Missionary Renegade: Chabad Magazine "Why Do we Write Hebrew from Right to Left" FOR Wednesday, Iyar 3, 5775

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Chabad Magazine "Why Do we Write Hebrew from Right to Left" FOR Wednesday, Iyar 3, 5775 · April 22, 2015

Chabad Magazine "Why Do we Write Hebrew from Right to Left" FOR Wednesday, Iyar 3, 5775 · April 22, 2015
Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
Last night, I sat down to do some work, but then an interesting-looking article caught my eye. I thought I’d take two minutes to read it. But, as often happens on the Internet, one article led to another and then another and another. An hour and a half later, I emerged having read dozens of pages about the North Korean refugee crisis in China, last year’s Mount Everest avalanche, and the devastating 1993 famine in South Sudan.
I'd learned a lot but I was no closer to finishing my work.
And I know I’m not alone. A significant percentage of people are chronic procrastinators, and the vast majority of us do so periodically. (Certainly, educating oneself is not a waste of time, but it would have been more effective to wait until my work was done.)
These weeks, as we count the days between Passover and Shavuot, we focus on self-refinement. During this time, we read a chapter of Ethics of the Fathers each Shabbat. Every chapter is chock full of “advice for life.”
This week we read chapter two, which includes advice against procrastination: “Don’t say ‘When I’ll be free, I will study,’ lest you’ll never be free” (2:4).
There is so much we can accomplish. Why not start right now?
Miriam Szokovski
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team

Unsecret Wisdom
In the holy Zohar it is written that through the study of the secret wisdom, the final liberation will come with compassion. Not with judgment alone.
Now the wisdom is no longer secret. Sages and masters have found ways to make it accessible to all. Those who learn it and spread it, they are bringing divine compassion and redemption to the world
This Week's Features:

The Problem with Jewish Pride by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

One popular theory is that Hebrew is written from right to left because, in ancient times, when chiseling out words on a stone tablet, the engraver would hold the hammer in his stronger hand (usually the right hand) and the chisel in the left hand, making it much easier to write from right to left.
As writing tools developed to include ink on parchment or a stylus on clay, scribes began to write from left to write so as not to smudge the letters. However, by the time this happened, Hebrew and other Semitic languages were already “set in stone,” so to speak, so they continued to be written from right to left.
Without getting into the accuracy of this answer, we know that way back when we were just a fledgling nation, Moses wrote the Torah with ink and parchment,1 and the Torah scroll is written from right to left. So it would seem that there are more than technical reasons for writing Hebrew from right to left.
The Right Side
The third Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel (the Tzemach Tzedek), explains that writing from right to left is in keeping with the general rule in Judaism that we give precedence to the right side, e.g., we put on our right shoe first2 and wash our right hand first.3 Once we have written the first letter on the extreme right of the parchment or page, we move on to the next available space on the right side, which is to the immediate left of the letter we just wrote. And so it happens that we are writing from right to left.4
The Tzemech Tzedek adds that although there is another Talmudic rule, “All turns that you make should be only to the right”5—which would seem to imply that we should write from left to right (so that we are move toward the right)—it only applies when one has to actually turn one’s body.6
Why is the right side given precedence in Judaism? In kabbalistic teachings, the right represents the attribute of chesed (kindness) and the left, gevurah (severity). Just as there is a general rule that the right takes precedence in Jewish life, so too, whenever faced with a situation where you need to decide between kindness or severity, kindness comes first.
For more about the right side’s precedence in Judaism, see The Right (and Left) Way.
Rabbi Yehuda Shurpin responds to questions for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.
FOOTNOTES
1. See for example Deuteronomy 17:18, 28:58, 28:61, 29:20, 31:24; See also Talmud Bava Batra 15a.
2. Talmud Shabbat 61a.
3. Shulchan Aruch, Orech Chaim 2:4.
4. Responsum of Tzemach Tzedek Orech Chaim 1:67:5.
5. Talmud Sotah 15b.
6. There are others (see Responsa of Chatam Sofer, Orech Chaim 187) who are of the opinion that this rule applies not only to when one turns one’s whole body, but even to movements of the hand. Based on this opinion, we would still be left with question of why a Torah scroll is written towards the left side. (See Levush on Orech Chaim 676.)
The Chatam Sofer explains that we should not look at each individual line; rather, we should look at the Torah as a whole. A Torah scribe makes sure to finish with just a few words on a new line, thus ending at the right side. In this case, we start writing the Torah on the right side, and then move toward the end, which is also on the right side.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Your Questions
Why Do Jews Always Get Noticed? By Aron Moss

Question
Why do the Jewish people seem to loom so large on the world stage? The numbers don't add up. Here's a nation that comprises less than 0.2% of the world's population, yet we command so much attention you'd think there were billions of us. That's like a room of two thousand people, with one puny guy sitting in the corner whom everyone wants to talk to (or pick on)!
Answer
Jews do strange things sometimes. One example is the widespread practice of "credit combing."
Many Jews have a habit of combing through the credits at the end of a movie, searching for Jewish names. At each discovery they beam with pride: Look! Assistant Gaffer.......Mo Goldstein! Catering Consultant........Beth Cohen!
This odd practice comes from a very deep place in the Jewish psyche. Jews share a spiritual bond with each other. When we meet Jews anywhere in the world, there is an immediate connection, a kinship, a sense of oneness. We are like one big family.
When Jews are in the news, we take it personally. When Israel is under attack, we feel the pain wherever we are. When a Jew wins a bronze medal in croquet, we all share the victory. And when we see a Jewish name in the movie credits, we get excited.
Maybe other nations do this too. But I don't think so. This profound sense of connection makes the Jewish nation unique among the peoples of the world.
This is the reason why statistics cannot apply to the Jewish people. No Jew is merely an individual. We are a collective soul, a part of something bigger than ourselves. We may be a tiny blip on the census, but we don't function according to normal demographic principles. Our strength is not measured by our numbers, but by our unity.
The destiny of the Jewish people is to be a strong voice of goodness and morality among the family of nations. When we unite with our community and commit ourselves to the shared vision of our people, then we are a formidable presence. Not because we are one billion, but because we are one.
Aron Moss is rabbi of the Nefesh Community in Sydney, Australia, and is a frequent contributor to Chabad.org.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Your Questions
How Do I Start Enjoying Life? By Rochmy Ollech

Dear Rachel,
I am married with three wonderful children. My husband is a kind, considerate person, and we have everything that we need financially. Although in my mind I know that I have a lot to be grateful for, for some reason my heart doesn’t feel it. I feel that there’s something lacking, and I can’t put my finger on it. I find myself looking at others’ lives, and honestly, I’m jealous. I see the people who have more success and satisfaction in their careers than I have. I see the houses that are more beautifully designed than mine, and I see the kids who are more obedient and successful than mine are.
I feel guilty about my lack of appreciation for the good that G‑d has granted me, and I’d love to feel more at peace with what I have. Any tips?
Jealous
Dear Jealous,
Let’s imagine that your life is a painting. The painting has many beautiful flowers and trees, and a river, but it also has black dots here and there that make the picture look complete.
When you look at the picture of your life, you have many beautiful things—a considerate husband, healthy children and financial stability. At the same time, there are also “black dots” in your painting of life—the feelings that you are not as successful as your friends in terms of your career, the design of your house and your children’s achievements. Without wanting to, you find yourself focusing on the less-than-successful things you have in your life, rather than on the beautiful parts of the painting.
What you are really asking for is the ability to focus only on the positive in your life—only on the trees and river, so to speak. Because if you focus on those, you won’t have the time or energy to focus on what others have, so you won’t feel jealous. Luckily, as advanced as our minds are, they are still limited, and we can focus only on one thing at time.
In order to explain this concept, I’ll tell you the story of Zlatche the farmer.
Zlatche lived a simple life far away from the big city. His friends always told him about the great and wonderful sights of the city, and he always dreamed of the day when he would be able to afford to buy a train ticket and see the “sights and lights.” He knew that on that wonderful day he would be really happy.
For weeks he saved up kopek after kopek for the trip, until he came up with the grand sum of two rubles. He spent half a ruble on the train ticket, and when he saw the great city, he really was impressed with the big buildings and shops and people mingling about. Only one thing bothered him—that he didn’t have enough money to buy all the delightful things he saw in the stores.
Then he came upon a field with a large sign that beckoned to him: “Spend one ruble and become a millionaire.” A millionaire!? He pictured all the things he could buy with the money. He approached the owner of the field, who told him that for a ruble, he would race against a horse. If he could catch on to the tail of the horse, he would get paid handsomely.
The farmer agreed to the deal and handed over the ruble, and the horse started running. The horse ran, the farmer ran, the horse ran faster, the farmer ran even faster, the horse galloped, and the farmer started limping. He tried to reach out for the tail, but his strength was failing him . . . until he finally fainted to the ground.
Zlatche woke up to find himself a ruble poorer, with only half a ruble left in his pocket. Feeling even worse than before, having parted with his money without having anything glitzy from the beautiful stores to show for it, he started looking for something to cheer him up.
Then he saw another sign: “Spend half a ruble and have a good laugh!” So desperate was he to have a good laugh after his draining experience, that he handed over the half-ruble before thinking twice or asking too many questions.
He was taken to a bridge which overlooked the field where he had previously had his “race” with the horse, and he watched as the next fellow approached the horse with the belief that he was going to win the race.
And that really made Zlatche laugh.
But how do you think Zlatche felt realizing that he had gambled away all his money on the hopes of turning his entire life into one of joy, euphoria and wealth?
We can assume that he felt foolish, low and defeated.
So, how can you prevent the same thing from happening to you?
To a certain extent, I’m assuming that you feel like Zlatche the farmer. You have the “one and a half rubles” in your life—the husband, children and financial stability—but in your search for greater satisfaction, you find yourself losing the good that you do have in your life.
Where, Oh Where?
So, where indeed can you find success and satisfaction within your life and the gifts that you have been given?
If it’s not in your health, your bank account, your marriage, your friendships, your children—then where is it? It’s right inside your heart!
In Parshat Toldot, the Torah tells us about the difference between Jacob and Esau. Jacob was an ish tam yosheiv ohalim, a straightforward person who dwelt in the tent, while Esau was an ish yodeia tzayid, a hunter.
Tam means “simple.” Jacob was happy with the simple joys of life. Esau, on the other hand, was always seeking to conquer, to externally achieve more and more.
Inside each of us, there is a part of Jacob and a part of Esau. “Jacob” represents our desire to “dwell in the tent”—our positive inclination that is happy with the simple joys of life and the gifts we have in our own homes. “Esau” represents our desire to hunt—our evil inclination that always seeks more and more physical or emotional conquests that we believe will give us satisfaction and joy.
Conquest Where?
By nature, we always seek more. The question is, what we do we want more of? Do we focus on spiritual conquests or physical conquests? Do we focus on our inner desires to become kinder, calmer, more involved in community projects, or do we focus on external conquests of success, money, and what other people can give us?
You mentioned in your question that you don’t feel satisfaction in your career to the same extent that your friends do. Perhaps you can invest your energy in a new project that will help you feel that you are better using your talents. Not only will you benefit from your focus being inward rather than outward, but the world at large will benefit from the projects you’ll create. Perhaps you can invest more in your marriage and your children. When it comes to our relationships, there is no limit to how much more productive and meaningful they can become.
When you’re focused on building, you won’t have time to reflect on what those around you have, and you’ll find the happiness you seek right within your heart.
I wish you much success and inner peace,
Rachel
“Dear Rachel” is a biweekly column that is answered by a rotating group of experts. This question was answered by Rochmy Ollech.
Rochmy Ollech lives in Israel with her husband and family. She runs TAKE OFF, a self-discovery time management program which helps women find balance and inner peace in daily life. Contact her or sign up for her weekly e-newsletter here.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Women
How I Came to Want to Live in Israel By Chaya Spirer Leeder

We were enjoying a lovely life in Maryland. My husband and I were employed in meaningful jobs, we were situated close to family, we had warm friends and a friendly community. So what did we do? We uprooted our family and moved to Israel.
My husband had applied to a rabbinical program—being the son and grandson of rabbis, he had always dreamt of devoting himself to Torah learning. He was accepted and had to choose whether to study in New York or Israel. We chose Israel. And four frenetic months later, we and our four children were on a plane, flying across the world.We uprooted our family and moved to Israel
Unlike my husband, I had never had a vision of residing in Israel for an extended period of time. In fact, when we were dating, my husband almost ended our relationship because I mentioned that I had no desire to live in Israel. (Thankfully, his smart sister convinced him of the ill wisdom of such a move.) My sentiments about the land changed, however, as our marriage grew.
The first time I visited Jerusalem was when I was ten. Every year, my parents and I would take an exotic summer trip to places across the globe, and this particular year, the suggestion was Israel. To be honest, I was not too thrilled at the prospect. I was raised in a traditional home where Judaism was strongly valued—I went to day school and my father went to shul on Saturdays and holidays. I admired Israel and understood the vague references to a “homeland for the Jews,” but it did not have any personal resonance. So when I heard that our anticipated yearly vacation would be to a Middle Eastern country not as fashionable a destination as, say, the Carribean, I was disappointed.
Of that first trip, I remember three moments. The first is of my father making kiddush in a non-kosher restaurant in Jerusalem on Friday night (the kosher restaurants were all closed, to our consternation.) As the presumably non-Jewish proprietor looked on with confusion, I felt strangely proud, special even, to be a Jew and have this privilege of the Sabbath.
The second is an incident that took place in Meah Shearim. My mother and I were picking out a keepsake necklace with my Hebrew name on it. We were dressed modestly as instructed by the guidebooks, and my mother’s hair, in the bouffant style, resembled a wig. We really fit in. The store owner started schmoozing with us about all these Jewish ceremonies and events that we had never heard of. My mother, with impeccable social grace, smiled and said mazal tov—a seemingly acceptable response. I remember feeling proud that I was part of the club of Jewishness—that we were eligible to participate in this woman’s celebrations solely because of our common heritage.
And the third incident, which stands out as a contrast to the first two, was when we had dinner at the Jerusalem YMCA. Their restaurant was written up in my father’s guidebook and we were eager to sample the fare. However, being in this distinctively non-Jewish atmosphere amidst the holy city of Jerusalem felt cold, alien and wrong. It was then, while I stared at the congealed meatballs, that I decided I would thereafter eat only kosher beef and chicken.
My next trip to Israel was at the end of high-school—a three-month celebratory trip before the grind of college. I clearly remember Shabbat on the kibbutz at which I was working. Every Friday night, all the men and boys would wear stark white shirts and black pants. From my perch in the women’s section of the shul, I looked down into a sea of swaying white from which emanated the haunting tunes of “Lecha Dodi.” My heart lifted at the sight and sounds.I looked down into a sea of swaying white
After I became more observant, I visited Israel on a learning program and had the pleasure of spending Shavuot, the holiday when we commemorate receiving the Torah, in Jerusalem. The first night of the holiday, scores of people congregated together to walk to the Kotel, the Western Wall. Considerate community members set up water stations along the way, and the excitement was tangible. Children ran along the side of the street eating sweets; grownups walked purposefully with joy on their faces.
My fourth trip was after my husband and I got married, when, on a whim, we decided to spend some time in Israel, with my husband taking a leave of absence from his job (and us exhausting our wedding money). It was a carefree existence; my husband attended yeshivah and I attended seminary in the morning, and we met up in the afternoon to take a walk or get a snack.
Then, this past January, we decided to return to the land for a short visit after eight years away, this time with our children. Out of all of my trips, this one made an ordinary existence in Israel seem all the more possible and attractive. We rented an apartment for ten days and immersed ourselves in the culture and vibrancy of our Jerusalem neighborhood. The kids loved the feeling of belonging, delighting that they were around Jews all the time. They got a thrill out of the universality of Shabbat—how a good day was wished to and from everyone, from the tattooed taxi driver to the man with a beard and payot (sidecurls), how the neighborhood seemed to close Friday afternoon as everyone got ready to sanctify the day. So, back in the States, when the opportunity arose two months later to extend our brief visit to a one- or two-year sojourn, I eagerly accepted the chance.
Israel’s uniqueness is palpable; it lies in the feeling one gets of being closer to G‑d, and to one’s true calling in life. Mundane experiences somehow feel more meaningful; simple bus-stop conversations create deeper connections. The daily grind takes on significance. Nachmanides says that every four amot, or steps, that one takes in Israel is a mitzvah. Imagine how many connections to G‑d one can get from just preparing and serving dinner!
As for us, we are living more simply here. Our life was stuffed into six suitcases. We went from a nice-sized four-bedroom home to a two-bedroom, three-floor walkup apartment. The dining room now is also our living room, playroom and den. “Central air” is the breeze from the double-exposed windows. The laundry dries on our porch instead of rolling around inside a machine. Sand is everywhere.
And yet, it works. The walking and stairs are great for myOur life was stuffed into six suitcases cardiovascular fitness. My kids have begun to come up with creative ways to entertain themselves without all their toys and distractions, like a Friday afternoon “carnival” in their shared bedroom. We are enjoying being closer together (literally) as a family, as opposed to each of us in different rooms. The winds from the hills provide a merciful draft during the heat of the day and become a cool breeze during the star-filled nights. My three-year-old is becoming comfortable with his new chore of laying the laundry on the drying board. And as for the sand, a little more dust (and a lot more sweeping) never hurt anyone.
There are many parts of America that I miss—my family, my friends, the comforts of home, being able to read a yogurt label. However, while we are here we have purpose and connection. Our lives are meaningful. Our steps are meaningful. The very air we breathe is filled with holiness. How could we not embrace this opportunity?
Chaya Spirer Leeder is a writer and social worker. A former actress, she currently teaches drama classes for women and children at the OU Center in Jerusalem. Mrs. Leeder obtained an MSW degree from NYU and a BA degree in film from Columbia University. She lives with her husband and children in Jerusalem.
Illustrations by Chassidic artist Michoel Muchnik.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Women
I Am G-d, Your Healer By Chaya Strasberg

I sit here on my living room sofa, sipping tea. Now that the chaos of Passover has somewhat abated, I have time to reflect on the past month. I scan my organized bookshelves and feel relief at having let go of so much clutter. My mind too feels free. I reflect on time spent with family, eating matzah, the bread of faith and healing. As I sit alone, I feel the quietness of my living room. I will begin my regular day-to-day routine tomorrow. I wonder, how I can bring this freedom I experienced over Passover into my day-to-day life?
The month of Iyar is coming. We have begun counting the Omer, which takes us on a 49-day journey. Each day will cleanse another one of our emotional attributes, so that we’ll be ready to receive the Torah on Shavuot, the 50th day.I feel the quietness of my living room
Although the Omer spans three Hebrew months, the month of Iyar is the only month during which we count the Omer every single day. Each day, we set aside time to think about our emotional and spiritual health, and how to prepare ourselves to receive the Torah.
The Hebrew letters that spell the month of Iyar are an acronym for the phrase “Ani Hashem Rofecha”—“I am G‑d, your healer.” The fact that we have a special mitzvah of personal growth for the entire month clearly shows the healing potential carried within it. Yet there is something even more unique about the healing that takes place in this month, as G‑d is always a compassionate healer the entire year. The month of Iyar reveals the aspect of health that is G‑dly and above logic. When a person goes to the doctor, the doctor diagnoses the illness and provides medicine to cure it. Many medicines just treat the symptoms of the illness, not the root of the illness itself. The medicines may have side effects and can interfere with many other functions of the body. G‑d, however, heals the root of the illness, a healing so complete it is as if the illness was never there.
In Kabbalah, the word “yad” is used to refer to G‑d’s healing hand. There are a number of different stages of healing: In G‑d’s “surgery,” He opens the site of illness, removes the damaged tissue, cleans and heals the site of the wound, closes the skin and then heals the skin so there is no scar or sign of illness. This final level of healing, revealing absolute health, is the level of healing we experience in the month of Iyar.
Jasa was distraught after hearing that his son would have to have his leg amputated due to rapidly spreading cancer. A friend advised that he call the Lubavitcher Rebbe for a blessing. Rabbi Hodakov, the Rebbe’s secretary, answered the phone, and after hearing the details of the dire circumstances, relayed the Rebbe’s message that Jasa should call back on Friday with good news. Sure enough, at the next X-ray, there was not a sign of cancer in sight. This is just one example of the power of the Rebbe’s blessing. Through his deep connection to G‑d, the Rebbe was able to bring the level of complete healing into reality.
Through the spiritual and emotional process of Iyar, we too can manifest this power to bring true, unlimited, revealed G‑dly healing into this world.
Counting the Omer is a powerful tool that enables us to fulfill this massive task. During the days of the Omer, many of the students of the sage Rabbi Akiva died in a plague, due to their lack of respect for each other. On the 33rd day of the Omer, the plague stopped. Therefore, during the Omer, and especially on the 33rd day, we focus on loving our fellow Jews the same way that we love ourselves.
In the prayer following the daily counting of the Omer, we ask G‑d that though our counting and through our emotional work on the particular attribute of that day, “abundance should be drawn down into all the worlds to enable our souls to be rectified.” “All the worlds” refers to the Kabbalistic concept of seder hishtalshelut, “the order of evolution,” the chain of worlds from heaven to earth, which are animated by G‑d’s light. The G‑dly light emanates from its source and descends through each level of existence until it manifests in this physical world.On the 33rd day of the Omer, the plague stopped
It is interesting to note the order of our request. We are asking that our personal work on our own characteristics influence not only ourselves, our families, our friends, and this physical world—we are asking that it draw down abundance from the source of creative light, influencing every level of existence. We do this because we know that the only way one can truly heal is by connecting to G‑d at His source, thereby bringing down an unlimited abundance of healing, not only to one’s self and one’s family, but to the entirety of creation.
It is for this reason that during this time, we focus on loving our fellow Jews as ourselves. It is only through true unity that we can reach the state of ultimate health, with the revelation of Moshiach today.
Chaya Strasberg is a massage therapist and reflexologist. She works in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, giving treatments to women and children. She also lectures on concepts related to health and chassidism. Contact Chaya for more information.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Current
9 Astounding Things You Probably Didn't Know about the Month of Iyar
The new month of Iyar begins today. Less known than Nissan, the month of Passover that precedes it, Iyar contains a number of exciting events and facts. Let’s dive in!
1. Hold on a second

Even though the Jewish calendar starts with Rosh Hashanah in the month of Tishrei, the Torah refers to Iyar—the eighth month from Tishrei—as the “second month.” That’s because the Torah counts months from Nissan, when we left Egypt. Any time the Torah refers to the “second month,” it’s talking about Iyar.
2. What’s in a name?

Jewish prisoners are led out of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. (Credit: James Tissot/Wikimedia)
Like all the Jewish months, the name Iyar is Akkadian in origin, brought with the Jewish refugees from Babylon.
3. What’s your Hebrew name?

(Credit: Giphy)
The name used in the Torah for this month is Ziv, a term that connotes glowing light. Now, in the springtime, there is an eruption of light and beauty as trees begin to bud and blossom.
4. You’re one month old now!

(Credit: Giphy)
Another reason for the name Ziv is that the forefathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, were all born during the previous month of Nissan. Now, in the second month, their light and glow fill the entire world.
5. You can say it, but can you spell it?

The month of Iyar, as written in Hebrew.
There is some debate as to how Iyar should be spelled in Hebrew, with one yud or with two. The accepted custom is to spell it with two yuds, serving as an acrostic for Abraham, Isaac (Yitzchak), Jacob (Yaakov) and Rachel, the patriarchs and matriarch associated with the supernal merkavah, a Kabbalistic understanding of the divine revelation in this world.
6. Take two and call me in the morning

(Credit: tumblr)
Another acrostic given for Iyar is the Biblical verse “Ani Hashem Rofecha”—“I am the Lord that heals you.” Thus, Iyar is a month specially associated with recovery and healing. And what month could be more appropriate than one in which the world blossoms and grows anew!
7. Strong as a bull

(Credit: Giphy)
The constellation associated with Iyar is Taurus, the bull. The Midrash relates that when Haman looked for a month to plan his evil decree in the Purim story, he ruled out the month of Iyar, aware that the bull represents the many sacrifices brought by the Jews in the Holy Temple.
8. Jewish unity and pride

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson presides over a Lag B'Omer Parade, 1957. (Credit: JEM)
While there are no major holidays in Iyar, there are many special days. Among them is Lag BaOmer, the 18th of Iyar and 33rd day of the Counting of the Omer, celebrated around the world as a day of Jewish pride and unity. It commemorates the end of a plague that afflicted the students of Rabbi Akiva, as well as the yahrtzeit of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the author of the Zohar. Today, we commemorate the day with public parades of Jewish pride, bonfires and the study of these great sages’ works.
9. A mitzvah for you, a mitzvah for you, a mitzvah for everyone!

A field of barley. Barely was used in the Holy Temple as part of the Omer offering. (Credit: Giphy)
Iyar is the only month of the year in which there is a mitzvah every single day of the month! Every day of Iyar, we count the Omer, the special counting that starts on the second day of Passover, when an offering of barley (omer) was brought, and culminates with the holiday of Shavuot.
Are you counting the Omer? Check out our brand new iPhone and Android apps and never miss a day!
Have a great month!
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Parshah
Speak No Evil By Chaya Shuchat

Being the target of gossip can make things very awkward, very quickly. How do you act around people who’ve been talking about you behind your back? Do you continue to relate to them as though nothing happened? Confront the gossiper directly? Resort to some form of passive-aggressive retaliation? Or maybe retreat from social interaction to nurse your wounds in private?
When taken We all take part in creating our environmentto an extreme, gossip can lead to destroyed friendships, loss of self-confidence, increased stress, illness, job loss, and even suicide. But though we’re viscerally aware of the negative effects of gossip, how many of us can say that we’ve never indulged in it ourselves? Maybe we simply want to be in the know and not miss out on important information. Maybe we’ve felt the sting of someone’s nasty personality and want confirmation that we’re not alone. Maybe we’re projecting our own insecurities and weaknesses onto others. But constantly bathing in negativity takes its toll on us as well. We all take part in creating our environment, and whatever poison we contribute, we will have to live with its effects.
The Gemara says that lashon hara—spreading true, derogatory information about someone else—harms three people: the speaker, the listener and the subject of the gossip.1 During biblical times, the punishment for evil speech was swift: the speaker would be stricken with tzaraat, a disease that required one to be isolated from the camp.
Ever since the Holy Temple was destroyed and the Jewish people were dispersed, tzaraat no longer afflicts those who speak evil speech. No longer do spiritual phenomena immediately manifest themselves in physical form. But it is clear that those who engage in gossip, constant criticism and negativity also suffer a host of physical ills. The Torah’s message—to avoid speaking ill of others, and to bring out their strengths through positive speech—is, unsurprisingly, also a recipe for a physically and psychologically healthy life.
So, how do we stop the epidemic of gossip? Oddly enough, dwelling at length on the negative effects of gossip does little to stop its spread. It seems that the more we talk about how terrible it is to gossip, the stronger our urge to indulge in it becomes. We condemn the gossiper while not confronting the ways that we feed into it.
This week we read the dual Torah portions of Tazria and Metzora. The portion of Tazria discusses the various symptoms and identifying marks of tzaraat, while Metzora deals with the purification process.
The names of the two joined Parshiot, however, could not be more different in character. The word tazria means “to conceive,” and the Parshah begins with the laws of a woman who has just given birth. Metzora refers to one who has tzaraat, a serious condition likened to death.2
Yet the juxtaposition of these two names gives us a powerful insight into overcoming the negative effects of gossip and slander. The recovery process for the metzora holds within it the key to tazria—the flourishing of new life. The enforced isolation of the metzora is intended as a time of self-reflection and personal growth.
When we find We need to take a breakourselves caught in a web of gossip, that’s a clue that we need to take a break. We need to step outside that social interaction until we can figure out what’s going wrong. What inner need of ours is going unfulfilled, to the point that we are taking our frustrations out on others? Are we feeling small and depleted, and trying to put down others to compensate? Or maybe we’re just bored, and need more stimulating activities to occupy our mind. The way to stop lashon hara is not by condemning it, but by isolating it—reflecting on the circumstances that lead to it, and finding ways to nurture ourselves so we have less of a need to demean others.
What is true of tzaraat is true of all punishments mentioned in the Torah—they are not meant as retribution, but as opportunities for healing and recovery. The most extreme form of isolation found in the Torah is galut, exile—banishment from our land and from G‑d’s presence. We may wonder what severe sins we could have committed to justify our lengthy exile and persecution.
But as we learn from the name Tazria-Metzora, the purpose of exile is not just punishment. Whatever we are going through now is meant to lead to a greater rebirth. The future revelation “is dependent on our deeds and work over the course of exile,” as explained in Tanya.3 Whatever our circumstances are, challenging or painful as they may be, they are given to us as an opportunity to work through them and come to a place of greater insight and understanding. Then we realize that the struggles and the growth are intertwined—not that one leads to or follows the other. In the days of Moshiach, the complete picture will be revealed to us. We will see how every mitzvah we did during exile, every act of fortitude and courage, directly brought the redemption, on a personal and universal level.
(Based on Likutei Sichot, vol. 22, pp. 70–80.)
Chaya Shuchat is the author of A Diamond a Day, an adaptation of the chassidic classic Hayom Yom for children, as well as many articles on the interface between Chassidism and contemporary life. She is a pediatric nurse practitioner with a master’s degree in nursing from Columbia University.
FOOTNOTES
1. Talmud, Erachin 15b.
2. Talmud, Nedarim 64b.
3. Tanya, part 1, ch. 37
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Parshah
Why Name a Parshah After an Illness? Adapted by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks; From the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe

Metzora begins with the laws concerning the purification of the leper. The Rebbe begins with the question, why should we call this Sidra Metzora, “the leper,” a name with unpleasant connotations? Especially when an earlier generation of Rabbis called it, neutrally, Zot Tihyeh (“This shall be…” the law of the leper).
To understand the significance of leprosy as discussed in the Sicha, we must remember that it is considered, by the Torah and the Rabbis, not only as a disease but as a punishment specifically for the sin of slander. It was the punishment that Miriam was given for the tale-bearing against Moses (Bamidbar, ch. 12). A leper was isolated from the rest of the people once his illness had been diagnosed, and made to live outside the camp. Since the disease had a spiritual as well as a physical dimension, this was not simply a hygienic precaution, but had a moral purpose. Likewise his purification was a recovery of spiritual as well as physical health. It is the spiritual dimension of this cleansing procedure that the Rebbe analyzes.
1. Two Names
The Sidra Metzora has not always been so-called. Earlier Rabbis, like Rabbi Saadia Gaon,1 Rashi2 and Rambam,3 called it by the preceding words of the verse, Zot Tihyeh (“This shall be”). Only in more recent generations has it become the custom to call it Metzora.4
But Metzora means “the leper”: A name with unpleasant associations. Indeed, to avoid this, it is referred to in many places as Tahara, “Purification.”5 Why then is it called by this seemingly inappropriate name, especially when there existed beforehand a name for the Sidra with none of these associations?
2. “He Shall Be Brought”
Before we can solve the problem, we must notice two further difficulties in its opening passage, “This shall be the law of the leper in the day of his cleansing: He shall be brought to the priest. And the priest shall go forth out of the camp….”
Firstly there seems to be a contradiction here. On the one hand, the leper is to be “brought to the priest.” On the other, the priest is to “go forth out of the camp” and come to him. Who is to go to whom? In fact, it is the priest who comes to the leper, for the leper was not allowed to come within the three camps. What then is the meaning of, “he shall be brought to the priest?”
Secondly, why was the leper to be “brought?” Why does the Torah not say “he shall come?” The use of the passive verb “brought” suggests that his meeting with the priest was against his will.
In answering the first question, the commentators6 explain that although the leper was indeed to stay outside the camp, he was to be brought to the edge of it, so as to avoid burdening the priest with a long journey. But this explanation is not easy to understand. Although the leper was, because of his affliction, commanded to remain outside the camp, there was no obligation on him to go far away from it. He could stay near its boundaries. And since the instruction about the cleansing procedure was directed to all lepers, including those who were situated near to the camp, the explanation of the commentators does not remove our puzzlement.
3. Repentance: The First Stage
To arrive at an inward understanding of the question, we must consider what Rashi says on the phrase,7 “All the days wherein the plague is in him… he shall dwell alone.” Rashi comments, “(Even) people who are unclean (for reasons other than leprosy) shall not abide with him… because he, by slanderous statements, parted man and wife, or a man from his friend, (therefore) he must be parted (from everybody).” We can say, then, that he is excluded from the three camps because of his association with strife and dissension. His slander causes men to be distant from one another, whereas the idea of holiness is unity.8He has no place, therefore, in the holy congregation. But what is more, he is to be separated even from the other categories of unclean people, because, as Rambam says,9 his slander is progressive. At first it is turned against ordinary people, then against the righteous, then against the prophets, and finally against G-d himself, and he ends by denying the fundamentals of faith. This is worse even than idolatry, for the idolater does not deny G-d, he merely denies His uniqueness.
Nonetheless as the Alter Rebbe wrote as a point of Halachic law10 as well as an inward Chassidic truth,11 “It is certain (that every Jew) will in the end return in repentance.”
This explains the phrase “he shall be brought to the priest.” The form of the verb carries with it an assurance for the future that even he who stands outside the three camps, who is isolated by his sin, will in the end turn to the “priest” in repentance. And this was the man whose very nature was to resist this return to oppose holiness, and join forces with the heathen world “outside the camp.” This is why he “shall be brought”—in the passive—for his return is contrary to his will.12
4. The Second Stage
The initiating cause in the awakening of the desire to return is not to be found in the man himself, but in the promise of G-d that even if it requires “a mighty hand… I will rule over you.’’13
But if at first the impetus to return breaks in on him from the outside, it is the Divine will that ultimately it should became part of his deepest nature. Thus there is the further assurance that not only will he repent, but he will experience repentance as the truest expression of his own personality in all its facets: Will, intellect and feeling.
In the light of this we can see why, after the Torah stated that the leper “shall be brought to the priest,” it continues, “And the priest shall go forth out of the camp.”
The first stage of repentance, of “cleansing,” is the sudden revelation of G-d coming in, as it were, from the outside. Because it has not yet become part of his own personality, this revelation is unrelated to the personal situation of the man. He is “brought” out of himself and his environment. But afterwards the priest comes to him: That is, his situation becomes important again, as he strives to translate his revelation into a cleansing of the whole circumstances of his life. And since the “cleansing” extends even to his environment, he achieves something that even the perfectly righteous could not: He sanctifies what lies “outside the camp,” where the righteous man has never been. Thus we say that repentance done from great love turns even willful sins into merits:14 it sanctifies even what lies outside the will of G-d.
5. The Earlier Generations and the Present
Now, finally, we can see why an earlier age called this week’s Sidra Zot Tihyeh,“This shall be…” rather than, as we now call it, Metzora,“the law of the leper.”
Only in the Time to Come will we witness the ultimate transformation of darkness into light, of evil into goodness.
Thus the earlier generations, when this Time was as yet distant, they sensed more readily the idea that evil is conquered by something outside itself than that it should transform itself from within. They belonged to the stage where the leper is “brought,” against his will, to be cleansed, rather than to the second stage where the cleansing comes from within his own situation “outside the camp.” So they did not call the Sidra, “the leper,” because in their eyes he was not cleansed as himself but rather despite himself. Nonetheless, they knew the promise of the Future, and thus they called the Sidra “This shall be.” In other words, the “law of the leper”—the time when the leper of his own accord becomes part of G-d’s law—was something that would be, in the World to Come.
But we, standing already in the shadow cast by the approaching Messianic Age, can make of “the leper” a name for a section of the Torah. We can already sense the time of the revelation of the good within the bad, the righteousness within those who stand “outside the camp.” The light is breaking through the wall that separates us from the Time to Come: The light of the age when “night will shine as day.”15
(Source: Likkutei Sichot, Vol. VII pp. 100-104)
FOOTNOTES
1. Siddur Rabbi Saadiah Gaon—Keriat Hatorah.
2. Vayikra 13:8.
3. Seder Tefillot of Rambam.
4. Tur and Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, ch. 428.
5. Cf. Likkutei Sichot, Vol. I, p. 239.
6. Sforno, Chezkuni, on Metzora.
7. Vayikra 13:46.
8. Cf. Tanya, Part I, ch. 32.
9. End of Hilchot Tum’at Tzaraat.
10. Hilchot Talmud Torah, 4:3.
11. Tanya, Part I, end of ch. 39.
12. Cf. Ezekiel 20:32-33.
13. Ibid., v. 33.
14. Cf. Rambam, Hilchot Teshuvah, 7:4.
15. Psalms 139:12. Cf. Maamar Bati Leganni, 5710, ch. 5.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Story
How the Rebbe Knew the Ship Didn’t Sink By Yanki Tauber

If she has not the means for a lamb, then she should bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons (12:8)
When I come to stand before the heavenly court, I do not fear the question: “Why weren’t you Moses?” I was not equipped to be Moses. But I tremble for the day that it will be demanded of me: “Why weren’t you Zushe?” (Rabbi Zushe of Anipoli)
Rebbetzin Devorah Leah, daughter of Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, told:
“In the city of Vitebsk lived two tea merchants, both named Hosheia, known as ‘Big Hoisha’ and ‘Little Hoisha.’ ‘Big Hoisha’ was a wealthy man, with a large, respectable establishment and a well-developed distribution network. ‘Little Hoisha’ was a small-time operator, running his business from hand to mouth, forever scrambling for loans to keep it afloat.
“One day a message arrived that one of Little Hoisha’s tea shipments had been confiscated at the border by customs officials. For the poor man this spelled utter ruin. Not only would he lose everything, he would be left with crushing debts which he would never be able to repay.
“I was there,” Devorah Leah related, “when they broke the news to Reb Hoisha, who was in Lubavitch at the time. The unfortunate man collapsed in a dead faint; time and again they revived him, but as soon as he remembered what had occurred, he would collapse once more.
“We ran to my father and told him of Reb Hoisha’s state. Father instructed that when Reb Hoisha is again revived, we should tell him that the messenger is mistaken. Shortly thereafter, the matter was indeed clarified. It turned out that the confiscated shipment belonged to the other Hoisha the tea merchant, “Big Hoisha,” who would hardly feel the loss.
“Father always maintained that he never performed supernatural wonders. Now, the chassidim who had witnessed the incident claimed that they had caught him red-handed with a supernatural feat. ‘You are mistaken,’ replied Father to this ‘accusation.’ ‘There is nothing miraculous about my prediction. You see, our sages tell us that whenever the Almighty causes a person to undergo a challenge or trial in his life, He always provides him with the capacity and fortitude to bear it and to learn from the experience. So when I saw a calamity which Reb Hoisha was not equipped to deal with, I understood that it was not meant for him. Obviously, there must have been some misunderstanding . . .’”
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Story
A Bereaved Father's Reflection By Leonard Burd

It has been about 16 month since our dear son, Gershon Benyamin Burd, was taken from us. His short life enriched all who knew him. I want to share with you, dear reader a small glimpse of his special soul . . .
Greg, as he was called before he adopted his Hebrew name Gershon, was born in Odessa, Ukraine, in 1973. He was a delightful child with long, blond hair, and thankfully he never gave us any real problems. When he was three years old, we finally succeeded in getting permissionHis short life enriched all who knew him from the Soviets to leave Odessa for good and live in the free world.
Once we arrived in Chicago, my wife and I busied ourselves with settling into our new lives. We worked long hours, but fortunately, my mother-in-law, Chava, lived with us, and she took loving care of our son whenever my wife and I were unavailable. Gershon loved her dearly, and eventually named his only daughter after her.
At around the age of 25, Gershon was introduced to Orthodox Judaism, and he found new meaning in life. I remember asking him at that time, “Why are you making all these sweeping changes in your life?”
“You see, Daddy,” he said, “before, when I’d get together with my friends, we’d talk about cars, sports, music, etc. But now my life has totally changed, I have found meaning and purpose.”
For some reason, this memory resonates strongly with another fragment of Gershon’ s childhood. One Sunday afternoon, when he was in middle school, my son and I were participating in some father-and-son baseball at the school. I couldn’t help but notice that he was not that good at baseball. I asked the coach how my son was doing. The teacher replied, “Nothing really bothers him.” I pressed him for a more detailed answer, and he explained that the kids had been teasing Gershon for not being good at baseball, but he totally ignored them, even though he was the tallest kid in the class. At that young age he already possessed the quality he would be famous for as a grown-up: the ability to accept the uncomfortable and ignore the inconsequential. Gershon was not someone who would let teasing bother him. He went on to play football, basketball and volleyball throughout high school, in addition to serving as a lifeguard during the summers.
When he discovered the Torah, its wisdom and riches, depth and width, it became his way of life, and he never deviated from that path. However, he wasn’t afraid to ask the hard questions; he was always in pursuit of the right way to live. Halachah, the Jewish Code of Law, was his guiding light.
In pursuing this commitment, he left the comfort of home and went to Jerusalem to study Torah and learn about Judaism—first as a yeshivah student and then as Executive Director of Yeshivas Bircas HaTorah. He got married and, together with his wife, Batya, had five beautiful children, four boys and a girl.
From early in the morning until very late at night, Gershon devoted all his energy to studying Torah, running the yeshivah, and raising his family with passion and dedication. He slept just a few hours each night. Yes, he missed his sleep, but amazingly, he never showed it. He never looked tired, harried or overwhelmed. He was never intimidated by what others would perceive as an obstacle. He was a like a prince, always calm, with a friendly, welcoming smile, carefully weighing every thoughtful word, never tired or dismissive of those around him. Being around him, you always felt as if in the presence of royalty, and you wanted to stay near him, in his magnetic field of goodness, as long as possible. In conversation, Gershon would always meet his companion exactly where he was at. He was always attentive, not merely listening, but really hearing peopleHe was a like a prince, always calm and paying close attention to what they were saying. As a true hero, Gershon put himself out there for the benefit of others, without expecting anything back.
I remember his dry and wonderful sense of humor . . . His love, warmth and devotion to his wife . . . His ease and fun demeanor with his children . . . How he was a loving and devoted son, brother, cousin, grandson and friend, always keeping in close touch and figuring out ways to spend time together despite us living in the U.S. and him in Israel . . . How he never forgot to mark a birthday, anniversary or graduation with a thoughtful gift and phone call . . . His love for nature, the sun, ocean, cactuses, tropical fish . . . His genuine caring and hospitality . . . His desire to share with others the things he loved . . . His righteousness, dedication, passion . . . His ability to give pointed, effective advice (only when asked) . . . His charisma, reliability, modesty, intelligence . . . His incredible amount of patience . . . His strength and conviction—they were without compare . . .
On October 4, 2013, Gershon and Batya went to Tel Aviv to celebrate his 40th birthday. Gershon, a strong swimmer, went out for a swim at a remote beach. But the waves were huge, and something dreadful happened in the stormy water—our Gershon drowned, just before Shabbat.
Although it’s very hard to make sense of life after this terrible tragedy, we have heard from many people about the profound impact Gershon had upon their lives. People have told me that they have changed how they interact with others: they’ve learned not to overreact to annoying challenges of everyday life, like a snooty remark, rude e-mail, etc. They told me that thanks to my son, they now react to these challenges by thinking, How would Gershon handle this?
Gershon’ s soul dwelled with us for 40 years, and it enriched us and made us better people. After his passing, many acts of chesed came to light that Gershon did secretly, via a third party, including giving money to the poor, paying tuition for a needy student, buying food for the needy on holidays, and many other completely undisclosed, incognito acts of kindness. Our sages tell us that the world is sustained through the merits of 36 hiddentzaddikim, righteous individuals. Some have suggested that perhaps Gershon is one of them.
It is written that a moment of basking in the glory of G‑d in the World to Come is better than a lifetime on this earth. May the righteous soul of our son have an aliyah, an elevation, and may he experience the joy of connecting with his Creator.
Our prince, our dearest, sweetest Gershon, you are more special than one in a million. We miss you so very much.
Leonard Burd was born in the USSR. He currently resides with his family in the North Shore Suburbs of Chicago. To find out more about his son’s extraordinary life, read The Secret Life of Gershon Burd. This article was written with the help of family. A book is also being written about Gershon.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.VIDEO

The Star of David Demystified
What is the history of the Star of David? How did it become associated with Judaism?
By Pinchas Taylor

Watch (8:40)
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Lifestyle
Cooking: Healthy Mushroom Pizza Bites By Miriam Szokovski
If you're on Pinterest, or you hang around recipe sites, you've likely seen all kinds of healthier pizza variations. I've seen some that use cauliflower or quinoa for the base, but instead of trying to make a faux crust, I prefer to replace the crust with someone else entirely—mushrooms. Most seem to use the large, flat-ish Portobello mushrooms, but I like to make them bite-size using the small ones.

I used peppers, olives and purple onion for the filling, but you can use anything. Just think of your favorite pizza toppings, chop them up nice and small, fill the mushroom and top with cheese. Some people prefer to sauté their pizza toppings. You can absolutely do that, just make sure to drain them well to reduce excess liquid.

The real beauty of these little pizza bites is their easy simplicity. You can serve them for a weeknight dinner with soup and salad, or as a party appetizer. Short on time? No worries! If you work quickly, you can have these ready and on the table, from start to finish, in about 15 minutes.

Ingredients
12 large mushrooms
1 red pepper, finely diced
10 olives, sliced
1 small purple onion, finely diced
¼ cup marinara sauce
½ cup shredded cheese
Directions
Remove the stems from the mushrooms. Bake them, white side up, for 5-6 minutes on 400°F. Remove from the oven and dry off the mushrooms and the pan. (NOTE: This step is optional. It helps remove some of the liquid from the mushroom, and makes the mushroom softer. If you prefer your mushrooms with a bit of crunch—like I do—then skip this step entirely.)
Put 1 tsp. of marinara sauce into each mushroom cap. Fill the cavity with diced veggies and top with shredded cheese.
Bake on 400°F until the cheese bubbles—approximately 8 minutes. Serve immediately.

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 2015, all rights reserved.
Lifestyle
Parshah Art: Purification By Yoram Raanan

This shall be the law of the person afflicted with tzara'ath, on the day of his cleansing… and the person to be cleansed shall take two live, clean birds, a cedar stick, a strip of crimson [wool], and hyssop. The kohen shall order, and one shall slaughter the one bird into an earthenware vessel, over spring water. [As for] the live bird, he shall take it, and then the cedar stick, the strip of crimson [wool], and the hyssop, and, along with the live bird, he shall dip them into the blood of the slaughtered bird, over the spring water. He shall then sprinkle seven times upon the person being cleansed from tzara'ath, and he shall cleanse him. He shall then send away the live bird into the [open] field. (Leviticus 14: 2-7)
These verses describe the purification process of a person afflicted with, tzara'ath, leprosy. This affliction is commonly understood as being caused by speaking lashon hara (slanderous talk). One of the reason suggested for bringing birds is that birds "chatter" mindlessly reflecting how the metzora is affected by speaking badly about others. In the painting, one bird hovers above a vessel containing water. The bird turns to blood, as it is sacrificed by the kohen to atone for idle chatter. The Sfat Emet says that the other bird which flies free is symbolic of all the good things that we could have said instead of the slander, but did not.
Cedar wood grows tall and symbolizes haughtiness. On the other hand, crimson thread, wool dyed with pigment made from a simple creature, and hyssop a lowly plant, both symbolize humility. There is a sense of movement in the painting as the priest takes these, dipping them into the blood of the bird and then sprinkles the blood on the person seven times.
The painting contains the full spectrum of color indicating how the contaminated person, who had previously been excluded from the camp, shut out in spiritual darkness, is able to shine his light again in his newfound humility.
Yoram Raanan takes inspiration from living in Israel where he can fully explore and express his Jewish consciousness. The light, the air, the spirit of the people and the land, energize and inspire him. His painting include modern Jewish expressionism with a wide range of subjects ranging from abstract to landscape, Biblical and Judaic.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
News
Step by Step, Chabad Makes Inroads, and Friends, in Argentina
By Dovid Margolin

Like this area near the “Obelisk Buenos Aires,” the Jewish community in the neighborhood of Once, which is home to Chabad-Lubavitch of Argentina’s headquarters, buzzes with life. (Photo: WikiMedia Commons)
This is the second in a five-part series on Chabad’s impact on Jewish life in Argentina, one of the largest Jewish communities in the world.
BUENOS AIRES, Argentina—Chabad-Lubavitch of Argentina’s headquarters is located in the Once (UHN-say) neighborhood of Buenos Aires, a densely populated district that’s home to many of the city’s Jews and scores of Jewish institutions. Completed in the late 1990s, the colossal nine-story structure is protected by concrete security barriers and Israeli security guards—measures that were instituted across the Jewish community following the 1994 terrorist bombing of the AMIA (Argentine Israelite Mutual Association) building.
On any given day, the building buzzes with life. In addition to Chabad’s offices, the center houses a large synagogue, one of the most rigorous Chabad yeshivahs in the world and the Institute for Jewish Higher Studies (ISEJ), a social and educational network for Jewish college-aged students and young professionals. Rabbinical students with years of advanced Jewish studies under their belts mingle easily with university types, many of whom are only beginning to learn the foundations of their heritage.
Chabad’s presence in the country has grown immensely over time. Today, it caters to Israeli backpackers hiking the Andes from its center in Bariloche, the southernmost Chabad center in the world; has centers in distant cities, such as Bahia Blanca, Salta, Cordoba and Tucumán; and runs schools, synagogues and social-service organizations throughout Buenos Aires itself. One such center is located in the exclusive waterfront neighborhood of Puerto Madero, next door to the building where AMIA prosecutor Alberto Nisman, 51, was found dead in mid-January.
It wasn’t always like that. Back in 1978, when Rabbi Tzvi Grunblatt first returned to his home country with his wife, Shterna, Chabad was not nearly as conspicuous as it is today.
“When I came back,” says Grunblatt, smiling as he does, “I placed an ad in the Jewish paper telling myself ‘Shalom Aleichem’—welcoming myself to Argentina.”
Some Early Partners

Rabbi Tzvi Grunblatt, director of Chabad Lubavitch of Argentina
Grunblatt may have placed the advertisement himself, but he wasn’t the only one who saw it. Not long afterwards, he got a phone call from a Mr. Abraham Gales, who informed the young emissary that he wanted to support Chabad with a $100 donation.
A tailor by trade, Gales’ factory manufactured the military uniforms of the army, which ruled the country under a brutal regime from 1976 until 1983. As for Gales himself, he used to tailor uniforms for the commanding generals of the junta. When Chabad planned to hold a large Lag BaOmer parade in Buenos Aires in 1980, the generals were wary of the true intentions of this activist Jewish group they knew so little about, so they decided to solicit the opinion of their trusted tailor, Gales.
“The generals asked him: ‘You know, there is a Jewish group, Lubavitch, and they want to make a parade in the streets. What do you say, are they political?’ He told them no, it’s not political; you don’t have to worry.”
Nevertheless, undercover government agents were mixed into the crowd that day to ensure that no political sentiments were slipped into the program of Jewish music and the 12pesukim (Torah passages) joyously chanted by children.
“Mr. Gales taught me something very important,” recalls Grunblatt. “He told me in Yiddish: ‘Si doh mehrer gebbers, vi nemers;’ ‘There are more givers than there are takers.’ Money is not the problem; the money is there. [But] you have to do your part. That was his advice to me.”
Financial support, Grunblatt learned, did not necessarily come as a result of his own successful fundraising, and, in fact, emerged from some unexpected places. Soon after his arrival, Grunblatt met with a wealthy and influential Sephardic community leader named Beto Emsani. He began by explaining Chabad’s unique outreach approach and the mivtzoimcampaigns instituted by the Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory.

An enormous crowd turns out each year for Chabad 's central Lag BaOmer festival in Buenos Aires.
“He looked at me as I spoke and said, ‘Ah, you’re the guys who drive the mitzvah tanks in Manhattan? I like this; that’s what has to be done. You can’t sit inside a synagogue and hope someone comes in; you need to go out onto the street and find the Jews.’ Then he gave me $5,000. He told me that when I walked in, he saw a rabbi like any other and was going to give me $500 until he found out I was from the people who have the mitzvah tanks.”
The relationship between Grunblatt and the Emsani grew, and as it did, the gentleman introduced Grunblatt to a young Jewish man whom he thought Chabad could positively influence. His name was Tito Meta, who, along with his wife, Chipy, eventually became a central pillar of financial support for Chabad in Argentina and around the world.
“Later, Mr. Meta’s son, Andy, was approaching age 13 and told his father that he didn’t want to have a bar mitzvah,” Grunblatt recalls. “The boy was studying in a prestigious English-language school, and he was embarrassed in front of his non-Jewish classmates. Mr. Meta was very worried and didn’t know what to do.”
Meta shared his concern with the-then Israeli military attaché attached to the embassy in Buenos Aires, who suggested that Meta make a bar mitzvah for his son with Chabad in Israel. Meta reached out to Grunblatt, who, in turn, contacted the late Rabbi Yossie Raichik, legendary director of Chabad’s “Children of Chernobyl” project.
“I had a connection with the boy’s father already, but did not know the son,” says Grunblatt. “Yossie made the bar mitzvah for Andy in Israel, and it changed the boy’s life.”

The “Palace of Running Water” (“Palacio de Aguas Corrientes”), also called the Water Works Building, on Córdoba Avenue in Buenos Aires. (Photo: WikiMedia Commons)
The elder Meta has since passed away, but his wife, Chipy, and their son Andy and daughter Nati continue as principal benefactors of Chabad in Argentina, “Children of Chernobyl” and Colel Chabad.
“This connection we have with the family, it all goes back to the mitzvah tanks,” Grunblatt explains, as he names a number of key projects sponsored by the Meta family. “This is the difference; we go out into the streets. In the beginning, people here didn’t believe we were going to be able to go out and do the same kind of work as Chabad was doing in other places. When they saw we were doing it, they started seeing us differently.”
When People Simply ‘Disappeared’
The 1980s were not easy years to begin building a new Jewish institution in Argentina. For starters, the ruling military dictatorship made thousands of its political opponents “disappear,” in addition to anyone else caught up in the indiscriminate arrests associated with that time period. The government was known to dispose of its victims by placing them into weighted boxes and tossing them out of airplanes into the water below.
Some Jews who were active participants in leftist and socialist causes comprised a significant number of the regime’s victims. Additionally, despite its tight control of the country (or perhaps, because of it), Argentina also faced a significant financial crisis. The circumstances did not bode well for the future, but Chabad and the Jewish community at large persevered.
Planning larger-scale events was especially complicated when dealing with the military government, such as the time in 1982, when Grunblatt wanted to arrange a live telephone hookup of the Rebbe’s farbrengen (Chassidic gathering) in New York. The hookup was expensive and technically complex at the time; it looked like it would be difficult to pull off.

A Chanukah event in a park in Buenos Aires, circa 1986; the holiday falls in the summertime.
Grunblatt marched unannounced into the office of the military’s telecom point man—a fellow named Garcia, who as it so happened was married to a Jewish woman. Garcia went out of his way to help him, and the event went off without a hitch: Some 1,500 Argentine Jews filled the hall to partake live in a multi-hour farbrengen.
With a troubled economy on their hands, the Argentine government decided to bolster their sagging public support by launching a war against the United Kingdom over the Falkland Islands, in the hopes that a quick victory would rally national pride. Jews were among the soldiers, and the military sent two rabbis to serve as military chaplains: Grunblatt and his brother, Noson.
The United Kingdom defended the islands; Argentina surrendered after a two-and-a-half month war; and the junta fell one year later.
The Need to Build
Despite many early successes, the need to expand and construct a large new building weighed heavily on Grunblatt. In 1983, with little money in the bank but the strong desire to build, Grunblatt called the Rebbe’s office at 770 Eastern Parkway in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y., and asked the secretaries to request the Rebbe’s advice to the issue: ‘We are very cramped in our building. Should we build?’ ”
“I didn’t give any other details,” says Grunblatt. “The Rebbe’s reply was to build, also with no conditions, and the Rebbe sent $100.”
Soon, Grunblatt was signing a contract with a builder, writing checks making up the $50,000 needed as a deposit to pay for the building’s structure. The four checks were post-dated one week, despite the fact that Grunblatt didn’t have a penny in his account.
“I don’t remember how exactly we got the money,” he recalls, chuckling. “We somehow pulled it together. We did all sorts of crazy things.”
Three years into construction, Grunblatt ran out of money. With the Rebbe’s blessing, he flew to Australia, where Rabbi Yosef Gutnick, then a young Chassidic businessman, was making a name for himself as an active philanthropist. That summer, in 1987, Gutnick agreed to donate $200,000 to the effort, enough to get the project rolling again. Only a few months later, Gutnick’s fortune took a huge hit in the Black Friday stock-market crash.
“We had no prior relationship when he made that pledge,” says Grunblatt, “and despite the crash, he paid up the whole pledge.”

A Chabad holiday celebration in the streets of Buenos Aires.
The pressure of finding necessary funds to complete construction of the 50,000-square-foot building continued to weigh heavily on Grunblatt. Recognizing the rabbi’s predicament, the project’s financier, a wealthy Argentine Jew named Alberto Sued, astounded him: “He told me that he planned on surprising me at the grand opening, but since he saw how I looked, he would give me the surprise early,” says Grunblatt. “He took all of the promissory notes that he owned and ripped them up on the spot.”
The building was completed in 1990, after which Sued and his wife flew to New York and presented its key to the Rebbe.
An Impactful Family and a Unity Torah
He is a soft-spoken and humble man, one who, during the Shabbat of this past Kinus Hashluchim, the International Conference of Chabad-Lubavitch Emissaries in New York, could be observed singing and dancing, listening or speaking together with hundreds of others at the central synagogue at 770.

Eduardo Elsztain, honorary president of Chabad of Argentina
But Eduardo Elsztain also happens to be one of the biggest entrepreneurs in South America, with vast real estate and agricultural holdings in Argentina and abroad. He is honorary president of Chabad of Argentina, and in that capacity has been a crucial partner for all Chabad activities in the country and even globally. Elsztain’s relationship with Chabad, however, began many years before the bright lights of fortune shined down upon him.
“I have known the Elsztain family since 1979,” says Grunblatt. “Eduardo’s parents participated in a class on Kabbalah given by Reb Avraham Yosef Polichenco, of blessed memory, who became one of the first Chabad Chassidim in Argentina as a result of his relationship with Reb Berel Baumgarten. They were very happy with the shiur [lesson] and asked where they could learn more, and he sent them here, to Aguero, where at the time we had an old house falling apart. The Elsztains came and started learning Tanya with me; we became closer; and that Pesach, they were at my home for the seder with their children, including Eduardo.”
Elsztain’s grandfather, who had emigrated from Russia in 1917, had at one time been a successful real estate investor, but by the late 1970s the family was struggling. Grunblatt recalls how Eduardo’s father, Mario, gave a $4,000 donation to cover the costs of printed materials needed for a large educational children’s event Chabad ran before Passover of 1980. “Eduardo later told me that for his father at the time, the $4,000 was an extremely difficult sum to give.”
In 1981, not long after the Rebbe announced a special campaign to unite Jewish children the world over by having them purchase a letter in a Torah scroll, Grunblatt came to the Elsztain family to sign up the younger ones (at its inception, the campaign was limited to children under bar and bat mitzvah age; it was later expanded to include all ages.) The Rebbe set the price of a letter at $1 or its equivalent in a foreign currency, and requested that children who were old enough pay for it from their own money, thus valuing their participation in worldwide Jewish unity.

Boys dance to music at a celebratory bash this past Chanukah, which marked 30 years since the first public menorah was put up and lit in Argentina, initiated by Rabbi Grunblatt.
The Rebbe further instructed that the Torah be written in the Tzemach Tzedek Synagogue in the Old City of Jerusalem, and that certificates be sent to all participating children, with their names written on it and detailing where in the Torah their letter was located. The Unity Torah Scroll project was massive in scope, and it had an unexpected impact on the business-minded Eduardo.
“I went to his father to write [Eduardo’s younger brother] Danny into the Torah, and Eduardo was shocked,” says Grunblatt. “He could not understand; where is the business here? How could so much effort and so much time spent be spent for just $1? Then he started to understand that there is another kind of value to things of Yiddishkeit, of Judaism, and he was very impressed. That had a big effect on him.”
These days, Elsztain is known internationally as a generous philanthropist, serving on boards of various Jewish institutions and footing the bill for, among other projects, a hostel for Israeli backpackers not far from his home in Buenos Aires. And his support of Chabad’s work remains unprecedented. Grunblatt says he was impressed with Elsztain all along, back to a 1984 trip that the spirited businessman made to the Soviet Union.
“I saw then that he was a special man. He went to Russia in 1984 and brokered the sale of two blocks of land in Belgrano [a neighborhood of Buenos Aires] for the Soviet embassy to be built upon; today, it is the Russian embassy. On that trip, he took shmurah matzah with him, and he saw it as his holy mission to deliver the matzah to people who needed it in the Soviet Union.
“Today, you would not be able to write about Chabad in Argentina—or even Jewish life in Argentina—without mentioning the name Eduardo Elsztain. It would be impossible.”
The first article in the series, “How Chabad Took Root in Argentina: The Early Years”can be read here.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
News
High-Schoolers' Swastika T-Shirts Spur Unity Gathering on Long Island
By Menachem Posner

Rabbi Mendel Teldon, far right, director of Chabad of Mid Suffolk, and Rabbi Yaakov Saacks, second from right, director of the Dix Hills Jewish Chai Center, both on Long Island, with Jewish communal leaders and Commack High School administrators, including school principal Dr. Donald James, center, at a joint meeting to discuss follow-up after a recent anti-Semitic incident.
The suburban Long Island town of Commack, N.Y., recently made headlines when a photograph of two teens at a drinking game wearing T-shirts with crudely drawn swastikas and the word “Auschwitz” went viral. Yet school and community leadership insist that they are looking forward to using the incident as a springboard for education, awareness and inclusivity.
Rabbi Mendel Teldon, director of Chabad of Mid Suffolk in Commack, joined a number of other leaders in the Jewish community and at Commack High School to discuss ways they can help foster a change in attitude.
One vehicle to do so is a Sunday-night meeting at 7 p.m. at the Chai Center in nearby Dix Hills, where Commack High School teenagers and their parents will join together for “A Night of Unity.”
The evening will begin with a presentation from the local law-enforcement officials on bias and Internet safety. Afterwards, a video presentation on the Holocaust will be shown, followed by a talk from a local Holocaust survivor Murray Miller. Ending on a high note, the program will conclude with a call to action. A new social-media campaign dubbed “#im4change” will serve as the public face of a collective push for young people to become a vehicle for understanding and respect.
Part of the problem, according to organizers, is that many students don’t realize why their actions hurt so many—in this case, people of all ages. Bringing past history to the present and explaining certain sensitivities can speak volumes for high-schoolers.
“Our goal,” explains Teldon, who says that several hundred students have participated in CTeen and other events at Chabad of Mid Suffolk and the Chai Center, “is that a student will be comfortable walking over to another teen who looks and acts differently, and sit next to him or her in the cafeteria and have an enriching conversation.”
Suggestion: Daily Moment of Reflection

A flier announces an April 19 evening meeting to address teen sensibilities and the Holocaust.
Another suggestion floated at the discussion with Jewish leaders and Commack High School officials, which was also attended by Rabbi Yaakov Saacks, director of the Dix Hills Jewish Chai Center, was implementing a moment of silence at the start of the school day.
“Many parents may not feel equipped to discuss issues of morality with their children,” says Saacks, “and the schools aren’t authorized to impart religious values. Having a moment of reflection allows the children to contemplate these matters in light of their family traditions and can even spark meaningful conversations with their parents.”
“The school is on board with doing what they can,” affirms Teldon. “The community is looking forward to coming out ahead, and we are confident that this event will serve as a stepping stone to greater cultural understanding.”
In fact, change has already come to certain areas, adds Teldon, noting that the father of one of the teens in question already called up local rabbis to apologize.
“With this kind of dynamic,” he says, “this terrible incident may end up being a very healthy harbinger of change—not just for the wider community, but for the two teens who’ve learned the hard way how powerful our words and actions can be.”
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
News
New Book Dedicated to Rabbi Lipa Dubrawsky Details Opinions of Two Talmudic Sages
By Menachem Posner

Canadian colleagues and friends Rabbi Binyomin Bitton, left, and Rabbi Eliezer Lipman (Lipa) Dubrawsky spent many long hours discussing scholarly Torah subjects across the board. (Photo: Noam Dehan)
Rabbi Binyomin Bitton shared a unique bond with the late Rabbi Eliezer Lipman (Lipa) Dubrawsky, formerly educational director of Chabad-Lubavitch of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada. In addition to being personal friends, they spent many long hours discussing scholarly Torah subjects across the board.
In time for the second anniversary of the latter’s untimely passing at age 56, Bitton, co-director of Chabad of Downtown Vancouver, has released a book of in-depth research and analysis on the opinions and Talmudic mindsets of two Talmudic sages, Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya, based on the unique approach and teachings of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory.
“The idea first came to me shortly after Rabbi Dubrawsky’s passing,” explains Bitton. “His first name was Eliezer, and his father’s name was Yehoshua. I felt it would be a fitting memorial for two men who dedicated so much of their lives to Torah to explain the positions of two sages whose names they bear.”
While he was not initially sure if he would have enough material for a book, Bitton’s research yielded a robust, 300-page Hebrew volume titled Rabbi Eliezer Hagadol (“the Great Rabbi Eliezer”), an honorific often used for the Talmudic sage, which Bitton says aptly describes his great friend and mentor as well.
Following a classic pattern championed by the Rebbe, the author identifies the prototypical approaches of the two first-century sages, and then goes on to apply those same underpinnings to seemingly unrelated arguments of theirs dotting the Talmudic landscape.
“The Rebbe had a unique way of learning of leshitasayhu”—the notion that the rulings of Talmudic sages on disparate subjects are related to one another—explains Bitton, “and this forms the basis of the book. The widely accepted approach to leshitasayhu is that the ruling on one particular subject evolves from another one.

The 300-page Hebrew volume by Rabbi Bitton titled Rabbi Eliezer Hagadol (“the Great Rabbi Eliezer”), released in time for the second anniversary of Rabbi Dubrawsky's passing.
“By the Rebbe, it works on a different, deeper plane: In his view, many opinions evolve from a quintessential point in which the two sages essentially disagree, and from there, their opinion evolves in numerous subjects, which at first glance may not be related at all. Accordingly, the Rebbe further explains how the approach of each sage evolves and/or is connected to their Hebrew name, soul, place of residence, responsibilities, position and more. This, too, was incorporated in the book with regards to Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua.”
In 45 chapters, Bitton masterfully weaves common threads through the full gamut of human experience, demonstrating how the sages approached dozens of subjects that can be traced to the same fundamental axioms.
The book was released just in time for 27 Nissan, the second anniversary of the rabbi’s sudden passing in 2013. Thus, the book’s second part deals with the two sacrifices that frame the time of year: the Omer barley offering that was brought to the Temple in Jerusalem on the second day of Passover, and the two loaves brought seven weeks later on Shavuot.
Expounding upon a discourse of the Rebbe, Bitton applies the Rebbe’s principles to a number of different aspects of the two offerings—even explaining how they reflect through the Kabbalistic lens of Chabad Chassidic tradition.
“Rabbi Dubrawsky dedicated his life to learning Torah and teaching Torah every single day,” affirms Bitton, “and I truly feel that through sharing Torah with others, we can perpetuate his special life.”
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber

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Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Chabad Magazine "Why Do we Write Hebrew from Right to Left" FOR Wednesday, Iyar 3, 5775 · April 22, 2015

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