
“Make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within you,” G‑d told the Jewish people. Every Jewish home, indeed every Jewish person, may become a “small sanctuary.” In fact, I believe each of the five primary components of the Temple service has a counterpart in our homes and in our hearts.
The Ark
The ark resided in the innermost sanctum of the Temple: the Holy of Holies, which was off-limits to everyone except the high priest. It housed the tablets, the only physical objects ever received directly from G‑d. Enclosed in the ark, concealed from prying eyes, the tablets represented our most intimate connection with G‑d.
In the temple of our home, the ark represents intimacy, and our holy of holies is the bedroom. This is the inner sanctum of a marriage, a place where no one but husband and wife may tread. When it is treated with the proper reverence, it becomes the cradle of their bond, which is ultimately the foundation on which the family rests.
In our divine service, the ark is the Torah, G‑d’s intellect and desire. When we study the Torah, we unite our intellect with His in the ultimate union of human mind and divine thought, human heart and divine will. It is the center of our religion, the soul of our connection.
Menorah
The menorah radiated the Temple’s sanctity and light to the world at large. Its physical light represented the spiritual light of the divine presence.The menorah radiated the Temple’s sanctity
The menorah of our home is the warm glow of love that bathes the family and its environs. It is manifest in the way we relate to each other and interact with neighbors and friends. If our menorah is well lit, everyone will want to be part of our circle of light, and that light will continue to shine in our children.
In religion, the menorah corresponds to our good deeds. If the Torah is the heart of our faith, our good deeds are its expression in the world. The holiness that suffuses us in Torah study radiates outward when our actions reflect what we have learned.
Inner Altar
The inner altar was for incense. It was kindled once a day, but its effects were long-lasting. The aromatic fragrance seeped into the Temple’s walls, and from there into the nation’s soul. It represented the delight that we take in G‑d, and that G‑d takes in us.
In the temple of our home, the inner altar is the tender love that makes everyday life a delight. It is not bold and passionate; it is subtle and tender, but its presence pervades the home and sets the tone for the entire family. It is a loving gesture or a tender look exchanged during otherwise tedious routines. It turns a relationship into a marriage, and a marriage into a delight.
In religion, this is prayer, a time of bonding and exquisite pleasure. When one sits down to pray with a relaxed mind and joyful heart, the prayer becomes a bonding experience of true delight. Prayer produces a delicious spiritual aroma that lasts all day and uplifts everything we do.
Outer Altar
The outer altar was in the courtyard. Its roaring flames reached for the heavens, releasing torrents of energy and heat. This was the altar on which the sacrifices were offered, cementing our bond with G‑d.Marriages entail compromise and sacrifice
If the incense is the delight of our marriage, the sacrifices on the outer altar are its cauldron. Fires do two things: they melt and they forge. Inner delight melts the heart, but the outer flame forges our commitment. Marriages entail compromise and sacrifice, but the cauldron of love turns the burden of sacrifice into a gift given with pleasure.
In our personal service, the outer altar represents the sacrifices we make for G‑d. Sacrificing our personal desires can lead to resentment, unless we fan the flames of our love. When we contemplate G‑d’s magnificence, largesse and love for us, it inspires our love for Him. Empowered by love, we view our offerings as an honor and our relationship as a privilege.
Showbread Table
Finally, in the Temple there was a table for showbread. Twelve loaves were baked each week and placed on the table as an offering. Every Shabbat, new loaves were placed on the table, and the old ones were distributed to the priests.
In the temple of our homes, the table is the kitchen and family dining area. The kitchen is the heart of the home, where individuals gather daily to spend time, exchange ideas and share laughter, to nourish themselves physically and emotionally.
Our personal showbread tables are our festive Shabbat and holiday meals—Passover Seders, Shabbat dinners, and joyous meals in the sukkah. At the holiday table, our refined spiritual service finds expression in the corporeal pleasures of eating and drinking, good conversation and family camaraderie.
Yet in one sense these meals constitute the highest form of divine service. Judaism does not advocate asceticism; we are enjoined to use our physical pleasures for a higher purpose. The table is where Judaism comes to life, and this is particularly true when we invite those in need to celebrate with us.
Rabbi Lazer Gurkow is spiritual leader of Congregation Beth Tefilah in London, Ontario, and a frequent contributor to The Judaism Website—Chabad.org. He has lectured extensively on a variety of Jewish topics, and his articles have appeared in many print and online publications. For more on Rabbi Gurkow and his wrtings, visit InnerStream.ca.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Parshah:
  • Mirror, Mirror on the Wall (By Shimona Tzukernik)
Back in my school days, I had my own mirror. It was one of those antique freestanding ones, with carved pillars and a base, between which swung an oval glass. It tossed my reflection at me like a kiss that called, “C’mon over!” And back then, subliminally yet, it began to bug me that the ubiquitous looking-glass called to me from every angle in my room.
Just at that time, Cindy showed up in my dreams. I’d recently switched from public school to a private Jewish day school. The kids were palpably richer than my previous classmates. And they were also on the cutting edge of all that was new. Back then, anorexia and bulimia were new. By 16, I knew of only one girl who starved her body living off her own flesh, and who vomited the food she’d been unable to resist. But in my new school, there were numerous young women dying to be thin.
In my dream, though, Cindy was compelled neither to starve her body nor to gag her food. She was addicted to her mirror. By 16, I knew of only one girl who starved her bodyIt was a far cry from the antique my grandmother had given me. Hers was a round one that fitted into the palm of her hand. Her fear that she did not exist came upon her like waves upon the beach. And whenever it did, she’d pull out the mirror to confirm that, yes, she was here. As time went by, the waves bashed more frequently and more violently upon her being. She’d shake and sweat, and surreptitiously open her palm, trembling for a fix.
It was after French class that I approached her. The Highveld grass glared yellow under the winter sun.
“Cindy,” I said, “I’ve seen what’s happening . . . with the mirror . . .”
She turned abruptly from me, brittle as the grass.
“Cindy, look. You exist! Don’t you get it? You are real. You don’t need the mirror to prove that.”
Hands quivering, she opened her palm, sucking in her image. The sweat on her upper lip swelled.
“Here, I’ll show you. Let me take it from you, just for a moment—so you can see. You exist without it!”
My voice shook too, as I reached to pry the mirror from her hands.
“No,” she spat. “No, No!” clamping her palm shut.
As she did so, the mirror fell, in slow motion. And as it shattered, the shards fractured into the craggy peaks of a Chinese landscape. Cindy and I were falling through the cliffs. I sat up out of the dream. In the morning, I asked my Dad if he could put the mirror elsewhere in the house.
Remember the yellow daisies? That didn’t stop me from wondering whether in fact he loved me“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me . . .” Seems to me I played it first fresh out of kindergarten. Kids on the crescent gathered under the eucalyptus tree at the bottom of our garden. We’d lick gum off the bark, or sit in the treehouse (a plank of wood between the branches), or rock on the rubber-tire swing. As I swung, I’d pluck the petals to check just whether “he” loved me. By my early teens, I’d traded the tree and its sticky gum for lip gloss, and jeans so tight we’d have to lie down on the bed and have a friend help close the zipper. Not that I knew any “he,” mind you. But that didn’t stop me from wondering whether in fact he loved me—or not. Through all those “zipping-ups,” I was oblivious to the cultural component of my actions. Until my dream, that is. It awakened me to some of the unconscious tides that compelled me and pummeled my own beaches. It was the burgeoning of my consciousness that we, women in particular, are driven by mirrors both physical and social.
Recently, surfing the web, I learned that if Barbie were a real person, her head in relation to her body would be the size of a golf ball, and she wouldn’t be able to stand upright. Picture it: a woman with a head smaller than a fist crawling on all fours! And yet, that’s what we give our little girls. “Here, dear,” we say, “a mirror for you, darling. Just the being you want to be when you grow up.”
But does all this mean that gazing into a mirror renders us a “wicked stepmother” consumed with envy? Or a Narcissus besotted by his own image? What are we to do with our mirrors, with the seemingly inborn drive for beauty and concerns about the social mirror?
This week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel, offers a solution as deep and resonant as a reflection is shallow. It relates in great detail how we went about actually building the Sanctuary. Moses collected gifts and contributions from the people: precious metals, richly dyed wools, reddened rams’ skins and blue-processed hides, acacia wood, olive oil, essences for fragrance, perfume incense and rare stones.1 It was a veritable treasury. He then appointed the architects, and the building began—from the tapestries and beams to the ark, the table, lamp, and the altars for incense and sacrifices. The last of the utensils to be made was the washstand, a very large samovar with spigots from which the priests would draw water with which to wash their hands and feet before beginning their daily service. It was the last utensil made, but the first to be used each day. Betzalel, the chief architect, made the washstand and its base “out of the mirrors of the dedicated women who congregated at the entrance of the Communion Tent.”2
The women had brought numerous other offerings, most notably their jewelry. And they brought the mirrors. When I read these verses, I visualize myself in their shoes. Theirs was no costume jewelry. It’s one thing to let go of my artsy pieces of faux stones and pewter, but how would I feel giving over the pearl earrings my husband gave me in the bridal chamber after our chuppah, our first time alone together? And theirs were no “made in China” dime-a-dozen cheapo mirrors. These were sheets of copper, polished to perfection. Rashi, our principal biblical commentator, states on the above verse that “the women had mirrors in their hands.”3 I sense the intimacy with which they held them. “They used them to adorn themselves,” he says. I think of standing at my bedroom mirror. The kohl and lipstick, olive and golden eyeshadows, mascara and perfume lie in a purple beaded bowl I bought in Africa, their reflection shimmering in back. They and my mirror are my raw materials as I prepare for an evening with my husband. My mirror is dear to me. How much more so were their prized copper plates to my sisters in a vast and dry desert? Yet, says Rashi, “even these they did not hesitate to bring as offerings for the Sanctuary.”
Yet, while Moses gladly accepted the rings and armbands, earrings and nose-rings, when he saw the mirrors piled upon the ground, he rejected them. They lifted up their mirrors, each gazing at herself and her husbandWhy? Says the Talmud: mirrors are made for the evil inclination. I get that. They’re all about “me, myself, I,” my image feeding back at me an illusion, a reflected identity that, like Cindy’s, can never fill the existential hollow of not being in touch with one’s soul. And yet, surprise, G‑d disagreed. “He said to Moses, ‘Accept them, for these are more precious to Me than all [the other gifts]’—for through them the women set up the many congregations4 in Egypt. When their husbands returned from the harsh labor, they would go out and offer them food and drink, feeding them. They lifted up their mirrors, each gazing at herself and her husband in the mirror. Each enticed him with words, saying, ‘I am more beautiful than you.’ In this way they aroused their husbands, who would then be intimate with them. The women conceived and gave birth there (in Egypt). This is what is implied by the verse,5 ‘I awakened you beneath the apple orchard.’”6
What Rashi is teaching us is that we certainly can, and should, use our mirrors. But we must do so on G‑d’s terms. This idea was reinforced for me on a ride in a New York subway. Its lines curve like choked intestines through the city’s underbelly. Not my favorite place to be. Yet there, in the smelly car of a Dinkins-era train, the insight was brought home to me in the form of a poster ad. Picture it. An all-American tourist. He’s got on the Hawaiian shirt with the rainbow-colored flowers, a camera slung diagonally across one shoulder, a water bottle over the other. Khaki shorts to just above his knee, and a khaki hat with the string dangling ’round his neck. He’s holding a fishing rod. And all around are plastic flowers and vines, kitsch imitations of the Amazon forest. The shot is promoting a design school. Its slogan reads, “Put your passion into a program.” I get that too! G‑d has given us emotions and tendencies. There’s no way to not feel love, or fear, or any of the feelings on our emotional palette. Our choice is to love worldly pleasures or love G‑d, to fear Him or to live with neurosis and paranoia about everything else. The same applies to reflections. We can use them to seduce a stranger. Or we can use them to arouse our husbands.
As for the social mirror, that’s important too. Queen Esther is praised for “finding favor in the eyes of all who saw her.”7 But what others think of us is relevant only if it reflects what we stand for and the way we honor their dignity. The secret is that we attain the favor of others precisely when we free ourselves of kowtowing to public opinion. If our driving goal is to find popularity in the eyes of G‑d, then in a domino effect we will be beloved by others. People naturally respect authenticity, integrity, standing for what we believe in and walking the talk, even though they may not say so.
So, here’s to mirrors. Both the copper kind and those cheapo Chinese ones. The antique, wooden full-frame ones and the palm-held miniatures. Here’s to caring that we honor others and that our conduct please our Creator. Here’s to putting our passion into a program, to having the guts to let go of the shallow, of the Tinseltown images and airbrushed shots on all those covers of all those glossies. Here’s to ditching the idols of contemporary culture, the messages we are bombarded with from without, and living life from the inside out.
Shimona Tzukernik is the creator of The Method, a therapeutic application of Kabbalah for individuals and corporations seeking spiritually based transformation. Known as “The Kabbalah Coach,” she has counseled hundreds of individuals, and now offers coaching certification in The Method. She is also an internationally recognized speaker and author for the Rohr JLI. Shimona has been featured in media around the world including a documentary by National Geographic and NickMom’s “Take Me to your Mother.”
FOOTNOTES
1. Exodus 35:5–9.
2. Exodus 38:8.
3. Rashi ibid.
4. Our sages make this association based on the word tzov’ot in the original verse. It is translated by Rashi as “the dedicated women.” (Ibn Ezra translates it as “the craftswomen.” Other translations include “the women who came to serve G‑d in prayer” and “the celebrated women.”) If one rearticulates the vowels beneath the consonants, the word reads tziv’ot, which means “a multitude of people” or “large crowd.”
5. Song of Songs 8:5.
6. Rashi continues by saying, “The washstand was made from them. It served to establish peace between husband and wife: [the priests] would draw from its waters for she whose husband suspected her of adultery”—for just as the women in Egypt had used their mirrors for holy purposes, the waters held by their copper offerings were used to verify whether the suspected adulteress had directed her beauty to arouse her husband, or for unholy reasons.
7. Esther 2:15.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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  • Team Building (By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)
How do you remotivate a demoralized people? How do you put the pieces of a broken nation back together again? That was the challenge faced by Moses in this week’s Parshah.
The key word here is vayakhel, “[Moses] gathered.” Kehillah means community. A kehillah or kahal is a group of people assembled for a given purpose. That purpose can be positive or negative, constructive or destructive. The same word that appears at the beginning of this week’s Parshah as the beginning of the solution, appeared in last week’s Parshah as the start of the problem: “When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered [vayikahel] around Aaron and said, ‘Make us a god to lead us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him.’”
The How do you remotivate a demoralized people?difference between the two kinds of kehillah is that one results in order, the other in chaos. Coming down the mountain to see the golden calf, we read that “Moses saw that the people were running wild, and that Aaron had let them get out of control and so become a laughingstock to their enemies.” The verb פרע, like the similar פרא, means “loose, unbridled, unrestrained.”
There is an assembly that is disciplined, task-oriented and purposeful. And there is an assembly that is a mob. It has a will of its own. People in crowds lose their sense of self-restraint. They get carried along in a wave of emotion. Normal deliberative thought processes become bypassed by the more primitive feelings or the group. There is, as neuroscientists put it, an “amygdala hijack.” Passions run wild.
There have been famous studies of this: Charles Mackay’s Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds (1841), Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind (1895), and Wilfred Trotter’s Instincts of the Herd in Peace and War (1914). One of the most haunting works on the subject is Jewish Nobel Prize–winner Elias Canetti’s Crowds and Power (1960, English translation 1962).
Vayakhel is Moses’ response1 to the wild abandon of the crowd that gathered around Aaron and made the golden calf. He does something fascinating. He does not oppose the people, as he did initially when he saw the golden calf. Instead, he uses the same motivation that drove them in the first place. They wanted to create something that would be a sign that G‑d was among them, not on the heights of a mountain but in the midst of the camp. He appeals to the same sense of generosity that made them offer up their gold ornaments. The difference is that they are now acting in accordance with G‑d’s command, not their own spontaneous feelings.
He asks the Israelites to make voluntary contributions to the construction of the Tabernacle, the Sanctuary, the Mikdash. They do so with such generosity that Moses has to order them to stop. If you want to bond human beings so that they act for the common good, get them to build something together. Get them to undertake a task that they can achieve only together, that none can do alone.They stenciled the names on their shirts and flags
The power of this principle was demonstrated in a famous social-scientific research exercise carried out in 1954 by Muzafer Sherif and others from the University of Oklahoma, known as the Robbers Cave experiment. Sherif wanted to understand the dynamics of group conflict and prejudice. To do so, he and his fellow researchers selected a group of 22 white eleven-year-old boys, none of whom had met one another before. They were taken to a remote summer camp in Robbers Cave State Park, Oklahoma. They were randomly allocated into two groups.
Initially, neither group knew of the existence of the other. They were staying in cabins far apart. The first week was dedicated to team building. The boys hiked and swam together. Each group chose a name for itself—they became The Eagles and the Rattlers. They stenciled the names on their shirts and flags.
Then, for four days they were introduced to one another through a series of competitions. There were trophies, medals and prizes for the winners, and nothing for the losers. Almost immediately there was tension between them: name-calling, teasing, and derogatory songs. It got worse. Each burned the other’s flag and raided their cabins. They objected to eating together with the others in the same dining hall.
Stage 3 was called the “integration phase.” Meetings were arranged. The two groups watched films together. They lit Fourth of July firecrackers together. The hope was that these face-to-face encounters would lessen tensions and lead to reconciliation. They didn’t. Several broke up with the children throwing food at one another.
In stage 4, the researchers arranged situations in which a problem arose that threatened both groups simultaneously. The first was a blockage in the supply of drinking water to the camp. The two groups identified the problem separately and gathered at the point where the blockage had occurred. They worked together to remove it, and celebrated together when they succeeded.
In another, both groups voted to watch some films. The researchers explained that the films would cost money to rent, and there was not enough in the camp fund to do so. Both groups agreed to contribute an equal share to the cost. In a third, the bus on which they were travelling stalled, and the boys had to work together to push it. By the time the trials were over, the boys had stopped having negative images of the other side. On the final bus ride home, the members of one team used their prize money to buy drinks for everyone.You can turn even hostile factions into a single cohesive group
Similar outcomes have emerged from other studies. The conclusion is revolutionary. You can turn even hostile factions into a single cohesive group so long as they are faced with a shared challenge that all can achieve together but none can do alone.
Rabbi Norman Lamm, former president of Yeshiva University, once remarked that he knew of only one joke in the Mishnah: the statement that “scholars increase peace in the world.”2 Rabbis are known for their disagreements. How, then, can they be said to increase peace in the world?
I suggest that the passage is not a joke but a precisely calibrated truth. To understand it, we must read the continuation: “Scholars increase peace in the world, as it is said, ‘All your children shall be learned of the L‑rd, and great will be the peace of your children.’3 Read not ‘your children’ [banayich], but ‘your builders’ [bonayich].” When scholars become builders, they create peace. If you seek to create a community out of strongly individualistic people, you have to turn them into builders. That is what Moses did in Vayakhel.
Team building, even after a disaster like the golden calf, is neither a mystery nor a miracle. It is done by setting the group a task, one that speaks to their passions and one that no subsection of the group can achieve alone. It must be constructive. Every member of the group must be able to make a unique contribution, and then feel that it has been valued. Each must be able to say, with pride: I helped make this.
That is what Moses understood and did. He knew that if you want to build a team, create a team that builds.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is the former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, or to join his e‑mail list, please visit www.rabbisacks.org.
FOOTNOTES
1. I mean this only figuratively. The building of the Tabernacle was, of course, G‑d’s command, not Moses’. The fact that it is set out as a divine command in Parshat Terumah, before the story of the golden calf, is intended to illustrate the principle that “G‑d creates the cure before the disease” (Talmud, Megillah 13b).
2. Talmud, Berachot 64a.
3. Isaiah 54:13.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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  • Vayakhel in a Nutshell
Moses assembles the people of Israel and reiterates to them the commandment to observe the Shabbat. He then conveys G‑d’s instructions regarding the making of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). The people donate the required materials in abundance, bringing gold, silver and copper; blue-, purple- and red-dyed wool; goat hair, spun linen, animal skins, wood, olive oil, herbs and precious stones. Moses has to tell them to stop giving.
A team of wise-hearted artisans make the Mishkan and its furnishings (as detailed in the previous Torah readings of Terumah, Tetzaveh and Ki Tisa): three layers of roof coverings; 48 gold-plated wall panels, and 100 silver foundation sockets; the parochet (veil) that separates between the Sanctuary’s two chambers, and the masach (screen) that fronts it; the ark, and its cover with the cherubim; the table and its showbread; the seven-branched menorah with its specially prepared oil; the golden altar and the incense burned on it; the anointing oil; the outdoor altar for burnt offerings and all its implements; the hangings, posts and foundation sockets for the courtyard; and the basin and its pedestal, made out of copper mirrors.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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YOUR QUESTIONS
Why Is Jewish Marriage So One-Sided?
I understand that the traditional Jewish ketubah (marriage contract) is all about the husband’s obligations to his wife, but there’s nothing in there about the wife’s obligations. Is that fair? by Tzvi Freeman
Question:
My fiancée and I were looking at ketubot (marriage contracts) for our upcoming wedding. I don’t read Aramaic, but I understand that the traditional Jewish ketubah is all about the husband’s obligations to his wife, but there’s nothing in there about the wife’s obligations. Why is Jewish marriage so one-sided?
Answer:
First of all, mazel tov on your engagement! May the wedding create an eternal bond and bring only blessings, peace and harmony to the world.
Concerning the ketubah: Let me explain what a ketubah is all about and why it was created—and then you’ll understand the reason for its one-sidedness. Along the way, I just can’t help providing a few tips that might help in your upcoming marriage.
As any anthropologist can tell you—and any sensible marriage counselor, and your grandmother too—men and women do not go into marriage on an equal footing. You don’t need a degree in biology to tell you why a man’s commitment to marriage doesn’t weigh up to a woman’s. Just think of the ad of the discomfited young man tenderly holding his hands over his that-doesn’t-look-like-a-beer-belly swollen lower abdomen—with the caption, “If it were you, you would be more careful.”
A woman has to be more careful. Where a man puts down one chip, she’s putting down twenty. He has everything to gain; she has everything to lose. So, naturally, a woman enters marriage seeking security and stability so she can build a home and a family—not to be left out in the cold with that swollen belly. A man enters a marriage like a conqueror taking territory. Once married, it doesn’t take long before he is already looking for new territory to conquer—at work, out in the world, and perhaps other places as well . . .
So, what ties the man down to provide that security to a woman? How about love, passion, and all the madness our Creator built into us to join man and woman? Isn’t love all we need?
Five hundred years ago, the master Kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Cordovero wrote1 words about human passion that still sound light-years ahead of us. A man’s passion for a woman, he wrote, is not truly part of his manliness. It is the piece of woman left behind in man when they were divided apart in the Garden of Eden. That is why, if he will use that passion to gratify himself, it will turn against him and destroy him. That is when we call it the yetzer hara—the evil impulse.
But, he continues, nothing G‑d created is evil except through man’s devices. Even the yetzer hara, when directed towards its true purpose, will elevate a person and his world. And what is the true purpose of these passions? To drive a man to beautify the Shechinah (Divine Presence) and make for it a home in this world. In other words, if because of this passion he will build his wife a home, provide her affection and buy her fine jewelry—and if he does all this with the intent that she represents the Shechinah, for she is the mother of life—then he sublimates his passions to become G‑dlike.
“Therefore,” he wrote, “all pleasures a man receives in this world should be only for the sake of his wife.”
That’s how things are supposed to be: Love drives man and woman together. Marriage provides the security the woman needs. And the love continues driving each one to provide what the other needs.
But all this is when passions are harnessed and directed. When a woman surrenders to the man’s passions unconditionally, she gains nothing in return for everything. She’s not doing him any favor, either—he’s burning a lot of rubber on the highway of life, but going nowhere.
Yes, we are told over and over that man and woman are two halves of a whole that is complete only when they are joined together in the mystic, holy union of marriage. But that’s not a Duncan Hines recipe. It’s something that happens when they both work hard to get past their own little selves and discover the “other” in this relationship. Left to their base instincts, the sages teach, a man and a woman are two opposing fires that will burn one another to charcoal.
Think of the line in Genesis that describes the first woman as “a partner against him.” Literally, that means she’s an equal partner. But the awkward phrasing prompted our sages to provide a deeper reading: “If he merits, she is a partner. If not, she is against him to make war.” There you have it: For marriage to be about making love, not war, human beings need to rise above nature. As for the natural, instinctual state of humanity in the world—there love, war, and a whole other slew of pathologies all swim together in a single, very smelly swamp.
How is it that something as beautiful as love can destroy? The chassidic master Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explained2 that this is because the love of a man to a woman and the love of a woman to a man are two opposites. A man’s love, he said, flows like water, while the love of a woman burns like fire.
His son, Rabbi Dov Ber, explained:3 A man’s passions build up like water behind a dam, desperate to break through, and finally bursting into a great flood. But once the flood is over, the passion dissipates—until the reservoir behind the dam can fill again.
The passions of a woman follow an opposite pattern. They are like a fire that must be lit with kindling wood, tended and fanned until hot enough to catch the logs, and only then does it burn on its own. Once that fire has broken out of its bounds, it burns and burns, and can never be satisfied—until there is nothing left to burn.
Two opposites, totally out of sync with one another. The only solution, says Rabbi Schneur Zalman, is to for the two to find a deeper bond, something beyond both of them. Each one leaves his or her own tiny self, and feels what it is like to be the other. Then a woman understands why this man who so passionately needed her yesterday seems now to be in another world where she barely exists. The balloon has burst and needs time to refill.
And a man understands that a woman’s passions cannot be flicked on like an electric light bulb, but are more like a campfire that needs careful attention to begin, even more care once its flames soar upward, and even more caution not to abandon the glowing coals.
While you’re looking for that deeper bond, let’s get back to the ketubah. The ketubah is one step the sages took to deal with this imbalance and introduce some parity into the relationship.
Like we said, the woman wants security—for good reasons. Here’s another I didn’t mention yet: A study by the National Fatherhood Initiative4 found a strong and direct negative correlation between a close relationship with Dad and adolescent violence. Another study5 found that closeness with Dad is a major factor in reducing the adolescent’s risk of drug abuse—while mother closeness could not be found to have any correlating impact. Not surprisingly, closeness to Dad was highest in “intact families.”
So, even if you’re self-sufficient, if you want healthy and well-adjusted kids, you’re best off with a dedicated father around.
Although a lot of men get a kick out of being provider, protector and dad, they’re not necessarily programmed to lock into that role for life. At some point, the male conquistador urge might just say, “Time to get out of this hamster wheel and get on with life.”
In kicks the ketubah, a wedding contract that basically says, “Here are your obligations to your wife while you’re married, and here’s the penalty you’ll have to pay if you want to get out of it.” What are those obligations? That you will provide food, clothing, affection and a home, and fulfill all the expectations of a husband that are standard in whatever society you happen to live. What’s the penalty for divorce? That which most men will miss most: lots of money.
Look, it’s far from fail-safe. It still requires lots of work, compromise and sacrifice from each member of this partnership. So, call it one piece of the puzzle. For our purposes here, however, the point is . . .
That’s why the ketubah is unbalanced: because it’s there to protect women, not men.
In brief, the sages saw that women get the short end of the stick, and stepped in to do something about it. To my knowledge, things haven’t changed.6
You might want to read some of our material about marriage. Our wedding mini-site is a good starting point.
Click here for more about the ketubah.
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman, a senior editor at Chabad.org, also heads our Ask The Rabbi team. He is the author of Bringing Heaven Down to Earth. To subscribe to regular updates of Rabbi Freeman's writing, visit Freeman Files subscription.
About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children’s books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London.
FOOTNOTES
1. Tomer Devorah.
2. Likkutei Torah, Shir ha-Shirim, discourse entitled “Al Kol Kavod Chuppah.”
3. Derushei Chatunah.
4. “Family Structure, Father Closeness, and Delinquency,” released 3/11/04, available from http://fatherhood.org.
5. “Family Structure, Father Closeness, and Drug Abuse,” released on the same date.
6. Today, balanced “egalitarian ketubot” are available on the market. It’s technically okay to use such a document along with the traditional ketubah, provided that it has no signatures or witnessing of any kind, and on condition that you are aware and accept that you are bound by the Aramaic text, not the English. In other words, if there should emerge any conflict between the two, the Aramaic will be taken as authoritative.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Your Questions:
  • Feeling Old (By Rosally Saltsman)
Dear Rachel,
I’m in my mid-fifties and am facing a midlife crisis. I don’t have energy for a lot of the things I used to do, which is robbing me of joy. I feel like my looks are fading, and I’m afraid of becoming like a lot of older women who try to look thirty and end up looking ridiculous. I feel like I’m in a rut and don’t know how to crawl out. Please help.
Growing Old
Dear Growing,
The youth culture of today robs many people of happiness and satisfaction. But only if they let it. Judaism doesn’t worship youth; it venerates the elderly and shows respect to older people. The first step to surviving middle and old age is to switch to a Jewish mindset, The youth culture of today robs many people of happiness and satisfactionwhich has completely different definitions of beauty, self-worth and value to society.
King Solomon wrote, “Everything has its season, and there is a time for everything under the heaven.”1 There is a time for everything (even age spots), and every age has its beauty. But for some reason, Western culture gets stuck idolizing the decade between 20 and 30. That 1970s advertising slogan is right, though—you’re not getting older, you’re getting better.
I know it’s frustrating to have less energy, but rather than focus on what you can’t do, discover what you can do. You might not be able to keep up at Zumba, but you can take a Pilates or Feldenkrais class. You might not be able to hike the Himalayas, but you can enjoy leisurely walks in the park or nature reserves. The same way we adjust our activity level from ages 7 to 14, we can adjust our activity levels when we get older. You also might want to consider spending more time on intellectual pursuits. Perhaps you can set a goal to master a book of Torah or Tanach with commentaries, or you can start a study partner session with someone.
Many people enjoy more leisurely activities as they age, as opposed to the frenzied activity of their youth. Time spent with grandchildren can be more relaxing and enjoyable than the harried years of childrearing. And studies show that the older you get, the higher your level of satisfaction, as goals become clearer, priorities more defined, and expectations lower. That’s something you can look forward to.
Another problem is that we tend to identify with the younger image of ourselves, when that may no longer be an accurate point of reference. Time and experience shape who we are and what we want, but we often forget to update our own hard drives. It’s important to take inventory every once in a while and make sure we’re living our lives in tandem with who we’ve become.
As for looking young—again, that desire stems from our youth-obsessed culture. The matriarch Sarah was abducted by two monarchs because of her great beauty—the second when she was in her eighties. The Midrash states that Queen Esther was 40, 75 or 80 years old when she was chosen as the most beautiful maiden in the land.2 Miriam led the women of Israel in song when she was 86 years young. Beauty and talent are not limited to age.
The Jewish laws of modesty help de-emphasize our focus on the body, so that we can focus on inner beauty—the Time spent with grandchildren can be more relaxing and enjoyable than the harried years of childrearingbeauty of the heart, mind and soul. I agree with you that it looks ridiculous when older women wear clothes, makeup and hairstyles that befit a 25-year-old. And their attempts to reverse the aging process with plastic surgery or aesthetic treatments usually make them look like, well, women trying to reverse the aging process with plastic surgery.
Age with dignity! Choose clothes, makeup, hairstyles and colors that complement your age without attempting to conceal it. Enjoy your life; a happy glow and a smile will do more to enhance your beauty than any cosmetic treatment. It’s also important to alter your diet and exercise regimen so you stay fit and healthy.
My advice to you (and I can give it because I am over 50) is to accept your age, focus on the benefits of being older and wiser, don’t mourn the past, enjoy the present and look forward to the future. On average, women today live well into their 80s. That means you have a few more decades to enjoy age-appropriately. It should be as unnatural for a 50- or 60-year-old woman to want to be 30 as it is for a 20-year-old to wish she were 5 again. Although youth certainly has its perks, it also has its problems and limitations, which we tend to forget when we look back through the romantic mists of time.
As it says in Desiderata, “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” But don’t stop there; embrace the things of middle and old age.
In Ethics of Our Fathers there is a list of ages and stages, and the fifties are described as a time of counsel.3 One is considered to have garnered enough life experience to dole out advice to others and actually be listened to. As Rabbi Yossi said, “Who is an elder (zakein)? One who acquired (Heb. zeh she-kanah, related to the word zakein) wisdom.”4
I wish you a long life and the wisdom to spend it well.
Rachel
Rosally Saltsman is a freelance writer originally from Montreal living in Israel.
FOOTNOTES
1. Ecclesiastes 3:1.
2. Bereishit Rabbah 39:13.
3. Avot 5:21.
4. Talmud, Kiddushin 32b.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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  • Which Objects Were Present in the Holy of Holies? (By Baruch S. Davidson)
Question:
I recall hearing that there were five objects in the Holy of Holies chamber of the Holy Temple, but I cannot remember what they were. Can you please help refresh my memory? Thank you.
Answer:
The items found in the Holy of Holies were:
The aron (ark), which contained the tablets (the second set, as well as the shards of the first tablets).
The Foundation Stone, upon which the ark sat.
Aaron’s staff (see Numbers 17:16–26).
The jar of manna (see Exodus 16:33–34).
The Torah scroll that Moses wrote immediately before his passing (see Deuteronomy 31:26).
In the First Temple there were also two ten-cubit-tall cherubim, carved of wood and covered with gold, on the two sides of the aron—and their wings reached out over the aron (I Kings 6:23).
The aron, Aaron’s staff and the jar of manna were hidden by King Josiah in subterranean tunnels beneath the Temple Mount (see II Chronicles 35:3) several decades before the destruction of the First Temple. As such, these elements were not present in the Holy of Holies of the Second Temple. (For more on this, see The Subterranean Temple.)
Best wishes,
Rabbi Baruch S. Davidson
Rabbi Baruch S. Davidson is a member of the Chabad.org Ask the Rabbi team.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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WOMEN
Grateful in Grand Central
I stared at the words in the upper left corner of my phone: “No Service.” I felt vaguely uneasy, like some part of me was missing. by Sara Debbie Gutfreund
It had seemed like a good enough plan at the time. My husband had gone to the Apple store in Grand Central to upgrade his phone, and I had wandered into the Hudson News bookstore. Ten minutes later, as I was flipping through 101 Must-Visit Natural Wonders, my phone rang.
“Come to the Apple store,” my husband said when I picked up the phone. “They mixed up our phone cards, and your phone is going to shut off any second now.”
Before I could respond, the line was cut off. I stared at the words in the upper left corner of my phone: “No Service.” I felt vaguely uneasy, like some part of me was missing. Before I could respond, the line was cut offReluctantly, I shut the book, glancing once more at the photo of the turquoise water lapping against a towering cliff on some island I had never heard of.
I threaded my way through crowds of people on the stairs leading up to the Apple store, a labyrinth of rooms opening into rooms. New laptops and tablets sat on glass tables, and rows of rainbow-colored phones climbed up the back wall. I instinctively reached for my phone to call my husband—and was again distressed to see the empty space where my signal used to be.
As I scanned the store for my husband, it seemed like I was the only person who was not on a phone. People were speaking into the air or texting messages, glancing up and then right back at their screens, waiting for answers.
I positioned myself at the end of the balcony, overlooking the main floor of Grand Central. I looked down at the people rushing by. And then, inexplicably, I looked up. I was astounded by what I saw. Above me, the ceiling was covered with stars shaped into all of their miraculous formations. For years I had rushed off trains in this station, careening at high speed down corridors to the subway. First it was for school. Then it was for work. The New York run-or-be-run-over mindset was so ingrained in me that I would often rush even when I didn’t have to. And throughout all those years, I never once looked up. I never saw the stars.
And I never really saw the people, either. Families from all over the world snapping pictures beside intricate pillars I hadn’t noticed. People dressed in beautiful clothes striding beside beggars in ripped shirts. Lonely faces. Smiling faces. And everything in between. For some reason, perhaps because I wasn’t looking down at my phone like everyone else, several tourists stopped to ask me for directions. I was pointing out the direction to Lexington Avenue when I spotted my husband. He had left the Apple store to look for me, and was now frantically Lonely faces. Smiling faces. And everything in betweenwaving from the bottom of the steps.
“That was scary,” he said, as he shook his head. “Disconnected in Grand Central.” As we rushed off to reset our phones, I glanced up at the enormous ceiling once again. I saw my husband follow my gaze, and we stopped for a moment.
“You know, I never noticed that before,” he said.
On the way home, I thought about how I had felt standing on that balcony in Grand Central. I had felt grateful. In the middle of one of the noisiest, dirtiest, most crowded places in the world, I had seen beauty. Overlooking a station that I ran through for years, I had seen so much that I had never noticed before. And if that could happen in Grand Central, then what would the rest of my life look like if I remembered to look up?
Studies in neuroscience have found that the human brain cannot possibly process all the information it is exposed to. Therefore, the brain has to choose what tiny percentage of stimuli it will focus on. So we literally shape our own reality, distinct from the reality of the person sitting next to us. Our ability to see the world from other vantage points is the foundation of our happiness and success.1
For us, as Jews, gratitude is the basis of so many mitzvahs. We wake up in the morning and immediately express our thankfulness to G‑d that our souls have been returned to us. Throughout the day we continue to thank and bless G‑d for the food we eat, for our clothing, for our bodily functions. Even the very name “Jews” (Yehudim, from the Kingdom of Judah) alludes to gratitude: Judah was named so by his Even the very name “Jews” alludes to gratitudemother, Leah, who was expressing gratitude to G‑d for giving her this son.
Choosing to focus on what we are grateful for allows us to see the abundance in our lives. And sometimes, life itself forces us to look at new realities that are different but equally true. Sometimes, on a balcony in Grand Central Station, we can look up and see the stars.
Sara Debbie Gutfreund lives in Telzstone, Israel, with her husband and children. She holds a B.A. in English from the University of Pennsylvania, and a Masters in Family Therapy from the University of North Texas. She is a freelance writer and is currently working on her first novel.
FOOTNOTES
1. Shawn Achor, Before Happiness (New York: Crown Business, 2013).
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Women:
  • The Mommy Factor (By Malka Forster)
I’m a speech-language pathologist, and Leah* was on my caseload in a preschool for language-delayed children. With jet-black frizzy braids, two deep dimples, chubby cheeks, and a mischievous Cheshire grin, she won me over at first sight. She was positively adorable.
The official class yenta, she’d simultaneously initiate preschool politics while arbitrating recess spats, exhibiting pragmatic skills that far exceeded those of her counterparts. Exuberant to a fault, she’d sing the daily songs religiously with bulging eyes and an upturned head until she was hoarse.
Once, on the day after her older sister’s wedding, she stood in the corner, highly insulted. Why? “Because no one wished me mazel tov,” she explained dolefully.
But for all her charm, five-year-old Leah exhibited serious developmental issues.
Leah exhibited serious developmental issues
Desperate for sensory stimulation, she would roll on the floor, hug teachers incessantly, and literally hit her friends, which she perceived as a mere “tap.” She would push and shove and press the crayon fiercely into the paper, unintentionally earning the title of “most aggressive child in the class.”
Then there were the eating abnormalities. Leah was obsessed with food. While the other children would leisurely munch through their sandwiches, chewing each bite thoughtfully and deliberately, Leah vacuumed up her hefty grilled cheese in less than a minute, after which she’d begin wildly foraging through her knapsack—or those of her friends—for more gastronomical treasures.
In my therapy sessions, I sometimes dispense small snacks as reinforcements for a particular exercise. Leah—a robust, clearly well-fed little girl—would enter my room with dreamy, glazed eyes, head straight to the snack in the corner, and attempt to sneakily grab a few from the bag when she thought I wasn’t looking. At the end of the session, when I’d hand her five chocolate chips for a job well done, they’d fly into her mouth within milliseconds. And then she’d be on her knees, begging for more.
Finally, there were the emotional holes. Adorable Leah experienced intense separation anxiety; morning goodbyes to Mommy were torturous for both, awash with high-pitched screams of abandonment. When someone knocked Morning goodbyes to Mommy were torturous for bothon the preschool door, she’d panic, fleeing into the folds of the teacher’s skirt for safety. And in a clear reversion to infantile patterns, she’d insist on having a bottle at night and each morning—and bringing it to school.
Three weeks into the school year, I took a good look at Leah’s file. In a flash, all was clear.
Leah was adopted. At six months old, she was removed from her birth parents by Social Services due to acute neglect and abandonment. She was found to be severely malnourished and sensorially starved. She had been left to cry for hours on end, without being cradled or rocked or caressed by human touch.
Immediately adopted by her current warm, loving parents, Leah does not know yet of her true identity. But her behaviors—her perpetual craving for warmth and envelopment, her never-ending quest for foodstuffs, her deep fear of all adults but the ones she’s learned to trust—tell a tragic, wordless story, a tale that defies understanding.
In today’s corporate world, where the go-getting, invulnerable CEO is the pinnacle of achievement, it’s become painfully common for devoted mothers to feel subjacent on the totem pole, or even worse—unproductive.
But Leah’s story testifies to the real movers and shakers, the authentic molders of lives, the most powerful species of all: mommies.
Leah was adopted
It’s no coincidence that the very first woman on Earth, the foundation of all future femininity, was named Chavah (Eve), from the Hebrew root-word chai, life. A woman’s essence is her ability to create and nurture life, and Chavah’s divinely bestowed name proclaims this truth for eternity. Even if she is physically incapable of birth—like Leah’s adoptive mother—the strength remains: she is a giver, a lover, a cultivator of souls.
As mother of all life, she wields an unrivaled power.
* Names and details have been changed.
Malka Forster is a speech-language pathologist who lives with her family in the Judean Hills. She is also a freelance writer and copywriter whose work has been published in numerous Jewish publications.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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VIDEO
Message from Behind the Iron Curtain
When activists attacked Moscow’s Soviet-sanctioned chief rabbi, the Rebbe had surprising words for them.
Watch Watch (8:08)
http://www.chabad.org/2462206
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More in Video:
  • Be Fruitful and Confident
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2424743&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
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PREPARING FOR PURIM
Purim is fast approaching. One of the four mitzvahs of the day is to send edible gifts, called Mishloach Manot, to family and friends.
For those who live near you, you can simply send over a food package, and you have fulfilled the mitzvah. But for everyone else, surprise them with a different kind of Mishloach Manot: an annual subscription to The Scroll.
The Scroll, Chabad.org’s weekly print publication, will provide them with a steady source of stories, information and inspiration delivered direct to their doorstep.
Oh yeah, and it will also will include an actual food package timed to arrive in time for Purim. But you need to order before March 2, so that we can get the packages in the mail in time.
Click here for more info and to place your order.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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STORY
The Wise Testament
Zevulun was a good Jewish merchant in the land of Babylon whom G-d had blessed with riches, much land and other valuable possessions. Most precious to him, however, was his son Naftali by Gershon Kranzler
Zevulun was a good Jewish merchant in the land of Babylonia whom G‑d had blessed with riches, much land and other valuable possessions. Most precious to him, however, was his son Naftali, who at a very early age showed that he was gifted with a brilliant mind and with the will to learn. Zevulun decided to send him to Jerusalem, where he would study under the guidance of one of the great sages of Israel.
Father and son loved each other dearly, and they felt the hardship of parting very much when the time came for Naftali to leave for the Holy Land. They clung to each other, and tears rolled down their cheeks. Their hearts were heavy, as if they knew that they would never see each other again. Finally, they could not delay the separation any longer. Very earnestly Zevulun blessed his young son, and sent him off on his way to Jerusalem.
Naftali had a pleasant trip, and arrived safely at his destination. His father had arranged everything, so that he could immediately begin his studies under the guidance of the great sage Rabbi Eliezer. He immersed himself completely in his studies, and was thus able to get over the pain of parting from his father.
Back home in Babylonia, misfortune soon befell the one he loved and revered most. His dear father took sick, and the doctors told him that there was no chance of his recovery. Zevulun longed desperately to see his beloved son before he died. Yet his appreciation of learning and his deep piety held him back from sending for Naftali. Instead, he used the brief spell of life still granted him to settle all his affairs. He made out his will in a manner worthy of a man of his greatness of mind and heart. He gave a large part of his wealth to various charitable institutions to care for the sick and to support synagogues, schools and hotels for the poor. Having thus taken care of this important matter, he appointed his old slave Samura sole heir to all his possessions: his great treasure of gold, silver and precious stones; his estates; his ships and his merchandise that were spread over the far-flung corners of the earth. Samura was to be the exclusive owner and master over this huge wealth. There was, however, one clause in the will which read that Samura had to permit Zevulun’s son, Naftali, to select one object from all his possessions for himself. Zevulun had this mysterious testament duly signed and witnessed. Soon afterwards, his pure soul left him and returned to its divine creator. As befitted such a great man, his burial was an impressive affair in which not only the population of the city but friends from far and near paid homage to the departed.
Very surprised, however, were the friends of Zevulun when his will was officially opened, and the strange arrangement of the inheritance was made known. In vain they searched for the motive of Zevulun’s disregard for his young son whom he had loved so much, and who was so industriously studying Torah under the guidance of the famous sage in Jerusalem. This was certainly not the proper reward of the youth’s love of Torah. Zevulun had lost his wife soon after Naftali’s birth, and there was no one else on whom the merchant should have bestowed his love and wealth other than his worthy son. Yet the will of a dying man must not be changed. And Zevulun had made sure that there was no doubt as to the legality of his testament. While Naftali concentrated on his studies, ignorant of the double misfortune that had befallen him, the old slave Samura inherited Zevulun’s wealth and property.
Samura had been a faithful and industrious servant to Zevulun ever since the day he had come into the house of the kind merchant as a young boy. He had learned much from his master’s wisdom and nobility, and he possessed a sufficiently strong character not to become spoiled by the sudden turn of fortune in his favor. Instead of living a life of extravagance and luxury, as his newly found wealth would have permitted him, he spent his time and efforts in cautious investment and furtherance of the business. He did not waste a single penny. He dismissed all lazy and careless servants, and employed only able men to act as his representatives in his worldwide dealings on land and sea. He built new storehouses and warehouses, and purchased ships and vehicles to carry his trade to the distant corners of the earth. Thus his huge business thrived as never before.
Meanwhile, as we have said, Naftali studied unceasingly, as he knew his beloved father wished him to do. Zevulun had amply provided for all his needs. He had bought him a house and had left sufficient funds to pay for his son’s expenses. So Naftali enjoyed his learning in a carefree atmosphere of comfort and leisure. His knowledge increased, and he became one of the most promising young scholars to whom the world of learning looked with great hope.
One day a man knocked at the door of Naftali’s study. Interrupting his studies, the young man reluctantly opened the door. To his surprise, he was greeted by a fellow countryman from Babylonia who had brought him a letter. “I have been asked to wait for your signature and reply,” he said.
Naftali opened the sealed message, and was deeply shocked when he read the news that his beloved father had passed away. Tremors shook his body. His knees trembled, and he fell to the ground unconscious. The messenger quickly lifted the young scholar from the floor and loosened his garment. Slowly, Naftali recovered consciousness. He cried bitterly at having been absent from his beloved father’s deathbed. If his father was destined to die, at least he, his only son, could have made his last hours happier and his death easier with his presence. Sadly he tore his clothes and sat down on the ground to mourn for his beloved parent who had been both father and mother to him.
After a while, Naftali recovered somewhat from the initial sorrow and pain. Yet more shocking news was waiting for him. When he again opened the fateful letter to read fully the long message from his father’s friend, he found out about the mystifying details of Zevulun’s testament. But it was not the loss of the wealth which troubled him so. He was terribly upset at the thought that he must, somehow, have given cause for his father’s strange action. “I cannot understand why I have been abandoned by my dear father. He must have had only contempt for me, if he put me thus to public ridicule and shame. It must surely be my fault to have estranged my father’s heart at the time when his death was near. How could I have lost my dear father’s love forever?”
Sitting thus shaken by pain and sorrow, the door opened and his great teacher, Rabbi Eliezer, entered the room to comfort him in his mourning. Silently, he sat down by the side of his heartbroken pupil. After a while he tried to console him, and pointed out that it was G‑d’s decision to take his father’s soul to heaven. At least he, Naftali, had inherited the huge wealth of his father, and would be able to carry on the charitable work for which Zevulun had been famous.
At his words, Naftali began to cry. He showed his teacher the letter, that he might see for himself the double loss that had come to him. Rabbi Eliezer took his time in reading every phrase of the fateful letter. Having finished, he put it aside and thought for a while. Naftali expected to see the great sage’s face saddened by the same disappointment that had filled him when he read the bad news. But to Naftali’s great surprise, a happy and joyous smile lit up the scholar’s face, and his wise old eyes beamed at him.
“Blessed is G‑d, who gave wisdom and understanding to His servants,” he exclaimed fervently, and then turned to the astonished Naftali: “My son, be happy and joyful, for truly pleasant is your lot. Your father’s love and care reaches even beyond his grave. Know that the very will that you thought had deprived you of your father’s love and possessions proves his infinite concern and tender care for you. In his wisdom, he protected and made safe his huge wealth for you.”
Naftali did not immediately grasp what had given Rabbi Eliezer this idea. But when his teacher asked him to whom, according to the Jewish law, belonged the possessions of a slave, light dawned on him. “To his master, of course,” replied Naftali.
“Well, now do you see why your father made those strange arrangements? During the years of your absence, servants and managers might easily have done great harm to your inheritance. Knowing Samura’s capabilities and good character, your wise father made him temporary heir, so that he would take proper care of the possessions until your return. Then, as provided by the clause in the testament, you would choose the slave as the one object that you select for yourself. Automatically, all of Samura’s possessions will be yours, according to the law.”
Great indeed was Naftali’s joy over this legitimate interpretation of his beloved father’s will. He embraced Rabbi Eliezer gratefully, and thanked him for his help and consolation. His wise teacher blessed him and left him with the customary wish: “May G‑d comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
Thirty days later, Naftali arrived in Babylon and legally succeeded to the huge wealth of his father by selecting Samura for himself. In appreciation of the good slave’s services, he freed him and made him manager and adviser, with full powers to carry on as if the business were his own. Thus, Zevulun’s wise will had indeed completely cared for and protected his beloved son beyond the grave.
Published and copyright by Kehot Publication Society.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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THE REBBE
Explaining Volcanic Eruptions and other Cosmic Catastrophes
The Rebbe explains why perspective is so important when dealing with catastrophes. And a fascinating exposition on the difference between “G-d is all” and “All is G-d.” Correspondence by Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, The Lubavitcher Rebbe
By the Grace of G‑d
Shushan Purim, 5712
[March 12, 1952]
Brooklyn, N.Y.
Shalom u’Brocho [Greetings and blessing]:
In reply to your letter, briefly:
1) You ask how can we reconcile the attributes of G‑d of mercifulness and kindness with cosmic catastrophes such as volcanic eruptions and the like, involving the loss of human life, etc.
There are many circumstances involved in each event, in addition to time and location. However, there is one general answer to such apparently inexplicable occurrences, which will become clearer through the following illustration: Suppose one encounters an individual for a brief period of time, finding him asleep, or engaged in some arduous toil. Now, if the observer would want to conclude from what he sees during that brief period of time as to the nature of the individual he had observed, he would then conclude that the individual has an unproductive existence—in the first instance; or leads a life of torture—in the second. Obviously, both conclusions are erroneous, inasmuch as what he saw was only a fraction of the individual’s life, and the state of sleep was only a period of rest and preparation for activity, and—in the second instance—the toil was a means to remuneration or other satisfaction which by far outweighs the effort involved. The truth is that any shortsighted observation, covering only a fraction of time or of the subject, is bound to be erroneous, and what may appear as negative will assume quite a different appearance if the full truth of the before and after were known.
Similarly in the case of any human observation of a world event. The subject of such an observation is thus taken out of its frame of eternity, of a chain of events that occurred before and will occur afterwards. Obviously, we cannot expect to judge about the nature of such an event with any degree of accuracy. A volcanic eruption or earthquake and the like are but one link in a long chain of events that began with the creation of the world and will continue to the end of times, and we have no way of interpreting a single event by isolating it from the rest.
2) The difference between “G‑d is All” and “All is G‑d” is in the approach and deduction. In the first instance, our starting point is G‑d, and through study and research we can deduce that G‑d’s Being is revealed even in material and “natural” things. Our study of the Unity of G‑d and His other attributes will lead us to recognizing the same attributes in nature and the world around us, the practical results of which find expression in unity among mankind and the practice of G‑d’s precepts as the proper application of G‑d’s attributes in our own life, etc. One who sets out on this path dedicates himself wholly to communion with G‑d. He is averse to all material aspects of life, including even the bare necessities connected with his physical wellbeing, and tries to avoid them as much as possible. Being engaged in spiritual communion with G‑d, he considers all material and physical necessities, even those permitted by the Torah, as a hindrance in his consecrated life. However, his intelligence convinces him that the material and physical world is but an expression of the Divine Being, and that in them, too, G‑d is to be found.
In the second part of the statement, “All is G‑d,” the starting point is the outer shell of the universe and all material things in it, a study of which will lead to the conclusion that there is cosmic unity in the whole world and that there is a Divine “spark” vitalizing everything, and, consequently—One Creator. Hence he serves G‑d even while engaged in the material aspects of life, and does so with joy, inasmuch as it is in them and through them that he recognizes the greatness of the Creator and they help strengthen his unity with G‑d.
Thus we have two ways in the service of G‑d, of which the first is the easier one, while the second leads to a better fulfillment of the objective—to make this lowest physical world an abode for G‑d.
3) An observation of my own: It seems a novel way of trying to learn Chassidus [chassidic teachings] by correspondence. Even where there is no other choice, it is difficult to cover such a subject in the course of a letter. But in your case, you are within personal reach of receiving oral and fuller explanations in the normal course of study under the teachers of Chassidus at Tomchei Tmimim [the Lubavitch school], and with the aid of the senior students of Chassidus who have been learning it for years,
Why not use this better method?
With all good wishes,
Letter of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory. 
This is a transcribed copy of the original letter (we do not have the original). As such, we cannot be certain that the text is free of errors.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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COOKING
Mediterranean Eggplant Dip
Babaganoush by Miriam Szokovski
Babaganoush is a Mediterranean eggplant dip, commonly served at Shabbat meals with salads and Middle Eastern dips like hummus, tahini and matbucha. It’s not difficult to make, and you can tweak it to your family’s preferences.
I find that one eggplant yields approximately one cup of babaganoush, so if you’re feeding a crowd, you might want to double the recipe.
Prick the eggplant on all sides and bake at 400° F for about 2 hours. The eggplant should look shriveled when ready.
Slit the eggplant open lengthwise and scoop out the insides (everything except the actual peel). Put the eggplant and garlic cloves into the bowl of a food processor and pulse until puréed. You can use garlic powder instead, if you prefer, in which case add the powder later, with the other ingredients.
Wait for the eggplant to reach room temperature, and then add the mayonnaise, lemon juice and salt. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Some people use tahini instead of mayonnaise.
You can eat it as a dip with challah, or a spread on toast.
It also makes a great dip for veggie sticks.
I like it with cucumbers.
Ingredients:
1 medium-sized eggplant
1 tbsp. mayonnaise
1 tbsp. lemon juice
1–2 small garlic cloves (or ¼ tsp. garlic powder)
¾ tsp. salt
Directions:
Prick eggplant with a fork on all sides. Bake at 400° F for 2 hours. Eggplant should look shriveled when ready.
Cut eggplant in half lengthwise and scoop out the insides.
Put eggplant and garlic in a food processor and pulse until puréed.
Let the mixture cool to room temperature. Then mix in the mayonnaise, salt and lemon juice.
Refrigerate until serving.
Yields: 1 cup
Enjoy!
Miriam Szokovski is the author of historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She enjoys tinkering with recipes, and teaches cooking classes to young children. Miriam shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher and in the N'shei Chabad Newsletter.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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JEWISH NEWS
New Summer Camp Program of Their Own for Deaf Jewish Boys
Through a unique partnership with Camp L’man Achai in Upstate New York—Rabbi Yehoshua Soudakoff plans to bring the Deaf Jewish camp experience to Jewish boys worldwide—something he says is a first. by Menachem Posner
In many ways, Yehoshua Soudakoff is a typical 22-year-old Chabad yeshivah student. Recently ordained after years of intensive Judaic studies in Canada and the United States, the California-born Soudakoff has served Jewish communities as a rabbinic intern, and shares Torah thoughts and inspiration on Chabad.org, as well as on his own website.
But there is something that also sets him apart: Soudakoff is deaf. And he is determined to bring Torah and Judaism into the Deaf community in ways not done before. (Soudakoff, interviewed via email, made it a point to capitalize “Deaf,” in communal or cultural contexts, depicting its uniqueness as an individual affiliation or group culture and language.)
To date, he has arranged Torah classes in American Sign Language (ASL), public menorah-lightings in Deaf communities and even ran a mini-summer-camp division for deaf children in Moscow, Russia. Now—through a unique partnership with Camp L’man Achai in Upstate New York—he plans to bring the Deaf Jewish camp experience to Jewish boys worldwide—something he says is a first.
“It was my first time in a camp setting,” Soudakoff explains about his time in Moscow, “and it was an amazing experience. The boys who came to the camp had never been involved with Jewish things before, and they barely knew anything. Chanukah candles and matzah were foreign objects to them. For me, it is a special thing to spend time with children and impart some awareness of our beautiful Jewish heritage.”
Through networking within the Deaf community, in addition to and advertising through Deaf schools and communal organizations, Soudakoff hopes to attract boys from across the United States and beyond (he already has a camper registered from St. Petersburg, Russia). In Israel, a contest—sponsored by Soudakoff himself—is currently underway for a free plane ticket to the camp and a scholarship, open to 15- and 16-year-old deaf boys. The boys are encouraged to create a video explaining why they should come to the camp; three deaf Israeli judges will choose the winner.
Plans for a Full Experience
With children coming from across the world signing a polyglot of languages (even British Sign Language is completely unrelated to its American counterpart), Soudakoff expects that the boys—all of whom must have strong Sign Language skills—will be able to communicate just fine. “Deaf people from different countries usually are able to communicate with each other through universal gestures and other hints,” he explains. “After all, they are very used to communicating with others through hand and body language.”
In order to facilitate communication and interaction between children in the Deaf division and the rest of the camp, interpreters will be available. Their presence will ensure that integrated sports, meals and trips can allow the boys to build friendships and understanding that transcend the sound barrier. Soudakoff also plans to speak to mainstream campers about deafness and even encourage them to learn Sign Language.
Still, communication-heavy activities, such as Torah study and campfire storytelling, will likely be done separately since even a skilled interpreter cannot take the place of direct communication, and the boys are most comfortable learning from someone who speaks (or signs) their own language.
Creating a Middle Ground
Rabbi Yitzchok Steinmetz is director of the eight-week flagship program, which caters to Jewish boys from ages 8 to 16. Founded in 1991 by Rabbi Shmuel Kleinman, the camp’s original clientele were the thousands of children pouring into the New York metropolitan area from the former Soviet Union. Two decades later, located on a150-acre property with a private 50-acre lake in Andes, N.Y., the camp attracts 180 boys annually from all over the world representing a broad range of Judaic and socioeconomic backgrounds.
Steinmetz says that the Deaf program will open with two divisions: one for boys ages 8-11 and another for those ages 14-16. This year, the Deaf division will run for a little more than three weeks, from Aug. 7 to Aug. 25. The program will include an array of sports and recreational activities—soccer, swimming, boating, fishing, archery, photography, crafts—along with daily Judaic lessons and a host of Jewish programming.
Explaining the importance and potency of the new program, Soudakoff—who will be joined by other deaf counselors—notes that the problem is not just a lack of Jewish summer camps for deaf children; there is a bigger issue of accessibility and accommodation of Jewish programs for the Deaf. In the United States, very few deaf children receive a Jewish education because cash-strapped day schools aren’t able to provide the necessary resources for them, such as interpreters or teachers trained in educating the non-hearing. Thus, even children from traditional families end up in public schools, where they miss out on crucial Jewish experience and learning during their formative years.
He says that some deaf children may have been through a perfunctory bar mitzvah or bat mitzvah, but the experience is often hollow for them, as they were not taught beforehand about what they are doing and why it is important.
When they grow up and start building a home, Soudakoff relates that they often choose partners for their Deafness and not their Jewishness. “To them, the ability to communicate trumps all other criteria, even if they are not Jewish. They feel more at home in the Deaf world than in the Jewish world. I am hoping that our camp will create a middle ground for Jewish deaf people—a ‘Jewish-Deaf world’ where it is possible to fully experience being Jewish as a deaf person.
“But if there is one expectation that I hope we will be able to fulfill, it is this: that these campers return home as proud Jews,” he concludes. “Through a thoroughly positive experience with Judaism, they should be happy and content to be Jewish, and inspired to grow in knowledge and appreciation of their heritage.”
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Jewish News:
  • Florida Yeshivah Celebrates 40 Years, Recalling Its Flourishing Roots (By Menachem Posner)
udy and Morty Mayberg fondly remember when 11 yeshivah boys landed in the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport in the fall of 1973. They were shluchim, personal emissaries of the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—and their goal was to found a yeshivah on the balmy beaches of a city better known for relaxation than rigorous study.
“It was as exciting as when the first Sputnik was launched,” recalls Judy, who hosted the students at her home upon their arrival.
Forty years later, the small institution they founded—Yeshivah Gedolah of Greater Miami—has produced hundreds of rabbis and spawned a plethora of Torah institutions throughout South Florida.
“Those first 11 shluchim were just terrific,” says Morty, who had come to Miami in 1959 from Richmond, Va., and had accompanied Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar of Bal Harbour in a trip to New York earlier that year to request that the Rebbe send the young men to Miami.
“Their presence meant so much to people. They just woke up our community. In those days, no one imagined how Chabad would grow in South Florida, and so much is because of the seeds that those early students planted.”
The students were accompanied by Rabbi Yehuda Leib Schapiro, his wife Tirtza and their growing family.
“Our first few nights, we spent in a tiny, three-bedroom house,” recalls Avraham Moshe Deitsch, who was one of the founding students, and is now a textile wholesaler in New York. “One bedroom was for the Schapiros, and the other two bedrooms were for us 11 guys. It was cramped, but we set to work learning right away. There was no monkey business. We were yeshivah students, and our mission was to study Torah.”
Site Grows Along With Its Students
A small bungalow served as the yeshivah premises until the large complex on Alton Road in South Miami Beach, which also housed the Landow Yeshivah elementary and high schools, was completed.
The building was dedicated by Mel Landow, a strong supporter of the Lubavitch educational enterprise in Florida, who enjoyed a rich relationship with the Rebbe, with whom he met many times and corresponded often on personal as well as philanthropic and business matters.
Prior to the opening of the new center, the Rebbe wrote Landow that it “should even further ‘encourage the energetic’ to make the utmost effort with the utmost joy and inspiration, for it is truly an everlasting investment bearing everlasting dividends.”
“The atmosphere was amazing,” says Deitsch. “There was a garden in the back of the house, and on Shabbat, there would be all kinds of people coming to study Chassidism and pray at length. At that time, there was no other yeshivah or advanced Torah institution in all of South Florida, so it became a magnet for Torah scholars of all ages.”
A regular visitor was Rabbi Yaakov Kaminetzky, of righteous memory (1891-1986), Rosh Yeshivah of Mesivta Torah Vodaath of Brooklyn, N.Y., who would winter in Miami. While he did not lecture at the yeshivah out of a personal belief that it was not proper for a head of school to teach at a yeshivah that was not his, he did speak at a Kinus Torah (Torah symposium) arranged by the yeshivah.
Another guest was Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Ruderman, of righteous memory (1901-1987), founder and Rosh Yeshivah of Yeshiva Ner Israel in Baltimore, who asked what the students were learning and was immediately ready to launch into an in-depth lecture. After the class, he regaled the students with childhood memories of visiting Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber of Lubavitch, of righteous memory, together with his father, recounting the blessing that he received from the Rebbe that he “grow in Torah and fear of Heaven.”
Other distinguished guests included chief rabbis of Israel, the Ribnitzer Rebbe, of righteous memory (1902-1995), and many North American rabbis glad to find an oasis of Torah Judaism in what was then a sea of self-indulgence, as well as young people or even children looking for an authentic Torah experience.
Deitsch also attributes much of the attraction to Schapiro’s pedagogical style. “He is a talented orator who learns and teaches with incredible clarity,” he explains. “The yeshivah developed a name as a place where people could come and grow in their Torah studies.”
Delivering the Joy of Judaism to Others
Soon, more full-time students began trickling in from other states, eager to experience Schapiro’s classes and the homey atmosphere. Within two years, there were 30 additional students, outnumbering the shluchim, who had taken on the role of peer mentors for the others.
The Rebbe referred to the original cohort as his “jewels,” and often expressed his satisfaction with their accomplishments. Yet he also articulated his high expectations, reminding them that there was always more to do.
In addition to their studies, the students would use Friday afternoons and other free time to implement the Rebbe’s 10 mitzvah campaigns. For example, in 1974, the Rebbe encouraged that mezuzahs be affixed on all Jewish doors, and that existing ones be regularly inspected to ascertain their authenticity and any need for repair.
During their lunch hour, the students went door to door, looking for Jewish homes that lacked kosher mezuzahs. With time, they installed 40 mezuzahs and proudly wrote to the Rebbe, informing him of their accomplishments. The Rebbe’s response was forthcoming: “In a city of more than 40,000 Jews?!”
The shluchim would go to nearby North Miami Beach for Shabbat, opening mini-yeshivahs for the weekend. During summer breaks, they fanned out. Some students drove a “mitzvah tank” stocked with Jewish supplies north through the entire state of Florida; others flew south to Venezuela, Panama and Mexico.
“The Rebbe told the shluchim that their purpose is to learn and share the light of Torah with the community,” notes Rabbi Abraham Korf, whom the Rebbe had sent in 1960 to found Lubavitch in Florida, “and they certainly did!”
After three years, the original group returned to New York to be relieved by another set of students. Since then, consecutive groups of shluchim have been forming the core of the Yeshivah Gedolah of Greater Miami for 40 years running. Over the years, the faculty grew and now includes Rabbis Yosef Abrams, Velvel Lipskier, and Bentche Korf.
As a Chabad community developed around the yeshivah, a synagogue was founded and Schapiro was asked to become rabbi. Today, between the community and the school, he lectures publicly for approximately 20 hours a week, including a daily in-depth Talmud class and another shorter class on the Rebbe’s sichahs (Torah lectures).
He uses the lectures, he says, as a springboard to discuss other issues that the students—and the laypeople who invariably join—may be encountering, ranging from the veracity of the Torah to hard-to-understand metaphysical concepts in Chassidic literature.
Since he was a member of the team that would edit the Rebbe’s talks for publication, his presentations are often peppered with memories on how a certain clause developed or why the sichah is worded as such—invaluable insights for a student body that almost exclusively comprised of teens born after the Rebbe’s passing in 1994.
Schapiro says he remains remarkably proud of today’s students. “There are so many distractions these days, right in your face—or in your pocket,” he points out. “Yet there are always students who want to learn. It takes much more effort, but the results are just amazing.”
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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  • Public University With Largest Number of Jewish Students ‘Gains’ Ground (By Bryan Schwartzman, Chabad.edu)
Elias Benarroach, 26, grew up with a strong connection to Judaism and Jewish life in the tight-knit community of Caracas, Venezuela. The software engineer said that he lost that feeling at the age of 13, when his family immigrated to the United States and settled in south Florida.
He rediscovered his love of Judaism soon after arriving at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Two days after coming to campus, he received an invitation to a Shabbat meal at the Chabad center and home of Rabbi Berl and Chanie Goldman. From the moment he walked inside, Benarroach said he felt as if he’d found his second home.
The only problem—if you could call it that—recalled the 2010 graduate, was overcrowding: Hosting programs, the Goldmans would often run out of chairs and space. Larger events, such as High Holiday services or Passover seders, had to be held in a permanent tent outside the Chabad center.
Didn’t it ever rain?
“It’s Florida, of course, it did!” replied Benarroach. “But we managed.”
The Gainesville community won’t have to manage anymore.
On Feb. 9, some 450 people gathered for the official dedication and opening of Chabad at U.F.’s new $4.8 million, 23,000-square-foot state-of-the-art building. The multifaceted center was built to cater to a wide range of student needs and comes complete with a lounge, fitness room, laundry facilities, synagogue, and full kosher dining center where lunch and dinner will be served. In addition, a rabbi will be on site around the clock to assist students.
And in a nod to environmental consciousness, the facility was designed to meet LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) standards.
The new building—The Tabacinic Campus and Marilyn Kapner Levin Center for Jewish Life and Learning—is named in memory of Menachem Mendel and Sheindel Tabacinic, and Shmuel and Sarah Rohr, dedicated to them by their children, Moshe and Lilian Tabacinic. The Levin Center is named in memory of Frederic G. Levin’s wife and dedicated by their family, who are benefactors of the College of Law at the University of Florida.
Among many other supporters was local software maven, spiritual author and 1971 University of Florida graduate Michael A. Singer, who dedicated the Abraham Synagogue and Hall.
Numerous local leaders and politicians attended the opening, including U.S. Congressman Ted Yoho, who represents Florida’s 3rd Congressional District. U.S. Sen. Bill Nelson of Florida sent a video greeting that warmed the crowd.
Those who spoke included Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky, vice chairman of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch, the educational arm of Chabad-Lubavitch, and chairman of Chabad on Campus International Foundation; University of Florida President Bernard Machen; university senior Erica Freeman, who told the crowd that she really didn't find her place at school until she found Chabad; and the Goldmans’ 10-year-old daughter, Rochel, who introduced herself as a “proud shlucha [emissary] ... born into the job.”
“This is truly a great day for all of us, but now my siblings and I are not going to be able to say, ‘Tatty, what’s with that new building that you always dream about?’ Every time we said that, he said, ‘It’s coming along, it’s coming along.’ Tatty, we were never worried, but boy am I happy that it’s finished!”
And then she told a story, about how every good deed counts and how it’s impossible to know the far-reaching effects of that good deed.
“A young rabbi in a college town once kvetched to the Rebbe [Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory] that he doesn’t know how he will get in touch with all 7,000 Jewish students on his campus,” she began. “To which the Rebbe replied: ‘You must reach seven. Then each of them will reach seven, and each of them will reach seven, and on and on and on.’
“That’s how my parents began here, first a small house on Seventh Place, then a bigger house on Fifth Avenue, then a tent and trailers, and finally, this beautiful building. But all of this only happened with all of you—our friends, supporters, alumni, current students, parents, family and community of Gainesville.”
Moshe Tabacinic, Levin, Singer and Machen joined Kotlarsky in snipping the bright blue-and-orange ribbon officially welcoming folks into the center on a day on the southeast U.S. coast that was far nicer than the weather up north.
Rabbi Yossy Gordon, executive vice president of Chabad on Campus International Foundation, was present at the event and has advised many emissaries, including the Goldmans, on handling the growth of Chabad centers and student populations. He emphasized that “Chabad on Campus works to meet the needs of Jewish students, wherever they are. And they certainly are here in Florida, where our existing center just became bigger and better, with an expansive new building they can call a second home and one that should serve them well in so many different ways.”
Young People in Droves
Goldman pointed out that, when it comes to construction projects, people often quote from the 1989 American fantasy-drama film “Field of Dreams”: “If you build it, they will come.”
Yet the rabbi stated that in this case, the opposite was true. “They came, so we had to build it.”
It’s not hard to see why: Between 6,000 and 8,000 Jewish students attend the University of Florida, the largest Jewish population of any public university in the United States.
In addition, the University of Central Florida in Orlando, about an hour-and-a-half from Gainesville, has the third-largest Jewish population of any public university. With Miami-Dade and Palm Beach counties accounting for two of the top 10 Jewish populations in the country, it’s clear that the Sunshine State isn’t just for seniors and snowbirds anymore.
Attendees dance in celebration at the grand opening.
Attendees dance in celebration at the grand opening.
The Goldmans have seen an exponential growth in Jewish life on campus since they first arrived in 2000. Since that time they have held programs in tents, trailers and temporary buildings. Their home has often been overcrowded with guests. While Goldman said he is satisfied the work is completed, he has no plans to rest on his laurels.
“Building a building is easy. But we have to ask the question every day, why isn’t it full?” he said.
“Our main purpose here in Gainesville,” the rabbi added, “is to provide a safe haven for Jewish life and learning for the students and the Gainesville community. We believe every person, regardless of observance or affiliation, should have a place where they feel comfortable to grow, physically and spiritually.”
‘Full of Happiness’
Shirley Nagar, a 2012 graduate originally from Cooper City, Fla., flew in from New York City, where she now lives and works, to be part of the celebration.
Nagar said a new home was needed, and she is gratified that current students will be able to take advantage of it.
“You could see it was cramped,” Nagar said of Chabad’s former home, which was torn down to make room for the new one. “It was always a full house. It was always full of happiness.”
For Jeremy Garvett, a 22-year-old senior, it was his passion for martial arts that led him to Chabad. He had studied it for years and before freshman year, Garvett’s father called around looking for an outlet on campus so his son could continue his martial-arts training.
The new building—The Tabacinic Campus and Marilyn Kapner Levin Center for Jewish Life and Learning—is named in memory of Menachem Mendel and Sheindel Tabacinic, and Shmuel and Sarah Rohr, dedicated to them by their children, Moshe and Lilian Tabacinic. The Levin Center is named in memory of Frederic G. Levin’s wife and dedicated by their family.
The new building—The Tabacinic Campus and Marilyn Kapner Levin Center for Jewish Life and Learning—is named in memory of Menachem Mendel and Sheindel Tabacinic, and Shmuel and Sarah Rohr, dedicated to them by their children, Moshe and Lilian Tabacinic. The Levin Center is named in memory of Frederic G. Levin’s wife and dedicated by their family.
It was Goldman who connected Garvett with the Jewish leader of the kickboxing club on campus.
Garvett ended up at a Shabbat dinner a few days after arriving on campus, and soon became a fixture at programs and services. (Full disclosure: He admitted he has been known to show up towards the end of Saturday services mainly to enjoy the kiddish meal.)
Garvett said he has never been particularly religious—and that hasn’t changed much in four years. Still, he noted, his attitude towards Judaism has changed greatly. While in the past, he never thought it was important to marry a Jewish woman or raise Jewish children, now he says he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
“Chabad has made me more proud to be Jewish,” he said. “The rabbi has been like a second father to me.”
A few days before the grand opening, Goldman, reached on his cell phone, said he planned to remind those present of the most important idea of the day: the “responsibility we have to the current generation of students as the future.”
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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ART
Rogatchover Gaon
Portrait of Rabbi Yosef Rosin (The Rogatchover Gaon) by Chaim Leib Zernitsky

Artist’s Statement: Portrait of Rabbi Yosef Rosin (The Rogatchover Gaon)
Chaim Leib (Leon) Zernitsky has created fine art and illustrations for international magazines, book publishers and major corporations for over 25 years. He has published over 30 books for children and young adults and won numerous awards. Chaim Leib feels that creating Jewish art is an important part of being a Jewish artist, and his paintings can be found in private collections worldwide.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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