Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
An editor is the writer’s natural enemy. And a great editor is the writer’s greatest enemy. As any writer can attest, it is painful to watch someone deftly decide that a carefully chosen word or delicately constructed paragraph is unnecessary. Painful, but healthy. Because the skilled editor trims away the static and allows the message to shine through.
People tend to think of the teshuvah we do on Yom Kippur (which begins on Tuesday evening) as some sort of punishing exercise. Perhaps it would be better to see it as a form of self-editing. We take a look at what we have done and where we are going, and then cut out the behaviors and patterns that are keeping us down. Freed from the baggage of our old habits, we are healthy, pure and pristine.
Let’s get editing!
The Chabad.org Editorial Staff
G‑d RawIf I wished to find all that is real and true at its very core, I would not find it in the ecstasy of the prayer of the devoted, nor in the epiphanies of the enlightened.I would not find it in the deeds of the righteous, nor in the love and kindness of those who live in harmony.
There I would find a blinding light, an infinite light—but I would not find G‑d Himself.
If I wished to find G‑d as He is at His essence, beyond all light and darkness, beyond the infinite and the boundless,
I would come to the place of those who struggle daily to escape their muck and mire,
those who labor to pierce the wall of their prison so that even a glimmer of light could break through,
and even as they fail, try again and again.
For this labor all light was created. To the aid of this struggle G‑d Himself descends.
When those prison walls are pierced, the Creator exclaims, “It was worth it, all this creation, it was worth it for this alone!”[Maamar Ani L’dodi 5726[.
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10 Tishrei Moments with the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Give your own High Holiday experience a boost with these powerful photos by Eli Rubin
On the Calendar
10 Tishrei Moments with the Lubavitcher Rebbe Give your own High Holiday experience a boost with these powerful photos by Eli Rubin; featuring photos from Jewish Educational Media
The images in this listicle are from a beautiful new book published by Jewish Educational Media (JEM). Tishrei in Lubavitch includes well over a hundred photos, taken between 1979 and 1984. Each opens a powerful window of discovery into what it was like to spend this month of festivals in the Rebbe’s presence.
1. Between the Personal and the Collective
On the eve following Rosh Hashanah, after distributing wine from the cup upon which he made the havdalah blessing, the Rebbe claps his hands and encourages the crowd in their singing. (1979)
To celebrate Tishrei with the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson of righteous memory, was to embark on a soaring journey of the spirit. Each new day brought a new high, fresh moments of awe, insight, elation, and—above all—connection. From all corners of the globe people traveled to the Rebbe’s court in Crown Heights, New York. They came as individuals, each on their own journey of spiritual growth and transformation. But they also came to transcend personal constraints, to draw power and inspiration from the collective soul—from the Rebbe, who embraces all of us and helps each of us enhance our connection to G‑d.
Today, more than twenty years after the Rebbe’s passing, our work during the month of Tishrei remains the same. We seek to move beyond our personal constraints, and we celebrate our specific roles in G‑d’s all-encompassing vision. We continue to be inspired and empowered by the Rebbe and his teachings, so that we too can achieve transformation and transcendence. We are further taught that image and imagination both have the capacity to reinvoke the power of another time and another place.1 These images were captured more than three decades ago, but even now awaken experiences anew.
2. Talking Torah
The Rebbe exits the main synagogue after delivering his annual pre Rosh Hashanah address to women and girls. As he leaves he momentarily greets and acknowledges each one of the many women who line his path. (1980)
One of the chief modes of the Rebbe’s leadership, of his communication with those who sought out his instruction and inspiration, was through his public Torah talks. During—and directly preceding—the month of Tishrei these talks were especially frequent. A few days before Rosh Hashanah the main synagogue would be cleared of men so that the Rebbe could deliver a special address to “the women and daughters of Israel.” (All his public talks were directed to both men and women, but for the most part the main synagogue was occupied by men while women occupied the upper gallery.)
On this particular occasion the Rebbe discussed how and why our prayers remain potent despite the fact that we are in exile. Paradoxically, he explained, the difficulty and distance of exile itself assures us that G‑d must provide us with an extra measure of divine strength to overcome the particular challenges that we face. Accordingly the Midrash describes G‑d himself praying on behalf the exiled Jews. G‑d did not simply provide us with a prayer liturgy, but demonstrated that He dwells among us even in exile, and shares in our troubles. Irrespective of our personal and collective situations, G‑d himself supports and prays alongside each and all of us. This is especially so as we approach Rosh Hashanah, and we can be assured that our prayers for a good and sweet year will indeed be answered.2
3. Preparatory Prayer
On the day before Rosh Hashanah the Rebbe reads personal notes and prays at the graveside of his father-in-law, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the sixth rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch. After reading the notes he tears them up and deposits them on the grave. (1979)
The custom to visit a cemetery on the day before Rosh Hashanah—“to pray profusely, and to donate money to the poor” “that G‑d shall do us kindness in the merit of the righteous” who are interred there—can be traced back many hundreds of years and is enshrined in the Code of Jewish Law.3 But in Chabad it takes on additional layers of significance. After the morning prayers the Rebbe would stand at his office door accepting individual notes, in which people transcribed their names and those of their family, along with requests for personal blessings and their hopes for the coming year. Many, many more such notes would be sent from Jews in communities across the world, and senior chassidim would also submit a collective note on behalf of the entire community together. When the Rebbe visited his father-in-law’s grave he would spend several hours reading all of these notes alongside the traditional liturgy that is read on such occasions. By the time he returned from the cemetery it was usually late in the afternoon.
4. New Light for a New Year
On the eve following Rosh Hashanah, following the evening prayer, a flaming candle is held aloof as the Rebbe makes the havdalah blessing marking the festival’s conclusion. It also marks the conclusion of a farbrengen that began earlier in the day and continued long after night had already fallen. (1983)
The Rebbe would often repeat and elaborate on these words of the first rebbe of Chabad, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi: “Each and every year a new light descends from the supernal wisdom of G‑d that has never previously shone forth, for the illumination of each year departs and ascends to its root as the new year approaches, and afterwards—through blowing the shofar, and through prayer—a new celestial light is drawn forth from an even more transcendent station…”4
This teaching endows the first eve and morning of Rosh Hashanah with unusual gravity; the luminous radiance of G‑d in the world has departed, and the onus is upon us to invoke a new, more transcendent, revelation. From 1951 and on the Rebbe would blow the shofar in the main synagogue, and lead the congregation in the accompanying prayers. The seriousness and awesome intensity of the task was expressed in tearful emotion of a kind that was not seen at any other time. After the morning prayers, and the sounding of last set of shofar blasts, the Rebbe’s demeanor changed. The seriousness was tempered by joyous celebration. The new year’s new light is further drawn forth with each passing day, and so the joy only increases.
5. From Awe to Joy
At the conclusion of the Yom Kippur prayers, the Rebbe enters his study, placing his hand on the mezuzah. After putting on his coat, he will head home to make havdalah and eat the post Yom Kippur meal with his wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka. (1981)
Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the culmination of a forty day process of repentance and return to G‑d. The culmination of Yom Kippur itself is its unique fifth prayer, ne’ilah, which means “closing.” This is traditionally understood as an allusion to the final closing of the celestial gates of divine mercy. But the Rebbe would explain that this marks the moment when we enter the innermost chamber of divine grace, and when the doors close we are on the inside. As the culmination of the days of awe, ne’ilah also brings us across the threshold and into the days of joy. After a day spent in the synagogue dressed in white—like angels—we now sense that our prayers have indeed been heard, that we have been welcomed into G‑d’s embrace.5
After proclaiming our faith in the one G‑d (once), our commitment to draw forth G‑d’s eternal glory (thrice), and the utter singularity of all facets of divine revelation (seven times), the congregation erupts in victorious song. In the Rebbe’s synagogue there was no room for the tightly packed crowd to dance in circles; the entire crowd would instead dance on the spot, bobbing vigorously up and down. The Rebbe would climb on his chair (in later years a specially prepared platform) and likewise dance on the spot, waving his arms in uniquely exuberant celebration.
As the Rebbe left the synagogue and headed to his study, his face radiated smiling elation, and he joyously wished the chassidim lining his path “good yom tov!”
6. The Sukkah
Outside Lubavitch World Headquarters, 770 Eastern Parkway, the Rebbe takes note of his sukkah, built by a group of yeshivah students. (1979)
We are commanded to dwell in the sukkah in just the same way as we dwell in our homes, not only eating there, but also spending as much time as we can there, studying, socializing, and celebrating. Building on earlier kabbalistic teachings, successive Chabad rebbes elaborated greatly on the idea that this is the only mitzvah that a person performs with their entire body. Since a mitzva is nothing less than the supernal will of G‑d, this means that in fulfilling this commandment the entirety of our being, from head to foot, is enveloped by G‑d’s will. Accordingly, the sukkah embodies the all-encompassing transcendence of G‑d, which is above any kind of differentiation, and therefore has the capacity to bring peace, internally and personally, and also for the entire world collectively.6
7. The Four Species
Lulav and etrog in hand, the Rebbe emerges from the main door of 770 Eastern Parkway, on his way to the Sukkah, and encourages the bystanders singing with a wave of the arm (left, 1981). Men and women alike wait in long lines for the opportunity to make a blessing with the Rebbe’s lulav and etrog (right, 1983 and 1984).
Like the sukkah, the four species—the lulav, etrog, hadassim and aravot—also symbolize peace and unity. But there is an important distinction. While the blessing can only be made when they are all held together, the mitzvah also requires four different species. The path to peace, in other words—on a personal or collective level—is through recognizing that the many different elements of reality all have their own specific role to play in G‑d’s all encompassing plan. “One who lacks understanding, when their will is frustrated, they are immediately angered… Whereas one who has understanding is able to meet even direct opposition with forbearance.” Through performing the mitzvah of the four species we draw the idealistic peace of the sukkah into the fragmented realities of life.7
8. Celebrating with Children
During a rally for children the Rebbe encourages their song by enthusiastically clapping along (right, 1980). A young girl leads the gathering in the recitation of a brief Torah teaching as the Rebbe looks on (top left, 1983). Children take notes as the Rebbe speaks (bottom left, 1982).
Throughout the month of Tishrei, and indeed throughout the year, the Rebbe paid special attention to children. Greeting them warmly, handing them coins to give to charity, and treating each one with just as much grace and seriousness as he extended to any adult. During prayers and public talks children were not simply tolerated, but allowed and encouraged to stand right up at the front of the synagogue, near the place reserved for the Rebbe. During the intermediate days of Sukkot (and on several other occasions throughout the year) the synagogue would be cleared for a special children’s rally, in which the Rebbe would participate and address the children directly. In addition to sharing relevant insights about the festival and its mitzvot in clear and simple language, the Rebbe would often encourage the children to see themselves as disciplined leaders, and as trend setters, who could influence everyone around them for the better. Here too, there was a clear focus on the children as individuals, and also on their ability to transform society collectively.
9. A Good Year, A Sweet Year
On the last of the intermediate days of sukkot, Hoshanah Rabbah, the Rebbe stands at the door of his sukkah distributing honey cake (lekach) to long lines of people. He wishes each of them a good and sweet year, and many pause for a quick word of advice or to seek a personal blessing. (1980)
In many midrashim and kabbalistic texts Hoshanah Rabbah is described as the day upon which G‑d’s judgement is set and sealed. Although it is the last day of Sukkot, “the period of our rejoicing,” it also casts back to the awe of the High Holidays earlier in the month. Hoshanah Rabbah reminds us that our relationship with G‑d is best repaired and renewed precisely through our joyous celebration of the festivals in accord with divine command. Through our victorious embrace of G‑d’s commandments—bringing the four species together and raising them aloof—divine judgment for spiritual and physical good is similarly assured.
This principle is reflected in the many special customs of Hoshanah Rabbah eve, and of the following day. At midnight the Rebbe would join the congregation to read the entire book of Psalms. The following morning the bimah is circled seven times, the four species in hand, and a poetic liturgy is read, in which we beseech G‑d to help us in the merit of all the Jews throughout history who devoted themselves to him so selflessly, often in the face of immense challenges. These prayers have a solemn tone. But a classic Chabad song appropriates a couple of lines to accentuate the undercurrent of joyous faith and confidence, emphasizing that “though exiled and banished” we are “yet likened to a palm,” and that “though dispersed among those who vex us” we yet “embrace and cleave to You.”
Listen here:
10. Rejoice!
Long after the two day holiday of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah is over, the festivities continue in the Rebbe’s court. From across the wider New York area, thousands more Jews arrive to receive wine from the Rebbe’s cup, and bask in the afterglow of the Torah’s celebration. The singing is led by a children’s choir, accompanied by the musicians Yossi and Avi Piamenta. In his right hand the Rebbe holds his cup to be refilled, with his left he vigorously encourages the singing. (1981)
The joy of the Torah (Simchat Torah) is given ultimate expression not through study, but through exuberant dance. Yet the Rebbe would spend many hours on both days of the festival probing the deepest secrets of the Torah, and would often expound on this very point: The difference between study and dance is the difference between intellectual pleasure and an outpouring of essential joy. Intellectual pleasure is limited in accord with the understanding of each individual. But the essential joy expressed in the exuberant dancing of Simchat Torah is the birthright of every Jew, scholar and ignoramus alike. In the Rebbe’s own words: “The joy is not such that there are distinctions, as at a wedding where one person is the father-in-law, another the groom… yet a third only a relative, and the fourth nothing more than a friend. On Simchat Torah the joy is equal for everyone. Every individual is a groom, and the Torah their bride.”8
Click here to get your own copy of Tishrei in Lubavitch today!
FOOTNOTES
1.See, for example, Torat Menachem 5710, page 51 and 67; Likkutei Dibburim Vol. 1, pages 3-4.
2.Sichot Kodesh 5740, Vol. 3, pages 1112-115.
3.See Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 581:4; Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, 127:13.
4.Tanya, Igrot Kodesh, 14.
5.Bechal Adam 5723.
6.Be-sukkot Teshvu 5736.
7.Ibid.
8.Sichat Kodesh 5736, Vol. 1, p. 102.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.-------
Yom Kippur Reading
Laughter, Bliss & Yom Kippur by Tzvi Freeman
G‑d laughs. A blissful laugh. One that resounds throughout the universe.
“There is nothing beyond bliss,” states the ancient Book of Formation (2:4).Bliss is an inner laughter, so deep that it is neither heard nor felt Bliss is the origin of all being, the source of all life, the meaning behind all that occurs.
And what is bliss? It is being at self. At home. Where there is no need to go anywhere, where this moment is forever, where there is nothing else.
Bliss is an inner laughter, so deep within that it is neither heard nor felt—not even by the one who laughs.
Bliss In Three Parts
© Yakov Kaszemacher
There is a kind of pleasure you take from outside of yourself. From music, from ideas, from teaching, from giving.
These can provide a delightful pleasure, but they do not provide bliss. It is not pure and simple pleasure, because it is not you. A part of you delights—that part of you that is touched by this activity outside of you. But the rest of you remains untouched, unmoved.
Then there are things that ignite the innate pleasure within you. An absurdity, a joke, stupid fun.
This pleasure is pure and simple because there isn't really anything giving you pleasure. It's just that your own essential sense of pleasure has been ignited. You are “enjoying yourself.” All of you delights.
Yet this delight cannot touch you to the core. Because it is not who you really are. And the proof—you know that you are happy. Which means that there is part of you that remains the observer, standing on the outside.
If it were truly you delighting, you would not be aware of it. You would lose all awareness of self.
Then there is the pleasure not from teaching, but from having your students beat you at your own game;
not from giving, but from seeing the success of those that you gave to;
not from fulfilling your goals, but from success you had never dreamed of;
not from living a good life, but from the surprise of knowing that you have lived, and there is yet more life that came from your life, and yet more, and in them you are found in a way you never knew that you knew.
This is pure bliss, a pleasure you cannot feel. Because it is you. There is nothing left of you to act as observer and say, “I am enjoying myself”—because every cell of your being is engaged in this blissful state.
It is the discovery of the you that you never realized you knew.
The Cosmic Story of Bliss
© Yakov Kaszemacher
In the story of the universe, all these three forms of pleasure play a part:
The Creator delights in each of His creations, in every ant that crawls, in every wind that blows. It is a current of delight that electrifies all things, surging through the veins of the cosmos so each creature tingles with life and celebrates life.
Yet that is not yet a pure delight.
The pleasure that set all things into motion at the start, the beginning, the point from which all things originate, and to which all things lead, that was a pure delight—because nothing yet existed but the Creator.
Yet not entirely pure, not entirely of the core-essence.
The ultimate blissful pleasure is that which we created beings give back in return—when a lost soul returns, a hidden spark of meaning is returned to its place, a piece of the world that seemed unsalvageable, ugly and sinister is transformed so that it shines, even if but for a moment with its essential, primordial light. All the more so when the entire world is entirely transformed.
It is then that all the universe is flooded with that blissful, divine pleasure, with a light that will never be withdrawn.
Because that pleasure derives from a place the Zohar calls “the beginning that is not known.” Meaning: that which is beyond knowing. Because it is one with Him. It is that which He has chosen freely, and so all of Him is engaged.
Through His creation, Through His creation, the unknowable is uncovered, and G‑d laughs in surprise.the unknowable is uncovered, and G‑d laughs in surprise. All the universe resonates with that laugh.
Which is why every mitzvah, every good deed, every act of true, meaningful life, is meant to be done with great joy and celebration.
But most of all, remorse must be with joy. An inner joy.
Because you have changed yourself. You have changed your past. You have surprised and delighted even the One who made you. You have brought all the universe to exclaim, “Look what this creature has done with the life he was given! Look how he has made his darkness shine!”
Yom Kippur, then, is the ultimate day of divine bliss. On this day of At-onement, G‑d laughs in delight as we return to be one with Him.
As for us, we have come home. That is bliss, that being at home.
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. FaceBook @RabbiTzviFreeman Periscope @Tzvi_Freeman .
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Reading
The Day Is Almost Over, and You Still Haven’t Repented! by Chana Weisberg
It’s Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, when we are comparable to the angels. For these 26 hours, we can reach the heights of spirituality and cleanse ourselves of all past wrongdoing. As we celebrate our utterly indestructible relationship with G‑d, we can recharge our spiritual batteries for the coming year.
As the day progresses, the realization dawns: the month of Elul, when G‑d is so near, is long gone; the Ten Days of Repentance are mostly behind us; and now, much of this awesome day, this once-a-year-opportunity, has also passed.
And yet, as we watch the sun start to set, rather than the stirrings of our soul, we hear the strong grumblings of our stomach and feel the throbbing pain in our head. A sense of intense disappointment sets in with the realization that we haven’t even begun to achieve what we were meant to.
With these disheartening thoughts, we slowly drag ourselves back to shul. Our hearts are heavy as we read the familiar story from the book of Jonah.
G‑d commanded the prophet Jonah to travel to the city of Nineveh, an enemy of Israel, and warn of its imminent destruction due to the iniquitous behavior of its inhabitants. Aware that if he succeeds and the people repent, Nineveh would continue to pose a threat to his nation, Jonah tries to escape his mission. He boards a ship and when a storm brews, he is thrown into the sea and swallowed by a huge fish. Eventually, Jonah realizes that he can’t escape his destiny and travels to Nineveh, where the people hearken to his prophecy and wholeheartedly change their ways.
A despondent Jonah resting under a dying tree hears G‑d address him: “You are sorry for the plant for which you have neither labored, nor made grow . . . shall I not then, spare Nineveh, the great city, wherein more than 12 times 10,000 people live . . .?”
Jonah’s story teaches us that no one can escape from G‑d or the mission He has for us.
But why do we read this particular story—about a nation that was an enemy of the Jewish people—on Yom Kippur, a day that represents the intimate, indestructible bond between the Jewish soul and G‑d?
As the sun fades and our chance slips away, perhaps this is precisely the reassurance that we need to hear: G‑d cares about all people, even a sinning nation threatening His children. No matter how low we have fallen, G‑d gives us another opportunity. To the bottom of the ocean floor, to the depths of a fish’s belly, G‑d coaxes us to come closer and try harder.
No one is too far gone. Each and every one of us is important. G‑d will not give up until we hear His message and better our ways.
Chana Weisberg is the editor of TheJewishWoman.org. She lectures internationally on issues relating to women, relationships, meaning, self-esteem and the Jewish soul. She is the author of five popular books.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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A tendency to celebrate is embedded in the DNA of our nation. So much so, that when our enemy in the Purim story, Haman, wished to harm the Jewish people, his contention to the king was that we were obsessivelyThe observance of the Jewish calendar shapes our very identity engaged in festivals and rituals. Between the weekly Shabbat and seasonal holidays, they are surely a burden to society, he charged. What his hateful mind could not grasp was the fact that the observance of the Jewish calendar shapes our very identity, making us the unique people G‑d intends us to be.
Inaugurating the Jewish calendar year are the festivals of the month of Tishrei. Each one is an integral element of the package of Divine energy that we need as we start a new year. Rosh Hashanah is a time to refresh our unconditional commitment to G‑d and His service. Yom Kippur is an opportunity to tap into our essential bond with our Creator and each other. Sukkot expresses the joyful aspect of the High Holiday services, and on Simchat Torah we celebrate our inseparable bond with the Torah.
Although each festival has a unique theme, there is a meaningful thread that holds them together: these holidays are about the revelation of the common denominator. On Rosh Hashanah, when we coronate G‑d as our ruler for the new year, the citizens are united as equals in submission to the monarch. The pardon granted on Yom Kippur is available to all, regardless of status and behavior. Everyone is welcome into the Sukkah, and every kind of Jew is represented in the Four Kinds over which we recite a blessing. And scholar and simpleton alike dance with the Torah upon its completion on Simchat Torah.
One year, when I was in my late teens, I was in New York for Sukkot. Following the Chabad tradition, we youngsters spent the better part of the daytime hours walking the city streets, encouraging fellow Jews to observe the mitzvah of shaking the lulav and etrog. One afternoon I approached a middle-aged man who was pushing a cart filled with empty soda cans and asked him if he was Jewish. He paused for a moment, responded that he was indeed Jewish, and then promptly launched into a loud tirade about every injustice that had befallen the Jewish people in the past 50 years.
At first, I was startled by the outburst and strongly considered beating a hasty retreat. But then, secure in the knowledge that I had done him no wrong, I realized that his angst was not directed toward meI realized his angst was not directed at me personally, rather to what my presence represented. I remained rooted to the spot, and every time he paused to catch his breath I would gently offer him the opportunity to do the mitzvah.
After several minutes of this awkward exchange, he finally asked me, “What do you want me to do?”
Handing him the lulav and etrog, I said, “Hold these!”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“And now we recite the blessings together.”
He obliged, and moments later all his anger evaporated into sincere emotion. He had tears in his eyes, and we had a lovely conversation about his youth and his childhood memories of his mother’s chicken soup.
On that autumn afternoon in Queens, the message of Sukkot came alive for me. Once the core of a Jew is reached, we share much more than we can imagine.
Rabbi Levi Greenberg is the director of programming at Chabad Lubavitch of El Paso, Texas.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Toolkit
Yom Kippur 2016: A Guide
Yom Kippur commemorates the day when G‑d forgave the Jewish people for the sin of the Golden Calf. Forty days after hearing G‑d say at Mount Sinai, “You shall not have the gods of others in My presence; you shall not make for yourself a graven image,” the Jews committed the cardinal sin of idolatry. Moses spent nearly three months on top of the mountain pleading with G‑d for forgiveness, and on the tenth of Tishrei it was finally granted: “I have pardoned, as you have requested.”
From that moment on, this date, henceforth known as the Day of Atonement, is annually observed as a commemoration of our special relationship with G‑d, a relationship that is strong enough to survive any rocky bumps it might encounter. This is a day when we connect with the very essence of our being, which remains faithful to G‑d regardless of our outward behavior.
And while it is the most solemn day of the year, we are also joyful, confident that G‑d will forgive our sins and seal our verdict for a year of life, health and happiness.
For nearly twenty-six hours—from several minutes before sunset on 9 Tishrei until after nightfall on 10 Tishrei—we “afflict our souls”: we abstain from food and drink, do not wash or anoint our bodies, do not wear leather footwear, and abstain from spousal intimacy. We are likened to the angels, who have no physical needs. Instead of focusing on the physical, we spend much of our day in the synagogue, engaged in repentance and prayer.
Preparations
On the day before Yom Kippur, the primary mitzvah is to eat and drink in abundance. Two festive meals are eaten, one earlier in the day, and one just prior to the onset of Yom Kippur. Some of the day’s other observances include requesting and receiving honey cake, in acknowledgement that we are all recipients in G‑d’s world and in prayerful hope for a sweet year; begging forgiveness from anyone whom we may have wronged during the past year; giving extra charity; and the ceremonial blessing of the children.
Before sunset, women and girls light holiday candles, and everyone makes their way to the synagogue for the Kol Nidrei services.
On Yom Kippur
In the course of Yom Kippur we will hold five prayer services: 1) Maariv, with its solemn Kol Nidrei service, on the eve of Yom Kippur; 2) Shacharit—the morning prayer; 3) Musaf, which includes a detailed account of the Yom Kippur Temple service; 4) Minchah, which includes the reading of the Book of Jonah.
Finally, in the waning hours of the day, we reach the climax of the day: the fifth prayer, the Neilah (“locking”) prayer. The gates of heaven, which were open all day, will now be closed—with us on the inside. During this prayer we have the ability to access the most essential level of our soul. The Holy Ark remains open throughout. The closing Neilah service climaxes in the resounding cries of “Hear O Israel . . . G‑d is one.” Then joy erupts in song and dance (a Chabad custom is to sing the lively “Napoleon’s March”), followed by a single blast of the shofar, and the proclamation, “Next year in Jerusalem.”
After the fast we partake of a festive after-fast meal, making the evening after Yom Kippur a yom tov (festival) in its own right. We immediately begin to look forward to the next holiday and its special mitzvah: the construction of the sukkah.
Click here for more detailed Yom Kippur guides.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Toolkit
Eeverything Else You Need to Know About Yom Kippur
Yom Kippur
October 11–12, 2016
Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the year—the day on which we are closest to G‑d and to the quintessence of our own souls. It is the Day of Atonement—“For on this day He will forgive you, to purify you, that you be cleansed from all your sins before G‑d” (Leviticus 16:30).
For nearly twenty-six hours—from several minutes before sunset on 9 Tishrei to after nightfall on 10 Tishrei—we “afflict our souls”: we abstain from food and drink, do not wash or anoint our bodies, do not wear leather footwear, and abstain from marital relations.
Quick Links: Holiday Times | Find a Service | Holiday E-Cards | Tishrei in Ten | Sukkot / Simchat Torah © Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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VIDEO
Demystifying Yom Kippur
No one is perfect, so when Yom Kippur comes and we are told that we can atone for all our sins and start again with a clean slate, it seems like a pretty good deal. by Yisroel Glick
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The Day When Satan Is Poweless
There are different ways to describe ourselves, by what we do and who we are. Here's a completely novel way of finding the real you--and its accessible only once a year! by Chana Weisberg
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Memories of My Mother
The Rebbe recalls his mother's activities during World War I.
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Historical Background
After the Babylonians destroyed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and exiled many Jews in 3338 (423 BCE), they appointed Gedaliah ben Achikam as governor of the remaining Jews in the Holy Land. Jews who had taken refuge in the surrounding lands of Ammon, Moab and Edom heard of his appointment and returned to Judea to join his group—the last remnant of the once-mighty Judea. Under his wise and pious leadership, they tilled, planted and cultivated, coaxing the ravished land back to health.
Prior to Rosh Hashanah 3339, Gedaliah received word that a certain Ishmael ben Netaniah, jealous of his position of power and dissatisfied with his tactical alliance with the Babylonians, was planning to kill him and usurp the leadership for himself. But the trusting Gedaliah refused to believe that Ishmael would act treacherously, and restrained those who wanted to kill Ishmael.
On Rosh Hashanah, Ishmael came to Gedaliah with ten men, ostensibly to celebrate the holiday with him. While they were eating together, Ishmael and his men got up and killed Gedaliah, as well as all the other Jewish men and Babylonian soldiers who were present.
This treachery was followed by more bloodshed. It also caused the Jews to flee to Egypt, effectively ending the prospects of Jewish settlement in the Holy Land until the return of the Babylonian exiles in the year 3390 (371 BCE).1 Thus, the Babylonian exile was absolute, and Judea was left bereft of her children.
The Fast
In memory of Gedaliah’s tragic death and its disastrous aftermath, we fast every year on the 3rd of Tishrei, the day after Rosh Hashanah.2 If the 3rd of Tishrei falls out on Shabbat, the fast is postponed to the 4th of Tishrei. Like other “minor” fasts, it begins at dawn (alot hashachar) and ends at nightfall.
During morning services, it is customary to add special selichot, penitential prayers. During both morning and afternoon prayers, the Torah is taken out, and we read the portion from Exodus 32:11–14 and 34:1–10 in which G‑d forgives Israel for the sin of the golden calf. During the afternoon prayers, we also read a haftorah, from Isaiah 55:6–56:8.
As it is written in Zechariah 8:19, Tzom Gedaliah is one of the four fasts that will be converted to joy and feasting with the arrival of Moshiach. May it happen soon.
Learn more about the life and death of Gedaliah.
Learn about the inner significance of Tzom Gedaliah.
Rabbi Menachem Posner serves as staff editor for Chabad.org.
FOOTNOTES
1.The entire tragic story is recorded in detail in Jeremiah 40–43, and it appears in a more abbreviated form in II Kings 25.
2.There is a disagreement whether Gedaliah was killed on the 3rd of Tishrei or on Rosh Hashanah itself, in which case the fast was postponed to the following day (3 Tishrei) due to the joyous nature of the holiday.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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On the Calendar
All About the Ten Days of Repentance
The ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur are known as Aseret Yemei Teshuvah, or the Ten Days of Repentance (more accurately translated as the Ten Days of Return).
When the prophet Isaiah tells the Jewish nation to repent for their sins, he says, “Seek G‑d when He may be found; call Him when He is close.”1 When is that? The sages say that this verse refers to these ten days, when G‑d is especially close to us.
The sages describe this period as a time when “the gates of heaven are open, and I will listen to your prayers.”
Maimonides2 explains:
“Even though repentance and crying out to G‑d are always timely, during the ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur it is exceedingly appropriate, and accepted immediately [on high].
“For these reasons,” continues Maimonides, “it is customary for all of Israel to give profusely to charity, perform many good deeds, and be occupied with observance of G‑d’s commandments from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur to a greater extent than during the remainder of the year.3
Why is this period unique? Rabbi Shmuel Eliezer Edeles (Maharsha, 1555-1631) explains that our fate for the coming year is decided on Rosh Hashanah but not sealed until Yom Kippur. Accordingly, this is the time to return to G‑d and beg Him to change the judgment for the better.4
Observances
In Prayers
There are a number of tweaks made to the daily prayer service that you need to watch out for:
● During morning services, after the Yishtabach blessing, it is customary to open the ark and say Psalm 130.
● Three times a day, in the Amidah (standing prayer), we substitute the phrases haE-l hakadosh (“the holy G‑d”) with hamelech hakadosh (“the holy king”), and melech ohev tzedakah umishpat (“king who loves righteousness and justice”) with hamelech hamishpat (“the king of judgement”). There are a number of other insertions that were instituted by the medieval sages which can be found in the prayerbook.
● Following the Amidah, and the subsequent Tachanun (supplicatory prayers), we add the full Avinu Malkeinu prayer.
● As we have been doing since the start of the month of Elul (and will do until the seventh day of Sukkot, Hoshana Rabbah), we say Psalm 27 following morning and afternoon (or evening) prayers.
The following two customs are not observed in Chabad:
● In Kaddish, some have the custom to say, l’eila ul’eila (“above and beyond”), in reference to G‑d’s greatness, instead of the usual l’eila (“beyond”). (In Chabad, the extra words are reserved for the Neilah prayer on Yom Kippur).
● The widespread custom is to recite special selichot (penitential prayers) before dawn. In Chabad, they are said only on the Fast of Gedaliah (more on that to follow).
General Practices
Ideally, during this time we decrease our involvement with worldly matters (almost like the quasi-holiday period of Chol Hamoed), and increase our Torah study and charitable giving.
In these days before Yom Kippur, some are careful to settle all debts so that they come to the holy day with a clean slate.
This is a time to be extra careful with all mitzvah observances. For example, one who is generally not careful regarding eating bread that is kosher but baked by non-Jews should eat bread baked only by Jews during this time.
Special Days
The day following Rosh Hashanah is the Fast of Gedalia, when we mourn the death of Gedaliah, the leader of the Jewish people in the Holy Land following the destruction of the First Temple in 3338 (423 BCE).
The Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shuvah, "Shabbat of Return." The name derives from the Haftarah (reading from the prophets) for this Shabbat, which opens with the words, "Return O Israel unto the L‑rd your G‑d.”5 Along with Shabbat Hagadol (the Shabbat preceding Passover), this is one of the two times a year when it is customary for rabbis to deliver (longer than usual) speeches on timely topics. As on Rosh Hashanah, we dip our challah in honey at the start of the Shabbat meals.
The day before Yom Kippur is one of the busiest days of the Jewish year. In the wee hours of the morning, it is customary to perform the Kaparot ceremony with a live chicken or money, during which we say,“This is my replacement, this is my exchange, this is my atonement; this fowl shall go to its death, and I shall go to a long, good and peaceful life.” Already in a holiday mood, Tachanun is omitted from prayers, and we eat two festive meals, one at midday, and one just before the fast, which begins at sunset. Traditional foods include lekach (honey cake) and kreplach (stuffed dumplings). The Talmud states, "Whoever eats and drinks on the ninth [of Tishrei], it is regarded as if he had fasted on both the ninth and the tenth."6
A Kabbalistic Insight
The master Kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria (the Arizal) taught that the seven days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (which always include one Sunday, one Monday, etc.) correspond to the seven days of the week, each day representing all the corresponding days of the year: the Sunday embodies all Sundays; the Monday embodies all Mondays, and so on. Let’s make sure to use these days wisely.
FOOTNOTES
1..Isaiah 55:6
2.Mishneh Torah, Laws of Teshuvah 2:6.
3.Mishneh Torah, Laws of Teshuvah 3:4.
4.Maharsha to Yevamot 49b.
5.Hosea 14:2.
6.Talmud, Berachot 8b.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Women
How I Overcame a Childhood of Bland Judaism by Beryl Tritel
Growing up, I was used to sitting at home on Dec. 25, watching movies and feeling lonely because everyone I knew was celebrating with their family. I was used to Easter, hearing my friends talk about their new dresses and the Easter-egg hunts. Now, I knew that Chanukah and Passover fell out around those times, but these holidays were nothing more than a blip on myOur definition of being Jewish just meant that we weren’t anything else radar. Our definition of being Jewish just meant that we weren’t anything else.
In my neighborhood, there weren’t very many Jews around; I think there were two others in my high school class of 250. My family raised us to be “just like everyone else”: to do well in school, get into a good college, get a job, get married and have kids. Now, I think those are pretty reasonable goals, and they can lead to a satisfying and fulfilling life. But we were missing something. When Sunday mornings or the holidays rolled around, our lack of plans made it pretty clear that we weren’t like everyone else.
When I think of my life at that time, I imagine trying to fit into an outfit that, well, just didn’t quite fit. The style is nice, even attractive. But either there is an annoying tag or the waistband is just a (wee) bit too tight (ahem). I could squeeze into the outfit, but I could never really get comfortable.
We didn’t have a tree, nor did we hunt for eggs. But we didn’t do much of the “Jewish stuff” either. We went to temple on Rosh Hashanah until I had my bat mitzvah (then my parents stopped our temple membership—it just wasn’t relevant anymore). We lit a menorah on Chanukah (a ritual that also petered out during my teenage years). We did have a seder—at a friend of my mother’s—until sports practice and after-school clubs made going to a several-hours-long meal unfeasible.
So our Judaism wasn’t defined by the beauty of being Jewish, but rather by what we weren’t supposed to do. That left me with a deep feeling of dissatisfaction. I tried the idea of just “believing in G‑d,” and that was my spirituality. For a time.
When it came time to go to college, I chose a school thatI still struggle sometimes had a large Jewish population and a Jewish feel. I was entranced with the idea of going to a place where I wouldn’t be “the other.” There, I met people who really had a relationship with G‑d. Felt His presence in their existence. Suddenly, Shabbat, kashrutand halachah (Jewish law) were no longer ancient relics from the days of my great-grandparents, but rather the basis for a real, living and breathing existence that I could have.
If I wanted.
There were actually people who defined themselves as Jews, who defined themselves as who they were, rather than who they weren’t. After soul-searching, questioning and observing, I realized that not only was G‑d real, He was a force in my life. He cared about me, and my becoming religious was not just about serving Him, but improving myself.
So slowly, oh so slowly, I began to change. Saturday became Shabbat, food became kosher. And I realized that there was meaning in the mundane. There was a connection to Someone who had high standards, and cared about us meeting them.
So I still do not hunt for eggs or buy a tree for my house. But rather, I prepare for Shabbat, make challah, keep kashrut and light my Shabbat candles on time (hopefully). I try to learn halachah, try to listen to Torah classes. Come the Hebrew month of Nissan, when I open my windows, I hear the sounds of vacuums whirring, water splashing and music blasting as my neighbors get busy with Passover cleaning. And I know that this is what I was meant to do.
Before, when I thought about being Jewish, it was merely a description, like my long eyelashes or brown hair. But as I learn and live my life as an observant Jewish woman, I see that it is so much more. It is who I am.
While it isn’t always easy, I try to keep G‑d in the forefront of my mind. When the good and the not-so-good happen, I remember that there is One who is in control.
Yes, I still struggle sometimes. Yes, there are times when I think that things would “certainly be easier if . . . ” But then I think of the billions of people in the world, and all the different pathsSaturday became Shabbat, food became kosher travelled by them. And that is when I feel truly blessed to have been chosen to be a Jew.
So yes, I still strive to be just like everyone else around me. But now, I surround myself with people like me. As the years have gone by, my waistband may have become elastic (cough) and my skirts longer, but now I am comfortable. The clothes fit.
Beryl Tritel, MSW, is a therapist with offices in Jerusalem and Ramat Bet Shemesh. She has been living in Israel for over 10 years with her husband and their 5 kids. She also offers Skype sessions. She can be reached at BerylTritel.com.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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The memory is clear.
I’m sitting on the couch between my nearly 2-year-old daughter and my 4-year-old son. Strewn on the coffee table are pretzels, a plate of apple slices and two plastic cups of apple juice.
I am reading my way through a stack of Jewish kiddie books. My kids know many of the books by heart. MyWhat am I doing reading kids books on Yom Kippur? daughter grabs for the book I’m holding, and my son decides he wants it, too.
As I play referee, a cup of apple juice spills right on my skirt and drips down onto the tan carpet. Why did the landlord put in such a light carpet in an apartment with children?! I think for the hundredth time.
“Stay right here!” I tell my kids, as I go off to change my skirt. As I head for my room, I hear the bickering escalate. Even though I know these things are just part of life, I feel myself tense.
Calm down! I scold myself. No one spilled apple juice on purpose, to annoy you! And one more little stain on the carpet doesn’t matter. Who cares? I sigh. But here it is, Yom Kippur, and for one day, just for a few hours, I should be able to banish bad feelings. This is a day for repentance, and here I am getting upset over spilled juice. It’s not even milk.
I change my skirt, and determine that I am not going to let things get to me that, in the scheme of things, really are insignificant.
But what am I doing on Yom Kippur reading kiddie books? I ask myself. Is this what G‑d wants from me? Maybe He wants me to be in shul. I have a lot of repentance to do this year, G‑d knows.
Ah, but no. I realize, especially when both of my beautiful children run to greet me with hugs when I return, that caring for my young children on Yom Kippur is exactly what G‑d wants from me.
My machzor, the High Holy Day prayerbook, that sits on the mantel will just have to wait. I tell myself that when my children are napping, I will get a chance to pray. I won’t have all day to do so, but I’ll make the time count.
Still, a part of me longs to be in shul, praying with concentration, and singing the Yom Kippur tunes. How I love those songs! The familiar melodies bring back memories of praying alongside my family as a child.
As I settle my children down with a dumped-out box of Legos, I hum the Yom Kippur tunes and I sing some of the kids’ favorites songs with them, like “Dip the Apple in the Honey.” Later, I will be able to get in some praying with my machzor.
I didn’t marry until I was in my 30s, and I didn’t have children for six-and-a-half years. I had plenty of time when I could focus only on myself and my prayers. Now, my avodah (translated as both “work” and also “Divine service”) is to care for my children—even, and maybe especially, on Yom Kippur. G‑d instructs us to emulate Him. As He is merciful, so, too, should we should be merciful. We emulate Him when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and heal (or tend to) the sick, which is all part of childcare.
When I was expecting my daughter, I really felt sick the afternoon right before Yom Kippur. I was due in two months, and I was terrified. I called my rabbi. He told me to tell my husband to stay home from synagogue that night. My husband would have liked to be there for Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur services, but he understood that it was even more important for him to be home with me.
By the morning, I was feeling much better, thank G‑d, and my husband went to shul. He has never needed to skip Yom Kippur services since then.In a way, I miss those days But all these years later, I am still grateful to him that he stayed with me that Yom Kippur night.
Now my children are 19 and 16. I sit in shul on Yom Kippur (and all other times) without distraction. I love singing the Yom Kippur songs with the whole congregation.
But, in a way, I miss those days when my children were little, even if it meant I couldn’t spend time in prayer the way I’d have liked.
The kiddie books are stashed away on the bottom shelf of our bookcase. They’re waiting for the next generation.
Jolie Greiff is a journalist and a mother. She lives with her husband and two children in Ramat Beit Shemesh, Israel.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Story
Milk Demons by Menachem Posner
It happened all too often. Poor Jewish tenants were unable to pay their rent and would end up in the dank dungeons of the local poritz (landowner) until they could scrape together what they owed. But how were the poor wretches supposed toHow were the poor wretches supposed to raise money from their prison cells? raise money from the confinement of their prison cells?
Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov—a consummate lover of the Jewish people—would spend many long weeks on the road, finding incarcerated tenants and raising funds for their release.
It happened that the Baal Shem Tov encountered one such family, and after immense efforts, managed to secure their freedom just before Shabbat.
“Please spend Shabbat with me as my guests,” offered the Baal Shem Tov. “It is too late for you to return home before the sun sets, and you surely have nothing prepared for the holy day.”
The family gratefully accepted his offer, and thirstily drank in the dazzling spiritual delights of Shabbat with the Baal Shem Tov and his close circle of students, the Chevraya Kadisha (the Holy Brotherhood).
As the Friday night meal progressed, the Baal Shem Tov turned to the poor man he had just rescued. “Please tell us,” he began, “what news from today do you have to share?”
“Rebbe,” replied his guest, “surely you know that I have been in jail for many weeks now. What sort of news can I possibly have heard?”
“In that case,” replied the Baal Shem Tov, “please tell us something interesting that happened to you.”
“I do not recall ever doing anything of particular interest,” said the man, “but we experienced something very peculiar while we were in prison.
“There was a group of vile men who were imprisoned near us. Every day, they would weep and wail. They made such a ruckus that we just kept to ourselves, frightened and miserable.
“Then, every Friday afternoon, just before Shabbat, they would begin to laugh and dance. This too would frighten us, but we had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.
“Today, they cried and shouted louder than ever before. Then, as the afternoon progressed, they began to laugh and dance as usual. But this time, they were so horribly gleeful, it was like nothing we had seen on previous weeks. I had always been afraid to approach the men lest they harm me, but knowing that you would be coming shortly to redeem us, I summoned up the nerve to ask the men the meaning behind their outlandish behavior.
“They explained to me that ‘there is a righteous men, an otherworldly tzaddik, who spends the entire week immersed in Torah study, prayer and spiritual pursuits. We are not men, but spirits who live off of this man’s sins. Since he lives such a holy life, we have very little to live off of, and this is why we cry.
“‘It is only on Friday that he finally decides to break his weeklong fast with a dish of milk, which he carefully prepares so that it will be ready when he returns from prayers. Every week, after he prepares his dish, one of us goes to his house and arranges to shove a member of the household into the cabinet where the milk is stored. The holy man becomes irked by this, and this anger gives us enough vitality to survive the next week.
“‘Recently, the holy man caught onto our game and decided to one-up us. He carefully prepared his milk and locked it into his safe, confident that no-one would disturb it there. He then contentedly prepared himself for prayers. When we got wind of this, we cried like never before, fearing for our very survival.
“‘Then we had an idea. One of us went to his house disguised as a peasant with a cart full of firewood. Standing outside the man’s humble home, the peasant offered the firewood at such a cheap price that the righteousOn Friday, he finally breaks his weeklong fast man’s wife asked her husband if she could go to the safe and withdraw a few coins to purchase the wood. In her excitement, she knocked over the bowl of milk, and her husband lost his cool. That’s why we laughed with such joy now.’”
As the man concluded his strange tale, one of the students of the Baal Shem Tov fell from his seat in a faint. He was the holy man in question.
(When telling this story, Chassidim would say: See how G‑d orchestrates things. He arranged for this man to be placed in prison and to be released right before Shabbat, just so that this man could learn to mend his errant ways.)
(From Reshimot Devarim, vol. 1, pp. 12-13.)
Rabbi Menachem Posner serves as staff editor for Chabad.org.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Jewish News
Torah Scroll Honors Memories of Slain Dallas Police Officers It will be sent to another Texas town, where young professionals will use it for minyan by Faygie Levy Holt
A Torah is on its way for use in Austin, Texas, dedicated to five police officers who were killed in the line of duty this summer. Here, representatives of the New York City Police Department participate in a ceremony in memory of the fallen officers. Third from left is Bentzion Chanowitz, who runs the daily operations of the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
When Rosh Hashanah begins at sundown on Sunday, Oct. 2, members of Chabad of South Austin/Young Jewish Professionals will hold their first minyan since last Yom Kippur. Together, they will celebrate not only the start of the Jewish New Year, but the welcoming of a new Sefer Torah.
“We just heard we would be getting a new Torah,” said Rabbi Mendy Levertov, co-director of the Chabad center with his wife, Mussy. “It’s so exciting for our congregation. This is difference between having weekly service and not having one because without the Torah, we can’t read the weekly portion together. This Torah will help us be able to grow and build a weekly minyan.”
Adding to the significance is that the Torah is dedicated to five slain Dallas police officers who lost their lives this summer in the line of duty.
“I work closely with the Austin Police Department and have a good relationship with them. For us, it is very important to recognize the protection that the police give us and the service they provide to the community,” explains Levertov. “We are proud to have a Torah that ties together Jew and non-Jew, law enforcement and our community, and enforces that strong connection during the High Holidays.”
The Torah is being sent to Austin on an open-ended contract by the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach—a project of Merkos Suite 302 in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y. The organization collects Torah scrolls in unusable condition and repairs them before sending them off on loan to congregations and communities in need of them, a great many to Chabad centers.
The eventual goal is to have the recipients rally to raise funds for a permanent Torah.
The Torah comes through the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach, a project of Merkos Suite 302. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
Other scrolls have been dedicated in memory of security forces, including Israeli soldiers. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
On the cover are the names, badge numbers and ranks of the slain officers. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
Chanowitz approached an anonymous donor, who agreed to help underwrite the cost of repairing the Torah and designing the mantel. The inscription of the blue velvet Torah cover includes the names, badge numbers and ranks of the officers who died: Patrick Zamarripa, Brent Thompson, Michael Krol, Lorne Ahern and Michael Smith.
It says, in part: “This Torah is in memory of the five police officers who dedicated and sacrificed their lives to protect our community and the American people. May their spirit live on thru use of this Torah.”
It ends with the words “In G‑d We Trust.”
The Torah was officially dedicated last week at a gathering attended by NYPD officers and local community members before heading off to its new home in Austin.
It is one of nearly 140 scrolls—most of them them refurbished, but some new ones donated as well—that have been sent to communities around the world since the Gemach began four-and-a-half years ago. Another five scrolls are being readied for the High Holidays and will go to different divisions of Chabad Houses on campus.
Five other Torahs are on their way to campus Chabad Houses for the High Holidays. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
Tacks point to places in North America where Torahs have been sent by the Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
Marking communities around the world as well; blue caps highlight the Torah Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Jewish News
Corsica, Birthplace of Bonaparte, Says ‘Bonjour’ to First Permanent Chabad House Replete with Jewish history, the island is the final French frontier, according to rabbi by Shmuel Loebenstein
Towers were erected for Corsica's protection. Nationalist sentiment has surged and died on the island since its independence in 1729, which lasted until France took control in 1768. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
Every few weeks, Rabbi Levi Pinson takes the ferry from Corsica to Nice. It’s much quicker by plane, about 45 minutes, but Pinson needs to bring his car along so he can cram it with kosher food on the way back.
If you drew a line along the French-Italian border and then continued drawing south into the Mediterranean Sea, you’d miss Corsica by a cruise ship or two. Corsica is French, although neither the French nor the Corsicans seem particularly happy with that arrangement. Nationalist sentiment has surged and died on the island since its independence in 1729, which lasted until France took control in 1768. Corsica is more culturally aligned with Italy, whose language and traditions are similar to its own.
That includes the Omerta tradition, which saved hundreds of Jews during World War II and continues to aid the Jews of Corsica today. Omerta is the Mafia-like code of honor that runs through Italy, Corsica and Greece. When thousands of French Jews fled to Corsica after the Nazi takeover of France, the Vichy government came after them. But the authorities’ inquiries met unyielding silence—the Omerta of the Corsican locals, whose sense of honor would not allow them to betray the Jews who had found refuge in their homes and villages.
That code of silence continues to operate, as Rabbi Levi Pinson found out when he first started visiting Corsica some years ago. Pinson was there as part of the “Roving Rabbis” program that sends rabbinical students to remote Jewish communities around the world to provide smaller, unserved communities with religious services and support. Each time he asked a local if he knew any Jews he could meet, Pinson was given the cold shoulder—and no answers.
He laughs today when he recalls that initial experience. “Once they find out you’re not a bad guy, they are very friendly,” he says. “They’re honest and respectful people. It was scary when I first started, but then they warmed up.”
Affixing a mezuah to a residence in Corsica
The French native moved to Corsica last month with his wife, Mushky, where they opened up the first permanent Chabad House on the island. He’s not the first Pinson to be doing Jewish outreach there—his father, Rabbi Yossef Pinson, executive director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Nice-Côte d’Azur, started visiting the Jews of Corsica more than 40 years ago.
The Jews of Corsica
No one knows exactly when the story of Jewish Corsica began. One theory suggests that Pasquale Paoli, the hero of the 1729 independence, persuaded Jews from Livorno to migrate to Corsica and aid in the island’s economic development. Sadly, that initial cohort assimilated, and no descendants are counted among the Jewish community today. Some of Corsica’s most prominent family names, such as Simeoni and Gabrielli, bear the legacy of those early settlers.
The next influx of Jews came from Tiberias in the early 20th century. Their safety had become imperiled when the region, then under Ottoman rule, was plunged into the chaos of World War I. The French allowed 800 of them to flee to Corsica and start new lives on the other side of the Mediterranean.
Rabbinical students have visited Corsica over the years to serve the Jewish community there.
They set up shop in Bastia, the port city in Corsica’s north. The community seems to have transplanted their Galilean way of life with some success: They built the Beth Meir Synagogue, which continues to function; the nucleus of today’s Jewish establishment are descendants of those Tiberias refugees. Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Toledano, an Israeli minister in the late 1950s and early 1960s, was born and raised in the heart of this community.
When the elder Pinson started making visits to the island 40 years ago, the Bastia community was still the center of Corsican Jewry. Ajaccio, Corsica’s capital and its largest city, had some Jews but no synagogue. The rabbi, who has served as the Chabad emissary in Nice since 1976, always felt a religious/geographical kinship with the Jews of Corsica. He considered himself responsible for their welfare—a responsibility that he continued to bear throughout the years.
Inside cover of the Tanya printed in Corsica
Eventually, he began sending rabbinical students in the “Roving Rabbis” program on regular forays into Corsica’s cities and towns.
Some four decades after Pinson first stepped off the ferry onto Corsica’s sunny shores, his son set up the first permanent Chabad House. The elder rabbi put up the mezuzah at the opening ceremony.
Napoleon and the Tanya
Corsica had come across Chabad’s radar well before either Pinson was born. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the youngest son of the Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch—known as the Rebbe Maharash—and the brother of the Fifth Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom Dovber of Lubavitch, spent his last years on the island and passed away in Bastia in 1941.
In 1956, Rabbi Menachem Mendel’s great-nephew, the Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—arranged that the former be reinterred in Safed, Israel.
But Chabad cannot be said to have truly encountered a place until a Tanya has been printed there. Corsica is no exception. In 1985 (5745), an edition of the Tanya was printed in Ajaccio. Because this city, the capital, is the birthplace of French general Napoleon Bonaparte, this particular printing of the Tanya carried symbolic importance.
Chabad's presence is welcome on the island, by visitors and residents alike.
Appreciating a place to pray and participate in Jewish programs.
Rabbi Shneur Zalman, author of the Tanya, was unflinching in his opposition to Napoleon during the 1812 French invasion of Russia, a position that put him at odds with most of his rabbinic colleagues. He felt that Napoleon’s liberalism would sow the seeds for Jewish apathy. The Russians repelled the invasion, and the Napoleonic Wars began to reach their end. Two centuries later, Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s Tanya, which continues to stoke the flames of Jewish passion, was printed in the cradle of the vanquished French emperor.
The Corsica-Chabad-Tanya links go further. The first known translation of the Tanya—the seminal work of Chabad Chassidic philosophy—was into Russian (from the original Hebrew). The translator? Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, son of the Rebbe Maharash, resident of Corsica.
A younger population can be found on the island, looking for Jewish programs …
… and prayer.
‘One Big Family’
Pinson chose to open his Chabad House in Ajaccio. He explained that while Bastia is the historical seat of Jewish Corsica, a younger community has sprung up in the capital city that has been eager to see the stirrings of Jewish life that the Pinsons have prompted since their arrival. They have run programs for the children, hosted classes for their parents, thrown parties and held services.
The island of Corsica lies to the southeast of France. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
Waves of tourists washed over the island during the summer, like it does every year. The Pinsons opened up a temporary kosher shop, stocked with food he brought over from Nice on the ferry. He has plans of opening a restaurant for next summer.
For now, though, the rabbi says he is focused on the permanent Ajaccio community. Many of them are former residents of France proper, anxious to set up their home on this Mediterranean paradise while still enjoying the benefits of French citizenship. There is a feeling that Corsica has remained free of the tensions that have gripped Jews on the mainland in recent times, and that it will welcome and protect Jews as it did in the 1940s—and like it always has.
The Pinsons describe Corsica as “one big family,” a laid-back place with an omnipresent social hum. But for them, setting up shop on the island is no holiday. There is work to be done. The Rebbe taught that France—symbolic of Napoleon’s toxic effect on religious belief and practice—is the final frontier in history’s long march to a world that accepts, and not rejects, G‑d.
“France is already transformed,” Pinson says with a smile, alluding to the Jewish revival there in the past decades. “Now, it’s only Corsica left.”
Parshah
History or Memory? By Mendel Kalmenson
It has been said that there is no word for history in the Hebrew language.
(The modern Hebrew equivalent, historia, is a word-lift from the English history, which was pinched from the Greek historia. What goes around, comes around . . . )
The absence of a word as central to any nation as “history” is striking. It’s probably because there’s no such thing as “history” in Judaism.
Zikaron (memory), however, a distant cousin of history, features prominently in biblical language and thought.
It goes far beyond semantics, cutting straight to the core of Judaism’s perception of the past.
You see, “history” is his-story, not mine. The first two letters of “memory,” however, spell me.
Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from meWithout me there is no memory. Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from me.
Put differently: History is made up of objective facts, and memory of subjective experience.
As you might have guessed, Judaism is less interested in dry facts than in breathing experiences.
It is for this reason that much of Jewish tradition and ritual draws on reenactment. We don’t just commemorate, we remember. We don’t just recount someone else’s story, we relive our own.
A few examples:
Much of the Seder curriculum aims to stimulate feelings of slavery and bitterness (e.g., the salt water, bitter herbs, poor man’s bread—a.k.a. matzah, and so on), as well as royalty and liberty (four cups of wine, leaning on cushions, and the like).
In fact, in certain Jewish communities, the seventh night of Passover (the night the sea split for the Jews) finds many walking through pails of water to recreate that event.
On Shavuot we stay up the entire night in anticipation of the giving of the Torah on the morrow, and children are brought to synagogue to hear the Ten Commandments from G‑d.
He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard fromIn fact, Judaism teaches that, in soul, we were all present at Sinai;1 each one of us personally encountered G‑d. Consequently, G‑d is not just the G‑d of our ancestors; He is our G‑d. He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard from.
The divine revelation at Sinai thus distinguishes itself from any other revelation described in other religious traditions. Central to other religions is the belief that G‑d never shows Himself to the masses, to a community of commoners. He speaks only to the prophet, who alone is worthy of divine communion. It’s for the flock to trust implicitly in their shepherd’s account of revelation. Not so in Judaism, which maintains that, indeed, the greatest divine revelation of all time was made accessible to maidservant and Moses alike.
Moreover, even as He spoke to a nation of millions, G‑d addressed each one of them personally. As our sages teach, in His opening words at Sinai, “I am G‑d, your G‑d,” He chose to use the singular form of “your” (elokecha)—the “thy” of vintage English—over the plural possessive (elokeichem).
This was one of the greatest gifts that G‑d bequeathed our people, to include all of us in the Sinaitic display, for it turned our nation’s most seminal event into a living memory, as opposed to a lifeless lesson in history.
Moving along to the ninth of Av, the day the Holy Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago, and a national day of mourning—its customs include eating eggs dipped in ash (just prior to the fast), sitting on low stools, wearing slippers, fasting, and lamenting like it happened only yesterday.
The sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road tripCome Sukkot, and we move into huts for a week to recall the booths we lived in throughout our desert trek. Like a figurative time machine, the sukkahtransports us to that distant and formative road trip.
And the list goes on.
The point is, remembering is big in our tradition.
The following discussion seeks to highlight just how big.
The Finale
“Today I am one hundred and twenty years old,” begins Moses’ last homily. “I am no longer able to lead you . . .”
The end is near, or here.
“Be strong and courageous . . . Do not be afraid . . . for G‑d is going with you . . .”2
These moving snippets, and the time in which they were spoken, help set the scene and mood of the last public address given by a selfless leader to his (less-than-selfless) congregation.
And these are the words with which he leaves them:
At the end of seven years . . . during the festival on the holiday of Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before G‑d, in the place that He will choose, the king should read the Torah before all of Israel. Assemble the people, the men, the women and the minors, and the convert in your cities, in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn, and they shall fear G‑d . . .3
Moses’ final remarks to his people outlined the mitzvah of hak’hel, the commandment obliging all Jews to septennially gather in the Holy Temple to hear selections of the Torah being read by the Jewish king.
Then, following Moses’ talk with the people, G‑d has a final talk4 with him:
You are soon to lie with your fathers. This nation will rise up and desire to follow the gods of the people of the land into which they are coming. They will forsake Me and violate the covenant which I made with them…
Now, write for yourselves this song . . .
Which song, we wonder; and how might a song stop Jews from assimilating?
Maimonides explains:
It is a positive command for every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as the verse states, “Now write for yourselves this song,” meaning to say, “Write for yourselves a Torah which contains this song . . .”5
This mitzvah, for every individual to write his own Torah scroll, is the 613th and final mitzvah to be recorded in the Torah.6 It is the subject of the last conversation between G‑d and Moses that pertained to the people. It must somehow contain a recipe for Jewish survival, an antidote for assimilation.
But what might that be?
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long lifeThe single concern on Moses’ mind that day, and later echoed by G‑d in their conversation, was the future of this fragile nation—a future that would become less rosy with time, offering terrible persecution as well as progressive religious challenges.
The solution suggested by both G‑d and Moses was the same:
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long life. However, if it were taught as a dead subject, it would, G‑d forbid, be subject to death.
Both the mitzvah of hak’hel and writing a Torah scroll were established to turn the former prospect into reality.
Hak’hel was the reenactment of Sinai. Here’s how Maimonides describes it:
They would prepare their hearts and alert their ears to listen with dread and awe and with trembling joy, like the day [the Torah] was given at Sinai . . . as though the Torah was being commanded to him now, and he was hearing it from the mouth of the Almighty . . .7
Might this explain why of all biblical commands, hak’hel stands alone in obligating (parents to bring their) children,8 including those too young to walk and too underdeveloped to understand, feel or appreciate what was going on around them? The hak’hel experience was not just about the mind, it was about the soul; it triggered the subconscious, not just the conscious. As such, children, who possess as much soul as adults, were present. Somewhere inside their psyche, they reexperienced Sinai.
This also explains why even the greatest sages were present when the king read the Torah, even though they were fluent in what would be read. For this was not a lecture or a refresher course; it was a trip.
Hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real againFor a similar reason, it wasn’t the scholar most proficient in Torah who read from it, but the king, “for the king is an agent to make the words of G‑d heard.”9
A class is best taught by an expert teacher. The awe of Sinai is best reenacted through the presence and word of a mighty king.
In sum, hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real again.
But that worked in Jerusalem, in the Holy Temple, once in seven years. How would the other six years, outside Jerusalem, and in the days when our nation would be bereft of a Temple, be charged with living Judaism?
For this reason G‑d gave us the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, to be written and stored inside one’s home wherever and whenever they may live, and whose purpose it is to recreate the personal divine encounter we each experienced at Sinai.
Maimonides could not have put it better when he said that when “a person writes a Torah with his own hand, it is as if he received it from Mount Sinai . . .”
Thus, Moses’ punchline could not have been more appropriate and helpful at that historic moment. Both of the mitzvot he conveyed, and the ideas they represented, were his last and best words of advice to a people facing great odds.
Do more than study Torah and perform mitzvot. Live them, ingest and digest them, experience them—and they will live on.10
What’s in It for Me?
We’re losing numbers, and fast.
Currently, 72 percent of (non-observant) American Jews intermarry.11
Most of those, unfortunately, never received a Jewish education. That’s problem number one.
Some of them did, however, which is problem number two.
If we want to get through to the youth of today, we must shift our educational focus from Jewish knowledge to Jewish experience—Judaism as a lifestyle, not (just) a topic for discussion or a paper.
How often have I heard someone who recently experienced Shabbat, a Jewish holiday or passionate study saying, “I love it, it talks to me, I can’t live without it!”
Perhaps that’s because for the first time in their lives they engaged in living Judaism, not laboratory Judaism.
Or perhaps it was the first time that they felt that Judaism isn’t someone else’s story, but their own.
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson is the rabbi of Beit Baruch and executive director of Chabad of Belgravia, London, where he lives with his wife, Chana, and children.
Mendel was an editor at the Judaism Website—Chabad.org, and is also the author of the popular books Seeds of Wisdom and A Time to Heal.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.
FOOTNOTES
1.
See Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 41; Exodus Rabbah 28:6.
2.
Deuteronomy 31:2, 6.
3.
Ibid. 31:10–12. According to the biblical commentator Abarbanel, verse 30 of that chapter describes an address given by Moses to the representatives of Israel, but the people weren’t present.
4.
Ibid. 31:16, 19. Their conversations later on (e.g., 32:48–52) were logistical and contained some final remarks, but didn’t pertain to his leadership of the people.
5.
Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Torah Scroll 7:1.
6.
For more on this mitzvah, and the reason why it isn’t commonly practiced nowadays, see Writing a Personal Torah Scroll.
7.
Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Festival Offerings 3:6.
8.
See Talmud, Kiddushin 34b: “Children are obligated in the mitzvah of hak’hel.”
9.
Mishneh Torah, loc. cit.
10.
Based on the Rebbe’s teachings, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 34.
11.
“Jewish Intermarriage Statistics,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/articles/a/IntermarriageWhyNot.
See also “World Jewish Population,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/world-jewish-population.htm.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Lifestyle
Fried Chicken Kreplach By Miriam Szokovski
Aaah, kreplach...
Beautiful kreplach...
There are two kreplach “occasions” coming up—the meal before Yom Kippur and the Hoshana Rabbah meal. What exactly are kreplach? Boiled or fried pockets of dough stuffed with either meat or chicken, usually served in chicken soup. The meat symbolizes severity; the dough is an allusion to kindness. In preparation for the Day of Judgment, we “cover” the severity with kindness. To understand more about kreplach, what they represent and when else we eat them, check out this great explanation. If you’ve never tried them—you’re certainly missing out, and this would be a good time to start.
Last year, I shared a recipe using wonton wrappers for the dough, but this time I'm giving you step-by-step instructions to make the dough yourself. I also boiled them last time, and here we'll be frying them. To check out the recipe, see my Golden Chicken Soup with Traditional Kreplach recipe.
These step-by-step pictures should help with the directions below:
Dough Ingredients:
3 cups flour
1 cup hot water
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
Filling Ingredients:
3/4 lb. raw ground chicken
1/2 onion, diced
salt
1 tbsp. oil
Also:
Vegetable oil for frying
For the Dough:
Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Add the oil and water and mix roughly with a wooden spoon. Switch to your hands and bring the dough together into a ball.
Knead the dough for a few minutes, then cover it with a kitchen towel and set it aside to rest for 30-60 minutes.
For the Filling:
Fry the diced onion in the oil until golden. Salt to taste.
Let the fried onion cool and then add it to the ground chicken.
To Assemble:
Divide the dough into four pieces. Roll out the first piece and cut into squares. Place a teaspoon of filling in the center of each square, then fold over and seal edges to form a triangle. Press firmly along the edges with your fingers. Repeat until all the dough has been used. (Keep all the dough covered while not using, so it doesn't dry out.)
Place the sealed kreplach aside on a piece of parchment paper, covered by a kitchen towel, until ready to fry.
Heat oil to medium-high in a frying pan. Fry the kreplach on each side, until golden, crisp and chicken mixture is cooked through—approximately 3-4 minutes on the first side, then 2 minutes on the second side.
Serve in chicken soup, or on the side.
Yields: 30 kreplach
Miriam Szokovski is the author of the historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Lifestyle
Art: Spiritual Bread By Orit Martin
This painting attempts to express the basic Chassidic principle that every material item contains a spiritual spark. When we use the material goods to enhance and assist our spiritual pursuits, we elevate the sparks, as indicated by the Hebrew letters rising heavenward.
Orit draws inspiration for her art from kabbalah, the Zohar, Chassidic texts and Jewish motifs. Her work deals with existential topics such as the connection between body and soul and man’s place in the universe. Her paintings address the relationships between opposites: the transitory and the eternal, the spiritual and the concrete, the tangible and the abstract.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber
Vayelech In Depth
A condensation of the weekly Torah portion alongside select commentaries culled from the Midrash, Talmud, Chassidic masters, and the broad corpus of Jewish scholarship.
Today my days and years were fulfilled; on this day I was born, and on this day I shall die. . . . This is to teach us that G‑d fulfills the years of the righteous to the day and to the month, as it is written (Exodus 23:26): “I shall fulfill the number of your days.”
G‑d said to Moses: “Such is the way of the world: each generation has its teachers. Until now was your portion to serve Me; now has come the portion of Joshua your disciple.”
Said Moses to G‑d: “Master of the Universe! If it is because of Joshua that I must die, let me become his disciple.”
Said G‑d to him: “If that is your wish, you may do so.”
So Moses arose early in the morning to Joshua’s door, and Joshua was sitting and teaching. Moses bent his frame and covered his mouth, and Joshua did not see him. . . . All of Israel came to Moses’ door, but found him at Joshua’s door, and Joshua was sitting and Moses was standing. The people said to Joshua: “Joshua! What has happened to you, that Moses our master is standing and you are sitting?” As soon as Joshua lifted his eyes and saw this, he immediately tore his garments and cried and wept: “Master! Master! Father, my father and lord!”
Said the people to him: “Moses our teacher! Teach us Torah.”
Said he to them: “I do not have license.”
Said they to him: “We shall not leave you!”
Then a voice came forth from heaven and said to them: “Learn from Joshua!” and they accepted it.
Joshua sat at their head, Moses to his right and the sons of Aaron to his left; he sat and taught, and Moses did not understand his teaching.
After they stood up, the people of Israel said to Moses: “Moses our teacher, explain the teaching to us.”
Said he to them: “I do not know it.” And Moses was stumbling and failing.
At that moment, he said to G‑d: “Master of the Universe! Until now, I asked for life. Now, my soul is placed in Your hand.”
There are times when G‑d hides His face. But then there are times when G‑d hides His face and we don’t even realize that His face is hidden; we dwell in darkness, and think it is light. This is a double galut, a concealment within a concealment.
-------
Parshah
History or Memory? By Mendel Kalmenson
It has been said that there is no word for history in the Hebrew language.
(The modern Hebrew equivalent, historia, is a word-lift from the English history, which was pinched from the Greek historia. What goes around, comes around . . . )
The absence of a word as central to any nation as “history” is striking. It’s probably because there’s no such thing as “history” in Judaism.
Zikaron (memory), however, a distant cousin of history, features prominently in biblical language and thought.
It goes far beyond semantics, cutting straight to the core of Judaism’s perception of the past.
You see, “history” is his-story, not mine. The first two letters of “memory,” however, spell me.
Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from meWithout me there is no memory. Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from me.
Put differently: History is made up of objective facts, and memory of subjective experience.
As you might have guessed, Judaism is less interested in dry facts than in breathing experiences.
It is for this reason that much of Jewish tradition and ritual draws on reenactment. We don’t just commemorate, we remember. We don’t just recount someone else’s story, we relive our own.
A few examples:
Much of the Seder curriculum aims to stimulate feelings of slavery and bitterness (e.g., the salt water, bitter herbs, poor man’s bread—a.k.a. matzah, and so on), as well as royalty and liberty (four cups of wine, leaning on cushions, and the like).
In fact, in certain Jewish communities, the seventh night of Passover (the night the sea split for the Jews) finds many walking through pails of water to recreate that event.
On Shavuot we stay up the entire night in anticipation of the giving of the Torah on the morrow, and children are brought to synagogue to hear the Ten Commandments from G‑d.
He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard fromIn fact, Judaism teaches that, in soul, we were all present at Sinai;1 each one of us personally encountered G‑d. Consequently, G‑d is not just the G‑d of our ancestors; He is our G‑d. He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard from.
The divine revelation at Sinai thus distinguishes itself from any other revelation described in other religious traditions. Central to other religions is the belief that G‑d never shows Himself to the masses, to a community of commoners. He speaks only to the prophet, who alone is worthy of divine communion. It’s for the flock to trust implicitly in their shepherd’s account of revelation. Not so in Judaism, which maintains that, indeed, the greatest divine revelation of all time was made accessible to maidservant and Moses alike.
Moreover, even as He spoke to a nation of millions, G‑d addressed each one of them personally. As our sages teach, in His opening words at Sinai, “I am G‑d, your G‑d,” He chose to use the singular form of “your” (elokecha)—the “thy” of vintage English—over the plural possessive (elokeichem).
This was one of the greatest gifts that G‑d bequeathed our people, to include all of us in the Sinaitic display, for it turned our nation’s most seminal event into a living memory, as opposed to a lifeless lesson in history.
Moving along to the ninth of Av, the day the Holy Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago, and a national day of mourning—its customs include eating eggs dipped in ash (just prior to the fast), sitting on low stools, wearing slippers, fasting, and lamenting like it happened only yesterday.
The sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road tripCome Sukkot, and we move into huts for a week to recall the booths we lived in throughout our desert trek. Like a figurative time machine, the sukkahtransports us to that distant and formative road trip.
And the list goes on.
The point is, remembering is big in our tradition.
The following discussion seeks to highlight just how big.
The Finale
“Today I am one hundred and twenty years old,” begins Moses’ last homily. “I am no longer able to lead you . . .”
The end is near, or here.
“Be strong and courageous . . . Do not be afraid . . . for G‑d is going with you . . .”2
These moving snippets, and the time in which they were spoken, help set the scene and mood of the last public address given by a selfless leader to his (less-than-selfless) congregation.
And these are the words with which he leaves them:
At the end of seven years . . . during the festival on the holiday of Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before G‑d, in the place that He will choose, the king should read the Torah before all of Israel. Assemble the people, the men, the women and the minors, and the convert in your cities, in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn, and they shall fear G‑d . . .3
Moses’ final remarks to his people outlined the mitzvah of hak’hel, the commandment obliging all Jews to septennially gather in the Holy Temple to hear selections of the Torah being read by the Jewish king.
Then, following Moses’ talk with the people, G‑d has a final talk4 with him:
You are soon to lie with your fathers. This nation will rise up and desire to follow the gods of the people of the land into which they are coming. They will forsake Me and violate the covenant which I made with them…
Now, write for yourselves this song . . .
Which song, we wonder; and how might a song stop Jews from assimilating?
Maimonides explains:
It is a positive command for every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as the verse states, “Now write for yourselves this song,” meaning to say, “Write for yourselves a Torah which contains this song . . .”5
This mitzvah, for every individual to write his own Torah scroll, is the 613th and final mitzvah to be recorded in the Torah.6 It is the subject of the last conversation between G‑d and Moses that pertained to the people. It must somehow contain a recipe for Jewish survival, an antidote for assimilation.
But what might that be?
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long lifeThe single concern on Moses’ mind that day, and later echoed by G‑d in their conversation, was the future of this fragile nation—a future that would become less rosy with time, offering terrible persecution as well as progressive religious challenges.
The solution suggested by both G‑d and Moses was the same:
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long life. However, if it were taught as a dead subject, it would, G‑d forbid, be subject to death.
Both the mitzvah of hak’hel and writing a Torah scroll were established to turn the former prospect into reality.
Hak’hel was the reenactment of Sinai. Here’s how Maimonides describes it:
They would prepare their hearts and alert their ears to listen with dread and awe and with trembling joy, like the day [the Torah] was given at Sinai . . . as though the Torah was being commanded to him now, and he was hearing it from the mouth of the Almighty . . .7
Might this explain why of all biblical commands, hak’hel stands alone in obligating (parents to bring their) children,8 including those too young to walk and too underdeveloped to understand, feel or appreciate what was going on around them? The hak’hel experience was not just about the mind, it was about the soul; it triggered the subconscious, not just the conscious. As such, children, who possess as much soul as adults, were present. Somewhere inside their psyche, they reexperienced Sinai.
This also explains why even the greatest sages were present when the king read the Torah, even though they were fluent in what would be read. For this was not a lecture or a refresher course; it was a trip.
Hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real againFor a similar reason, it wasn’t the scholar most proficient in Torah who read from it, but the king, “for the king is an agent to make the words of G‑d heard.”9
A class is best taught by an expert teacher. The awe of Sinai is best reenacted through the presence and word of a mighty king.
In sum, hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real again.
But that worked in Jerusalem, in the Holy Temple, once in seven years. How would the other six years, outside Jerusalem, and in the days when our nation would be bereft of a Temple, be charged with living Judaism?
For this reason G‑d gave us the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, to be written and stored inside one’s home wherever and whenever they may live, and whose purpose it is to recreate the personal divine encounter we each experienced at Sinai.
Maimonides could not have put it better when he said that when “a person writes a Torah with his own hand, it is as if he received it from Mount Sinai . . .”
Thus, Moses’ punchline could not have been more appropriate and helpful at that historic moment. Both of the mitzvot he conveyed, and the ideas they represented, were his last and best words of advice to a people facing great odds.
Do more than study Torah and perform mitzvot. Live them, ingest and digest them, experience them—and they will live on.10
What’s in It for Me?
We’re losing numbers, and fast.
Currently, 72 percent of (non-observant) American Jews intermarry.11
Most of those, unfortunately, never received a Jewish education. That’s problem number one.
Some of them did, however, which is problem number two.
If we want to get through to the youth of today, we must shift our educational focus from Jewish knowledge to Jewish experience—Judaism as a lifestyle, not (just) a topic for discussion or a paper.
How often have I heard someone who recently experienced Shabbat, a Jewish holiday or passionate study saying, “I love it, it talks to me, I can’t live without it!”
Perhaps that’s because for the first time in their lives they engaged in living Judaism, not laboratory Judaism.
Or perhaps it was the first time that they felt that Judaism isn’t someone else’s story, but their own.
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson is the rabbi of Beit Baruch and executive director of Chabad of Belgravia, London, where he lives with his wife, Chana, and children.
Mendel was an editor at the Judaism Website—Chabad.org, and is also the author of the popular books Seeds of Wisdom and A Time to Heal.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 41; Exodus Rabbah 28:6.
2.Deuteronomy 31:2, 6.
3.Ibid. 31:10–12. According to the biblical commentator Abarbanel, verse 30 of that chapter describes an address given by Moses to the representatives of Israel, but the people weren’t present.
4.Ibid. 31:16, 19. Their conversations later on (e.g., 32:48–52) were logistical and contained some final remarks, but didn’t pertain to his leadership of the people.
5.Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Torah Scroll 7:1.
6.For more on this mitzvah, and the reason why it isn’t commonly practiced nowadays, see Writing a Personal Torah Scroll.
7.Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Festival Offerings 3:6.
8.See Talmud, Kiddushin 34b: “Children are obligated in the mitzvah of hak’hel.”
9.Mishneh Torah, loc. cit.
10.Based on the Rebbe’s teachings, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 34.
11.“Jewish Intermarriage Statistics,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/articles/a/IntermarriageWhyNot.
See also “World Jewish Population,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/world-jewish-population.htm.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Lifestyle
Fried Chicken Kreplach By Miriam Szokovski
Aaah, kreplach...
Beautiful kreplach...
There are two kreplach “occasions” coming up—the meal before Yom Kippur and the Hoshana Rabbah meal. What exactly are kreplach? Boiled or fried pockets of dough stuffed with either meat or chicken, usually served in chicken soup. The meat symbolizes severity; the dough is an allusion to kindness. In preparation for the Day of Judgment, we “cover” the severity with kindness. To understand more about kreplach, what they represent and when else we eat them, check out this great explanation. If you’ve never tried them—you’re certainly missing out, and this would be a good time to start.
Last year, I shared a recipe using wonton wrappers for the dough, but this time I'm giving you step-by-step instructions to make the dough yourself. I also boiled them last time, and here we'll be frying them. To check out the recipe, see my Golden Chicken Soup with Traditional Kreplach recipe.
These step-by-step pictures should help with the directions below:
Dough Ingredients:
3 cups flour
1 cup hot water
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
Filling Ingredients:
3/4 lb. raw ground chicken
1/2 onion, diced
salt
1 tbsp. oil
Also:
Vegetable oil for frying
For the Dough:
Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Add the oil and water and mix roughly with a wooden spoon. Switch to your hands and bring the dough together into a ball.
Knead the dough for a few minutes, then cover it with a kitchen towel and set it aside to rest for 30-60 minutes.
For the Filling:
Fry the diced onion in the oil until golden. Salt to taste.
Let the fried onion cool and then add it to the ground chicken.
To Assemble:
Divide the dough into four pieces. Roll out the first piece and cut into squares. Place a teaspoon of filling in the center of each square, then fold over and seal edges to form a triangle. Press firmly along the edges with your fingers. Repeat until all the dough has been used. (Keep all the dough covered while not using, so it doesn't dry out.)
Place the sealed kreplach aside on a piece of parchment paper, covered by a kitchen towel, until ready to fry.
Heat oil to medium-high in a frying pan. Fry the kreplach on each side, until golden, crisp and chicken mixture is cooked through—approximately 3-4 minutes on the first side, then 2 minutes on the second side.
Serve in chicken soup, or on the side.
Yields: 30 kreplach
Miriam Szokovski is the author of the historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Lifestyle
Art: Spiritual Bread by Orit Martin
This painting attempts to express the basic Chassidic principle that every material item contains a spiritual spark. When we use the material goods to enhance and assist our spiritual pursuits, we elevate the sparks, as indicated by the Hebrew letters rising heavenward.
Orit draws inspiration for her art from kabbalah, the Zohar, Chassidic texts and Jewish motifs. Her work deals with existential topics such as the connection between body and soul and man’s place in the universe. Her paintings address the relationships between opposites: the transitory and the eternal, the spiritual and the concrete, the tangible and the abstract.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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This Week's Features
Printable Magazine
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10 Tishrei Moments with the Lubavitcher RebbeGive your own High Holiday experience a boost with these powerful photos by Eli Rubin
On the Calendar 10 Tishrei Moments with the Lubavitcher Rebbe Give your own High Holiday experience a boost with these powerful photos by Eli Rubin; featuring photos from Jewish Educational Media
The images in this listicle are from a beautiful new book published by Jewish Educational Media (JEM). Tishrei in Lubavitch includes well over a hundred photos, taken between 1979 and 1984. Each opens a powerful window of discovery into what it was like to spend this month of festivals in the Rebbe’s presence.
1. Between the Personal and the Collective
On the eve following Rosh Hashanah, after distributing wine from the cup upon which he made the havdalah blessing, the Rebbe claps his hands and encourages the crowd in their singing. (1979)To celebrate Tishrei with the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson of righteous memory, was to embark on a soaring journey of the spirit. Each new day brought a new high, fresh moments of awe, insight, elation, and—above all—connection. From all corners of the globe people traveled to the Rebbe’s court in Crown Heights, New York. They came as individuals, each on their own journey of spiritual growth and transformation. But they also came to transcend personal constraints, to draw power and inspiration from the collective soul—from the Rebbe, who embraces all of us and helps each of us enhance our connection to G‑d.
Today, more than twenty years after the Rebbe’s passing, our work during the month of Tishrei remains the same. We seek to move beyond our personal constraints, and we celebrate our specific roles in G‑d’s all-encompassing vision. We continue to be inspired and empowered by the Rebbe and his teachings, so that we too can achieve transformation and transcendence. We are further taught that image and imagination both have the capacity to reinvoke the power of another time and another place.1 These images were captured more than three decades ago, but even now awaken experiences anew.
2. Talking Torah
The Rebbe exits the main synagogue after delivering his annual pre Rosh Hashanah address to women and girls. As he leaves he momentarily greets and acknowledges each one of the many women who line his path. (1980)One of the chief modes of the Rebbe’s leadership, of his communication with those who sought out his instruction and inspiration, was through his public Torah talks. During—and directly preceding—the month of Tishrei these talks were especially frequent. A few days before Rosh Hashanah the main synagogue would be cleared of men so that the Rebbe could deliver a special address to “the women and daughters of Israel.” (All his public talks were directed to both men and women, but for the most part the main synagogue was occupied by men while women occupied the upper gallery.)
On this particular occasion the Rebbe discussed how and why our prayers remain potent despite the fact that we are in exile. Paradoxically, he explained, the difficulty and distance of exile itself assures us that G‑d must provide us with an extra measure of divine strength to overcome the particular challenges that we face. Accordingly the Midrash describes G‑d himself praying on behalf the exiled Jews. G‑d did not simply provide us with a prayer liturgy, but demonstrated that He dwells among us even in exile, and shares in our troubles. Irrespective of our personal and collective situations, G‑d himself supports and prays alongside each and all of us. This is especially so as we approach Rosh Hashanah, and we can be assured that our prayers for a good and sweet year will indeed be answered.2
3. Preparatory Prayer
On the day before Rosh Hashanah the Rebbe reads personal notes and prays at the graveside of his father-in-law, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the sixth rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch. After reading the notes he tears them up and deposits them on the grave. (1979)The custom to visit a cemetery on the day before Rosh Hashanah—“to pray profusely, and to donate money to the poor” “that G‑d shall do us kindness in the merit of the righteous” who are interred there—can be traced back many hundreds of years and is enshrined in the Code of Jewish Law.3 But in Chabad it takes on additional layers of significance. After the morning prayers the Rebbe would stand at his office door accepting individual notes, in which people transcribed their names and those of their family, along with requests for personal blessings and their hopes for the coming year. Many, many more such notes would be sent from Jews in communities across the world, and senior chassidim would also submit a collective note on behalf of the entire community together. When the Rebbe visited his father-in-law’s grave he would spend several hours reading all of these notes alongside the traditional liturgy that is read on such occasions. By the time he returned from the cemetery it was usually late in the afternoon.
4. New Light for a New Year
On the eve following Rosh Hashanah, following the evening prayer, a flaming candle is held aloof as the Rebbe makes the havdalah blessing marking the festival’s conclusion. It also marks the conclusion of a farbrengen that began earlier in the day and continued long after night had already fallen. (1983)The Rebbe would often repeat and elaborate on these words of the first rebbe of Chabad, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi: “Each and every year a new light descends from the supernal wisdom of G‑d that has never previously shone forth, for the illumination of each year departs and ascends to its root as the new year approaches, and afterwards—through blowing the shofar, and through prayer—a new celestial light is drawn forth from an even more transcendent station…”4
This teaching endows the first eve and morning of Rosh Hashanah with unusual gravity; the luminous radiance of G‑d in the world has departed, and the onus is upon us to invoke a new, more transcendent, revelation. From 1951 and on the Rebbe would blow the shofar in the main synagogue, and lead the congregation in the accompanying prayers. The seriousness and awesome intensity of the task was expressed in tearful emotion of a kind that was not seen at any other time. After the morning prayers, and the sounding of last set of shofar blasts, the Rebbe’s demeanor changed. The seriousness was tempered by joyous celebration. The new year’s new light is further drawn forth with each passing day, and so the joy only increases.
5. From Awe to Joy
At the conclusion of the Yom Kippur prayers, the Rebbe enters his study, placing his hand on the mezuzah. After putting on his coat, he will head home to make havdalah and eat the post Yom Kippur meal with his wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka. (1981)Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is the culmination of a forty day process of repentance and return to G‑d. The culmination of Yom Kippur itself is its unique fifth prayer, ne’ilah, which means “closing.” This is traditionally understood as an allusion to the final closing of the celestial gates of divine mercy. But the Rebbe would explain that this marks the moment when we enter the innermost chamber of divine grace, and when the doors close we are on the inside. As the culmination of the days of awe, ne’ilah also brings us across the threshold and into the days of joy. After a day spent in the synagogue dressed in white—like angels—we now sense that our prayers have indeed been heard, that we have been welcomed into G‑d’s embrace.5
After proclaiming our faith in the one G‑d (once), our commitment to draw forth G‑d’s eternal glory (thrice), and the utter singularity of all facets of divine revelation (seven times), the congregation erupts in victorious song. In the Rebbe’s synagogue there was no room for the tightly packed crowd to dance in circles; the entire crowd would instead dance on the spot, bobbing vigorously up and down. The Rebbe would climb on his chair (in later years a specially prepared platform) and likewise dance on the spot, waving his arms in uniquely exuberant celebration.
As the Rebbe left the synagogue and headed to his study, his face radiated smiling elation, and he joyously wished the chassidim lining his path “good yom tov!”
6. The Sukkah
Outside Lubavitch World Headquarters, 770 Eastern Parkway, the Rebbe takes note of his sukkah, built by a group of yeshivah students. (1979)We are commanded to dwell in the sukkah in just the same way as we dwell in our homes, not only eating there, but also spending as much time as we can there, studying, socializing, and celebrating. Building on earlier kabbalistic teachings, successive Chabad rebbes elaborated greatly on the idea that this is the only mitzvah that a person performs with their entire body. Since a mitzva is nothing less than the supernal will of G‑d, this means that in fulfilling this commandment the entirety of our being, from head to foot, is enveloped by G‑d’s will. Accordingly, the sukkah embodies the all-encompassing transcendence of G‑d, which is above any kind of differentiation, and therefore has the capacity to bring peace, internally and personally, and also for the entire world collectively.6
7. The Four Species
Lulav and etrog in hand, the Rebbe emerges from the main door of 770 Eastern Parkway, on his way to the Sukkah, and encourages the bystanders singing with a wave of the arm (left, 1981). Men and women alike wait in long lines for the opportunity to make a blessing with the Rebbe’s lulav and etrog (right, 1983 and 1984).Like the sukkah, the four species—the lulav, etrog, hadassim and aravot—also symbolize peace and unity. But there is an important distinction. While the blessing can only be made when they are all held together, the mitzvah also requires four different species. The path to peace, in other words—on a personal or collective level—is through recognizing that the many different elements of reality all have their own specific role to play in G‑d’s all encompassing plan. “One who lacks understanding, when their will is frustrated, they are immediately angered… Whereas one who has understanding is able to meet even direct opposition with forbearance.” Through performing the mitzvah of the four species we draw the idealistic peace of the sukkah into the fragmented realities of life.7
8. Celebrating with Children
During a rally for children the Rebbe encourages their song by enthusiastically clapping along (right, 1980). A young girl leads the gathering in the recitation of a brief Torah teaching as the Rebbe looks on (top left, 1983). Children take notes as the Rebbe speaks (bottom left, 1982).Throughout the month of Tishrei, and indeed throughout the year, the Rebbe paid special attention to children. Greeting them warmly, handing them coins to give to charity, and treating each one with just as much grace and seriousness as he extended to any adult. During prayers and public talks children were not simply tolerated, but allowed and encouraged to stand right up at the front of the synagogue, near the place reserved for the Rebbe. During the intermediate days of Sukkot (and on several other occasions throughout the year) the synagogue would be cleared for a special children’s rally, in which the Rebbe would participate and address the children directly. In addition to sharing relevant insights about the festival and its mitzvot in clear and simple language, the Rebbe would often encourage the children to see themselves as disciplined leaders, and as trend setters, who could influence everyone around them for the better. Here too, there was a clear focus on the children as individuals, and also on their ability to transform society collectively.
9. A Good Year, A Sweet Year
On the last of the intermediate days of sukkot, Hoshanah Rabbah, the Rebbe stands at the door of his sukkah distributing honey cake (lekach) to long lines of people. He wishes each of them a good and sweet year, and many pause for a quick word of advice or to seek a personal blessing. (1980)In many midrashim and kabbalistic texts Hoshanah Rabbah is described as the day upon which G‑d’s judgement is set and sealed. Although it is the last day of Sukkot, “the period of our rejoicing,” it also casts back to the awe of the High Holidays earlier in the month. Hoshanah Rabbah reminds us that our relationship with G‑d is best repaired and renewed precisely through our joyous celebration of the festivals in accord with divine command. Through our victorious embrace of G‑d’s commandments—bringing the four species together and raising them aloof—divine judgment for spiritual and physical good is similarly assured.
This principle is reflected in the many special customs of Hoshanah Rabbah eve, and of the following day. At midnight the Rebbe would join the congregation to read the entire book of Psalms. The following morning the bimah is circled seven times, the four species in hand, and a poetic liturgy is read, in which we beseech G‑d to help us in the merit of all the Jews throughout history who devoted themselves to him so selflessly, often in the face of immense challenges. These prayers have a solemn tone. But a classic Chabad song appropriates a couple of lines to accentuate the undercurrent of joyous faith and confidence, emphasizing that “though exiled and banished” we are “yet likened to a palm,” and that “though dispersed among those who vex us” we yet “embrace and cleave to You.”
Listen here:
10. Rejoice!
Long after the two day holiday of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah is over, the festivities continue in the Rebbe’s court. From across the wider New York area, thousands more Jews arrive to receive wine from the Rebbe’s cup, and bask in the afterglow of the Torah’s celebration. The singing is led by a children’s choir, accompanied by the musicians Yossi and Avi Piamenta. In his right hand the Rebbe holds his cup to be refilled, with his left he vigorously encourages the singing. (1981)The joy of the Torah (Simchat Torah) is given ultimate expression not through study, but through exuberant dance. Yet the Rebbe would spend many hours on both days of the festival probing the deepest secrets of the Torah, and would often expound on this very point: The difference between study and dance is the difference between intellectual pleasure and an outpouring of essential joy. Intellectual pleasure is limited in accord with the understanding of each individual. But the essential joy expressed in the exuberant dancing of Simchat Torah is the birthright of every Jew, scholar and ignoramus alike. In the Rebbe’s own words: “The joy is not such that there are distinctions, as at a wedding where one person is the father-in-law, another the groom… yet a third only a relative, and the fourth nothing more than a friend. On Simchat Torah the joy is equal for everyone. Every individual is a groom, and the Torah their bride.”8
Click here to get your own copy of Tishrei in Lubavitch today!
FOOTNOTES
1.See, for example, Torat Menachem 5710, page 51 and 67; Likkutei Dibburim Vol. 1, pages 3-4.
2.Sichot Kodesh 5740, Vol. 3, pages 1112-115.
3.See Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 581:4; Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, 127:13.
4.Tanya, Igrot Kodesh, 14.
5.Bechal Adam 5723.
6.Be-sukkot Teshvu 5736.
7.Ibid.
8.Sichat Kodesh 5736, Vol. 1, p. 102.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.-------
Yom Kippur Reading
Laughter, Bliss & Yom Kippur by Tzvi Freeman
G‑d laughs. A blissful laugh. One that resounds throughout the universe.“There is nothing beyond bliss,” states the ancient Book of Formation (2:4).Bliss is an inner laughter, so deep that it is neither heard nor felt Bliss is the origin of all being, the source of all life, the meaning behind all that occurs.
And what is bliss? It is being at self. At home. Where there is no need to go anywhere, where this moment is forever, where there is nothing else.
Bliss is an inner laughter, so deep within that it is neither heard nor felt—not even by the one who laughs.
Bliss In Three Parts
© Yakov KaszemacherThere is a kind of pleasure you take from outside of yourself. From music, from ideas, from teaching, from giving.
These can provide a delightful pleasure, but they do not provide bliss. It is not pure and simple pleasure, because it is not you. A part of you delights—that part of you that is touched by this activity outside of you. But the rest of you remains untouched, unmoved.
Then there are things that ignite the innate pleasure within you. An absurdity, a joke, stupid fun.
This pleasure is pure and simple because there isn't really anything giving you pleasure. It's just that your own essential sense of pleasure has been ignited. You are “enjoying yourself.” All of you delights.
Yet this delight cannot touch you to the core. Because it is not who you really are. And the proof—you know that you are happy. Which means that there is part of you that remains the observer, standing on the outside.
If it were truly you delighting, you would not be aware of it. You would lose all awareness of self.
Then there is the pleasure not from teaching, but from having your students beat you at your own game;
not from giving, but from seeing the success of those that you gave to;
not from fulfilling your goals, but from success you had never dreamed of;
not from living a good life, but from the surprise of knowing that you have lived, and there is yet more life that came from your life, and yet more, and in them you are found in a way you never knew that you knew.
This is pure bliss, a pleasure you cannot feel. Because it is you. There is nothing left of you to act as observer and say, “I am enjoying myself”—because every cell of your being is engaged in this blissful state.
It is the discovery of the you that you never realized you knew.
The Cosmic Story of Bliss
© Yakov KaszemacherIn the story of the universe, all these three forms of pleasure play a part:
The Creator delights in each of His creations, in every ant that crawls, in every wind that blows. It is a current of delight that electrifies all things, surging through the veins of the cosmos so each creature tingles with life and celebrates life.
Yet that is not yet a pure delight.
The pleasure that set all things into motion at the start, the beginning, the point from which all things originate, and to which all things lead, that was a pure delight—because nothing yet existed but the Creator.
Yet not entirely pure, not entirely of the core-essence.
The ultimate blissful pleasure is that which we created beings give back in return—when a lost soul returns, a hidden spark of meaning is returned to its place, a piece of the world that seemed unsalvageable, ugly and sinister is transformed so that it shines, even if but for a moment with its essential, primordial light. All the more so when the entire world is entirely transformed.
It is then that all the universe is flooded with that blissful, divine pleasure, with a light that will never be withdrawn.
Because that pleasure derives from a place the Zohar calls “the beginning that is not known.” Meaning: that which is beyond knowing. Because it is one with Him. It is that which He has chosen freely, and so all of Him is engaged.
Through His creation, Through His creation, the unknowable is uncovered, and G‑d laughs in surprise.the unknowable is uncovered, and G‑d laughs in surprise. All the universe resonates with that laugh.
Which is why every mitzvah, every good deed, every act of true, meaningful life, is meant to be done with great joy and celebration.
But most of all, remorse must be with joy. An inner joy.
Because you have changed yourself. You have changed your past. You have surprised and delighted even the One who made you. You have brought all the universe to exclaim, “Look what this creature has done with the life he was given! Look how he has made his darkness shine!”
Yom Kippur, then, is the ultimate day of divine bliss. On this day of At-onement, G‑d laughs in delight as we return to be one with Him.
As for us, we have come home. That is bliss, that being at home.
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. FaceBook @RabbiTzviFreeman Periscope @Tzvi_Freeman .
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Reading
The Day Is Almost Over, and You Still Haven’t Repented! by Chana Weisberg
It’s Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, when we are comparable to the angels. For these 26 hours, we can reach the heights of spirituality and cleanse ourselves of all past wrongdoing. As we celebrate our utterly indestructible relationship with G‑d, we can recharge our spiritual batteries for the coming year.As the day progresses, the realization dawns: the month of Elul, when G‑d is so near, is long gone; the Ten Days of Repentance are mostly behind us; and now, much of this awesome day, this once-a-year-opportunity, has also passed.
And yet, as we watch the sun start to set, rather than the stirrings of our soul, we hear the strong grumblings of our stomach and feel the throbbing pain in our head. A sense of intense disappointment sets in with the realization that we haven’t even begun to achieve what we were meant to.
With these disheartening thoughts, we slowly drag ourselves back to shul. Our hearts are heavy as we read the familiar story from the book of Jonah.
G‑d commanded the prophet Jonah to travel to the city of Nineveh, an enemy of Israel, and warn of its imminent destruction due to the iniquitous behavior of its inhabitants. Aware that if he succeeds and the people repent, Nineveh would continue to pose a threat to his nation, Jonah tries to escape his mission. He boards a ship and when a storm brews, he is thrown into the sea and swallowed by a huge fish. Eventually, Jonah realizes that he can’t escape his destiny and travels to Nineveh, where the people hearken to his prophecy and wholeheartedly change their ways.
A despondent Jonah resting under a dying tree hears G‑d address him: “You are sorry for the plant for which you have neither labored, nor made grow . . . shall I not then, spare Nineveh, the great city, wherein more than 12 times 10,000 people live . . .?”
Jonah’s story teaches us that no one can escape from G‑d or the mission He has for us.
But why do we read this particular story—about a nation that was an enemy of the Jewish people—on Yom Kippur, a day that represents the intimate, indestructible bond between the Jewish soul and G‑d?
As the sun fades and our chance slips away, perhaps this is precisely the reassurance that we need to hear: G‑d cares about all people, even a sinning nation threatening His children. No matter how low we have fallen, G‑d gives us another opportunity. To the bottom of the ocean floor, to the depths of a fish’s belly, G‑d coaxes us to come closer and try harder.
No one is too far gone. Each and every one of us is important. G‑d will not give up until we hear His message and better our ways.
Chana Weisberg is the editor of TheJewishWoman.org. She lectures internationally on issues relating to women, relationships, meaning, self-esteem and the Jewish soul. She is the author of five popular books.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Reading
An Afternoon In Queens By Levi Greenberg
An Afternoon In Queens By Levi Greenberg
A tendency to celebrate is embedded in the DNA of our nation. So much so, that when our enemy in the Purim story, Haman, wished to harm the Jewish people, his contention to the king was that we were obsessivelyThe observance of the Jewish calendar shapes our very identity engaged in festivals and rituals. Between the weekly Shabbat and seasonal holidays, they are surely a burden to society, he charged. What his hateful mind could not grasp was the fact that the observance of the Jewish calendar shapes our very identity, making us the unique people G‑d intends us to be.Inaugurating the Jewish calendar year are the festivals of the month of Tishrei. Each one is an integral element of the package of Divine energy that we need as we start a new year. Rosh Hashanah is a time to refresh our unconditional commitment to G‑d and His service. Yom Kippur is an opportunity to tap into our essential bond with our Creator and each other. Sukkot expresses the joyful aspect of the High Holiday services, and on Simchat Torah we celebrate our inseparable bond with the Torah.
Although each festival has a unique theme, there is a meaningful thread that holds them together: these holidays are about the revelation of the common denominator. On Rosh Hashanah, when we coronate G‑d as our ruler for the new year, the citizens are united as equals in submission to the monarch. The pardon granted on Yom Kippur is available to all, regardless of status and behavior. Everyone is welcome into the Sukkah, and every kind of Jew is represented in the Four Kinds over which we recite a blessing. And scholar and simpleton alike dance with the Torah upon its completion on Simchat Torah.
One year, when I was in my late teens, I was in New York for Sukkot. Following the Chabad tradition, we youngsters spent the better part of the daytime hours walking the city streets, encouraging fellow Jews to observe the mitzvah of shaking the lulav and etrog. One afternoon I approached a middle-aged man who was pushing a cart filled with empty soda cans and asked him if he was Jewish. He paused for a moment, responded that he was indeed Jewish, and then promptly launched into a loud tirade about every injustice that had befallen the Jewish people in the past 50 years.
At first, I was startled by the outburst and strongly considered beating a hasty retreat. But then, secure in the knowledge that I had done him no wrong, I realized that his angst was not directed toward meI realized his angst was not directed at me personally, rather to what my presence represented. I remained rooted to the spot, and every time he paused to catch his breath I would gently offer him the opportunity to do the mitzvah.
After several minutes of this awkward exchange, he finally asked me, “What do you want me to do?”
Handing him the lulav and etrog, I said, “Hold these!”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“And now we recite the blessings together.”
He obliged, and moments later all his anger evaporated into sincere emotion. He had tears in his eyes, and we had a lovely conversation about his youth and his childhood memories of his mother’s chicken soup.
On that autumn afternoon in Queens, the message of Sukkot came alive for me. Once the core of a Jew is reached, we share much more than we can imagine.
Rabbi Levi Greenberg is the director of programming at Chabad Lubavitch of El Paso, Texas.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Toolkit
Yom Kippur 2016: A Guide
Yom Kippur commemorates the day when G‑d forgave the Jewish people for the sin of the Golden Calf. Forty days after hearing G‑d say at Mount Sinai, “You shall not have the gods of others in My presence; you shall not make for yourself a graven image,” the Jews committed the cardinal sin of idolatry. Moses spent nearly three months on top of the mountain pleading with G‑d for forgiveness, and on the tenth of Tishrei it was finally granted: “I have pardoned, as you have requested.”
From that moment on, this date, henceforth known as the Day of Atonement, is annually observed as a commemoration of our special relationship with G‑d, a relationship that is strong enough to survive any rocky bumps it might encounter. This is a day when we connect with the very essence of our being, which remains faithful to G‑d regardless of our outward behavior.
And while it is the most solemn day of the year, we are also joyful, confident that G‑d will forgive our sins and seal our verdict for a year of life, health and happiness.
For nearly twenty-six hours—from several minutes before sunset on 9 Tishrei until after nightfall on 10 Tishrei—we “afflict our souls”: we abstain from food and drink, do not wash or anoint our bodies, do not wear leather footwear, and abstain from spousal intimacy. We are likened to the angels, who have no physical needs. Instead of focusing on the physical, we spend much of our day in the synagogue, engaged in repentance and prayer.
Preparations
On the day before Yom Kippur, the primary mitzvah is to eat and drink in abundance. Two festive meals are eaten, one earlier in the day, and one just prior to the onset of Yom Kippur. Some of the day’s other observances include requesting and receiving honey cake, in acknowledgement that we are all recipients in G‑d’s world and in prayerful hope for a sweet year; begging forgiveness from anyone whom we may have wronged during the past year; giving extra charity; and the ceremonial blessing of the children.
Before sunset, women and girls light holiday candles, and everyone makes their way to the synagogue for the Kol Nidrei services.
On Yom Kippur
In the course of Yom Kippur we will hold five prayer services: 1) Maariv, with its solemn Kol Nidrei service, on the eve of Yom Kippur; 2) Shacharit—the morning prayer; 3) Musaf, which includes a detailed account of the Yom Kippur Temple service; 4) Minchah, which includes the reading of the Book of Jonah.
Finally, in the waning hours of the day, we reach the climax of the day: the fifth prayer, the Neilah (“locking”) prayer. The gates of heaven, which were open all day, will now be closed—with us on the inside. During this prayer we have the ability to access the most essential level of our soul. The Holy Ark remains open throughout. The closing Neilah service climaxes in the resounding cries of “Hear O Israel . . . G‑d is one.” Then joy erupts in song and dance (a Chabad custom is to sing the lively “Napoleon’s March”), followed by a single blast of the shofar, and the proclamation, “Next year in Jerusalem.”
After the fast we partake of a festive after-fast meal, making the evening after Yom Kippur a yom tov (festival) in its own right. We immediately begin to look forward to the next holiday and its special mitzvah: the construction of the sukkah.
Click here for more detailed Yom Kippur guides.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Yom Kippur Toolkit
Eeverything Else You Need to Know About Yom Kippur
Yom Kippur
October 11–12, 2016
Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the year—the day on which we are closest to G‑d and to the quintessence of our own souls. It is the Day of Atonement—“For on this day He will forgive you, to purify you, that you be cleansed from all your sins before G‑d” (Leviticus 16:30).
For nearly twenty-six hours—from several minutes before sunset on 9 Tishrei to after nightfall on 10 Tishrei—we “afflict our souls”: we abstain from food and drink, do not wash or anoint our bodies, do not wear leather footwear, and abstain from marital relations.
Quick Links: Holiday Times | Find a Service | Holiday E-Cards | Tishrei in Ten | Sukkot / Simchat Torah © Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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VIDEO
Demystifying Yom KippurNo one is perfect, so when Yom Kippur comes and we are told that we can atone for all our sins and start again with a clean slate, it seems like a pretty good deal. by Yisroel Glick
Watch (2:40)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=3072339&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">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>.</span>
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The Day When Satan Is PowelessThere are different ways to describe ourselves, by what we do and who we are. Here's a completely novel way of finding the real you--and its accessible only once a year! by Chana Weisberg
Watch (2:19)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=3425483&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">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>.</span>
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Memories of My MotherThe Rebbe recalls his mother's activities during World War I.
Watch
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/media_cdo/aid/133363/jewish/Memories-of-My-Mother.htm
http://www.chabad.org/133363
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On the Calendar
All About the Tzom Gedaliah Fast Day by Menachem Posner
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On the Calendar
All About the Tzom Gedaliah Fast Day by Menachem Posner
Historical BackgroundAfter the Babylonians destroyed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and exiled many Jews in 3338 (423 BCE), they appointed Gedaliah ben Achikam as governor of the remaining Jews in the Holy Land. Jews who had taken refuge in the surrounding lands of Ammon, Moab and Edom heard of his appointment and returned to Judea to join his group—the last remnant of the once-mighty Judea. Under his wise and pious leadership, they tilled, planted and cultivated, coaxing the ravished land back to health.
Prior to Rosh Hashanah 3339, Gedaliah received word that a certain Ishmael ben Netaniah, jealous of his position of power and dissatisfied with his tactical alliance with the Babylonians, was planning to kill him and usurp the leadership for himself. But the trusting Gedaliah refused to believe that Ishmael would act treacherously, and restrained those who wanted to kill Ishmael.
On Rosh Hashanah, Ishmael came to Gedaliah with ten men, ostensibly to celebrate the holiday with him. While they were eating together, Ishmael and his men got up and killed Gedaliah, as well as all the other Jewish men and Babylonian soldiers who were present.
This treachery was followed by more bloodshed. It also caused the Jews to flee to Egypt, effectively ending the prospects of Jewish settlement in the Holy Land until the return of the Babylonian exiles in the year 3390 (371 BCE).1 Thus, the Babylonian exile was absolute, and Judea was left bereft of her children.
The Fast
In memory of Gedaliah’s tragic death and its disastrous aftermath, we fast every year on the 3rd of Tishrei, the day after Rosh Hashanah.2 If the 3rd of Tishrei falls out on Shabbat, the fast is postponed to the 4th of Tishrei. Like other “minor” fasts, it begins at dawn (alot hashachar) and ends at nightfall.
During morning services, it is customary to add special selichot, penitential prayers. During both morning and afternoon prayers, the Torah is taken out, and we read the portion from Exodus 32:11–14 and 34:1–10 in which G‑d forgives Israel for the sin of the golden calf. During the afternoon prayers, we also read a haftorah, from Isaiah 55:6–56:8.
As it is written in Zechariah 8:19, Tzom Gedaliah is one of the four fasts that will be converted to joy and feasting with the arrival of Moshiach. May it happen soon.
Learn more about the life and death of Gedaliah.
Learn about the inner significance of Tzom Gedaliah.
Rabbi Menachem Posner serves as staff editor for Chabad.org.
FOOTNOTES
1.The entire tragic story is recorded in detail in Jeremiah 40–43, and it appears in a more abbreviated form in II Kings 25.
2.There is a disagreement whether Gedaliah was killed on the 3rd of Tishrei or on Rosh Hashanah itself, in which case the fast was postponed to the following day (3 Tishrei) due to the joyous nature of the holiday.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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On the Calendar
All About the Ten Days of Repentance
The ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur are known as Aseret Yemei Teshuvah, or the Ten Days of Repentance (more accurately translated as the Ten Days of Return).When the prophet Isaiah tells the Jewish nation to repent for their sins, he says, “Seek G‑d when He may be found; call Him when He is close.”1 When is that? The sages say that this verse refers to these ten days, when G‑d is especially close to us.
The sages describe this period as a time when “the gates of heaven are open, and I will listen to your prayers.”
Maimonides2 explains:
“Even though repentance and crying out to G‑d are always timely, during the ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur it is exceedingly appropriate, and accepted immediately [on high].
“For these reasons,” continues Maimonides, “it is customary for all of Israel to give profusely to charity, perform many good deeds, and be occupied with observance of G‑d’s commandments from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur to a greater extent than during the remainder of the year.3
Why is this period unique? Rabbi Shmuel Eliezer Edeles (Maharsha, 1555-1631) explains that our fate for the coming year is decided on Rosh Hashanah but not sealed until Yom Kippur. Accordingly, this is the time to return to G‑d and beg Him to change the judgment for the better.4
Observances
In Prayers
There are a number of tweaks made to the daily prayer service that you need to watch out for:
● During morning services, after the Yishtabach blessing, it is customary to open the ark and say Psalm 130.
● Three times a day, in the Amidah (standing prayer), we substitute the phrases haE-l hakadosh (“the holy G‑d”) with hamelech hakadosh (“the holy king”), and melech ohev tzedakah umishpat (“king who loves righteousness and justice”) with hamelech hamishpat (“the king of judgement”). There are a number of other insertions that were instituted by the medieval sages which can be found in the prayerbook.
● Following the Amidah, and the subsequent Tachanun (supplicatory prayers), we add the full Avinu Malkeinu prayer.
● As we have been doing since the start of the month of Elul (and will do until the seventh day of Sukkot, Hoshana Rabbah), we say Psalm 27 following morning and afternoon (or evening) prayers.
The following two customs are not observed in Chabad:
● In Kaddish, some have the custom to say, l’eila ul’eila (“above and beyond”), in reference to G‑d’s greatness, instead of the usual l’eila (“beyond”). (In Chabad, the extra words are reserved for the Neilah prayer on Yom Kippur).
● The widespread custom is to recite special selichot (penitential prayers) before dawn. In Chabad, they are said only on the Fast of Gedaliah (more on that to follow).
General Practices
Ideally, during this time we decrease our involvement with worldly matters (almost like the quasi-holiday period of Chol Hamoed), and increase our Torah study and charitable giving.
In these days before Yom Kippur, some are careful to settle all debts so that they come to the holy day with a clean slate.
This is a time to be extra careful with all mitzvah observances. For example, one who is generally not careful regarding eating bread that is kosher but baked by non-Jews should eat bread baked only by Jews during this time.
Special Days
The day following Rosh Hashanah is the Fast of Gedalia, when we mourn the death of Gedaliah, the leader of the Jewish people in the Holy Land following the destruction of the First Temple in 3338 (423 BCE).
The Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shuvah, "Shabbat of Return." The name derives from the Haftarah (reading from the prophets) for this Shabbat, which opens with the words, "Return O Israel unto the L‑rd your G‑d.”5 Along with Shabbat Hagadol (the Shabbat preceding Passover), this is one of the two times a year when it is customary for rabbis to deliver (longer than usual) speeches on timely topics. As on Rosh Hashanah, we dip our challah in honey at the start of the Shabbat meals.
The day before Yom Kippur is one of the busiest days of the Jewish year. In the wee hours of the morning, it is customary to perform the Kaparot ceremony with a live chicken or money, during which we say,“This is my replacement, this is my exchange, this is my atonement; this fowl shall go to its death, and I shall go to a long, good and peaceful life.” Already in a holiday mood, Tachanun is omitted from prayers, and we eat two festive meals, one at midday, and one just before the fast, which begins at sunset. Traditional foods include lekach (honey cake) and kreplach (stuffed dumplings). The Talmud states, "Whoever eats and drinks on the ninth [of Tishrei], it is regarded as if he had fasted on both the ninth and the tenth."6
A Kabbalistic Insight
The master Kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria (the Arizal) taught that the seven days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (which always include one Sunday, one Monday, etc.) correspond to the seven days of the week, each day representing all the corresponding days of the year: the Sunday embodies all Sundays; the Monday embodies all Mondays, and so on. Let’s make sure to use these days wisely.
FOOTNOTES
1..Isaiah 55:6
2.Mishneh Torah, Laws of Teshuvah 2:6.
3.Mishneh Torah, Laws of Teshuvah 3:4.
4.Maharsha to Yevamot 49b.
5.Hosea 14:2.
6.Talmud, Berachot 8b.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Women
How I Overcame a Childhood of Bland Judaism by Beryl Tritel
Growing up, I was used to sitting at home on Dec. 25, watching movies and feeling lonely because everyone I knew was celebrating with their family. I was used to Easter, hearing my friends talk about their new dresses and the Easter-egg hunts. Now, I knew that Chanukah and Passover fell out around those times, but these holidays were nothing more than a blip on myOur definition of being Jewish just meant that we weren’t anything else radar. Our definition of being Jewish just meant that we weren’t anything else.In my neighborhood, there weren’t very many Jews around; I think there were two others in my high school class of 250. My family raised us to be “just like everyone else”: to do well in school, get into a good college, get a job, get married and have kids. Now, I think those are pretty reasonable goals, and they can lead to a satisfying and fulfilling life. But we were missing something. When Sunday mornings or the holidays rolled around, our lack of plans made it pretty clear that we weren’t like everyone else.
When I think of my life at that time, I imagine trying to fit into an outfit that, well, just didn’t quite fit. The style is nice, even attractive. But either there is an annoying tag or the waistband is just a (wee) bit too tight (ahem). I could squeeze into the outfit, but I could never really get comfortable.
We didn’t have a tree, nor did we hunt for eggs. But we didn’t do much of the “Jewish stuff” either. We went to temple on Rosh Hashanah until I had my bat mitzvah (then my parents stopped our temple membership—it just wasn’t relevant anymore). We lit a menorah on Chanukah (a ritual that also petered out during my teenage years). We did have a seder—at a friend of my mother’s—until sports practice and after-school clubs made going to a several-hours-long meal unfeasible.
So our Judaism wasn’t defined by the beauty of being Jewish, but rather by what we weren’t supposed to do. That left me with a deep feeling of dissatisfaction. I tried the idea of just “believing in G‑d,” and that was my spirituality. For a time.
When it came time to go to college, I chose a school thatI still struggle sometimes had a large Jewish population and a Jewish feel. I was entranced with the idea of going to a place where I wouldn’t be “the other.” There, I met people who really had a relationship with G‑d. Felt His presence in their existence. Suddenly, Shabbat, kashrutand halachah (Jewish law) were no longer ancient relics from the days of my great-grandparents, but rather the basis for a real, living and breathing existence that I could have.
If I wanted.
There were actually people who defined themselves as Jews, who defined themselves as who they were, rather than who they weren’t. After soul-searching, questioning and observing, I realized that not only was G‑d real, He was a force in my life. He cared about me, and my becoming religious was not just about serving Him, but improving myself.
So slowly, oh so slowly, I began to change. Saturday became Shabbat, food became kosher. And I realized that there was meaning in the mundane. There was a connection to Someone who had high standards, and cared about us meeting them.
So I still do not hunt for eggs or buy a tree for my house. But rather, I prepare for Shabbat, make challah, keep kashrut and light my Shabbat candles on time (hopefully). I try to learn halachah, try to listen to Torah classes. Come the Hebrew month of Nissan, when I open my windows, I hear the sounds of vacuums whirring, water splashing and music blasting as my neighbors get busy with Passover cleaning. And I know that this is what I was meant to do.
Before, when I thought about being Jewish, it was merely a description, like my long eyelashes or brown hair. But as I learn and live my life as an observant Jewish woman, I see that it is so much more. It is who I am.
While it isn’t always easy, I try to keep G‑d in the forefront of my mind. When the good and the not-so-good happen, I remember that there is One who is in control.
Yes, I still struggle sometimes. Yes, there are times when I think that things would “certainly be easier if . . . ” But then I think of the billions of people in the world, and all the different pathsSaturday became Shabbat, food became kosher travelled by them. And that is when I feel truly blessed to have been chosen to be a Jew.
So yes, I still strive to be just like everyone else around me. But now, I surround myself with people like me. As the years have gone by, my waistband may have become elastic (cough) and my skirts longer, but now I am comfortable. The clothes fit.
Beryl Tritel, MSW, is a therapist with offices in Jerusalem and Ramat Bet Shemesh. She has been living in Israel for over 10 years with her husband and their 5 kids. She also offers Skype sessions. She can be reached at BerylTritel.com.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Women
I Miss Missing Shul on Yom Kippur by Jolie Greiff
I Miss Missing Shul on Yom Kippur by Jolie Greiff
The memory is clear.I’m sitting on the couch between my nearly 2-year-old daughter and my 4-year-old son. Strewn on the coffee table are pretzels, a plate of apple slices and two plastic cups of apple juice.
I am reading my way through a stack of Jewish kiddie books. My kids know many of the books by heart. MyWhat am I doing reading kids books on Yom Kippur? daughter grabs for the book I’m holding, and my son decides he wants it, too.
As I play referee, a cup of apple juice spills right on my skirt and drips down onto the tan carpet. Why did the landlord put in such a light carpet in an apartment with children?! I think for the hundredth time.
“Stay right here!” I tell my kids, as I go off to change my skirt. As I head for my room, I hear the bickering escalate. Even though I know these things are just part of life, I feel myself tense.
Calm down! I scold myself. No one spilled apple juice on purpose, to annoy you! And one more little stain on the carpet doesn’t matter. Who cares? I sigh. But here it is, Yom Kippur, and for one day, just for a few hours, I should be able to banish bad feelings. This is a day for repentance, and here I am getting upset over spilled juice. It’s not even milk.
I change my skirt, and determine that I am not going to let things get to me that, in the scheme of things, really are insignificant.
But what am I doing on Yom Kippur reading kiddie books? I ask myself. Is this what G‑d wants from me? Maybe He wants me to be in shul. I have a lot of repentance to do this year, G‑d knows.
Ah, but no. I realize, especially when both of my beautiful children run to greet me with hugs when I return, that caring for my young children on Yom Kippur is exactly what G‑d wants from me.
My machzor, the High Holy Day prayerbook, that sits on the mantel will just have to wait. I tell myself that when my children are napping, I will get a chance to pray. I won’t have all day to do so, but I’ll make the time count.
Still, a part of me longs to be in shul, praying with concentration, and singing the Yom Kippur tunes. How I love those songs! The familiar melodies bring back memories of praying alongside my family as a child.
As I settle my children down with a dumped-out box of Legos, I hum the Yom Kippur tunes and I sing some of the kids’ favorites songs with them, like “Dip the Apple in the Honey.” Later, I will be able to get in some praying with my machzor.
I didn’t marry until I was in my 30s, and I didn’t have children for six-and-a-half years. I had plenty of time when I could focus only on myself and my prayers. Now, my avodah (translated as both “work” and also “Divine service”) is to care for my children—even, and maybe especially, on Yom Kippur. G‑d instructs us to emulate Him. As He is merciful, so, too, should we should be merciful. We emulate Him when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and heal (or tend to) the sick, which is all part of childcare.
When I was expecting my daughter, I really felt sick the afternoon right before Yom Kippur. I was due in two months, and I was terrified. I called my rabbi. He told me to tell my husband to stay home from synagogue that night. My husband would have liked to be there for Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur services, but he understood that it was even more important for him to be home with me.
By the morning, I was feeling much better, thank G‑d, and my husband went to shul. He has never needed to skip Yom Kippur services since then.In a way, I miss those days But all these years later, I am still grateful to him that he stayed with me that Yom Kippur night.
Now my children are 19 and 16. I sit in shul on Yom Kippur (and all other times) without distraction. I love singing the Yom Kippur songs with the whole congregation.
But, in a way, I miss those days when my children were little, even if it meant I couldn’t spend time in prayer the way I’d have liked.
The kiddie books are stashed away on the bottom shelf of our bookcase. They’re waiting for the next generation.
Jolie Greiff is a journalist and a mother. She lives with her husband and two children in Ramat Beit Shemesh, Israel.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Story
Milk Demons by Menachem Posner
It happened all too often. Poor Jewish tenants were unable to pay their rent and would end up in the dank dungeons of the local poritz (landowner) until they could scrape together what they owed. But how were the poor wretches supposed toHow were the poor wretches supposed to raise money from their prison cells? raise money from the confinement of their prison cells?Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov—a consummate lover of the Jewish people—would spend many long weeks on the road, finding incarcerated tenants and raising funds for their release.
It happened that the Baal Shem Tov encountered one such family, and after immense efforts, managed to secure their freedom just before Shabbat.
“Please spend Shabbat with me as my guests,” offered the Baal Shem Tov. “It is too late for you to return home before the sun sets, and you surely have nothing prepared for the holy day.”
The family gratefully accepted his offer, and thirstily drank in the dazzling spiritual delights of Shabbat with the Baal Shem Tov and his close circle of students, the Chevraya Kadisha (the Holy Brotherhood).
As the Friday night meal progressed, the Baal Shem Tov turned to the poor man he had just rescued. “Please tell us,” he began, “what news from today do you have to share?”
“Rebbe,” replied his guest, “surely you know that I have been in jail for many weeks now. What sort of news can I possibly have heard?”
“In that case,” replied the Baal Shem Tov, “please tell us something interesting that happened to you.”
“I do not recall ever doing anything of particular interest,” said the man, “but we experienced something very peculiar while we were in prison.
“There was a group of vile men who were imprisoned near us. Every day, they would weep and wail. They made such a ruckus that we just kept to ourselves, frightened and miserable.
“Then, every Friday afternoon, just before Shabbat, they would begin to laugh and dance. This too would frighten us, but we had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.
“Today, they cried and shouted louder than ever before. Then, as the afternoon progressed, they began to laugh and dance as usual. But this time, they were so horribly gleeful, it was like nothing we had seen on previous weeks. I had always been afraid to approach the men lest they harm me, but knowing that you would be coming shortly to redeem us, I summoned up the nerve to ask the men the meaning behind their outlandish behavior.
“They explained to me that ‘there is a righteous men, an otherworldly tzaddik, who spends the entire week immersed in Torah study, prayer and spiritual pursuits. We are not men, but spirits who live off of this man’s sins. Since he lives such a holy life, we have very little to live off of, and this is why we cry.
“‘It is only on Friday that he finally decides to break his weeklong fast with a dish of milk, which he carefully prepares so that it will be ready when he returns from prayers. Every week, after he prepares his dish, one of us goes to his house and arranges to shove a member of the household into the cabinet where the milk is stored. The holy man becomes irked by this, and this anger gives us enough vitality to survive the next week.
“‘Recently, the holy man caught onto our game and decided to one-up us. He carefully prepared his milk and locked it into his safe, confident that no-one would disturb it there. He then contentedly prepared himself for prayers. When we got wind of this, we cried like never before, fearing for our very survival.
“‘Then we had an idea. One of us went to his house disguised as a peasant with a cart full of firewood. Standing outside the man’s humble home, the peasant offered the firewood at such a cheap price that the righteousOn Friday, he finally breaks his weeklong fast man’s wife asked her husband if she could go to the safe and withdraw a few coins to purchase the wood. In her excitement, she knocked over the bowl of milk, and her husband lost his cool. That’s why we laughed with such joy now.’”
As the man concluded his strange tale, one of the students of the Baal Shem Tov fell from his seat in a faint. He was the holy man in question.
(When telling this story, Chassidim would say: See how G‑d orchestrates things. He arranged for this man to be placed in prison and to be released right before Shabbat, just so that this man could learn to mend his errant ways.)
(From Reshimot Devarim, vol. 1, pp. 12-13.)
Rabbi Menachem Posner serves as staff editor for Chabad.org.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Jewish News
Torah Scroll Honors Memories of Slain Dallas Police Officers It will be sent to another Texas town, where young professionals will use it for minyan by Faygie Levy Holt
A Torah is on its way for use in Austin, Texas, dedicated to five police officers who were killed in the line of duty this summer. Here, representatives of the New York City Police Department participate in a ceremony in memory of the fallen officers. Third from left is Bentzion Chanowitz, who runs the daily operations of the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)When Rosh Hashanah begins at sundown on Sunday, Oct. 2, members of Chabad of South Austin/Young Jewish Professionals will hold their first minyan since last Yom Kippur. Together, they will celebrate not only the start of the Jewish New Year, but the welcoming of a new Sefer Torah.
“We just heard we would be getting a new Torah,” said Rabbi Mendy Levertov, co-director of the Chabad center with his wife, Mussy. “It’s so exciting for our congregation. This is difference between having weekly service and not having one because without the Torah, we can’t read the weekly portion together. This Torah will help us be able to grow and build a weekly minyan.”
Adding to the significance is that the Torah is dedicated to five slain Dallas police officers who lost their lives this summer in the line of duty.
“I work closely with the Austin Police Department and have a good relationship with them. For us, it is very important to recognize the protection that the police give us and the service they provide to the community,” explains Levertov. “We are proud to have a Torah that ties together Jew and non-Jew, law enforcement and our community, and enforces that strong connection during the High Holidays.”
The Torah is being sent to Austin on an open-ended contract by the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach—a project of Merkos Suite 302 in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y. The organization collects Torah scrolls in unusable condition and repairs them before sending them off on loan to congregations and communities in need of them, a great many to Chabad centers.
The eventual goal is to have the recipients rally to raise funds for a permanent Torah.
The Torah comes through the Beis Yisroel Torah Gemach, a project of Merkos Suite 302. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)Other scrolls have been dedicated in memory of security forces, including Israeli soldiers. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)
Honoring Security Forces
Bentzion Chanowitz, who runs the daily operations of the Torah Gemach, noted that other refurbished scrolls have been dedicated in memory of security forces—in this case, for the officers shot down on July 8; and in the past, in memory of fallen soldiers and or terror victims in Israel.
“We just read the weekly Torah portion about the need for shoftim with shoftrim—appoint judges and police officers—and I felt for the Jewish community, this would be a nice kiddush Hashem, the sanctification of G‑d’s name.”
Rabbi Yochanan Marsow of Bais Menachem Mendel in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn, who serves as a rabbinic adviser to the Torah Gemach, thought “it was a great idea,” says Chanowitz. “He said in many times throughout history, the Jewish community honored the government.”
Bentzion Chanowitz, who runs the daily operations of the Torah Gemach, noted that other refurbished scrolls have been dedicated in memory of security forces—in this case, for the officers shot down on July 8; and in the past, in memory of fallen soldiers and or terror victims in Israel.
“We just read the weekly Torah portion about the need for shoftim with shoftrim—appoint judges and police officers—and I felt for the Jewish community, this would be a nice kiddush Hashem, the sanctification of G‑d’s name.”
Rabbi Yochanan Marsow of Bais Menachem Mendel in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn, who serves as a rabbinic adviser to the Torah Gemach, thought “it was a great idea,” says Chanowitz. “He said in many times throughout history, the Jewish community honored the government.”
On the cover are the names, badge numbers and ranks of the slain officers. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)Chanowitz approached an anonymous donor, who agreed to help underwrite the cost of repairing the Torah and designing the mantel. The inscription of the blue velvet Torah cover includes the names, badge numbers and ranks of the officers who died: Patrick Zamarripa, Brent Thompson, Michael Krol, Lorne Ahern and Michael Smith.
It says, in part: “This Torah is in memory of the five police officers who dedicated and sacrificed their lives to protect our community and the American people. May their spirit live on thru use of this Torah.”
It ends with the words “In G‑d We Trust.”
The Torah was officially dedicated last week at a gathering attended by NYPD officers and local community members before heading off to its new home in Austin.
It is one of nearly 140 scrolls—most of them them refurbished, but some new ones donated as well—that have been sent to communities around the world since the Gemach began four-and-a-half years ago. Another five scrolls are being readied for the High Holidays and will go to different divisions of Chabad Houses on campus.
Tacks point to places in North America where Torahs have been sent by the Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)Marking communities around the world as well; blue caps highlight the Torah Gemach. (Photo: Alex Bodnar)© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.-------
Jewish News
Corsica, Birthplace of Bonaparte, Says ‘Bonjour’ to First Permanent Chabad House Replete with Jewish history, the island is the final French frontier, according to rabbi by Shmuel Loebenstein
Towers were erected for Corsica's protection. Nationalist sentiment has surged and died on the island since its independence in 1729, which lasted until France took control in 1768. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)Every few weeks, Rabbi Levi Pinson takes the ferry from Corsica to Nice. It’s much quicker by plane, about 45 minutes, but Pinson needs to bring his car along so he can cram it with kosher food on the way back.
If you drew a line along the French-Italian border and then continued drawing south into the Mediterranean Sea, you’d miss Corsica by a cruise ship or two. Corsica is French, although neither the French nor the Corsicans seem particularly happy with that arrangement. Nationalist sentiment has surged and died on the island since its independence in 1729, which lasted until France took control in 1768. Corsica is more culturally aligned with Italy, whose language and traditions are similar to its own.
That includes the Omerta tradition, which saved hundreds of Jews during World War II and continues to aid the Jews of Corsica today. Omerta is the Mafia-like code of honor that runs through Italy, Corsica and Greece. When thousands of French Jews fled to Corsica after the Nazi takeover of France, the Vichy government came after them. But the authorities’ inquiries met unyielding silence—the Omerta of the Corsican locals, whose sense of honor would not allow them to betray the Jews who had found refuge in their homes and villages.
That code of silence continues to operate, as Rabbi Levi Pinson found out when he first started visiting Corsica some years ago. Pinson was there as part of the “Roving Rabbis” program that sends rabbinical students to remote Jewish communities around the world to provide smaller, unserved communities with religious services and support. Each time he asked a local if he knew any Jews he could meet, Pinson was given the cold shoulder—and no answers.
He laughs today when he recalls that initial experience. “Once they find out you’re not a bad guy, they are very friendly,” he says. “They’re honest and respectful people. It was scary when I first started, but then they warmed up.”
Affixing a mezuah to a residence in CorsicaThe French native moved to Corsica last month with his wife, Mushky, where they opened up the first permanent Chabad House on the island. He’s not the first Pinson to be doing Jewish outreach there—his father, Rabbi Yossef Pinson, executive director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Nice-Côte d’Azur, started visiting the Jews of Corsica more than 40 years ago.
The Jews of Corsica
No one knows exactly when the story of Jewish Corsica began. One theory suggests that Pasquale Paoli, the hero of the 1729 independence, persuaded Jews from Livorno to migrate to Corsica and aid in the island’s economic development. Sadly, that initial cohort assimilated, and no descendants are counted among the Jewish community today. Some of Corsica’s most prominent family names, such as Simeoni and Gabrielli, bear the legacy of those early settlers.
The next influx of Jews came from Tiberias in the early 20th century. Their safety had become imperiled when the region, then under Ottoman rule, was plunged into the chaos of World War I. The French allowed 800 of them to flee to Corsica and start new lives on the other side of the Mediterranean.
Rabbinical students have visited Corsica over the years to serve the Jewish community there.They set up shop in Bastia, the port city in Corsica’s north. The community seems to have transplanted their Galilean way of life with some success: They built the Beth Meir Synagogue, which continues to function; the nucleus of today’s Jewish establishment are descendants of those Tiberias refugees. Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Toledano, an Israeli minister in the late 1950s and early 1960s, was born and raised in the heart of this community.
When the elder Pinson started making visits to the island 40 years ago, the Bastia community was still the center of Corsican Jewry. Ajaccio, Corsica’s capital and its largest city, had some Jews but no synagogue. The rabbi, who has served as the Chabad emissary in Nice since 1976, always felt a religious/geographical kinship with the Jews of Corsica. He considered himself responsible for their welfare—a responsibility that he continued to bear throughout the years.
Inside cover of the Tanya printed in CorsicaEventually, he began sending rabbinical students in the “Roving Rabbis” program on regular forays into Corsica’s cities and towns.
Some four decades after Pinson first stepped off the ferry onto Corsica’s sunny shores, his son set up the first permanent Chabad House. The elder rabbi put up the mezuzah at the opening ceremony.
Napoleon and the Tanya
Corsica had come across Chabad’s radar well before either Pinson was born. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the youngest son of the Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch—known as the Rebbe Maharash—and the brother of the Fifth Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom Dovber of Lubavitch, spent his last years on the island and passed away in Bastia in 1941.
In 1956, Rabbi Menachem Mendel’s great-nephew, the Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—arranged that the former be reinterred in Safed, Israel.
But Chabad cannot be said to have truly encountered a place until a Tanya has been printed there. Corsica is no exception. In 1985 (5745), an edition of the Tanya was printed in Ajaccio. Because this city, the capital, is the birthplace of French general Napoleon Bonaparte, this particular printing of the Tanya carried symbolic importance.
Chabad's presence is welcome on the island, by visitors and residents alike.
Appreciating a place to pray and participate in Jewish programs.
Rabbi Shneur Zalman, author of the Tanya, was unflinching in his opposition to Napoleon during the 1812 French invasion of Russia, a position that put him at odds with most of his rabbinic colleagues. He felt that Napoleon’s liberalism would sow the seeds for Jewish apathy. The Russians repelled the invasion, and the Napoleonic Wars began to reach their end. Two centuries later, Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s Tanya, which continues to stoke the flames of Jewish passion, was printed in the cradle of the vanquished French emperor.
The Corsica-Chabad-Tanya links go further. The first known translation of the Tanya—the seminal work of Chabad Chassidic philosophy—was into Russian (from the original Hebrew). The translator? Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, son of the Rebbe Maharash, resident of Corsica.
A younger population can be found on the island, looking for Jewish programs …
… and prayer.‘One Big Family’
Pinson chose to open his Chabad House in Ajaccio. He explained that while Bastia is the historical seat of Jewish Corsica, a younger community has sprung up in the capital city that has been eager to see the stirrings of Jewish life that the Pinsons have prompted since their arrival. They have run programs for the children, hosted classes for their parents, thrown parties and held services.
The island of Corsica lies to the southeast of France. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)Waves of tourists washed over the island during the summer, like it does every year. The Pinsons opened up a temporary kosher shop, stocked with food he brought over from Nice on the ferry. He has plans of opening a restaurant for next summer.
For now, though, the rabbi says he is focused on the permanent Ajaccio community. Many of them are former residents of France proper, anxious to set up their home on this Mediterranean paradise while still enjoying the benefits of French citizenship. There is a feeling that Corsica has remained free of the tensions that have gripped Jews on the mainland in recent times, and that it will welcome and protect Jews as it did in the 1940s—and like it always has.
The Pinsons describe Corsica as “one big family,” a laid-back place with an omnipresent social hum. But for them, setting up shop on the island is no holiday. There is work to be done. The Rebbe taught that France—symbolic of Napoleon’s toxic effect on religious belief and practice—is the final frontier in history’s long march to a world that accepts, and not rejects, G‑d.
“France is already transformed,” Pinson says with a smile, alluding to the Jewish revival there in the past decades. “Now, it’s only Corsica left.”
Rabbi Yossef Pinson, in doorway, executive director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Nice-Côte d’Azur, started visiting the Jews of Corsica more than 40 years ago.
Rabbi Levi and Mushky Pinson will set up the first permanent Chabad center in Corsica.
The port of Ajaccio (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
Monument to the French resistance during World War II (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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PARSHAH
Rabbi Levi and Mushky Pinson will set up the first permanent Chabad center in Corsica.
The port of Ajaccio (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
Monument to the French resistance during World War II (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
-------
PARSHAHParshah
History or Memory? By Mendel Kalmenson
It has been said that there is no word for history in the Hebrew language.
(The modern Hebrew equivalent, historia, is a word-lift from the English history, which was pinched from the Greek historia. What goes around, comes around . . . )
The absence of a word as central to any nation as “history” is striking. It’s probably because there’s no such thing as “history” in Judaism.
Zikaron (memory), however, a distant cousin of history, features prominently in biblical language and thought.
It goes far beyond semantics, cutting straight to the core of Judaism’s perception of the past.
You see, “history” is his-story, not mine. The first two letters of “memory,” however, spell me.
Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from meWithout me there is no memory. Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from me.
Put differently: History is made up of objective facts, and memory of subjective experience.
As you might have guessed, Judaism is less interested in dry facts than in breathing experiences.
It is for this reason that much of Jewish tradition and ritual draws on reenactment. We don’t just commemorate, we remember. We don’t just recount someone else’s story, we relive our own.
A few examples:
Much of the Seder curriculum aims to stimulate feelings of slavery and bitterness (e.g., the salt water, bitter herbs, poor man’s bread—a.k.a. matzah, and so on), as well as royalty and liberty (four cups of wine, leaning on cushions, and the like).
In fact, in certain Jewish communities, the seventh night of Passover (the night the sea split for the Jews) finds many walking through pails of water to recreate that event.
On Shavuot we stay up the entire night in anticipation of the giving of the Torah on the morrow, and children are brought to synagogue to hear the Ten Commandments from G‑d.
He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard fromIn fact, Judaism teaches that, in soul, we were all present at Sinai;1 each one of us personally encountered G‑d. Consequently, G‑d is not just the G‑d of our ancestors; He is our G‑d. He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard from.
The divine revelation at Sinai thus distinguishes itself from any other revelation described in other religious traditions. Central to other religions is the belief that G‑d never shows Himself to the masses, to a community of commoners. He speaks only to the prophet, who alone is worthy of divine communion. It’s for the flock to trust implicitly in their shepherd’s account of revelation. Not so in Judaism, which maintains that, indeed, the greatest divine revelation of all time was made accessible to maidservant and Moses alike.
Moreover, even as He spoke to a nation of millions, G‑d addressed each one of them personally. As our sages teach, in His opening words at Sinai, “I am G‑d, your G‑d,” He chose to use the singular form of “your” (elokecha)—the “thy” of vintage English—over the plural possessive (elokeichem).
This was one of the greatest gifts that G‑d bequeathed our people, to include all of us in the Sinaitic display, for it turned our nation’s most seminal event into a living memory, as opposed to a lifeless lesson in history.
Moving along to the ninth of Av, the day the Holy Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago, and a national day of mourning—its customs include eating eggs dipped in ash (just prior to the fast), sitting on low stools, wearing slippers, fasting, and lamenting like it happened only yesterday.
The sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road tripCome Sukkot, and we move into huts for a week to recall the booths we lived in throughout our desert trek. Like a figurative time machine, the sukkahtransports us to that distant and formative road trip.
And the list goes on.
The point is, remembering is big in our tradition.
The following discussion seeks to highlight just how big.
The Finale
“Today I am one hundred and twenty years old,” begins Moses’ last homily. “I am no longer able to lead you . . .”
The end is near, or here.
“Be strong and courageous . . . Do not be afraid . . . for G‑d is going with you . . .”2
These moving snippets, and the time in which they were spoken, help set the scene and mood of the last public address given by a selfless leader to his (less-than-selfless) congregation.
And these are the words with which he leaves them:
At the end of seven years . . . during the festival on the holiday of Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before G‑d, in the place that He will choose, the king should read the Torah before all of Israel. Assemble the people, the men, the women and the minors, and the convert in your cities, in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn, and they shall fear G‑d . . .3
Moses’ final remarks to his people outlined the mitzvah of hak’hel, the commandment obliging all Jews to septennially gather in the Holy Temple to hear selections of the Torah being read by the Jewish king.
Then, following Moses’ talk with the people, G‑d has a final talk4 with him:
You are soon to lie with your fathers. This nation will rise up and desire to follow the gods of the people of the land into which they are coming. They will forsake Me and violate the covenant which I made with them…
Now, write for yourselves this song . . .
Which song, we wonder; and how might a song stop Jews from assimilating?
Maimonides explains:
It is a positive command for every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as the verse states, “Now write for yourselves this song,” meaning to say, “Write for yourselves a Torah which contains this song . . .”5
This mitzvah, for every individual to write his own Torah scroll, is the 613th and final mitzvah to be recorded in the Torah.6 It is the subject of the last conversation between G‑d and Moses that pertained to the people. It must somehow contain a recipe for Jewish survival, an antidote for assimilation.
But what might that be?
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long lifeThe single concern on Moses’ mind that day, and later echoed by G‑d in their conversation, was the future of this fragile nation—a future that would become less rosy with time, offering terrible persecution as well as progressive religious challenges.
The solution suggested by both G‑d and Moses was the same:
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long life. However, if it were taught as a dead subject, it would, G‑d forbid, be subject to death.
Both the mitzvah of hak’hel and writing a Torah scroll were established to turn the former prospect into reality.
Hak’hel was the reenactment of Sinai. Here’s how Maimonides describes it:
They would prepare their hearts and alert their ears to listen with dread and awe and with trembling joy, like the day [the Torah] was given at Sinai . . . as though the Torah was being commanded to him now, and he was hearing it from the mouth of the Almighty . . .7
Might this explain why of all biblical commands, hak’hel stands alone in obligating (parents to bring their) children,8 including those too young to walk and too underdeveloped to understand, feel or appreciate what was going on around them? The hak’hel experience was not just about the mind, it was about the soul; it triggered the subconscious, not just the conscious. As such, children, who possess as much soul as adults, were present. Somewhere inside their psyche, they reexperienced Sinai.
This also explains why even the greatest sages were present when the king read the Torah, even though they were fluent in what would be read. For this was not a lecture or a refresher course; it was a trip.
Hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real againFor a similar reason, it wasn’t the scholar most proficient in Torah who read from it, but the king, “for the king is an agent to make the words of G‑d heard.”9
A class is best taught by an expert teacher. The awe of Sinai is best reenacted through the presence and word of a mighty king.
In sum, hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real again.
But that worked in Jerusalem, in the Holy Temple, once in seven years. How would the other six years, outside Jerusalem, and in the days when our nation would be bereft of a Temple, be charged with living Judaism?
For this reason G‑d gave us the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, to be written and stored inside one’s home wherever and whenever they may live, and whose purpose it is to recreate the personal divine encounter we each experienced at Sinai.
Maimonides could not have put it better when he said that when “a person writes a Torah with his own hand, it is as if he received it from Mount Sinai . . .”
Thus, Moses’ punchline could not have been more appropriate and helpful at that historic moment. Both of the mitzvot he conveyed, and the ideas they represented, were his last and best words of advice to a people facing great odds.
Do more than study Torah and perform mitzvot. Live them, ingest and digest them, experience them—and they will live on.10
What’s in It for Me?
We’re losing numbers, and fast.
Currently, 72 percent of (non-observant) American Jews intermarry.11
Most of those, unfortunately, never received a Jewish education. That’s problem number one.
Some of them did, however, which is problem number two.
If we want to get through to the youth of today, we must shift our educational focus from Jewish knowledge to Jewish experience—Judaism as a lifestyle, not (just) a topic for discussion or a paper.
How often have I heard someone who recently experienced Shabbat, a Jewish holiday or passionate study saying, “I love it, it talks to me, I can’t live without it!”
Perhaps that’s because for the first time in their lives they engaged in living Judaism, not laboratory Judaism.
Or perhaps it was the first time that they felt that Judaism isn’t someone else’s story, but their own.
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson is the rabbi of Beit Baruch and executive director of Chabad of Belgravia, London, where he lives with his wife, Chana, and children.
Mendel was an editor at the Judaism Website—Chabad.org, and is also the author of the popular books Seeds of Wisdom and A Time to Heal.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.
FOOTNOTES
1.
See Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 41; Exodus Rabbah 28:6.
2.
Deuteronomy 31:2, 6.
3.
Ibid. 31:10–12. According to the biblical commentator Abarbanel, verse 30 of that chapter describes an address given by Moses to the representatives of Israel, but the people weren’t present.
4.
Ibid. 31:16, 19. Their conversations later on (e.g., 32:48–52) were logistical and contained some final remarks, but didn’t pertain to his leadership of the people.
5.
Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Torah Scroll 7:1.
6.
For more on this mitzvah, and the reason why it isn’t commonly practiced nowadays, see Writing a Personal Torah Scroll.
7.
Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Festival Offerings 3:6.
8.
See Talmud, Kiddushin 34b: “Children are obligated in the mitzvah of hak’hel.”
9.
Mishneh Torah, loc. cit.
10.
Based on the Rebbe’s teachings, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 34.
11.
“Jewish Intermarriage Statistics,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/articles/a/IntermarriageWhyNot.
See also “World Jewish Population,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/world-jewish-population.htm.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Lifestyle
Fried Chicken Kreplach By Miriam Szokovski
Aaah, kreplach...
Beautiful kreplach...
There are two kreplach “occasions” coming up—the meal before Yom Kippur and the Hoshana Rabbah meal. What exactly are kreplach? Boiled or fried pockets of dough stuffed with either meat or chicken, usually served in chicken soup. The meat symbolizes severity; the dough is an allusion to kindness. In preparation for the Day of Judgment, we “cover” the severity with kindness. To understand more about kreplach, what they represent and when else we eat them, check out this great explanation. If you’ve never tried them—you’re certainly missing out, and this would be a good time to start.
Last year, I shared a recipe using wonton wrappers for the dough, but this time I'm giving you step-by-step instructions to make the dough yourself. I also boiled them last time, and here we'll be frying them. To check out the recipe, see my Golden Chicken Soup with Traditional Kreplach recipe.
These step-by-step pictures should help with the directions below:
Dough Ingredients:
3 cups flour
1 cup hot water
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
Filling Ingredients:
3/4 lb. raw ground chicken
1/2 onion, diced
salt
1 tbsp. oil
Also:
Vegetable oil for frying
For the Dough:
Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Add the oil and water and mix roughly with a wooden spoon. Switch to your hands and bring the dough together into a ball.
Knead the dough for a few minutes, then cover it with a kitchen towel and set it aside to rest for 30-60 minutes.
For the Filling:
Fry the diced onion in the oil until golden. Salt to taste.
Let the fried onion cool and then add it to the ground chicken.
To Assemble:
Divide the dough into four pieces. Roll out the first piece and cut into squares. Place a teaspoon of filling in the center of each square, then fold over and seal edges to form a triangle. Press firmly along the edges with your fingers. Repeat until all the dough has been used. (Keep all the dough covered while not using, so it doesn't dry out.)
Place the sealed kreplach aside on a piece of parchment paper, covered by a kitchen towel, until ready to fry.
Heat oil to medium-high in a frying pan. Fry the kreplach on each side, until golden, crisp and chicken mixture is cooked through—approximately 3-4 minutes on the first side, then 2 minutes on the second side.
Serve in chicken soup, or on the side.
Yields: 30 kreplach
Miriam Szokovski is the author of the historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Lifestyle
Art: Spiritual Bread By Orit Martin
This painting attempts to express the basic Chassidic principle that every material item contains a spiritual spark. When we use the material goods to enhance and assist our spiritual pursuits, we elevate the sparks, as indicated by the Hebrew letters rising heavenward.
Orit draws inspiration for her art from kabbalah, the Zohar, Chassidic texts and Jewish motifs. Her work deals with existential topics such as the connection between body and soul and man’s place in the universe. Her paintings address the relationships between opposites: the transitory and the eternal, the spiritual and the concrete, the tangible and the abstract.
© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber
Vayelech In Depth
A condensation of the weekly Torah portion alongside select commentaries culled from the Midrash, Talmud, Chassidic masters, and the broad corpus of Jewish scholarship.
Parshat Vayelech In-Depth
Deuteronomy 31:1-31:30
Parshah Summary
The section of Vayelech (and the next two Parshiot of Haazinu and V’Zot HaBerachah) describes the events and words spoken on the last day of Moses’ life:
Moses again warns of the hiding of the divine face which shall occur when the people abandon the Torah; indeed, G‑d Himself predicts that this will be the case. “This song” must therefore serve as an everlasting testimony to ensure Israel’s eventual return and rapprochement with their G‑d.
Moses entrusts the leadership of Israel to Joshua. He puts the Torah into writing, and commands them the mitzvah of Hakhel (“gathering”): every seven years, on the Sukkot festival following the Shemittah year, “Gather the people together, men, women and babies, and your stranger that is within your gates”; the king shall then read from the Torah to them, “that they may hear and that they may learn, and fear the L‑rd your G‑d, and observe to do all the words of this Torah.”Moses went and spoke these words to all Israel. He said to them: “I am a hundred and twenty years old this day; I can no longer go out and come in, and G‑d has said to me: You shall not cross this Jordan . . .”
Moses again warns of the hiding of the divine face which shall occur when the people abandon the Torah; indeed, G‑d Himself predicts that this will be the case. “This song” must therefore serve as an everlasting testimony to ensure Israel’s eventual return and rapprochement with their G‑d.
From Our Sages
Moses went . . . to all of Israel (31:1)
But the Torah doesn’t tell us where Moses went on this last day of his earthly life. The chassidic masters say: Moses entered into the core of every Jew of every generation, so that every Jewish soul possesess a spark of the soul of Moses.
(Maayanah Shel Torah)
Today my days and years were fulfilled; on this day I was born, and on this day I shall die. . . . This is to teach us that G‑d fulfills the years of the righteous to the day and to the month, as it is written (Exodus 23:26): “I shall fulfill the number of your days.”
(Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 11a)
moreG‑d said to Moses: “Such is the way of the world: each generation has its teachers. Until now was your portion to serve Me; now has come the portion of Joshua your disciple.”
Said Moses to G‑d: “Master of the Universe! If it is because of Joshua that I must die, let me become his disciple.”
Said G‑d to him: “If that is your wish, you may do so.”
So Moses arose early in the morning to Joshua’s door, and Joshua was sitting and teaching. Moses bent his frame and covered his mouth, and Joshua did not see him. . . . All of Israel came to Moses’ door, but found him at Joshua’s door, and Joshua was sitting and Moses was standing. The people said to Joshua: “Joshua! What has happened to you, that Moses our master is standing and you are sitting?” As soon as Joshua lifted his eyes and saw this, he immediately tore his garments and cried and wept: “Master! Master! Father, my father and lord!”
Said the people to him: “Moses our teacher! Teach us Torah.”
Said he to them: “I do not have license.”
Said they to him: “We shall not leave you!”
Then a voice came forth from heaven and said to them: “Learn from Joshua!” and they accepted it.
Joshua sat at their head, Moses to his right and the sons of Aaron to his left; he sat and taught, and Moses did not understand his teaching.
After they stood up, the people of Israel said to Moses: “Moses our teacher, explain the teaching to us.”
Said he to them: “I do not know it.” And Moses was stumbling and failing.
At that moment, he said to G‑d: “Master of the Universe! Until now, I asked for life. Now, my soul is placed in Your hand.”
(Midrash Tanchuma)
Gather the people together, men, women, and babies . . . that they may hear and that they may learn (31:12)
Rabbi Dosa ben Horkinas saw Rabbi Joshua [ben Chananya] and proclaimed: “‘Whom to teach knowledge? . . . those weaned of milk’ (Isaiah 28:9). I remember his mother bringing round his cradle to the study hall, so that his ears should pick up words of Torah.”
(Jerusalem Talmud, Yevamot 1:6)
There are times when G‑d hides His face. But then there are times when G‑d hides His face and we don’t even realize that His face is hidden; we dwell in darkness, and think it is light. This is a double galut, a concealment within a concealment.
(The Chassidic Masters)
More
So that this song may be a witness for Me . . . and this song shall testify as a witness for them (31:19, 21)
Thus the prediction that the people of Israel will abandon the Torah and will be punished for their sins serves as a “witness” both for the people and for G‑d. For the people, that they have been forewarned of the consequences of their deeds. And for G‑d, that He should not be too harsh on them, since He Himself foresaw it all and said, “For I know their inclination, and what they do, even now, before I have brought them into the land of which I promised . . .”
(Malbim)
Moses commanded the Levites . . . “Take this book of the Torah, and place it to the side of the ark of the covenant of G‑d, that it may be there for a witness unto you” (31:25–26)
Our sages debated in [the Talmudic tractate] Bava Batra concerning this Torah scroll. There are those who say that a shelf extended from the outside of the ark, and on it the Torah scroll was placed. And there are those who say that it was placed to the side of the two tablets [inscribed with the Ten Commandments] within the ark.
(Rashi)
moreParshah
History or Memory? By Mendel Kalmenson
It has been said that there is no word for history in the Hebrew language.(The modern Hebrew equivalent, historia, is a word-lift from the English history, which was pinched from the Greek historia. What goes around, comes around . . . )
The absence of a word as central to any nation as “history” is striking. It’s probably because there’s no such thing as “history” in Judaism.
Zikaron (memory), however, a distant cousin of history, features prominently in biblical language and thought.
It goes far beyond semantics, cutting straight to the core of Judaism’s perception of the past.
You see, “history” is his-story, not mine. The first two letters of “memory,” however, spell me.
Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from meWithout me there is no memory. Memory is a part of me, and history, apart from me.
Put differently: History is made up of objective facts, and memory of subjective experience.
As you might have guessed, Judaism is less interested in dry facts than in breathing experiences.
It is for this reason that much of Jewish tradition and ritual draws on reenactment. We don’t just commemorate, we remember. We don’t just recount someone else’s story, we relive our own.
A few examples:
Much of the Seder curriculum aims to stimulate feelings of slavery and bitterness (e.g., the salt water, bitter herbs, poor man’s bread—a.k.a. matzah, and so on), as well as royalty and liberty (four cups of wine, leaning on cushions, and the like).
In fact, in certain Jewish communities, the seventh night of Passover (the night the sea split for the Jews) finds many walking through pails of water to recreate that event.
On Shavuot we stay up the entire night in anticipation of the giving of the Torah on the morrow, and children are brought to synagogue to hear the Ten Commandments from G‑d.
He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard fromIn fact, Judaism teaches that, in soul, we were all present at Sinai;1 each one of us personally encountered G‑d. Consequently, G‑d is not just the G‑d of our ancestors; He is our G‑d. He’s not just the G‑d we heard about, but the G‑d we heard from.
The divine revelation at Sinai thus distinguishes itself from any other revelation described in other religious traditions. Central to other religions is the belief that G‑d never shows Himself to the masses, to a community of commoners. He speaks only to the prophet, who alone is worthy of divine communion. It’s for the flock to trust implicitly in their shepherd’s account of revelation. Not so in Judaism, which maintains that, indeed, the greatest divine revelation of all time was made accessible to maidservant and Moses alike.
Moreover, even as He spoke to a nation of millions, G‑d addressed each one of them personally. As our sages teach, in His opening words at Sinai, “I am G‑d, your G‑d,” He chose to use the singular form of “your” (elokecha)—the “thy” of vintage English—over the plural possessive (elokeichem).
This was one of the greatest gifts that G‑d bequeathed our people, to include all of us in the Sinaitic display, for it turned our nation’s most seminal event into a living memory, as opposed to a lifeless lesson in history.
Moving along to the ninth of Av, the day the Holy Temple was destroyed thousands of years ago, and a national day of mourning—its customs include eating eggs dipped in ash (just prior to the fast), sitting on low stools, wearing slippers, fasting, and lamenting like it happened only yesterday.
The sukkah transports us to that distant and formative road tripCome Sukkot, and we move into huts for a week to recall the booths we lived in throughout our desert trek. Like a figurative time machine, the sukkahtransports us to that distant and formative road trip.
And the list goes on.
The point is, remembering is big in our tradition.
The following discussion seeks to highlight just how big.
The Finale
“Today I am one hundred and twenty years old,” begins Moses’ last homily. “I am no longer able to lead you . . .”
The end is near, or here.
“Be strong and courageous . . . Do not be afraid . . . for G‑d is going with you . . .”2
These moving snippets, and the time in which they were spoken, help set the scene and mood of the last public address given by a selfless leader to his (less-than-selfless) congregation.
And these are the words with which he leaves them:
At the end of seven years . . . during the festival on the holiday of Sukkot, when all Israel comes to appear before G‑d, in the place that He will choose, the king should read the Torah before all of Israel. Assemble the people, the men, the women and the minors, and the convert in your cities, in order that they will hear and in order that they will learn, and they shall fear G‑d . . .3
Moses’ final remarks to his people outlined the mitzvah of hak’hel, the commandment obliging all Jews to septennially gather in the Holy Temple to hear selections of the Torah being read by the Jewish king.
Then, following Moses’ talk with the people, G‑d has a final talk4 with him:
You are soon to lie with your fathers. This nation will rise up and desire to follow the gods of the people of the land into which they are coming. They will forsake Me and violate the covenant which I made with them…
Now, write for yourselves this song . . .
Which song, we wonder; and how might a song stop Jews from assimilating?
Maimonides explains:
It is a positive command for every Jewish man to write a Torah scroll for himself, as the verse states, “Now write for yourselves this song,” meaning to say, “Write for yourselves a Torah which contains this song . . .”5
This mitzvah, for every individual to write his own Torah scroll, is the 613th and final mitzvah to be recorded in the Torah.6 It is the subject of the last conversation between G‑d and Moses that pertained to the people. It must somehow contain a recipe for Jewish survival, an antidote for assimilation.
But what might that be?
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long lifeThe single concern on Moses’ mind that day, and later echoed by G‑d in their conversation, was the future of this fragile nation—a future that would become less rosy with time, offering terrible persecution as well as progressive religious challenges.
The solution suggested by both G‑d and Moses was the same:
If Judaism were taught as a living experience, it would experience long life. However, if it were taught as a dead subject, it would, G‑d forbid, be subject to death.
Both the mitzvah of hak’hel and writing a Torah scroll were established to turn the former prospect into reality.
Hak’hel was the reenactment of Sinai. Here’s how Maimonides describes it:
They would prepare their hearts and alert their ears to listen with dread and awe and with trembling joy, like the day [the Torah] was given at Sinai . . . as though the Torah was being commanded to him now, and he was hearing it from the mouth of the Almighty . . .7
Might this explain why of all biblical commands, hak’hel stands alone in obligating (parents to bring their) children,8 including those too young to walk and too underdeveloped to understand, feel or appreciate what was going on around them? The hak’hel experience was not just about the mind, it was about the soul; it triggered the subconscious, not just the conscious. As such, children, who possess as much soul as adults, were present. Somewhere inside their psyche, they reexperienced Sinai.
This also explains why even the greatest sages were present when the king read the Torah, even though they were fluent in what would be read. For this was not a lecture or a refresher course; it was a trip.
Hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real againFor a similar reason, it wasn’t the scholar most proficient in Torah who read from it, but the king, “for the king is an agent to make the words of G‑d heard.”9
A class is best taught by an expert teacher. The awe of Sinai is best reenacted through the presence and word of a mighty king.
In sum, hak’hel was the communal reenactment of Sinai; it made things real again.
But that worked in Jerusalem, in the Holy Temple, once in seven years. How would the other six years, outside Jerusalem, and in the days when our nation would be bereft of a Temple, be charged with living Judaism?
For this reason G‑d gave us the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, to be written and stored inside one’s home wherever and whenever they may live, and whose purpose it is to recreate the personal divine encounter we each experienced at Sinai.
Maimonides could not have put it better when he said that when “a person writes a Torah with his own hand, it is as if he received it from Mount Sinai . . .”
Thus, Moses’ punchline could not have been more appropriate and helpful at that historic moment. Both of the mitzvot he conveyed, and the ideas they represented, were his last and best words of advice to a people facing great odds.
Do more than study Torah and perform mitzvot. Live them, ingest and digest them, experience them—and they will live on.10
What’s in It for Me?
We’re losing numbers, and fast.
Currently, 72 percent of (non-observant) American Jews intermarry.11
Most of those, unfortunately, never received a Jewish education. That’s problem number one.
Some of them did, however, which is problem number two.
If we want to get through to the youth of today, we must shift our educational focus from Jewish knowledge to Jewish experience—Judaism as a lifestyle, not (just) a topic for discussion or a paper.
How often have I heard someone who recently experienced Shabbat, a Jewish holiday or passionate study saying, “I love it, it talks to me, I can’t live without it!”
Perhaps that’s because for the first time in their lives they engaged in living Judaism, not laboratory Judaism.
Or perhaps it was the first time that they felt that Judaism isn’t someone else’s story, but their own.
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson is the rabbi of Beit Baruch and executive director of Chabad of Belgravia, London, where he lives with his wife, Chana, and children.
Mendel was an editor at the Judaism Website—Chabad.org, and is also the author of the popular books Seeds of Wisdom and A Time to Heal.
Artwork by Sefira Ross, a freelance designer and illustrator whose original creations grace many Chabad.org pages. Residing in Seattle, Washington, her days are spent between multitasking illustrations and being a mom.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 41; Exodus Rabbah 28:6.
2.Deuteronomy 31:2, 6.
3.Ibid. 31:10–12. According to the biblical commentator Abarbanel, verse 30 of that chapter describes an address given by Moses to the representatives of Israel, but the people weren’t present.
4.Ibid. 31:16, 19. Their conversations later on (e.g., 32:48–52) were logistical and contained some final remarks, but didn’t pertain to his leadership of the people.
5.Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Torah Scroll 7:1.
6.For more on this mitzvah, and the reason why it isn’t commonly practiced nowadays, see Writing a Personal Torah Scroll.
7.Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Festival Offerings 3:6.
8.See Talmud, Kiddushin 34b: “Children are obligated in the mitzvah of hak’hel.”
9.Mishneh Torah, loc. cit.
10.Based on the Rebbe’s teachings, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 34.
11.“Jewish Intermarriage Statistics,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/articles/a/IntermarriageWhyNot.
See also “World Jewish Population,” SimpleToRemember.com,http://www.simpletoremember.com/vitals/world-jewish-population.htm.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Lifestyle
Fried Chicken Kreplach By Miriam Szokovski
Aaah, kreplach...
Beautiful kreplach...
There are two kreplach “occasions” coming up—the meal before Yom Kippur and the Hoshana Rabbah meal. What exactly are kreplach? Boiled or fried pockets of dough stuffed with either meat or chicken, usually served in chicken soup. The meat symbolizes severity; the dough is an allusion to kindness. In preparation for the Day of Judgment, we “cover” the severity with kindness. To understand more about kreplach, what they represent and when else we eat them, check out this great explanation. If you’ve never tried them—you’re certainly missing out, and this would be a good time to start.Last year, I shared a recipe using wonton wrappers for the dough, but this time I'm giving you step-by-step instructions to make the dough yourself. I also boiled them last time, and here we'll be frying them. To check out the recipe, see my Golden Chicken Soup with Traditional Kreplach recipe.These step-by-step pictures should help with the directions below:
Dough Ingredients:3 cups flour
1 cup hot water
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
Filling Ingredients:
3/4 lb. raw ground chicken
1/2 onion, diced
salt
1 tbsp. oil
Also:
Vegetable oil for frying
For the Dough:
Combine the flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Add the oil and water and mix roughly with a wooden spoon. Switch to your hands and bring the dough together into a ball.
Knead the dough for a few minutes, then cover it with a kitchen towel and set it aside to rest for 30-60 minutes.
For the Filling:
Fry the diced onion in the oil until golden. Salt to taste.
Let the fried onion cool and then add it to the ground chicken.
To Assemble:
Divide the dough into four pieces. Roll out the first piece and cut into squares. Place a teaspoon of filling in the center of each square, then fold over and seal edges to form a triangle. Press firmly along the edges with your fingers. Repeat until all the dough has been used. (Keep all the dough covered while not using, so it doesn't dry out.)
Place the sealed kreplach aside on a piece of parchment paper, covered by a kitchen towel, until ready to fry.
Heat oil to medium-high in a frying pan. Fry the kreplach on each side, until golden, crisp and chicken mixture is cooked through—approximately 3-4 minutes on the first side, then 2 minutes on the second side.
Serve in chicken soup, or on the side.
Yields: 30 kreplach
Miriam Szokovski is the author of the historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.-------
Lifestyle
Art: Spiritual Bread by Orit Martin
This painting attempts to express the basic Chassidic principle that every material item contains a spiritual spark. When we use the material goods to enhance and assist our spiritual pursuits, we elevate the sparks, as indicated by the Hebrew letters rising heavenward.Orit draws inspiration for her art from kabbalah, the Zohar, Chassidic texts and Jewish motifs. Her work deals with existential topics such as the connection between body and soul and man’s place in the universe. Her paintings address the relationships between opposites: the transitory and the eternal, the spiritual and the concrete, the tangible and the abstract.© Copyright 2016, all rights reserved.
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Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber
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