Missionary Renegade: Chabad Magazine – Tuesday, 13 Tevet 5774 · 14 January 2014 and Tuesday, 20 Tevet 5774

Chabad Magazine – Tuesday, 13 Tevet 5774 · 14 January 2014 and

Tuesday, 20 Tevet 5774 · 21 January 2014
Tuesday, 13 Tevet 5774 · 14 January 2014

Editor's Note:

Dear Friend,

It is the dead of winter in the Northern Hemisphere, and the only color to be seen is the brilliant but lifeless white of ice and snow. Yet in this season, during this frigid week. we celebrate new life on Tu B'Shevat, the New Year for Trees.

Paradoxical and deep like all meaningful truth, we are not celebrating new life that can be seen—not the first blossoming of leaves, nor the emergence of the season's first new fruit, for all of that is for a time to come. Instead, we mark the first, unseen rising of the sap hidden within every tree, readying itself for transformation and life-giving emergence.

We gather together with family and friends, especially children, on Tu B'Shevat. We feast on the fruit of trees and make the blessings before and after the eating. And we are mindful that it is on that day, the New Year for Trees, that we celebrate the hidden potential for good that G-d places in every living thing.

Yaakov Ort on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team

Daily Thought:

American Money

Do you know why American money is so successful?

Because it has written on it, “In G‑d We Trust.”

Not just “Believe.”

“Trust.”

Furthermore, the money even tells you its purpose:

Upon it is written, “E Pluribus Unum.”

The purpose of all your money dealings is to bring the plurality of this world to a Oneness.

And if that is truly your purpose, then you will rely on the One Creator to provide your needs.

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This Week's Features:

Tu B’Shevat

The New Year for Trees

Tu B’Shevat, the 15th of Shevat on the Jewish calendar—celebrated this year on Thursday, January 16, 2014—is the day that marks the beginning of a “new year” for trees. This is the season in which the earliest-blooming trees in the Land of Israel emerge from their winter sleep and begin a new fruit-bearing cycle.

Legally, the “new year” for trees relates to the various tithes that are separated from produce grown in the Holy Land. These tithes differ from year to year in the seven-year shemittah cycle; the point at which a budding fruit is considered to belong to the next year of the cycle is the 15th of Shevat.

We mark the day of Tu B’Shevat by eating fruit, particularly from the kinds that are singled out by the Torah in its praise of the bounty of the Holy Land: grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates. On this day we remember that “man is a tree of the field” (Deuteronomy 20:19), and reflect on the lessons we can derive from our botanical analogue.

Follow the following links for more information about this holiday and the ideas it represents:

Man and Tree

"Man is a tree of the field." How many ways can this statement be interpreted?

The Tree

Branches

A Tree's New Year Resolution

The Old Man and the Fig Tree

A Stupid Little Ruler

View All 23

Nature & Environment

What is the Jewish view on ecology and environmentalism?

The Leaf

Taking Back Tu B'Shevat

Ecology and Spirituality in Jewish Tradition

The Unity and Purposefulness of Creation

Jewish Ecology

Spiritual Insights

The mystical teachings of the Torah offer profound insights on the deeper nature of Tu B'Shevat

Blossoms in the Winter?

Celebrating Pleasure

Ecology and Spirituality in Jewish Tradition

Holy Eating

More on Tu B'Shevat

What is Tu B'Shevat? Why is it celebrated, and how is it observed?

Tu B'Shevat in a Minute

Tu B'Shevat: What and How

Tu B'Shevat Customs

Tu B'Shevat Q & A

Tu B'Shevat: A Weekday Rosh Hashanah

Why Eat Carob on Tu B'Shevat?

Audio & Video

Tu B'Shevat Audio & Video

Tu B'Shevat and Healing

The New Year for Trees

Celebrating the Potential

Mankind – Nature’s Keeper and Nurturer

Make Like a Tree, and Grow!

View All 14

Tu B’Shevat for Kids

The New Year for Trees

What is Tu B'Shevat?

Coloring Pages

Learn about Apples

Learn about Figs

Learn about Grapes

View All 9

Tu B'Shevat Recipes

Tu B’Shevat Recipes

Tu B'Shevat Fruit Plates

Tu B'Shevat Truffles

Almond Smoothie

Kiwi Honeydew Energy-Boosting Smoothie

Nut-Filled Pears

View All 9

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Parshah

Is There Anything Wrong with Arguing?

By Levi Avtzon

Chaim came back from a long trip to Minsk. “Minsk is a crazy city!” he told his friends.

“Why?” they asked.

“Well, in Minsk I found a socialist, a communist, a Zionist, a Bundist, a leftist, a rightist, a devout religious man, a secular humanist, a closed-minded in-the-box person and a freethinker!”

His friends didn’t understand: “But isn’t that a normal community, where you have different people with different ideas?!”

“Ah,” said Chaim, “you don’t understand: this was all the same person!”

We are a nation who argues. A lot.

From ancient history, when Abraham and Moses argued with the divine, to the present, where the bricks and cement of synagogues and Jewish social halls vibrate from the sound of verbal battle on the widest spectrum of subjects, from how-cold-is-it-really-outside-including-the-windchill to the solution to world hunger.

Life as we know it: I say yes, you say no.

But then we hear the cries for peace: “Why must we argue?” “All problems arise from disagreement!” “If we would all agree to agree, life would be so simple and harmonious.” Tell me about it.

Where did this notion that we must think alike originate from? Where in Torah or in common sense is there any hint to the notion that we must all think alike?

Yes, there are fundamental premises that are not up for debate. One may not kill. We must believe in one G‑d. Adultery is forbidden, Hamas is a terror organization, and Holocaust denial is the work of the Satan and cannot be college campus debate material. On these we all agree. (We better!)

But for almost everything else, from the role of government to the difference between a manager and a leader, and the plethora of other issues that keep our pundits, journalists and talk-show hosts’ mouths and pockets loaded—these are part of a healthy society.

This week we read the story of the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. In Exodus 19:1 we read that after arriving at Sinai, “there Israel camped opposite the mountain.”

Says Rashi: “At all their other encampments, the verse says vayachanu [‘and they camped,’ in the plural]; here it says vayichan [‘and he camped,’ in the singular]. For all other encampments were in argument and conflict, whereas here they camped as one man, with one heart.”

Notice that Rashi uses the expression “one heart.” No mention of “one brain.” There is no evidence that for the sake of peace the Jews let go of their opinions!

Mouth-shutting due to the fear that “it’s gonna cause a fight” is not, and never was, a Jewish concept.

Our history is full of rabbis and teachers debating, arguing, and defending their ideas. The Talmud is but a microcosm of hundreds of years of debate on a myriad of topics. It is a part of our psyche. Jews argue, and that is a good thing.

True, debate must remain in the realm of objective discussion, where we argue about the message, not the messenger. While we may dispute ideas and disagree with the other’s opinion, we must always have respect for our opponent as a human being, as a Jew. But within the framework of fair debate—we are lifetime members.

Rabbi Levi Avtzon lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, with his wife, Chaya, and their children. He regularly blogs his thoughts and ideas on the weekly Torah reading, current and past events, and the imminence of the Redemption on the Jewish website Chabad.org.

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Parshah

To Lead

By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks.

This week’s Parshah consists of two episodes that seem to be a study in contrasts. In the first, in chapter 18, Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law, a Midianite priest, gives Moses his first lesson in leadership. In the second, the prime mover is G‑d himself, who at Mount Sinai makes a covenant with the Israelites in an unprecedented and unrepeated epiphany. For the first and only time in history G‑d appears to an entire people, making a covenant with them and giving them the world’s most famous brief code of ethics, the Ten Commandments.

What can there be in common between the practical advice of a Midianite and the timeless words Jews have known many forms of leadershipof revelation itself? There is an intended contrast, and it is an important one. The forms and structures of governance are not specifically Jewish. They are part of chochmah, the universal wisdom of humankind. Jews have known many forms of leadership: by prophets, elders, judges and kings; by the nasi in Israel under Roman rule, and the reish galuta in Babylon; by town councils (shivah tuvei ha-ir) and various forms of oligarchy; and by other structures, up to and including the democratically elected Knesset. The forms of government are not eternal truths, nor are they exclusive to Israel. In fact, the Torah says about monarchy that a time will come when the people say, “Let us set a king over us like all the nations around us”—the only case in the entire Torah in which Israel is commanded (or permitted) to imitate other nations. There is nothing specifically Jewish about political structures.

What is specifically Jewish is the principle of the covenant at Sinai, that Israel is the only nation whose sole ultimate king and legislator is G‑d himself. “He has revealed his word to Jacob, his laws and decrees to Israel. He has done this for no other nation; they do not know his laws, Halleluyah.”1 What the covenant at Sinai established for the first time was the moral limits of power. All human authority is delegated authority, subject to the overarching moral imperatives of the Torah itself. This side of heaven, there is no absolute power. That is what has always set Judaism apart from the empires of the ancient world and the secular nationalisms of the West. So, Israel can learn practical politics from a Midianite, but it must learn the limits of politics from G‑d himself.

Despite the contrast, however, there is one theme in common between Yitro and the revelation at This side of heaven there is no absolute powerSinai, namely the delegation, distribution and democratization of leadership. Only G‑d can rule alone.

The theme is introduced by Yitro. He arrives to visit his son-in-law, and finds him leading alone. He says, “What you are doing is not good.”2 This is one of only two instances in the whole Torah in which the words lo tov, “not good,” appear. The other is in Genesis 2:18, where G‑d says, “It is not good (lo tov) for man to be alone.” We cannot lead alone. We cannot live alone. To be alone is not good.

Yitro proposes delegation:

You must be the people’s representative before G‑d, and bring their disputes to Him. Teach them His decrees and instructions, and show them the way they are to live and how they are to behave. But select capable men from all the people—men who fear G‑d, trustworthy men who hate dishonest gain—and appoint them as officials over thousands, hundreds, fifties and tens. Have them serve as judges for the people at all times, but have them bring every difficult case to you; the simple cases they can decide themselves. That will make your load lighter, because they will share it with you.3

This is a significant devolution. It means that among every thousand Israelites, there are 131 leaders (one head of a thousand, ten heads of a hundred, twenty heads of fifty, and a hundred heads of tens). One in every eight adult male Israelites was expected to undertake some form of leadership role.

In the next chapter, prior to the revelation at Mount Sinai, G‑d commands Moses to propose a covenant with the Israelites. In the course of this, G‑d articulates what is in effect the mission statement of the Jewish people:

You yourselves have seen what I did to Egypt, and how I carried you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now, if you obey Me fully and keep My covenant, then out of all nations you will be My treasured possession. Although the whole earth is Mine, you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.4

This is a very striking statement. Every nation had its priests. In the book of Genesis, we encounter Malki-Zedek, Abraham’s contemporary, described as “a priest of the most high G‑d.”5 The story of Joseph mentions the Egyptian priests, whose land was not nationalized.6 Yitro was a Midianite priest. In the ancient world, there was nothing distinctive about priesthood. Every nation had its priests and holy menEvery nation had its priests and holy men. What was distinctive about Israel was that it was to become a nation every one of whose members was to be a priest, each of whose citizens was called on to be holy.

I vividly recall standing with Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz in the General Assembly of the United Nations in August 2000, at a unique gathering of two thousand religious leaders representing all the major faiths in the world. I pointed out that even in that distinguished company, we were different. We were almost the only religious leaders wearing suits. All the others wore robes of office. It is an almost universal phenomenon that priests and holy people wear distinctive garments to indicate that they are set apart (the core meaning of the word kadosh, “holy”). In post-biblical Judaism there were no robes of office, because everyone was expected to be holy.7 (Theophrastus, a pupil of Aristotle, called the Jews “a nation of philosophers,” reflecting the same idea.)

Yet in what sense were Jews ever a kingdom of priests? The kohanim were an elite within the nation, members of the tribe of Levi, descendants of Aaron, the first high priest. There never was a full democratization of keter kehunah, the crown of priesthood.

Faced with this problem, the commentators offer two solutions. The word kohanim, “priests,” may mean “princes” or “leaders” (Rashi, Rashbam). Or, it may mean “servants” (Ibn Ezra, Ramban). But this is precisely the point. The Israelites were called on to be a nation of servant-leaders. They were the people called on, by virtue of the covenant, to accept responsibility not only for themselves and their families, but for the moral-spiritual state of the nation as a whole. This is the principle that later became known as the idea that kol Yisrael arevin zeh ba-zeh, “All Israelites are responsible for one another.” Jews were the people who did not leave leadership to a single individual, however holy or exalted, or to an elite. They were the people every No Jew was ever a sheepone of whom was expected to be both a prince and a servant—that is to say, every one of whom was called on to be a leader. Never was leadership more profoundly democratized.

That is what made Jews historically hard to lead. As Chaim Weizmann, first president of Israel, famously said, “I head a nation of a million presidents.” The L‑rd may be our shepherd, but no Jew was ever a sheep. At the same time, this is what led Jews to have an impact on the world out of all proportion to their numbers. Jews constitute only the tiniest fragment—one-fifth of one percent—of the population of the world, but an extraordinarily high percentage of leaders in any given field of human endeavor.

To be a Jew is to be called on to lead.8

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks is the former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and the British Commonwealth. To read more writings and teachings by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, or to join his e‑mail list, please visit www.rabbisacks.org.

FOOTNOTES

1. Psalms 147:19–20.

2. Exodus 18:17.

3. Exodus 18:19–22.

4. Exodus 19:4–6.

5. Genesis 14:18.

6. Genesis 47:22.

7. This idea reappeared in Protestant Christianity in the age of the Puritans, the Christians who took most seriously the principles of what they called the “Old Testament,” in the phrase “the priesthood of all believers.”

8. On the role of the follower in Judaism, see the future Covenant and Conversation on Kedoshim.

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Parshah

The Most Difficult Commandment

By Yossy Goldman

This is the week G‑d gives the Torah to the Jewish people. The reading of the great revelation at Sinai occurs in this Parshah, and with it come of course the world-famous Ten Commandments.

Which would you say is the most difficult of the Big Ten to keep? Would it be the first, the mitzvah to believe in G‑d? Faith doesn’t come as easy to our generation as it did in the days of our grandparents. Children with aged parents suffering ill health and who require much attention might argue that the fifth commandment, “Honor your father and mother,” is the most difficult to properly fulfill. Still others would say that the fourth commandment, to keep Shabbat, cramps their lifestyle more than any other.

While each has a valid point, personally I would cast my vote for the last one on the list—commandment number 10: Thou Shalt Not Covet.

“You shall not covet your friend’s house; you shall not covet your friend’s wife, or his field, servant, ox, donkey, or anything that belongs to your friend.” Or in simple English: don’t desire his beautiful home, stunning wife, dream job, nifty sports car, or anything else that is his.

It’s one thing not to steal the stuff; but not even to desire it? That’s got to be the hardest of all. Really, now, isn’t G‑d being somewhat unreasonable with this one? Is He being realistic? Surely He doesn’t think we’re angels—He created us!

So, allow me do what all good Jews do and try to answer a question with . . . another question. Why does the text of this commandment first list a variety of specifics—house, wife, field, servant, etc.—and then still find it necessary to add the generalization “and all that belongs to your friend”?

One beautiful explanation offered by the rabbis is that this comes to teach us a very important lesson for life—a lesson which actually makes this difficult commandment much easier to carry out. What the Torah is saying is that if perchance you should cast your envious eye over your neighbor’s fence, don’t look only at the specifics. Remember to also look at the overall picture.

Most of us tend to assume that the grass is greener on the other side. But we don’t always consider the full picture, the whole package. So, he’s got a great business and a very healthy balance sheet. But is he healthy? Is his family healthy? His wife looks great at his side when they’re out together, but is she such a pleasure to live with at home? And if he should have health and wealth, does he have nachat from his children? Is there anybody who has it all?

Every now and then, I find out something about someone whom I thought I knew well that reminds me of this lesson. A fellow who seemed to be on top of the world suddenly has the carpet pulled out from under his feet, and in an instant is himself in need. Another guy of whom I never really thought that highly turns out to be an amazing father, raising the most fantastic kids.

As the Yiddish proverb goes, everybody has his own pekkel. We each carry a backpack through life, a parcel of problems, our own little bundle of tzoris. When we are young, we think that difficulties are for “other people.” When we get older we realize that no one is immune. Nobody has it all.

So, if you find yourself coveting your fellow’s whatever, stop for a minute to consider whether you really want “all that is your fellow’s.” When we actually see with our own eyes what the other fellow’s life is all about behind closed doors, what’s really inside his backpack, we will feel grateful for our own lot in life and happily choose our very own pekkel, with all its inherent problems.

There is a famous folk story about a group of villagers who formed a circle, and each individual opened his sack, revealing his most precious possessions for all to see. They walked around the circle of open sacks, and everyone had the opportunity to choose whichever one he wanted. In the end, each one chose his own.

The Almighty is giving us good advice. Be wise enough to realize that you’ve got to look at the whole picture. When we do, this difficult commandment becomes more easily observable. Not only is it sinful to envy what other people have, it’s foolish. Because life is a package deal.

Rabbi Yossy Goldman was born in Brooklyn, New York. In 1976 he was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous memory, as a Chabad-Lubavitch emissary to serve the Jewish community of Johannesburg, South Africa. He is Senior Rabbi of the Sydenham Shul since 1986, president of the South African Rabbinical Association, and a frequent contributor to Chabad.org. His book From Where I Stand: Life Messages from the Weekly Torah Reading was recently published by Ktav, and is available at Jewish bookshops or online.

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Parshah

Yitro in a Nutshell

Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, hears of the great miracles which G‑d performed for the people of Israel, and comes from Midian to the Israelite camp, bringing with him Moses’ wife and two sons. Jethro advises Moses to appoint a hierarchy of magistrates and judges to assist him in the task of governing and administering justice to the people.

The children of Israel camp opposite Mount Sinai, where they are told that G‑d has chosen them to be His “kingdom of priests” and “holy nation.” The people respond by proclaiming, “All that G‑d has spoken, we shall do.”

On the sixth day of the third month (Sivan), seven weeks after the Exodus, the entire nation of Israel assembles at the foot of Mount Sinai. G‑d descends on the mountain amidst thunder, lightning, billows of smoke and the blast of the shofar, and summons Moses to ascend.

G‑d proclaims the Ten Commandments, commanding the people of Israel to believe in G‑d, not to worship idols or take G‑d’s name in vain, to keep the Shabbat, honor their parents, not to murder, not to commit adultery, not to steal, and not to bear false witness or covet another’s property. The people cry out to Moses that the revelation is too intense for them to bear, begging him to receive the Torah from G‑d and convey it to them.

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Parshah

Yitro Poem

By Chana Engel

Legal documents lie on your desk in a stack,

Once you've signed 'I agree' there's no turning back,

You pore over each line, making sure it's no steal,

Won't sign 'til you’re sure that you've got the best deal.

Now magnify this on a much larger scale,

Where the terms and conditions aren't just for a sale,

These are guidelines dictating each day of your life,

For your entire nation - not just you and your wife.

Such a life changing decision should be really thought out

At least flick through it briefly, see what it's about.

But when G-d gave the Jews the Torah

They replied right away, “Na'aseh venishma,”

"First we'll do then we'll listen," that order precise:

Follow G-d's laws, without thinking twice.

Irrational, rash, a real thoughtless call,

Our ancestors didn't bargain at all?!

Commit to the job without hearing the rules?

Just blindly have faith - are they utter fools?

It's blind faith that's true, but not where your sight dies,

It's when you step back for a moment, and let G-d be your eyes.

He's greater, He's wiser, knows better than me,

And I want to live life how He says it should be.

Far stronger than reason is our deep rooted faith,

We'll follow the Torah in any case,

Of course we should learn, understand what we can,

But if it doesn't make sense - we still follow His plan.

Listen to the voice speaking from within you

Put aside calculations, take the plunge and just do!

Surrender yourself to His will 'cause it's true,

He's worked it all out and it's perfect for you.

Chana Engel grew up in Melbourne, Australia, and shares her poems with a wide-ranging circle of Jews. She is currently studying in Israel.

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Essay

Am I Permitted to Reveal Private Conversations?

By Yehuda Shurpin

Question:

In his controversial memoir “Duty,” former Secretary of Defense Robert Gates reveals private conversations with President Obama and other politicians. On one hand, this seems to be a betrayal of trust; Gates is revealing information that was told to him in confidence. On the other hand, this revelation does give the American people important information about their leadership. In a republic, this is certainly needed.

So what does the Torah say about a situation like this? Would a Jew, who is bound by Torah law, be permitted to write such a book?

Response:

Revealing secrets is prohibited under the Biblical injunction, “You shall not go around as a gossipmonger amidst your people; you shall not stand by [the shedding of] your fellow's blood. I am the L-rd.”1

This injunction is so important that, according to the Midrash, it was one of the primary factors that contributed to our liberation from Egypt:

In the merit of four things, the Jews were redeemed from Egypt—they did not change their names; they did not change their language; they did not disclose each other's secrets; and they did not break barriers of morality.2

This prohibition can extend even to conversations that you were not specifically told to keep secret. In fact, the very first verse in Leviticus states, “And He called to Moses, and the Lord spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, to say [leimor].” The word “leimor” means “to say over to others.” From this extra word, the Talmud understands that if G‑d would have not have authorized Moses to share the communique that followed, he would have been forbidden to do so.3

This is especially true when it comes to revealing the inner workings and deliberative processes of a court or similar institution.4 The Talmud relates that Rabbi Ami expelled a student from the study hall because he had disclosed the details of a confidential discussion that had taken place in the study hall 22 years prior, saying, “This man reveals secrets.”5

However, before rushing to condemn Mr. Gates based on the above prohibitions, we need to stress that there are some notable exceptions:

According to some authorities, if no apparent harm will be caused by revealing the conversation, and there was no indication that the content was intended to remain confidential (e.g. the conversation was not conducted in a hushed tone or secluded area), while it still may be laudable to not reveal the information, there is no prohibition to do so.6

A doctor who has information about a condition that may put the public at risk (such as severely impaired vision or a contagious disease) must share his knowledge with the appropriate parties—even if the patient specifically requests that he keep it a secret. In fact, if the doctor withholds the information, he may be guilty of the Biblical prohibition, “Do not stand by [the shedding of] your fellow’s blood.”7

Under certain conditions, one can reveal private information that will save someone from financial losses.8

If a person is sharing the negative information for a constructive and beneficial purpose, the prohibition against doing so does not apply. For example, if you are asked for information about a potential spouse or employee, and you know information that would prevent serious harm (e.g. the potential groom has an extremely bad temper, or the employee is a thief), you are permitted to reveal this information.

In this case, however, bear in mind the words of the Chofetz Chaim, the authoritative work on the matter of forbidden and permitted speech:

In such a situation that the information may be revealed, the one asking for the private information should stress that he is not asking out of curiosity, but for a specific constructive reason; namely, he is thinking of making a match or hiring the person.

Additionally, when answering, take care to keep in mind that one is only permitted to reveal the information for a constructive and beneficial purpose, but not out of malicious intent. This means being careful not to reveal more than what is necessary, and it goes without saying that any exaggeration is prohibited.9

So how does this apply to the defense secretary’s new book?

Since most politicians are extremely careful with what they say and reveal to the public, we must assume that the private conversations discussed in the book were indeed intended to remain private. However, as we discussed, this does not automatically mean that one is prohibited from revealing them.

I make no claims or judgments about Mr. Gate’s true intentions in writing the book (whether they were noble or malicious), and I’m hardly in a position to judge whether the revelations have a beneficial purpose. If the author were writing a salacious or malicious book just for the sake of revealing “the truth,” for no beneficial reason, it would definitely be prohibited. However, a valid argument can be made that in the case of important information about politicians (as opposed to celebrities), which, among other things, will help voters make an informed decision come election time, one is permitted to reveal this information.

Rabbi Yehuda Shurpin responds to questions for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.

FOOTNOTES

1. Leviticus 19:16. See Semag Prohibition 9, Hagahot Maimonis on Hilchot Deiot 7:7, Magen Avraham on Shulchan Aruch Orech Chaim 156.

2. Bamidbar Rabbah 20:21.

3. Talmud Yoma 4a.

4. Talmud Sanhedin 29a.

5. Ibid. 31a.

6. Chofetz Chaim, Be’er Mayim Chaim, Hilchot Loshon Harah 2:27. See however, Shulchan Aruch Harav, Orech Chaim 156:14 where he cites the prohibition of revealing private information without any qualifications.

7. Tzitz Eliezer 15:13, citing response of Chelkat Yaakov 3:136.

8. See Sefer Hamitzvot, prohibition 297, Mishna Torah Hilchot Rotzeach 1:14 and Chofetz Chaim in Be’er Mayim Chaim, Hilchot Rechilut 9:1-3.

9. Chofetz Chaim, Hilchot Loshon Harah 4:10-11.

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Essay

Limitless Truth for the Limited Mind

By Tzvi Freeman and Yehuda Shurpin

The very first day I came to cheder1 as a small child, I was brought by my father and my uncle. As is the custom, they threw candies at me, and they told me that the archangel Michael had thrown them.

My father told me that when he was brought to cheder, his grandfather Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch was still alive, and he threw candies and told him the same—that the archangel Michael had thrown them. My father took this very seriously. He didn’t want to eat the candies, they were so precious to him.

Eventually, the day before Passover arrived, and as usual, they were checking the pockets of the small children for crumbs of bread. His grandfather called him and asked him where he kept the candies. At that point, he had to eat them all.

This is the kind of education we have to have!

Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, Sefer ha-Sichot 5701, pp. 29–30 (translated).

Heaven forbid we should tell a child an untruth! It is a Jewish custom, and a Jewish custom is also Torah—the Torah of truth. Everything the child is told is true: Those who throw the candies are doing it on behalf of the archangel Michael, the angel who seeks out the merits of the Jewish people. The sweetness of the candies is the sweetness of Torah as it descends and clothes itself in a physical object.

When he grasps the outer clothing, the child grasps the archangel Michael and all the truth that is within that clothing!

An adult won’t accept this, because he sees that he, and not an angel, is the one throwing the candies. When a child is older, we can explain to him that this is only a garb for something much higher. But when he is a three-year-old child just beginning his education, we tell him these things clothed in a story, and he has no problems with any of it. Nevertheless, when he grasps the outer clothing, the child grasps the archangel Michael, and the sweetness of Torah, and all the truth that is within that clothing!

Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, talks of Shabbat Parshat Pinchas 5734 and 8th day of Chanukah 5739 (translated, combined and abridged).

Midrash For the Rest of Us

If you’ve been following this series, by now you should know that when you come across a fabulous story from the Midrash, you need to peel back the covers to discover what it’s trying to tell you. The stories are all true stories—just not necessarily the way things were able to unfold in our physically limited realm. This reality is not the ultimate expression of truth.

But, we asked, what about those aren’t capable of peeking beneath the surface? What about small children—and even simpleminded adults—who have no patience for abstractions, and take all they hear and read at face value? Are we supposed to hide these stories from them?

Historically, that just hasn’t been the case. Many, if not most of these midrashim are collections from sermons of popular rabbis of past generations. To whom were they sermonizing? To whoever came and listened: men, women and children—most of them simple folk.

So too, over the last thousand years or more, these collections were read by the simple, literate Jew and retold to small children in their plain, undecoded form. They were our mother’s milk, and they became part of the Jewish DNA. They pumped through our blood and inspired us to hold tight throughout all the hardships and persecution. Where intellectuals collapsed and accepted apostasy rather than lose their lives or their property, those who embraced the simple meaning of these stories without question stood firm and strong. On these stories were raised men and women who lived lives of truth.

Truth doesn’t grow where falseness is planted.

Truth doesn’t grow where falseness is planted. We must say that even as they are understood on their most basic level, each of these stories is absolute truth.

But how is that so? Either fine clothes will be growing on trees when Moshiach comes, or they will not. Can we say that for the small child they will do so literally, while for the sophisticated adult they will do so only figuratively?

To return to the story of the Zohar we quoted in Part I: A beautiful woman in the palace appears to her beloved first by peeping out a small window, then by speaking to him from behind a curtain, and then through a thin veil. The thin veil is aggadah—the midrashic tales we are discussing. A person who enjoys these stories without grasping their deeper meaning, it would seem, is like someone enamored with the veil. But this can’t be true. It must be that somehow in the veil itself rests the entire beauty and truth of the Torah.

The question is not on midrashic aggadah alone. The Hebrew Bible is filled with anthropomorphism—G‑d’s eyes and hands, His wrath, His disappointment and His love, G‑d as king, G‑d as father—all understood by innocent and simple people exactly as stated.

When a child hears the story of Abraham arguing with G‑d over the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, he most certainly imagines the two standing face to face, as a man argues with a close friend. When he reads that G‑d smote Egypt with an outstretched arm, he imagines a giant arm extending down from the heavens. And he won’t give up that image, no matter how much his teacher may try to explain. A hand means a hand. The child has no concept of deeper meaning or higher reality. The child is concerned with the world he sees and feels. This is the world of the child—free of abstraction, simple and concrete.

Yet Maimonides categorically ruled that one who believes that G‑d has any form whatsoever is denying His oneness, and has thereby forfeited his share in the world to come!2

No, Maimonides is not booting all the little children out of heaven. No, Maimonides is not booting all the little children out of heaven.He is obviously speaking of an adult who has read the classic commentaries and has the intellectual capacity to conceive of oneness and formlessness, yet nevertheless insists on a literal understanding of G‑d as a being of form. The child isn’t quite there yet.3

Nevertheless, the question remains: How could the Torah—a Torah of truth—mislead the innocent reader of simple faith?

Indeed, Rabbi Abraham ben David (known as Raavad) criticized Maimonides for making this ruling.4 He himself agreed that G‑d has no form, physical or otherwise. What he could not bear is the condemnation, as he writes, of “many who were better than him [meaning Maimonides (!)] who believed such things due to their innocent reading of the text.”

“Better than him,” writes Rabbi Abraham. Even though they believe something about G‑d that he himself agrees is utterly false! What is so wonderful about people who cannot fathom a formless G‑d?5

To answer that question, we need to readjust our thinking about several issues: about Torah, about reality, and about human language.

The View from Higher Worlds

First, let’s examine our approach to midrash a step deeper. While Maharal was composing his elucidations of midrash in Prague, Rabbi Menachem Azariah of Fano, Italy, was taking a similar approach to Torah text in general.

R. Menachem Azariah was concerned with a statement of the Talmud, that the Torah sometimes exaggerates.6 One of the examples the Talmud offers was when Moses tells how the spies described the cities of Canaan. He quotes them as saying that these are “great cities, fortified up to the heavens.”7

R. Menachem Azariah writes, “Heaven forbid that the Torah should exaggerate! Everything in the Torah is truth—even the lies the characters of the Torah tell are truth. For in a Torah of truth, there is no room for inaccuracies, never mind exaggeration. And in this case the cities are truthfully fortified to the heavens, for in the higher realms the external ministering angels cannot enter the boundaries of the land.”8

To R. Menachem Azariah, that itself is the meaning of exaggeration in Torah—not an inflation of the facts, but a statement of a higher truth that cannot be expressed in our physical world. Torah, however, speaks only secondarily about our physical world—and in a world higher than our own, there is certainly some very real manifestation of this truth.

Ramban (Nachmanides) had written that the Torah speaks about earthly matters and alludes to spiritual ones.9 Now, R. Menachem Azariah The Torah speaks principally about higher matters—the earthly matters are secondary.turned that around: The Torah speaks principally about higher matters, he wrote; it’s the earthly matters that are secondary.10

Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz was the chief rabbi of Prague shortly after Maharal. His voluminous Shnei Luchot ha-Brit (known by its acronym, Shelah) was a highly popular and influential work among European Jewry in the 17th and 18th centuries. In it, he quotes R. Menachem Azariah and supports his view. But he carries the idea further, into the domain of midrash.

“Just as every verse of the Torah must be understood according to its simple sense,” he writes, “so too, every midrashic story is true in its simple sense.”11 But what he means by “simple sense” in midrash is certainly not what we would consider it to be.

To explain himself,12 he cites the great Kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Cordovero.13

Rabbi Cordovero presented a unique understanding of anthropomorphism. Others understood biblical anthropomorphism quite plainly: when we read about G‑d’s hand or ears, we understand that G‑d’s hands are not real hands, but since we have no other way to describe Him, we use something of which we do have a grasp—namely, our own hands and ears. But, wrote Rabbi Cordovero, in truth the reverse is true: The real hands and ears are those of G‑d, since it is from G‑d that all things originate, as the prophet remarks,14 “Does the One who made an ear not hear; the One who formed the eye not see?”

The real hands and ears are those of G‑d. Only that His eyes and ears are verbs, rather than nouns.

It is only that G‑d’s eyes and ears are verbs, rather than nouns. As he wrote, “When talking about G‑d, we are not discussing the bodily ear, but rather the function of that ear. Just as a bodily ear hears and discerns the meaning of what it hears, so the divine power receives a voice and discerns whether it is acceptable or not.” But the point is, the real ear is the divine verb, not the corporeal noun. The ear on the side of your head is only a cheap imitation of the genuine McCoy.

This is a radically original way of thinking of metaphor in Torah: all that exists in our reality is nothing more than an analogy derived from the true reality to which it points. As the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, explained this view, G‑d gave us a hand and eyes and ears so that we could understand the true hand and eyes and ears as they are above. And the same with all that we find in our world. The whole world is one big parable, a crystallized analogue of the real thing.

Rabbi Horowitz understands midrash in much the same way as Rabbi Cordovero understands anthropomorphism—the metaphors are not foreign to their subject, but actual derivations of a higher reality. “So too,” he writes, “the simple meaning of any midrashic tale—its essential meaning—is as it is above. That which we generally understand as its simple meaning is actually how it comes to us having been clothed and clothed again in many layers of clothing.”

As Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi writes in Tanya: “The Torah descends from its place of glory, as it is G‑d’s will and wisdom . . . and from there it has journeyed in a descent though hidden stages, stage after stage . . . until it has clothed itself in materials matters and things of this world . . .”

Midrash, too, is speaking principally of something above. Where above? In which world?

For this, we have recourse to a teaching of Rabbi Isaac Luria, the Ari: The peshat (simple, literal) meaning of the text belongs to our World of Action. The alluded meaning (remez) speaks in the World of Formation, a step up from this physical reality. The midrash then provides us a glimpse into how things look from the World of Creation, the deepest plane of the created reality. Beyond that, the Kabbalistic meanings belong to the World of Emanation, a world in which all is open G‑dliness.15

As it turns out, as As we move through the various departments of Torah, we are actually traversing worlds.we move through the various departments of Torah, we are actually traversing worlds, viewing the same idea as it manifests in the various layers of the entirety of reality, like many facets of a single diamond.

Metaphor As Clothing

All of this will become clearer if we examine this metaphor of the metaphor: clothing. Why do ideas need clothing?

An author wishes to communicate an idea, an ethic or a perspective on life. If he would spell it out in the raw, the point won’t come across. He needs something that will carry his audience from their perspective to his, so that they will see that which is currently imperceptible to them. He can’t pick them up and take them there, and he can’t plop his mind into their brains.

But what he can do is find clothing that fits the subject and makes it presentable, that hides whatever is distracting them and brings out the highlights he wants to point out. As good clothing brings out the natural beauty of the subject, so a good parable brings out a depth otherwise ineffable. Paradoxically, both do so through concealment—concealment for the sake of revealing a deeper beauty.

Right now, for example, I am providing a metaphor for metaphor. If I just tell you what a metaphor is and its purpose, I doubt that I’ll get my point across. By telling you that metaphor is like clothing, I can communicate something about it that you may not have previously realized.

Now, clothing is a foreign layer, and so too a metaphor or analogy. The analogy may be a story about a wolf in a vineyard, a traveler to distant islands, or animals on a farm—and yet its content has nothing to do with wolves, grapes, islands or farms. If the audience gets stuck in the trappings and remains in the vineyard or on the farm, it would seem that the author has completely failed. George Orwell would certainly be dismayed by the number of high-school students (and some of their teachers) who believe he wrote a cute story about pigs and horses.

That is the case with most parables. But with the parables, metaphors and anthropomorphisms of Torah, matters are different: it’s impossible to grasp the clothing without also grasping whatever is clothed inside. Even if you are oblivious to those contents, you’re holding them tight.

Why the difference?

Because Aesop, Jonathan Swift and George Orwell found metaphors off the shelf and dressed their ideas within them. But, as Rabbi Horowitz wrote, the metaphor of Torah grows out of the ideas themselves. Just as you can’t grab a turtle’s shell without grabbing the turtle, so you can’t grab a Torah metaphor without grabbing the entire Torah in all its essence.

You can’t grab a turtle’s shell without grabbing the turtle, and you can’t grab a Torah metaphor without grabbing the essential Torah.

Why is a candy sweet? Because Torah is sweet. That is the authentic, primal sweetness—and from there is derived all the sweetness in the world.

Why is it that fish can live only in the sea? Because there are souls that can live only within the sea of Torah.

Why is it that the space beyond our tiny planet goes on for so many light-years beyond? Because the material world is so infinitesimally insignificant in comparison to the transcendental worlds beyond it.

And so, when the human being tastes a candy tossed at him in the schoolroom, ponders a midrash about fish in the sea, or stares up at the sky in awe, in all those things he senses a truth far beyond.

Human Language

It turns out that when discussing metaphor and midrash, we’re really talking about human language.

Language, developmental psychology has taught us, is much more than a means of communication. Language is the human gateway from the world of sensation to the world of abstraction.

When the child begins to understand language and form sentences, a transformation begins, a metamorphosis from a creature of a world of colors, textures, sounds, tastes and smells to a transcendental being that conceives objects, classes of objects and relationships between them. That’s why, while we’ve taught animals to communicate, we’ve yet to teach an animal language. As Bertrand Russell succinctly put it, “A dog cannot relate his autobiography; however eloquently he may bark, he cannot tell you that his parents were honest but poor.”16

Language means more than saying, “I want a banana” or “the banana is yellow.” Language provides the ability to see beyond the banana and beyond the yellow, and to conceive of those as ideas, so that you can construct new ideas—and perceive ideas that you have never seen. You can understand the banana as one of a set called bananas, a subset of fruits, which are in turn a subset of food. You can build relationships in your mind between the yellow of the banana and the yellow of other objects. You can conceive of a red banana, or a yellow coconut, even though you’ve never seen such a thing. As the Russian social psychologist Language empowers us to turn the universe symbolically inside out.Alexander Luria wrote,17 with language “we can, if we will, turn the universe symbolically inside out.”18

Bruno Bettelheim is best known for his classic work of child psychology, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. He criticizes the “narrow-minded rationalists” who object to telling children fantasies, pointing out the value children receive from these stories in dealing with the emotions and turmoil of life. As for the unrealism, he writes that this is “an important device, because it makes obvious that the fairy tales’ concern is not useful information about the external world, but the inner process taking place in an individual.” In short, “The child intuitively comprehends that although these stories are unreal, they are not untrue . . .”

The Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, seems to be going beyond this. When a small child is told that the archangel Michael threw candies at him, that is very real to him. He imagines the angel there in the room, and the candies become very precious candies. And yet it is not a lie.

Indeed, that is just the point: That which is absolute truth in the world of the child, in your world is an absurd lie. Not because your world is any closer to the truth than the child’s. On the contrary, the innocence and simplicity of the child can embrace truths which the adult can only faintly apprehend from afar. The simplicity of the child can embrace truths which the adult can only faintly apprehend from afar.But because in the world of the child, language is not about facts, but about their meaning. The child has no problem with absurdities in the external world, because the child’s world is entirely an inner world. The inner world is all that counts to the child.

This is also the point being made by the Rebbe when he points out that when a speaking person talks about a hand, his principal meaning is not the muscle, skin and bones of the hand, but the vitality of that hand. If he says he was “handed” something, he is not saying that chunk of meat gave it to him, but that the life of a living being that is invested in that hand gave something to him.

So too, the Rebbe explained, when the small child hears about G‑d’s hand, what is of principal concern to him is the awesome vitality of G‑d’s mighty hand. When he is told that the candy was thrown by the archangel Michael, he principally relates that to the sweetness of that candy. That abstraction is there with him immediately—because all human language is abstraction. As he grows older, the outer layers fall away, while that essential perception of awe remains.

And what could be more precious than the awe felt by a small child when imagining G‑d’s mighty hand?

Yes, as the child grows older, he will have to strip away the fantasy and metaphor to find the concepts within. And it is vital that he have teachers that he respects, so that he will understand that they were not fools, that there must be something much deeper here.

Yet, as deep as he will fathom any truth, the most valuable approach will always be the awe and wonder, the simple faith and innocence which he experienced as a small child. “When I pray, I pray with the mind of a small child.”As Rabbi Isaac ben Sheshet Perfet (1326–1408) wrote, “When I pray, I pray with the mind of a small child.”19

Chaim Topol (best known for his role as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof) once had a private audience with the Rebbe. He described one of his proposed television productions, a series of Bible stories for children.

The Rebbe told him that since he is doing this already, he would not discourage him. But if he had asked to begin with, he would not have recommended it.

Why?

Let us take the story of Abraham arguing with G‑d over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, said the Rebbe. Imagine for a moment how the scene appears in the mind of a small child. The child sees G‑d standing there before Abraham as they discuss the case at hand, face to face. In that, he sees the greatness of Abraham and his closeness to G‑d, in a way no adult possibly could. And in a way that a television program must not portray.

As the child grows older, he understands that G‑d is not a person with a body. Those trappings fall away. But the perception of closeness to G‑d and the greatness of Abraham—that stays with him. And because he learned it as a child, it is far more real than anything an adult could be taught.20

Midrash, Torah and Reality

In our brief exploration here, we’ve come not only to a new way of understanding what midrash is all about, but a new approach to some of our most basic building blocks: What is language? What is Torah? And what is reality?

Some are stuck with a very pedestrian view of the Talmud and Midrash as nothing more than a repository of teachings from various teachers—teachers they imagine to be much like themselves, prone to exaggeration for the sake of making a point. Such a view is sorely insufficient at explaining Jewish practice and belief. Maharal of Prague, Rabbi Menachem Azariah, Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, et al take a thoroughly different perspective, which extends from their concept of reality in general.

As Ramban lays out for us in his introduction to the Book of Genesis, Torah is not about reality; Torah creates reality. Things first exist in Torah and then emerge into the created world.

The world is the background to G‑d’s story, and all that exists emerges from His telling of it.

The world is the background to G‑d’s story, and all that exists emerges from His telling of it. It’s just that His voice reaches us muffled and distorted. But Torah is the direct communication between the Director and His people. Torah is the one channel through which His voice comes to us as a clear signal—albeit encoded in “materials matters and things of this world.”

Without this perspective, the uncompromising insistence of these scholars on the reality of aggadah is perplexing. What is so terrible if a Torah sage might tell a little scrap of fiction to make a point? Isn’t there value to poetry and fiction even if it has no substance even in some deeper plane of reality?

But once we understand that the words of the Torah sages are also Torah, that they too are clear channels through which the divine speaks to us, then everything changes. As Ramban says about the Book of Genesis, so the same could be said of midrash: If it was not a reality before the sage said it, it emerged into such at that point.

If the world is G‑d’s palace, then Torah is the window through which the Master of the Palace peeks out at us. It’s left up to us to get the hint. And then, to go running after it.

Now that we know what Midrash is and what it isn’t, we really should apply all of this to a model case, one where we can determine what is to be taken as anecdote, what is to be taken figuratively, and how it could be true for each person on his or her own level.

One final installment in the series, coming up.

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.

Rabbi Yehuda Shurpin responds to questions for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.

Acknowledgment: The authors would like to acknowledge the assistance of the staff of the Jewish Learning Institute (JLI) in preparing this essay. The JLI course Curious Tales of the Talmud is an excellent introduction to interpretation of aggadah.

Chaim Leib (Leon) Zernitsky has created fine art and illustrations for international magazines, book publishers and major corporations for over 25 years. He has published over 30 books for children and young adults and won numerous awards. Chaim Leib feels that creating Jewish art is an important part of being a Jewish artist, and his paintings can be found in private collections worldwide.

FOOTNOTES

1. A Jewish schoolroom.

2. Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Teshuvah 3:7.

3. See Sefer ha-Ikkarim, Maamar 1, ch. 2, near the end. See also Torah Sheleimah, vol. 16, Miluim 36.

4. Mishneh Torah ad loc. See also Kesef Mishneh ad loc.

5. On the following, see Likkutei Sichot, vol. 15, pp. 79–80; Torat Menachem 5743, Nasso, sec. 22; Sefer ha-Sichot 5752, vol. 1, pp. 126–127; and talks of 5734 and 5739 referenced above.

6. Talmud, Chullin 90b and Tamid 29a.

7. Deuteronomy 1:28.

8. Rabbi Menachem Azariah of Fano, Asarah Maamarot, Maamar Chikur Din, part 3, chapter 22 (paraphrased).

9. Nachmanides, introduction to his commentary on Genesis.

10. Asarah Maamarot ad loc. See Likkutei Sichot, vol. 23, pp. 37ff and the footnotes there. There is not necessarily a dispute between the two views.

11. Shnei Luchot ha-Brit, Torah shebi-Chtav, near the end of Parshat Va’eira; ibid., Torah she-Baal Peh.

12. Ibid., Toldot Adam, Bayit Acharon 12.

13. Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, Pardes Rimonim, Shaar Erchei ha-Kinuyim, ch. 1.

14. Psalms 94:9.

15. Shaar ha-Gilgulim, end of hakdamah 17; Eitz Chaim (cited in the opening of Negid Mitzvah and in Nehar Shalom, end of Hakdamat Rechovot ha-Nahar); Mishnat Chassidim, Mesechet Chiyuv ha-Neshamot, ch. 1, mishnah 2; et al.

16. Bertrand Russell, Human Knowledge: Its Scope and Limits (1948), pt. 2, ch. 1.

17. A. R. Luria and F. I. Yudovich, Speech and the Development of Mental Processes in the Child (London: Staples Press, 1968).

18. For a fascinating discussion of the transformation effected by the acquisition of language and a history of the deaf learning to speak, see Oliver Sacks, Seeing Voices, ch. 2.

19. Responsa of Rabbi Isaac ben Sheshet Perfet, 157; cited and explained in Sefer ha-Sichot 5752, vol. 1, pp. 126–127.

20. Based on an interview by Jewish Educational Media (JEM).

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VIDEO

Sensitivity in Code

When Mrs. Shulamis Saxon wrote a letter to the Rebbe just days before her bat mitzvah, instead of simply asking for a blessing, she decided that she would bless the Rebbe as well.

Watch Watch (4:12)

http://www.chabad.org/2432365

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More in Video:

• The Truth About Love and Marriage (By Manis Friedman)

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• The Principles of Privacy Laws (By Binyomin Bitton)

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Tu B'Shevat

Tu B’Shevat Site

The New Year for Trees

Follow the following links for more information about this holiday and the ideas it represents:

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Tu B'Shevat

Branches (or: People Are Not Cars)

By Tzvi Freeman

Some folks think of people much as we think of cars on a highway: each with its own origin and destination, relating to one other only to negotiate lane changes and left-hand turns. For cars, closeness is danger, loneliness is freedom.

People are not cars. Cars are dead. People live. Living beings need one another, nurture one another, share destinies and reach them together. When you’re alive, closeness is warmth, loneliness is suffocating.

People belong to families. Families make up communities. Communities make up the many colorful peoples of the world. And all those peoples make up a single, magnificent body with a single soul called humankind.

Some chop this body into seven billion fragments and roll it back into a single mush. They want each person to do his or her own thing and relate equally to every other individual on the planet. They don’t see the point of distinct peoples. They feel such distinctions just get in the way.

But we are like leaves extending from twigs branching out from larger twigs on branches of larger branches, until we reach the trunk and roots of us all. Each of us has our place on this tree of life, each its source of nurture—and on this the tree relies for its very survival.

None of us walks alone. Each carries the experiences of ancestors wherever he or she roams, along with their troubles, their traumas, their victories, their hopes and their aspirations. Our thoughts grow out from their thoughts, our destinies are shaped by their goals. At the highest peak we ever get to, there they are, holding our hand, pushing us upward, providing the shoulders on which to stand. And we share those shoulders, that consciousness, that heritage with all the brothers and sisters of our people.

That’s why your own people are so important: If you want to find peace with any other person in the world, you’ve got to start with your own brothers and sisters. Until then, you haven’t yet found peace within your own self. And only when you’ve found peace within yourself can you help us find peace for the entire world.

Every Jew is a brother or sister of a great family of many thousands of years. Where a Jew walks, there walk sages and martyrs, heroes and heroines, legends and miracles, all the way back to Abraham and Sarah, the first two Jews who challenged the whole world with their ideals. There walk the tears, the blood and the chutzpah of millennia, the legacy of those who lived, yearned and died for a world to come, a world the way it was meant to be.

Their destiny is our destiny. In us they are fulfilled. In all of us and every one of us, and all of us together. For we are all one.

When one Jew does an act of kindness, all our hands extend with his or hers. If one Jew should fall, all of us stumble. If one suffers, we all feel pain. When one rejoices, we are all uplifted. In our oneness we will find our destiny, and our destiny is to be one. For we are a single body, breathing with a single set of lungs, pulsating with a single heart, drawing from a single well of consciousness.

We are one. Let it be with love.

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Tu B'Shevat

Nine Ways to Be Like a Tree

By Mordechai Lightstone

On the 15th of Shevat, we celebrate the New Year for Trees. Since the Torah compares man to “a tree of the field,” we’ve collected nine lessons that we can learn from trees.

1. Always grow towards the light.

As we go through life, we must always move towards holiness and light, reaching ever higher for that which is beyond us (Talmud Berachot 48a).

2. Even the smallest scratch can have lasting effects.

A seemingly small scratch on a young sapling can leave a lasting scar on the fully grown tree. Think, then, about how critical the formative years are—and how careful we must be when educating our children.

3. Grow deep roots.

As we grow, we must remain connected to our source—G‑d. How do we bind to G‑d? By doing mitzvahs. The word mitzvah is a cognate of tzavta, “attachment”; when we perform a mitzvah, we are creating a bond with the One who gave us the commandments. The Mishnah says: “One whose deeds are greater than his wisdom, to what is he compared? To a tree with many roots and few branches, which all the storms in the world cannot budge from its place (Avot 3:17).”

4. Provide refuge for others.

farm7.staticflickr.com/6041/6350200758_438376a8fb_b.jpg

Just as a tree selflessly provides shade and shelter, be a source of comfort for others and provide resources for those in need.

5. Grow sweet fruits for others to enjoy . . .

Beyond providing shade, a tree also bears fruit. Proactively reach out to others; bring sweetness and sustenance into their lives.

. . even if it takes many years for the seeds you sowed to come into their own.

flickr.com/photos/andersmohlin/8071103825

Choni Hama’agal once met an elderly man planting a carob tree. "Tell me," Choni asked the old man, "how long does it take for this tree to bear fruit?" "It takes 70 years," the man answered. Surprised, Choni ask him, "Do you think you will live 70 more years to eat fruit of this tree?"

"I found carob trees in this world," the old man replied. "Just as my ancestors planted trees for me, so do I plant trees for those who will follow me." (Taanit 23a)

6. Let your leaves return to the earth.

heartsandmagic.tumblr.com/post/63372141936

Just as the leaves of a tree fall to the earth to enrich the soil, we must give back to the world to sustain others.

7. Be supple in the wind.

count.cernin.net

Only a tree that can bend in the wind will survive a storm. Likewise, we must be accepting of what G‑d sends—never breaking or giving up hope.

8. Grow stronger through your life experiences.

flickr.com/photos/ddebold/7641368638/sizes/l/in/photostream

Just as the rings of a tree record its growth—through years of drought and rain, fire and calm—so, too, must we continue to grow, always adding another level of wisdom learned from the vicissitudes of life.

9. Be impactful.

Trees don’t only provide immediate benefits like shade, wood, and food; they enrich the ecosystem, filter the air, and give off oxygen. Make a lasting impact on the world.

Sources

Some of the content here was adapted from these articles: A Tree's New Year Resolution and What I Learned from a Tree.

Rabbi Mordechai Lightstone is a rabbi by training, but a blogger by choice. He is passionate about using new media to further Jewish identity and community building. Mordechai currently resides in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife and two sons, where he happily tweets between sips of espresso.

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Women

Rethinking Bar/Bat Mitzvah

By Yvette Miller

The bar or bat mitzvah, the Jewish rite of passage from minor to adult, is one of the greatest milestones that Jews experience. But aside from the lavish parties, there are many ways we can infuse this milestone with relevance. Here are six suggestions to help make the big day even more meaningful.

Find Your Jewish Passion

Many synagogues have their own “cookie-cutter” way of conducting bar/bat mitzvahs. Often, though, the most meaningful celebrations are ones which incorporate kids’ true passions.

For example, when a friend’s son—an ardent musician—became a bar mitzvah, he was given the opportunity to lead sing-alongs at a local Hebrew school. The message he received couldn’t have been more encouraging: There are ways for him to use his talents and passions in his Jewish life.

The Torah tells us to “love the L‑rd your G‑d with all your heart.” The great sage Rashi says this can mean using everything that’s in our hearts—even things that don’t immediately seem “religious”—to grow spiritually. We each have special talents and abilities, and part of growing up is finding ways to use them to spiritual ends.

Try brainstorming with your child. Does your daughter love shoes? In the months leading up to her bat mitzvah, perhaps she can organize a shoe drive for needy families. The bar/bat mitzvah is a perfect time to teach children how to utilize their talents and passions to contribute to the community and develop their unique Jewish path.

“Graduate” to a Higher Level of Jewish Learning

Instead of “graduating” from religious school at thirteen, becoming a bar/bat mitzvah can mean moving on to a higher (and more interesting) level of learning.

Once kids reach their teens, all sorts of opportunities open up. Local community colleges will often allow younger teens to enroll in Hebrew classes. Synagogues and youth groups run programs for teens—or even allow teens to sit in on adult programs. Alternately, consider arranging one-on-one tutoring with a local rabbi.

Make a Siyum

Siyum means “conclusion” in Hebrew, and it’s also the name of a celebration when we finish reading a Jewish book. Some bar/bat mitzvah kids study a Jewish text in the months leading up to their big day, so they can add a siyum (when they talk briefly about what they learned) to the festivities.

I’ll never forget talking with one boy who made a siyum at his bar mitzvah for a part of the Torah he’d studied with his brother. “It brought us so much closer,” he said, referring to the time he and his brother had spent together, discussing the concepts they read about.

One mom I know started reading a few lines of the classic Jewish book Pirkei Avot with her daughter each week. The entire text was new to each of them, and they both enjoyed talking about the various ideas the book raised—and even getting to know each other better. Their weekly study was so meaningful that they don’t want to give it up; after the daughter’s bat mitzvah, they intend to start another book together!

Study partners need not be family members, however. I know one boy who studies with a local rabbi, talking on the phone a few minutes each week as they work their way through a Jewish book. They are timing the conclusion for the boy’s bar mitzvah celebration a few months away.

Connect with Others

Reaching out to people in the community like rabbis and teachers also has another benefit for bar/bat mitzvah kids: It can help put them in touch with Jewish role models.

The great Jewish sage Rabbi Hillel counseled, “Do not separate yourself from the community” (Pirkei Avot 2:5). Judaism is meant to be practiced with other people, and studying for a bar/bat mitzvah is a great way to begin making those connections.

Check out bar/bat mitzvah classes that synagogues or other organizations offer in your community, and consider reaching out to local rabbis and teachers for one-on-one study.

Consider taking on a “mitzvah project” as a means to connect with different Jewish organizations. One girl I know began volunteering at a local Jewish school for children with developmental disabilities, and quickly became immersed in the community there, finding friends among the children and the other volunteers. She continued her volunteering after becoming bat mitzvah, and is even considering a career in Jewish education now.

Consider a Private Celebration, Too

Although many bar/bat mitzvah celebrations are dictated by synagogue calendars, a Jewish boy is considered a bar mitzvah when he turns thirteen, and a Jewish girl is a bat mitzvah when she turns twelve.

I once mentioned this to a friend whose son’s bar mitzvah ceremony was scheduled many months after his actual birthday. She decided to honor the day he actually became a bar mitzvah with a small ceremony for immediate family only. They attended early morning services on a weekday morning, and her son said a brief blessing over the Torah. Afterwards they ate lox and bagels together with the weekday “regulars” at synagogue, before going to work and school.

Years later, her son confided in me that that brief, early-morning service, with only his parents and a few congregants there to say “mazal tov” and really spend time talking with him, was more fun than his much more lavish celebration later on. (You can find the date of your Hebrew birthday here.)

You also may want to consider trading in a big party for a family celebration in Israel. Visiting holy Jewish places or gravesites of righteous people from our past can help inspire the whole family to remember what being a bar/bat mitzvah is all about.

Take On a Mitzvah

Bar/bat mitzvah literally means “a son/daughter of the commandments,” and signifies that kids are now responsible for fulfilling the Jewish commandments.

One way to make this transition more meaningful is to begin doing a new mitzvah. The entire family can even take on a new mitzvah in honor of the child.

Girls might consider starting to light Shabbat candles on Friday night, for instance. A common mitzvah for boys is beginning to wear tefillin, ritual boxes that contain prayers, for weekday morning prayers. (In fact, this mitzvah is so identified with a bar mitzvah that in some Sephardic communities, a bar mitzvah boy is called a tefillin on his big day.)

One girl I know told me that she decided to give up eating pork when she reached her teens. She saw herself as a more mature Jewish woman now, and she wanted her diet to reflect that.

However you choose to celebrate a bar/bat mitzvah, remember that the day is not the culmination of months of lessons and preparation, but rather a stepping stone on a path of continual learning and growth.

Yvette Alt Miller, Ph.D. is a mother and adjunct professor of Political Science living in Chicago. She is the author of "Angels at the Table: A Practical Guide to Celebrating Shabbat" (Continuum 2011).

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Women

Is It Worth It?

By Elana Mizrahi

Is it worth it? It’s a question I as a mother find myself asking all the time. Is it worth it?

Yesterday, there wasn’t a rain cloud in sight; the sky was clear and sunny. But my toddler insisted on wearing his rain boots to preschool. I thought he looked so silly, but I asked myself, “Is it worth the fight? Is it worth having him go to school in a bad mood over rain boots?”

There are days when, right after I make the beds, my children will grab the pillows and blankets. They start hanging and tying sheets, turning the bedroom into a jungle or a tent. “I just made the beds. You are making a mess!” I catch myself before the words came tumbling out of my mouth, and ask myself, “Is it really worth it? Can I just let go, let them play, and ignore the disarray and disorder? Now, at this moment, is this worth a fight?”

Is it worth having him go to school in a bad mood over rain boots?

There are days when my children ask me for a treat. They ask and ask and ask, and in the end I give in to them. At that moment, I don’t feel that saying “No” is worth it. But when they ask me to buy a candy from a store, and I answer, “No, it’s not kosher,” they don’t ask again. They know that in this situation, Mommy won’t budge. This is worth it.

A few weeks ago, my son asked me to buy him a Game Boy. I don’t like Game Boys. I don’t like any computer or electronic games. I love that my children play ball outside, ride their bikes, hang on monkey bars, and use toilet paper rolls to make worlds that are filled with imagination. I like that they cut and tape paper, and build with blocks and Legos. I love to watch them read books and play with puppets. I don’t like them to stare at a screen and sit for hours and hours. I don’t like that when a child (or an adult, for that matter!) is playing with an electronic device, you can call his name twenty times and he won’t hear what you said. In the end, when he finally puts the game down or closes the computer, you realize that all that he did was nothing. So, when my son asked me, “Mommy will you buy me a Game Boy?” you don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out my answer: “No.”

His reply: “Do you want to think about it?”

“No, I am so sure that I don’t want you to have one, and I feel so strongly that it’s not good for you that I don’t need to think about it.”

He didn’t ask me again. Why? Because he understood that for me, it’s worth it.

I was home alone with one of my children. I saw him take out a toy that belonged to one of his siblings. I told him to put it back, and that he was not allowed to take or use something that didn’t belong to him without asking permission first. “But they won’t know, and I’m sure that they wouldn’t care anyways,” he answered.

“No! You need to put it back.” For me, this was a battle that was worth fighting. I don’t want my children to feel that their property and space is not respected. I want them to respect the laws of the Torah, and understand that they can’t take things which are not theirs without asking. Just because “no one will know,” it does not make it okay. G‑d runs the world, and He sees and knows everything.

Many years ago, a friend and mentor told me, “Elana, when your children do something that you don’t like or don’t want, first ask yourself if this is something that they will still be doing when they get older. Look at the long-term consequences, and try to base your reaction on that.”

The Torah Look at the long-term consequenceslikens man to a tree, for “man is the tree of the field.” I think that what my friend was trying to tell me was, “See what actions your children do which will actually bear fruit.” What seeds do you want to plant in your children? What water do you want them to drink, and where are they getting their sunshine from? Is an an act that will be outgrown, like wearing rain boots on a sunny day, really worth the bad mood and the argument? And on the other hand, what things do we need to stop before they take root? What is really worth it?

I look at my children, the fruit of my life. I pray that they grow and blossom into beautiful trees. That their roots are firmly planted in the ways of our ancestors, that their bodies grow strong, and that they are stable like the trunk of a tree. That their limbs are busy with doing good deeds and learning Torah, and that their actions bear beautiful fruit for the future. And before I open my mouth to reprimand, I ask myself, “Is it worth it?”

Originally from Northern California and a Stanford University graduate, Elana Mizrahi now lives in Jerusalem with her husband and children. She is a doula, massage therapist and writer. She also teaches Jewish marriage classes for brides.

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Women

Delegate More Effectively to Your “Staff”

By Rivka Caroline

Just because you haven’t got your own butler doesn’t mean you don’t have anyone to delegate to. Even Moses had to delegate. When Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law, saw Moses standing and judging the Jewish people all day and night, he insisted that Moses train new judges and delegate to them. Same goes for you: Your job isn’t to stand there day and night working away; instead, have your “staff” work away while you take a painting class or grab a power nap.

Think of your freezer, oven and Crock-Pot as your kitchen staff—stop just using them for the basics and take it up a notch, so you can rely on them for assistance on a daily basis.

1. Your Freezer

Your freezer is waiting to to serve you by literally freezing your hard work in time. A strategic way to utilize your freezer is to cook a double amount of every meal or food item that freezes well. Wrap items and label with a permanent marker for easy retrieval. Then, once you are starting to feel more confident, take a look at your daily cooking methods and see how using your freezer more effectively can shave time off your food preparation.

Challenge:

Sauté 10 onions ahead of time. Once they are cool, freeze in small bags. You now have saved the 15 minutes it takes to sauté half an onion and wash the chopping board and pan 20 times over (you do the math).

2. The Pre-Set Button on Your Oven

Why would any mom want to start cooking right when she walks in the front door, when she could be sitting down and eating together with her children?

Go ahead and locate the pre-set button on your oven; the good news is that most basic ovens have one. Now you can put dinner in the oven in the morning and pre-set it to be finished cooking right when you walk in with the children. Obviously, not all meals will work well; however, protein-rich meals such as frozen meatballs, roast chicken and salmon will all do fabulously. The trick is to put the dish in the oven in the morning either semi-frozen or surrounded by frozen items, such as green beans or lemon juice ice cubes, to marinate the meat/chicken/fish and keep it chilled.

Challenge:

Defrost a chicken in the fridge overnight and place in a pan with frozen lemon juice ice cubes. Pre-set the oven. (You can use your rice cooker to cook rice for a side dish.)

3. Crock-Pot

Your Crock-Pot is not just for cholent. It can make your life easier during the week, too. Join the cult of Crock-Pot devotees: fix it and forget it!

Google some recipes and get practicing. Meat sauce, minestrone soup and lentil soup are my personal favorites.

Challenge:

Here’s my famous lentil soup, loved in my home:

45-Second Lentil Soup Recipe

Ingredients:

• 1 jar of your favorite marinara sauce

• 1 14-oz. bag of brown lentils (if possible, soak overnight in cold water)

• Salt

• Optional: 1 cup of chopped celery, carrots, potatoes

Directions: Place lentils in 6-quart Crock-Pot; pour in the jar of marinara sauce and any vegetables (optional). Add 1 tsp. salt and fill the marinara jar with water two times, until the water level is one inch from top of Crock-Pot. Set it on low; it will be ready after 8 hours (or set on high for 4 hours).

Enjoy delegating to your staff, and go do what really matters to you!

Rivka is a mother of seven and a rabbi’s wife in Key Biscayne, Florida. Rivka realized she had the choice of losing her sanity or developing new tricks for time management. Her new blog, Frazzled No More: Focused Living with a Jewish Twist, walks busy readers through easy-to-follow steps that will give them more time to do what they love. You can read more of Rivka’s tips in her recently published book, From Frazzled to Focused, the book she wished she had on her nightstand when she was a new mom. For more tips, check out Rivka’s website, or e‑mail her for information on her upcoming speaking tours.

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Story

The Day the Hellfires Went Cold

Artwork by Shoshannah Brombacher

Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov dedicated his life to pidyon shevuyim, rescuing hapless Jews who had been imprisoned for “crimes” such as falling behind on their rent or otherwise incurring the disfavor of local landowners.

Rabbi Moshe Leib traveled from city to city, and whenever he heard of a fellow Jew languishing in prison, he endeavored to meet with the landlord and do what he could to secure the unfortunate prisoner’s release. Generally, the negotiations were clinched by substantial sums of money that Rabbi Moshe Leib raised from good-hearted local Jews.

The story is told that when Rabbi Moshe Leib’s days on earth came to an end and his soul ascended on high, he immediately felt dejected. How He immediately felt dejectedwas he going to serve G‑d in the world to come, where there were no challenges and G‑d would demand nothing from him?

As he was pondering, another thought crossed his mind. Humbly believing himself to be a sinner, he decided that surely he wouldn’t merit the rewards of Gan Eden, but would be sent to Gehinnom (Purgatory).

He then realized that there was something he could do for G‑d. He could run with alacrity to Gehinnom, thus fulfilling G‑d’s will. Not waiting another moment, he jumped into the fiery depths of Gehinnom.

The angels immediately flew into panic: how terrible it would be if the pure soul of Rabbi Moshe Leib would be harmed! Left with no alternative, they cooled down the fires of Gehinnom and approached Rabbi Moshe Leib, hoping to convince him to take his rightful place amongst the holy souls so that they could turn the heat back up.

Rabbi Moshe Leib was quick to respond. “If my presence here is bringing respite to so many tortured souls,” he said, “how can I possibly leave? During my lifetime, I was constantly involved in pidyon shevuyim, and now is no different. I am ready to go to Gan Eden, but only on the condition that I can take my new companions with me.”

Not knowing how to respond to the strange request, the angels submitted Rabbi Moshe Leib’s case to the heavenly court.

After much deliberation, the response was handed down: Rabbi Moshe Leib’s deeds were to be examined. If indeed his performance of pidyon shevuyim had been flawless, then he would be allowed to do the mitzvah one last time. However, if it would be After much deliberation, the response was handed downfound that he neglected to save the unjustly imprisoned even once, his demand would not be honored.

Sure enough, it was revealed that Rabbi Moshe Leib had been perfect in his performance of the mitzvah. Never once had he failed to come to the rescue of those in need.

On that day, the story concludes, Gehinnom emptied out, as Rabbi Moshe Leib led the long line of sinners on their way to the delights of Gan Eden.

Adapted from Otzar HaSipurim 14:5.

Rabbi Mendy Kaminker is the editor of Beit Chabad, the Hebrew edition of Chabad.org.

Image by chassidic artist Shoshannah Brombacher. To view or purchase Ms. Brombacher’s art, click here.

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Cooking

Tu B’Shevat Fruit Plates

By Chana Scop

Tu B'Shevat, the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shevat, marks the “New Year” for the trees. We celebrate by eating fruit, specifically the kinds that the Torah mentions that the Land of Israel is known for: grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates.

So, I’ve created a fun and delicious way to welcome this “New Year” for the trees.

The ingredients are simple, and the results will not only make you smile but will fill any craving you may have had! Consider this somewhat of a plated Tu B’Shevat fondue!

Here’s what you’ll need:

(Amounts will vary depending on how many plates you wish to make, but this will be enough for at least four.)

1 box cornflakes

1 pomegranate

1 bunch green grapes

1 box fresh figs

1 box dried dates

1 bag mini marshmallows

1 container Duncan Hines (kosher) chocolate frosting

Sprinkles or mini white chocolate chips

1 freezer-size Ziploc bag

Scissors

Sharp knife

Chopstick or skewer (or similar pointed utensil)

4 plates (or one large rectangle platter)

Choose a set of 4 plates, or even a long rectangle platter if you wish to create one large masterpiece of all four seasons.

Fill a Ziploc bag with the chocolate frosting, squeeze out the extra air, and snap the bag shut.

Snip off one corner of the bag in order to pipe the frosting, and draw your tree.

Draw the basic tree template, trunk, roots, branches and twigs as you wish. You can fix up any frosting by using the chopstick or skewer, swirling designs into your “trunk” and adding details in the branches.

To make the spring tree, carefully add pomegranate seeds to your branches and to the “ground.”

To make the summer tree, slice the figs and grapes into wedges, and layer them decoratively into palm branches.

To make the fall/autumn tree, carefully scatter cornflakes around the branches and on the “ground.” Then add a few more cornflakes to make it look like the leaves are falling.

To make the winter tree, cut mini marshmallows in half and place them on and around the branches, spacing them apart to create a wintry look.

Feel free to add a snowman by cutting another fig in half, preferably using half of a smaller fig for the head. Use the end of the fig that has a stem, so it will act as a nose. Add eyes, mouth and arms by piping more chocolate frosting. For the eyes, use white sprinkles or mini white chocolate chips.

To add some detail to the trunk of the trees, simply slice a date in half and place it carefully on the trunk. This adds a nice touch and dimension.

To set this up for a Tu B’Shevat gathering or for young children, put out all your ingredients and pre-fill the Ziploc bags with frosting. Allow the children to design their own trees, and choose which “seasonal ingredients” they want to decorate with.

Wishing everyone a beautiful Tu B’Shevat!

Chana is a proud wife and mother of seven living in Mill Valley, California. She is inspired by the colors and textures of everyday life, and loves sharing her creative ideas with her community. Chana writes DIY projects, crafts and recipes celebrating her Jewish life and shlichus on her blog Chana’s Art Room, and is the co-director of Chabad of Mill Valley with her husband, Rabbi Hillel Scop. She also writes about a mother’s journey of raising a special-needs son on her other blog, Life of Blessing. She welcomes you to be a part of her creative and touching journey.

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Cooking

Tu B’Shevat Truffles

By Chanie Apfelbaum

Traditionally, we celebrate Tu B’Shevat, the New Year for trees, by eating fruits and nuts that are native to the Land of Israel (grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates).

Growing up, they’d always give out carob in school, which they called buxer (Yiddish for carob). They were long black pods that were difficult to chew. If you made the effort, you’d be rewarded with a sweet taste. Most of the girls would just throw them away, but I’d always chew away at them. Nowadays, you can find many carob products on the market, including coffee, chocolate, cookies and butters.

When I thought about what to make for Tu B’Shevat, I wanted to use dates and figs, but also incorporate the chocolate flavor of carob. I decided to throw together some dried fruit truffles, or sugarplums. Sugarplums are balls that are made up of dried fruits, nuts and spices. Think of them as a kind of Larabar in the round!

You can make my traditional Tu B’Shevat recipe, or come up with your own combination. To make sugarplums, you’ll need:

Dried fruit (dates, figs, apricots, prunes, raisins, craisins, cherries, apples)

Nuts (pecans, pistachios, almonds, walnuts, hazelnuts)

Seeds, optional (sunflower, pepitas, anise, fennel, caraway)

Spices (cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, mace, cloves, allspice, sea salt, cocoa, orange zest)

Sweetener, used to bind the mixture (honey, agave, maple syrup)

Butters, optional (almond, peanut, carob)

Extracts, optional (almond, vanilla, rum)

Alcohol, optional (rum, orange liqueur, chocolate liqueur)

Toppings (powdered sugar, turbinado sugar, coconut, cocoa, nuts, chocolate, sesame seeds)

For a healthy boost, add some oats or flax seeds.

Busy In Brooklyn’s Tu B’Shevat Truffles

1 cup pitted Medjool dates (about 10)

1 cup dried figs (I used 5 Calimyrna and 10 Mission)

1 cup raw almonds

¼ cup honey

2 tbsp carob powder*

1 tsp cinnamon

pinch of sea salt

½ cup turbinado sugar

Method:

Toast almonds in a 350° F oven until fragrant. Remove pits from dates and add to food processor, along with figs and almonds. Process until finely chopped. Add honey, carob powder, cinnamon and sea salt, and pulse several times until the mixture begins to clump together and pull away from the sides of the bowl. If it is difficult to mix, add to a bowl and incorporate the spices by hand. Roll into bite-size balls and dip into turbinado sugar. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to one month.

* Carob powder is available at health food stores. If you cannot find it, you can use cocoa powder instead.

Born and raised in Brooklyn, Chanie Apfelbaum runs the popular kosher cooking blog BusyinBrooklyn. When she’s not busy caring for her little ones, Chanie blogs about her cooking, crafting and coping adventures. She combines her love of writing, photography and design to bring you original dishes and crafts that your whole family will enjoy. With step-by-step photography, clear instructions and friendly guidance, the BusyinBrooklyn blog makes everything look easy!

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Art

Shabbat Family Lighting

By Yoram Raanan

Artist’s Statement: When we light the candles, the room fills with the radiance of Shabbat. The table here glows like a burning bush, hinting at the special light of Shabbat. The crimson woman wears a crown of light as if she has become a queen, and the home is transformed into a sanctuary of peace.

Yoram Raanan takes inspiration from living in Israel where he can fully explore and express his Jewish consciousness. The light, the air, the spirit of the people and the land, energize and inspire him. His painting include modern Jewish expressionism with a wide range of subjects ranging from abstract to landscape, Biblical and Judaic.

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News

Ariel Sharon: Proud Jew and Military Strategist, 85

By Menachem Posner

Ariel Sharon donning tefillin with Chabad at the Western Wall in Jerusalem in 1967, shortly after the Six-Day War.

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Ariel Sharon, proud Jew, decorated Israeli general, strategist and former prime minister of Israel, passed away Saturday at the Sheba Medical Center in Tel Hashomer, Israel. He was 85 years old.

Born in 1928 in Kfar Malal, in British Mandate Palestine, to Russian-born immigrants Shmuel and Devorah Scheinerman, Ariel—or “Arik,” as he was more commonly known—joined the Haganah, the precursor of the Israel Defense Forces, where he developed a name for himself as a brilliant field commander, strong leader and devoted soldier.

Sharon would eventually be considered the greatest field commander in Israel's history, with many also calling him the country's foremost military strategist. He lived life large, and his imprint and shadow upon his beloved country were large as well.

His strong-minded determination to do what he considered to be right for the Jewish people, regardless of conventional wisdom, earned him the nickname "the bulldozer" and many detractors who dogged him throughout his military career.

But to his friends he would speak about his concern for the Jewish people, not only in the immediate future, but, more importantly, “30 years from now and 300 years from now.”

After serving as a 20-year-old commander in Israel’s 1948 War of Independence, in which he was wounded in the battle for Jerusalem, he went on to play a central role in the formation and command of Unit 101, a special-forces unit that carried out many missions across Israel’s borders, which were consistently being infiltrated by terrorist bands from neighboring nations, particularly Egypt.

Sharon served as an officer in the 1956 "Suez War," and after a promotion to major general, he commanded a masterfully orchestrated attack on Egyptian troops in the Sinai Desert in the Six-Day War of 1967, playing a crucial role in Israel’s stunning six-day victory.

After the war, accompanied by his family and an entourage of high-ranking IDF and foreign military leaders, he visited the newly liberated Kotel (”Western Wall”) in Jerusalem, which had been in Jordanian hands for 19 years. Moved and inspired by what he recognized was a miraculous victory, Sharon expressed his gratitude by putting on tefillin at the nascent Chabad tefillin-stand at the Kotel, while reciting the Shema Yisrael prayer proclaiming G-d’s oneness. Media photographers captured the event and it was subsequently circulated worldwide, giving a powerful voice to recognition of the divine intervention experienced in the Six-Day War.

Tragically, just a few weeks after the war, Sharon’s son, Gur, was killed by a fatal shot from a gun he and some friends had been playing with at home. He passed away in his father’s arms.

During the week of shiva, the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory, dispatched a group of emissaries to pay the Sharons a condolence call.

Ariel Sharon with his son Gur

The Rebbe also penned a long and heartfelt condolence letter expressing particular anguish over the painful irony that the tragedy had occurred under peaceful circumstances to someone who had merited to help secure the victory of the Jewish people just a short time earlier in war. In his memoirs, Sharon would recall the Rebbe’s letter to him as “warm and moving.”

Meeting the Rebbe

Less than a year later, in 1968, Sharon met the Rebbe face to face at 770 Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn, N.Y., the first of a number of lengthy private audiences Sharon had with the Rebbe. The Rebbe reviewed with the acknowledged military expert the latter’s battle strategy, asking him detailed questions about why he hadn’t followed a particular route to a certain city instead of going through a particular wadi, or why not use this piece of artillery that has these specific advantages over another that had been used, and other similar queries.

Later, Sharon said he had not expected to encounter in a Chasidic Rebbe a brilliant military strategist. He would recall that the Rebbe’s “incredible knowledge he exhibited in global affairs left an especially strong impression” on him.

In those heady days after the Six-Day War—when Israel seemed invincible and was respected the world over—the Rebbe nevertheless spoke with Sharon with great pain about the weakness and self-doubt the Israeli government was demonstrating in their international relations, as well as with their actions, which he said spoke even louder than words and would cause the gains in international relations to spiral downward.

Ariel Sharon, receiving a dollar and a blessing from the Rebbe in 1989, during his service as Israel's Minister for Trade and Industry. (Photo: Chaim B. Halberstam/The Living Archive/JEM)

The Rebbe was particularly pained that Israel did not state categorically that the liberated territories were now part of Israel proper, explaining that doing so unequivocally would gain the world’s respect and minimize bloodshed on both sides. The Rebbe urged Sharon, as he did others, to encourage the political leadership to stand strong for Israel’s security and not leave the situation in limbo.

The Rebbe also spoke with Sharon at length about the responsibility he and other Israeli leaders have to encourage Jewish education and Jewish practice worldwide, as the nationalist spirit alone could not sustain the Jewish people. Sharon later said he was astonished when the Rebbe told him with absolute certitude in that 1968 audience that the Iron Curtain would one day fall, and that the Soviet Jews would be free to leave.

It is clear from his writings and public talks that Sharon saw in the Rebbe the quintessential Jewish leader, one with whom he could speak openly about military strategy, political issues and existential matters important to the Jewish people as whole. In the Rebbe, Sharon saw a wise and sagacious guide, who would have an impact on his own spiritual life as well.

Years later, after the Rebbe’s passing in 1994, Sharon would reflect how he had been “distinctly privileged to meet with, and get to know up close, a one-of-a-kind sage in the wisdom of Israel, but also a far-seeing strategist, whose focus was on guaranteeing the continued existence and security of the Jewish people, wherever they may find themselves.”

The Rebbe Gives Military Advice

Ariel Sharon joins in a Chassidic dance following an audience with the Rebbe. (Photo: Shmuel Rivkin)

As his leadership in the IDF continued, Sharon continued to correspond with the Rebbe. At one point, the Rebbe expressed to Sharon his grave concern that the Bar Lev defense line in the Sinai Desert would prove insufficient in the face of a renewed attack from the Egyptians. The Rebbe compared it to the ill-fated French Maginot line, which proved disastrously ineffective in preventing German invasion in the spring of 1940. It later became known that Sharon, too, had shared these worries.

In what turned out to be pivotal advice, when Sharon sought the Rebbe’s counsel in 1970 about whether he should retire from the military and enter politics, the Rebbe strongly encouraged him to remain at his post.

“Your proper place is in the IDF, and it is there that with G-d’s assistance you are successful and will continue to be so,” the Rebbe wrote Sharon.

The Rebbe went on to explain that his position is particularly strong about this because “the [political] path being followed is one that leads directly to renewed war, G-d forbid, but in conditions far, far worse than they were [previously].” Sharon’s military service was therefore necessary for the protection of “the entire Jewish people residing in Israel.” Thus, the Rebbe said emphatically, “you must absolutely and certainly continue to serve in this very important capacity and role.”

Sharon heeded the Rebbe’s advice, but in early 1973 he was forced to leave the military as part of a national policy to retire many senior officers. He helped to negotiate the formation of a Likud (unity) front headed by opposition leader Menachem Begin. However, within a matter of weeks, the Yom Kippur war broke out, and Sharon was urgently called up to the war front.

In the first hours of the war, the Rebbe’s strategic analysis about the Bar Lev line was tragically proven correct when Egyptian forces overran it, costing hundreds of lives and contributing to the urgent panic felt throughout the country.

Yet, despite the dim prognosis in the first days of the war and the panic that had set in among some of the military and political leadership, the Rebbe insisted that Israel would still miraculously emerge victorious. Eventually, Sharon—who due to the additional years he spent in the military was able to seamlessly pick up the reins where he had left off—led an Israeli unit across the Suez Canal into Egypt, using his strategic expertise and leadership of his troops to encircle the Egyptian Third Army, nearly making it to Cairo. Sharon was hailed universally as the hero who reversed the course of the war.

A Deeply Personal Connection

Sharon’s growing connection to the Rebbe and Chabad was also deeply personal. He was a frequent visitor of Kfar Chabad, where he would come to celebrate Jewish holidays—and even celebrated the bar mitzvahs of his sons there.

Ariel Sharon dances with his sons Omri, left, and Gilad, at Omri's bar mitzvah in Kfar Chabad.

In the ensuing decades, Sharon continued to travel to the Rebbe to receive his guidance and blessing. The Rebbe would urge him to do everything in his power to maintain Israel’s security, as well as promote Jewish engagement, education and mitzvah observance, which the Rebbe explained was crucial to Jewish continuity.

Sharon would come to say that this endeavor is “the primary means to guarantee Jewish continuity” both in Israel and the Diaspora. He would also comment how moved he was to see that wherever in the world he went, the Rebbe’s ideals about Jewish education and observance were being implemented.

His connection to the Rebbe also profoundly influenced his own religious beliefs and observance. Although Sharon described himself as a non-religious Jew, the Rebbe encouraged him in his observance, and Sharon would occasionally lay tefillin, would regularly hear the Megillah on Purim and welcomed the matzah for Passover that he received from the Rebbe’s emissaries. Sharon noted that he would frequently study the Bible, and he would eventually use phrases like “G-d willing” when expressing his hopes for the future, a rarity among his generation of Israeli politicians.

Sharon is called to the Torah in Kfar Chabad at the bar mitzvah of his son Omri, center.

Ongoing Political Career

In 1977, Sharon was elected to the Israeli Knesset under the banner of his newly formed Shlomzion Party. Shortly thereafter, it merged with Menachem Begin’s Likud Party, which had gained leverage for the first time after a history of Labor Party administration, and Sharon was appointed minister of agriculture. He would go on to hold a number of cabinet positions over the next few years.

Long before Sharon began his political career, the Rebbe stressed to him the folly of not embracing the territories that Israel had gained in the Six-Day War in 1967, telling him that Israel needed to believe in its own strength. Sharon took heed of this position and worked tirelessly to support the endeavor to renew Jewish life in Judea, Samaria and Gaza.

Later, as minister of defense, Sharon directed Israel’s 1982 incursion into Lebanon. Unable to control the actions of the Lebanese Christian militias they were trying to support, Sharon was forced to resign after accusations that he had failed to prevent the massacre of Palestinians and Lebanese Shiites in the Sabra and Shatilla refugee camps in Beirut.

The Lebanon war cast a pallor over Israel, politically and socially.

Still, Sharon went on to fill a number of key cabinet positions over the next two decades.

Receiving hand made shmurah matzah from Chabad activists before Passover.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, the floodgates opened and hundreds of thousands of Russian Jews came to Israel. Sharon, who was then Minister of Housing and Construction, was tasked with formidable challenge of absorbing them into Israeli society.

He would later recall that very first meeting with the Rebbe in 1968, when the Rebbe predicted that the Iron Curtain would one day fall and the Soviet Jews would be free to leave. “I remember thinking that what the Rebbe was saying sounded impossible,” Sharon said. “But evidently anything is possible, and the Rebbe was right as always.”

Ariel Sharon and his wife Lily exiting the Rebbe's office in 1968.

In the Lead Role

In 2001, Sharon was elected prime minister of Israel.

That same year in September, the Palestinians launched a second intifada—much more violent and prolonged than a previous one back in the early 1990s. Buses and restaurants were bombed, and tourism came to a standstill; Israel suffered for four years.

Ariel Sharon, prime minister of Israel, during a defense meeting at the Pentagon. (Photo: Helene C. Stikkel, U.S. DOD/Wikipedia Commons)

Sharon’s wife, Lily, passed in away in 2000.

In 2004, investigations were launched in Israel for bribery and violations of campaign finance laws involving Sharon and his sons.

Increasingly alone, in 2005, Sharon conceived and oversaw Israel’s unilateral disengagement from the Gaza Strip, reversing his own long-held devotion to supporting Jewish settlements there. Shortly thereafter, Sharon left Likud and founded his own new party, Kadima.

In the years since, many of the tragic things Sharon warned would result from Israel relinquishing land have come to pass. The disengagement left many open wounds from which Israeli society is still recovering eight years later.

On Jan. 4, 2006, Sharon suffered a major stroke and was placed under an induced coma from which he never recovered. Unable to carry out his duties, he was succeeded by his deputy prime minister, Ehud Olmert, the former mayor of Jerusalem.

Sharon suffered kidney failure in recent weeks, followed by further deterioration of his condition, leading to multiple organ failure on Saturday. He passed away surrounded by family and close friends.

A state funeral is being organized by the Prime Minister’s office. Sharon’s body will reside in the Knesset Plaza in Jerusalem on Sunday, where the public is invited to pay their last respects. A memorial service will be held at the Knesset on Monday morning, and many current and former world leaders are expected to attend. The funeral procession will proceed from the Knesset to Sharon’s farm in the Negev, where he will be laid to rest.

Sharon was predeceased by his wife, Lily, and his son Gur. He is survived by sons Omri Sharon and Gilad Sharon. His first wife, Margalit, passed away in 1962.

While Ariel Sharon will be remembered as a brilliant and fearless general and military strategist, as well as a formidable politician, perhaps the following words of his own best sum up his life's goals: “Before and above all else, I am a Jew. My thinking is dominated by the Jews' future in 30 years, in 300 years and in 1,000 years. That is what preoccupies and interests me, first and foremost.”

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News

New Mikvah in Boca Serves South Florida’s Growing Needs

By Dovid Margolin

The new mikvah in Boca Raton, Fla.

Seven years after construction initially commenced, a state-of-the-art mikvah, or ritual bath, has opened at Chabad of Boca Raton, Fla., bringing the opportunity to fulfill the mitzvah of family purity to thousands of more families in one of the most densely Jewish areas in the country—and the world.

It may have been slow in coming, but people seem more than happy it’s done and here.

“Jewish tradition has always taught that the source of the sanctity of the Jewish family comes from mikvah,” says Rabbi Moishe Denburg, co-director of Chabad of Boca Raton. “A community is in a sense incomplete without its own mikvah, and we felt that for our community’s own growth—both physical and spiritual—the addition of one was necessary.”

Denburg explains that when his community first constructed their building in 1999, they left space for the eventual creation of a mikvah. “At the time, the local Modern Orthodox Boca Raton Synagogue was building its own mikvah and asked that we hold off on building ours.”

In order to accommodate more people, the Boca Raton Synagogue—about a 20-minute ride from Chabad—even built one of their mikvahs according to Chabad specifications. But now, 14 years later, Denburg felt it was time that his growing community at long last have a mikvah of its own.

“There are many days when we cannot travel, and as we grew it became apparent that another mikvah was needed,” he says.

Aside from the Boca Raton Synagogue’s mikvah and one at Chabad of Boynton Beach, this will be the third in an area that stretches from Coral Springs to the south all the way north to West Palm Beach, home to some 150,000 Jewish residents.

Following Chassidic tradition, many men have the custom to immerse in a mikvah as well; as such, a separate men’s facility was included in the construction.

Rivkah Denburg, co-director of Chabad of Boca Raton, who from the tiles to the curtains was instrumental in the interior design, says that creating a serene facility was an important part of construction.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—spoke of the vital importance of a mikvah to sustaining Jewish family life, often instructing his emissaries that it be the first major project they undertook. Mikvah is deemed so integral a part of Jewish communal life that Jewish law even allows for a community to sell their Torah scrolls to finance the construction of one.

The Rebbe also stressed that a mikvah be aesthetic to the eye and-well maintained, encouraging women to use it.

Denburg’s wife, Rivkah, who from the tiles to the curtains was instrumental in the interior design, says that creating a serene facility was an important part of construction.

‘A Really Beautiful Place’

“We wanted it to really be a beautiful place,” she says, “and ensure that the women who are coming to use it have a very special and beautiful experience.”

Wendy Alcalay, 35, is one of the first women to have used the new mikvah, which she describes as “beautiful and so convenient.”

“It felt like going to a spa,” she says. “I wasn’t rushed at all, it was relaxing, and everything was new and really nice.”

The preparation room and entrance to the Boca Raton mikvah

Alcalay explains that the mikvah experience was her first since her marriage 10 years ago, and “it was a really positive experience. I plan on using it monthly from now on.”

Rivkah Denburg notes another level of excitement among area women who are first discovering this unique and spiritual mitzvah.

“We’ve always given classes, and taught the halachos of Jewish married life to brides and married women, but this has added another push for people to come and learn about mikvah. A woman just texted me saying how excited she is to use the new mikvah.

“There are women who have been married for many years expressing a lot of interest. The fact that we now have our own mikvah has brought out a tremendous amount awareness and excitement.”

Alcalay agrees with Denburg’s observation. “Just yesterday, I was at lunch and discussing the experience, and people were really interested in how it was. They didn’t realize that there was a mikvah here. I really think that people will start going more.”

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• Sephardic Food, Music and Inspiration in Honor of Baba Sali (By Menachem Posner)

Even as temperatures plummeted to record lows in the Chicago area, 200 people packed Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie, in Skokie, Ill., to feast on Moroccan delicacies, dance to a dizzying hybrid of Sephardic and Chassidic music, and hear words of inspiration from Rabbi Shlomo Moshe Amar, former chief Sephardic rabbi of Israel, the “Rishon Lezion.”

They were there for a hillula celebration, marking 30 years since the passing of the famed Moroccan-born Torah sage Rabbi Israel Abuhatzeira, of righteous memory, more commonly known as the Baba Sali, or “praying father” in Arabic.

Baba Sali was born in 1889 in Tafilalt, Morrocco, the scion of a family of rabbis, mystics and miracle workers. In 1964, he moved to Israel and eventually settled in the city of Netivot in the country’s south.

Throughout the years, thousands of people streamed to his humble home seeking blessings, advice and miracles. When he passed away in 1984, an estimated 100,000 people attended his funeral.

Held at Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie, the hillula is the product of cooperation between a number of Chicago-area congregations, spearheaded by Rabbis Yosef and Yochanan Posner of Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie and Rabbi Daniel J. Raccah, rabbi of the Ohel Shalom Torah Center in Chicago. It’s the fourth year it’s been held in such a grand way.

Chef Elly Mamalya flew in from Israel to prepare a full-course dinner of traditional Moroccan fish, lamb and other delicacies, served on elegant flatware on artfully chosen linen.

Zeesy Posner of Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie says that the hillula—a rarity in the Midwest—always draws a sell-out crowd of 200. In fact, as the snow kept piling up and people called in to cancel, their seats were immediately snapped up by others eager to gain entry.

With the help of a simultaneous translator, Rabbi Amar—who attended together with his wife, Rabbanit Mazal—shared personal memories of Baba Sali’s legendary life of piety.

“Yet,” says Yossi Azaraf, who attends the event every year, “he also spoke about the basics: learning Torah, keeping Shabbat, and doing more mitzvahs. He discussed delicate things, but in such a masterful way that I am sure people will make real positive changes in their lives as a result. He was not telling people what to do. It was his soul speaking directly to our souls about what it means to be a Jew.”

Also present was Rabbi Yona Matusof, Chabad shaliach to Madison, Wis., who was born in Casablanca, Morocco, where his late father, Rabbi Shlomo Matusof, ran the Oholei Yosef Yitzchak schools. He took the opportunity to present Rabbi Amar—an alumnus of the school—with a book penned by his father, who was a close friend of Baba Sali, and often served as a liaison between him and the Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—with whom the Baba Sali enjoyed a special relationship despite having never met in person.

A Life Devoted to Torah

The main speaker was Rabbi Raccah, who stressed that Baba Sali was more than a miracle worker; he was a person who lived a life devoted to Torah. He related that Baba Sali once arrived at the Chabad Yeshivah in Brunoy, France, after an exhausting 10-hour trip from Morocco. After he settled into his room for the night, the students peeked through the keyhole to observe what the legendary man would do. They saw him unroll a mat, sit down and begin studying. The students became tired and dropped off to sleep, but the elderly rabbi kept going until daybreak, when was ready to start the day as if he had slept the night

A large portion of the evening was devoted to music produced by Moroccan-French singer and drummer Isaac Bitton, who belted out a stream of prayers in Hebrew peppered with Arabic, in addition to original compositions and adaptations of Chassidic music.

As the evening drew to a close, both men and women, divided by a mechitza (partition), sang and danced to Bitton’s lively beats.

“Baba Sali would be very proud,” observes Azaraf, “to see the various communities coming together to make a better, unified whole.”

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Tuesday, 20 Shevat 5774 · 21 January 2014

Editor's Note:

Dear Friend,

When the Israelites camped at the foot of Mount Sinai, they displayed an unprecedented level of unity. They were likened to “one man with one heart,” we read in last week’s Torah portion. Think about it—more than two million individuals, each with their own unique thoughts, feelings, wishes, dreams, desires and personalities. But the giving of the Torah lifted them above their differences, and they came together as a single entity.

This week, more than 3,000 women will unite in New York for the International Conference of Chabad-Lubavitch Women Emissaries. Like our ancestors at Mount Sinai, these women are united. Each has dedicated her life to spreading Jewish awareness wherever Jews live. To build an organized Jewish presence where there isn’t one, to strengthen those previously established, or simply to reach out to Jewish locals and travelers in practically every nook and cranny across the globe.

This weekend, these women will spend time with their colleagues, gain insight and tools to help them in their goal, and simply connect with each other. The highlight of the weekend is undoubtedly the grand banquet. Connect to them by joining virtually here.

Miriam Szokovski, on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team

Daily Thought:

Science & G-d

In the nineteenth century, many scientists had no use for G‑d. Instead, they worshipped a tight chain of cause and effect that left no room for miracles, providence or prophecy.

But then the scientist looked into the atom, and the wonder of the universe opened before him. The iron chain of cause and effect was loosened, and Determinism deposed from its throne. Today, once again there is room for G‑d in the minds of human beings.

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Parshah

Mixes and Mergers

Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe

Do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk.

Exodus 23:19

Meat stems from the divine attribute of justice, milk from the attribute of mercy.

Shaloh

In the future world of Moshiach, the prohibition against mixing meat with milk will be annulled.

Rabbeinu Bechayei

The world our five senses experience is a diverse and multifaceted one. We distinguish between matter and spirit, light and darkness, animal and inanimate, male and female; we categorize plants and animals by species, and grade minerals by dollar value per ounce. But how real are these distinctions? How deep runs the difference between gold and copper, between an apple and an orange, or an ox and a donkey?

For we also sense a unity to the universe. The deeper we probe creation’s secrets, the more we uncover the oneness beneath the diversity. The incalculable number of objects that populate our world are shown to be composites of but several elementary building blocks of matter; the diverse forces that hold them together and drive them apart are revealed as mutations of a few fundamental laws. Ultimately, we believe, science will discover the single formula that describes the whole of the physical existence. This underlying oneness to the universe complements our spiritual perception of reality: that every existent entity and force is but an expression of the singular truth of G‑d, who created them all toward a single, unified purpose.

On the other hand, we recognize the validity of the categorizations that define our world. Man is a moral creature (indeed, the only moral creature) because of his capacity to recognize the inviolable borders that differentiate self from fellow, man from beast, the sacred from the profane, the permissible from the forbidden. We recognize that these boundaries are intrinsic to G‑d’s creation, and that without them life would be devoid of order, dignity, meaning or utility.

Indeed, the plurality of our world is an integral part of the Creator’s design for existence. In the six days of creation, we find G‑d categorizing species and setting the boundaries between light and darkness, matter and spirit, and land and sea. Indeed, the divine name that connotes G‑d’s involvement in creation, Elokim, is plural in form, to emphasize G‑d’s particular involvement with the details and distinctions that comprise His creation.

Thus, the Torah, G‑d’s communicated instruction to humanity, not only “separates between the impure and the pure,” defining the permissible and the forbidden, but also forbids the intermixing of species and categories within the realm of the permissible itself. Torah specifies those animals whose meat and milk the Jew may eat, and those species whose meat and milk are forbidden; but it also prohibits milk and meat that have been cooked together, even when each on its own is permissible. Likewise, there are the kilayim (hybridizing) laws that prohibit the wearing of a garment that combines wool and linen, the crossbreeding of different animal species, and the grafting or sowing together of different plant species. In the words of Nachmanides, “G‑d created the species of His world . . . commanding that they emerge ‘each to its kind’ . . . So, one who crossbreeds two species corrupts the workings of creation . . .”

Three Categories

There are exceptions, however. Despite the prohibition to mix wool and linen in the making of a garment, the Torah specifically instructs to spin just such a mixture to create several of the priestly garments worn by the kohanim when serving in the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple). Also, immediately following the injunction “Do not wear shaatnez—wool and linen together,” the Torah commands us to “make fringes on the four corners of your garment”; the Torah is telling us, explains the Talmud, that it is permissible to mix wool and linen to observe the mitzvah of tzitzit.

But license to mix two species to perform a mitzvah is granted only in the case of shaatnez, the mixing of wool and linen. Regarding the other kilayim prohibitions, we find no such exceptions made. Indeed, in the case of meat and milk, the Torah specifically instructs that the two cannot be combined even for the purpose of serving G‑d. In Exodus 23:19 we read: “The first ripenings of your land you shall bring to the house of the L‑rd your G‑d; do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk.” Why are these two seemingly unconnected laws stated in the same verse? Explains the Midrash: the Torah wishes to clarify that it is forbidden to mix meat and milk also in the cooking of the kodashim, the holy meat of the offerings brought to G‑d in the Beit HaMikdash.

Upon closer examination, what we have here are three categories of forbidden mixtures:

The mixing of wool and linen, which is forbidden in the manufacture of cloth for mundane, everyday purposes. But it is permitted, in the cases of tzitzit and the priestly garments, for the sake of serving the Almighty.

The cooking of meat with milk, which the Torah specifically prohibits also for purely holy purposes.

The unequivocal prohibition of crossbreeding of plants and animals. Here, the Torah doesn’t even find it necessary to reiterate that it is also forbidden to crossbreed for the sake of a mitzvah, assuming that we will understand the prohibition as applying to mundane and holy endeavors alike.

A Piecemeal Peace

The stated aim of Torah is to “make peace in the world.” To make peace is to unify and integrate; to bring divergent elements, individuals and peoples into harmonious concert. Thus the prophet Zephaniah describes the era of Moshiach, the realization of Torah’s blueprint for life on earth: “Then I shall convert all the nations to a purer language, that they all call on the name of G‑d to serve Him with one consent.” Today, humanity and nature are fragmented and strife-ridden, as each of their multifarious components seeks fulfillment and realization via different and conflicting avenues. The Torah comes to impart a unanimity of purpose to them all, to unite them in the common goal of serving their Creator.

How are we to reconcile this with the boundary-enforcing role of the Torah described above? Did we not say that Torah comes to differentiate and distinguish, to preserve the demarcations of G‑d’s creation?

In truth, however, there is no contradiction. Peace is not about the blurring of borders and the obliteration of identities. Peace does not dictate that nations and individuals disavow their uniqueness to fuse to a seamless whole. On the contrary, such “peace” is always shallow and artificial, as it runs contrary to its participants’ nature and essence, and ultimately disintegrates into chaos and anarchy. True peace is a state in which diverse entities join forces towards a common goal, each contributing its distinct qualities to the achievement of their harmonious endeavor.

Therein lies is the deeper significance of the three categories of “intermixing” defined by the Torah.

Crossbreeding different species is always a negative thing, even when the objective is a mitzvah, the ultimately unifying act of serving the Almighty. Crossbreeding creates a new, hybrid creature that is neither one nor the other of its progenitors, a creature in whom the differences between two species are eradicated. A defining boundary of creation has been diffused, causing a breakdown, rather than a consolidation, in the universal development of peace.

On the other hand, the combining of wool and linen in the making of a garment violates the integrity of neither ingredient. The wool remains wool, and the linen remains linen. One can always unravel the cloth and re-separate the fibers. What has happened is that two elements of creation, each preserving (and employing) its characteristics and qualities, have combined to create a thing of beauty and utility.

Nevertheless, such a combination, when effected for mundane and self-serving purposes, is negative and destructive. Certain elements (such as wool and linen) embody spiritually diverse forces—forces that inevitably clash rather than integrate. According to the Kabbalists, wool embodies chessed (benevolence), and linen, gevurah (severity, restraint). The Torah has therefore forbidden their union. Only when they come together in the ultimate realization of their purpose—to serve their Creator—do these forces converge in harmony rather than in conflict.

A third category, one that lies between the aforementioned two, is the mixing, by cooking, of meat and milk. Here, the corruption of distinction is not as far-reaching as in the case of crossbreeding, where the quintessence of two species (i.e., their reproductive powers) have fused: only the physical properties (taste, aroma, color, etc.) of the meat and milk have blended, while their essential substances remain unaffected. One might therefore think to compare this forbidden dish to a garment spun of wool and linen. The Torah must therefore specify that no, the cooking of meat with milk is a more severe violation of creation’s boundaries than is shaatnez. In cooking, the meat becomes saturated with milk, and vice versa, to the point that are no longer physically distinguishable from each other. Cooked to an inseparable mass, this “hybrid” cannot represent a realization of true peace, and is therefore unredeemable even in the utterly harmonious environment of “the house of G‑d.”

Future Sight

Citing Kabbalistic sources, Rabbeinu Bechayei (Rabbi Bechayei ben Asher, 1265?–1340?) writes that in the future perfect age of Moshiach, the prohibition against mixing meat and milk will be annulled.

The world of Moshiach is a world in which “your Master will no longer be shrouded; your eyes will behold your Master.” A world in which the materiality of our existence will no longer cloak and conceal the divine essence of reality.

The combining of milk and meat will be permissible, because two things will change. First, life will no longer consist of “mundane” and “holy” domains. In a world suffused with the immanence and awareness of G‑d, our every deed and endeavor will be a holy act, an act that is in utter harmony with our, and every creature’s, raison d’être.

Secondly, our perception of reality will be deeper and truer than it is today. In the surface reality we now inhabit, meat and milk that have been cooked together have become, to all intents and purposes, a single object; we cannot access the two differing forces that have been combined. It is therefore kilayim, a destruction of nature’s boundaries. But seen in a more quintessential light, the meat and milk remain two entities, however thoroughly their physical matter has been integrated; ultimately they resemble the combined wool and linen of shaatnez, rather than the hybrid reality of animal and plant kilayim. In the reality of Moshiach, such an integration would not compromise each element’s uniqueness. In a reality where the spiritual essence of every thing is real and tangible, meat and milk will represent a vehicle for true harmony, in which variant elements of G‑d’s creation unite to serve Him.

Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; adapted by Yanki Tauber.

Originally published in Week in Review.

Republished with the permission of MeaningfulLife.com. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email permissions@meaningfullife.com.

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Parshah

The Spirit of the Laws

By Stacey Goldman

It sounds bizarre, but I have found that the more I live my life as an observant Jew, the more I seem to lose my Jewish identity.

When I was growing up in Minnesota, Jews made up less than two percent of the mostly Scandinavian and German population. My dark, curly hair was a constant reminder of my minority status. I never saw this as a negative aspect to my identity. On the contrary, I relished my membership in a global club of Jewish people all over the world.

I relished my membership in a global club of Jewish people

With over 30,000 Jews in the state, I couldn’t possibly know everyone, but I had what I called a “Jewish sense.” We all did. Wherever I was, I shared secret smiles with virtual strangers. We just knew when we were in the presence of another Jew. I didn’t discriminate; I would beam at every person regardless of age, gender, length of skirt, headcovering or lack thereof. Invariably, I would receive a nod and a smile in return. Yes, we are one of the same; we shared a history and a destiny.

When I was accepted to an East Coast university, I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm at the prospect of constantly being surrounded by my people. I would no longer be a minority! I was looking forward to basking in a lovefest of my fellow Jews 24/7.

I arrived on campus unable to believe my eyes. Boys with kippahs! Girls with telltale long jean skirts! The university T-shirt stand even sold Hebrew versions alongside the original! My jaw was beginning to get sore with all the smiling. Until I began to realize—no one was smiling back. They weren’t even looking at me funny; they simply weren’t looking. These kids seemed to be missing that special radar that connects us together as Jews. Or maybe it was that they simply didn’t care. They had enough Jews and Judaism in their life that they didn’t need to go looking for more. They had the luxury of taking their Judaism for granted.

In the meantime I increased in my Jewish observance, got married and started to have children. I still smiled at other Jews, but I noticed that I was smiling only at Jews who looked suspiciously like me—the new religious me. In fact, I had lost my ability to identify other Jews who weren’t wearing the telltale uniform of Orthodox Judaism. I had found the Torah of Israel, but I seemed to have lost my sense of the nation of Israel that had come so easily before I even knew about the commandments.

Last week we read of the ultimate revelation, the giving of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. This was immediately followed by a set of laws concerning the sacrificial altar which was placed in the Temple. The Torah portion of this week moves into civil laws, interpersonal relationships and the foundations for civil society. It seems incongruous to go from sacrificial offerings to civil laws, and this leads to questioning the meaning of this seeming non-sequitur. The commentator Rashi opines that “this tells you to place the Sanhedrin (civil law court) next to the altar.” This is a profound juxtaposition.

When one loves G‑d, it is impossible not to love His creations

According to Maharal’s explanation of Rashi, the altar and the Sanhedrin are deeply dependent on one another. Just as the altar serves as a conduit of peace between heaven and the nation of Israel, civil laws enacted by the Sanhedrin maintain peace below. True peace on earth cannot be attained unless there is first peace between the people and G‑d. If we are united with G‑d, we can be a united nation.

If my greater observance of the mitzvot was actually distancing me from my people, I was clearly missing a key element of the Torah. It was almost a perversion of the Torah to allow observance to interfere with my interpersonal relationships.

Maharal then takes it to an even deeper level: when one loves G‑d, it is impossible not to love His creations. When one hates humanity, it is impossible that he would love the G‑d that created them (Netivot Olam, Netiv Ahavat Re’a 1). If I, G‑d forbid, was looking down on less observant Jews or even ignoring them, I was essentially looking down on and ignoring G‑d!

We cannot consider ourselves a true am Yisrael, nation of Israel, without counting all of our people. The force of Jewish unity is actually more powerful than Torah and mitzvot. At every Passover Seder we tell G‑d that it would have been enough if He had brought us to Mount Sinai without giving us the Torah. How can this be? Because this was the first time since leaving Egypt that the Jewish people experienced true unity. Yes, that would have been enough.

As for my personal journey into my Judaism, something integral was clearly missing. How could I have become so scrupulous in so many commandments of the Torah while not offering my fellow Jews a smile? If I was strengthening my relationship with G‑d, I needed to simultaneously strengthen my relationship with my fellow Jews. What practical steps could I take to regain that sense of Jewish unity I took for granted in Minnesota?

People seem to seek me out for information on something Jewish

I decided to go back to that magic smile of my youth. Simply by embracing humanity with a smile on my face, I have made myself, as an obviously observant Jewish woman, approachable. Several times a day on my daily rounds in the neighborhood, people seem to seek me out for information on something Jewish. From the young woman in the supermarket asking for the ingredients in challah (Oil! I hope you remembered this final ingredient!!) to the visiting Asian convert who needed kosher wine for Shabbat, I have the honor and pleasure of meeting my fellow Jews.

Is it possible to view every encounter with another Jew as an opportunity to strengthen our unity as a people and our closeness with G‑d? This is the challenge: to see beyond the outer shell and into the neshamah, the soul, of our fellow Jews, and truly be a light unto the nations. It all can start with a smile.

Stacey Goldman teaches Torah in the Philadelphia area while raising a houseful of boys.

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Parshah

Help the Poor Body!

Artwork by Sarah Kranz

“If you see your enemy’s donkey (chamor) lying under its load, you might want to refrain from helping him; [however], you must surely help with him.” (Exodus 23:5)

Before Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, known as the Alter Rebbe, became the first leader of Chabad, he once traveled to raise money for an important charitable cause. He came to the home of a wealthy man who, sensing that he was not one of the ordinary charity collectors, offered to have him stay and teach his children in return for the entire sum he hoped to raise.

After a short stay, he informed his host that he was leaving because he could not tolerate the conduct of the people of the city. His host asked him what he meant, and Rabbi Schneur Zalman replied, “You torture the poor.” The host thought that he was referring to a recent meeting to determine how to raise the money for a tax. It was decided that first the poor should give as much as they were able, and whatever was missing would be made up by the rich. He realized that Rabbi Schneur Zalman was right: the poor should not be bothered at all. Let the rich give as much as they can, and the poor won’t have to give anything. Immediately he arranged a second meeting, and it was decided that the rich should first give what they could afford.

A few days later, Rabbi Schneur Zalman again gave notice that he was leaving, exclaiming again, “You torture the poor.” Amazed, the host told his guest of the second meeting, and that the poor would not be bothered at all. Rabbi Schneur Zalman told him that he was not aware of the meetings, and had been referring to a different matter:

In the human body, there are “rich” organs and a “poor” organ. The “rich” organs are the mind and the heart, and the “poor” organ is the stomach. “In this city,” he explained, “instead of putting emphasis on the rich organs and engaging them in the study of Torah and concentrating on prayer to G‑d, the approach is to constantly fast. Thus, the ‘poor’ organ, the stomach, is deprived and made to suffer for the person’s iniquities. I cannot tolerate this approach!”

This new philosophy was very intriguing to the host, and he asked Rabbi Schneur Zalman its source. He told him of the Baal Shem Tov and his teachings, which accentuate working with the mind and heart and not punishing the body.

“The Baal Shem Tov,” he continued, “bases his approach on a verse in the Torah portion of Mishpatim, and interprets it as follows: ‘If you see’—when you will come to the realization that—‘chamor’, the physical matter of the body (related to the word chomer, ‘physicality’) is ‘your enemy’—because he is engaged in attaining physical pleasures, and thus hates the soul which is striving for G‑dliness and a high spiritual level—and the body is ‘lying under his burden,’ not wanting to get up and serve G‑d—‘you might want to refrain from helping him’: you may think that you will begin to torture him and deny him the food he needs. Be advised that this is a wrong approach. Instead, ‘you must surely help with him’—give him his bodily needs, and attune your mind and soul to worship G‑d. Eventually, your body will become purified and cooperate in your divine service.”

Rabbi Moshe Bogomilsky has been a pulpit rabbi for over thirty years, and is author of more than ten highly acclaimed books on the Parshiot and holidays. His Parshah series, Vedibarta Bam, can be purchased here.

About the artist: Sarah Kranz has been illustrating magazines, webzines and books (including five children’s books) since graduating from the Istituto Europeo di Design, Milan, in 1996. Her clients have included The New York Times and Money Marketing Magazine of London.

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Parshah

Mishpatim in a Nutshell

Following the revelation at Sinai, G‑d legislates a series of laws for the people of Israel. These include the laws of the indentured servant; the penalties for murder, kidnapping, assault and theft; civil laws pertaining to redress of damages, the granting of loans and the responsibilities of the “Four Guardians”; and the rules governing the conduct of justice by courts of law.

Also included are laws warning against mistreatment of foreigners; the observance of the seasonal festivals, and the agricultural gifts that are to be brought to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem; the prohibition against cooking meat with milk; and the mitzvah of prayer. Altogether, the Parshah of Mishpatim contains 53 mitzvot—23 imperative commandments and 30 prohibitions.

G‑d promises to bring the people of Israel to the Holy Land, and warns them against assuming the pagan ways of its current inhabitants.

The people of Israel proclaim, “We will do and we will hear all that G‑d commands us.” Leaving Aaron and Hur in charge in the Israelite camp, Moses ascends Mount Sinai and remains there for forty days and forty nights to receive the Torah from G‑d.

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Women

Are You an Introvert?

By Chana Weisberg

Susan Cain is the author of Quiet—The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, which was on the New York Times bestselling list. Her TED talk was viewed by over 5 million people.

Susan describes her scholarly, gentle grandfather who was a rabbi as her role model. She loved to visit his home in Brooklyn, where the walls were lined with books, and every available table and chair served as a surface for them. Reading was her family’s favorite group activity.

Cain claims that our society has evolved largely from a “culture of character” to a “culture of personality.” Instead of integrity, we now value charisma. We’ve gone from respecting men and women of contemplation to admiring men and women of action, and are more impressed with marketability and promotion than with inner growth.

Though our world prizes extroverts, Susan asks us to begin appreciating the qualities of introversion and the power of quiet contemplation. “We need to unplug and get inside our heads more often,” she says. The more freedom that we give people to be themselves, the more creative they will become, and can then share their important ideas with the world.

The qualities that Susan advocates for have always been at the forefront of Judaism.

The Jewish people are described as bayshanim, bashful. Tikkun ha-middot, the quiet, inner-directed work of improving character traits, is a prime focus of Jewish teachings, along with the belief that if we change ourselves we can have a disproportionate effect on transforming the entire world.

Tefillah, prayer, the most introspective act of meditation, begins the Jewish day.

Humility is the hallmark of a Jewish leader. Moses, most famously, begged G‑d to choose someone else to become the leader of his people. Saul is described as nechba el ha-keilim, “hidden behind the vessels,” so adamant was he to hide from the limelight.

And, if you think about it, that is really the power of the introvert—that it is not about him but rather his belief in the message.

At first when I started speaking publicly, I thought it was so incongruent with what I was, a very private person. In a group setting, I was the last one who would raise my hand to share my thoughts. It took me years to appreciate that it is precisely because I’m not the one to push my agenda that when I finally do open my mouth to share, others are eager to hear.

This is the power of introversion.

In Kabbalistic thought, the six days of the week embody the mode of reaching out to the six directions of our world: north and south, east and west, up and down. These days are considered masculine. The Shabbat, on the other hand, is considered feminine, and is the center that draws all the points together. There can’t be six directions (or any direction) if there isn’t a center as the foundation.

All week long we operate as men of action, doing. On the Shabbat, we must stop acting and focus instead on internalizing. For this reason, the Shabbat is considered to be the source of blessing for the entire week.

Because, just as Cain advocates, in order to go out and do, you need to first know how to be.

The messianic era, too, is considered a feminine time, when we will finally rest from our outward acts of doing, and begin absorbing and internalizing the blessings.

And I guess that is why it doesn’t surprise me that as we approach this era, right at the forefront of this “quiet revolution” is a very powerful and introverted Jewish woman.

Chana Weisberg is a writer, editor and lecturer. She authored several books, including her latest, Tending the Garden: The Unique Gifts of the Jewish Woman. She has served as the dean of several women’s educational institutes, and lectures internationally on issues relating to women, faith, relationships and the Jewish soul.

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Women

Staying on Track

By Elana Mizrahi

“Asher Yisrael, come on, sweetheart. Let’s go. The park.”

The distance from my home to the park is about three minutes, but when walking with my toddler, it can easily take at least thirty minutes to get there. We take a step forward. He stops. He looks around. The birds distract him. He chases after them and screams. Every item on the ground is interesting and needs to be picked up, examined, and occasionally tasted, if I’m not quick enough.

“Asher Yisrael, put it down. It’s garbage, sweetheart. Let’s go. Keep walking.”

Getting to the park is always an adventure, and actually I never know how long it could take. For example, if there happens to be a cat in Getting to the park is always an adventurethe way (and here in Jerusalem, that is definitely a common occurrence), the journey from my home to the park could even take thirty-five minutes. And if by chance we see a dog . . . wow, a dog could mean forty-five minutes, at least.

This is what toddlers do. They wander and stray from the path, and our job as parents is to get them back on track. We need to gently remind them of the “destination.”

The bills pile up. A child is having a hard time in school this week. We have a leak in our ceiling, and my husband tells me there are problems with work. Life is stressful. There are so many distractions throughout the week, and I’m having a hard time focusing. Remind me again, what am I doing? What are our goals? Where am I going?

Friday arrives. I stand before the Shabbat candles, and I take a deep breath. The phones are disconnected. My computer is put away. My Remind me again, what am I doing?children surround me and watch me as I light the candles. Peace descends on my home. The Shabbat Bride enters. The Divine Presence (Shechinah), the feminine manifestation of G‑d, is welcomed with song: “Come, Bride . . . Come, Sabbath Queen.” She does Her job, like a mother, to put me back on track. Life’s distractions try to sway me from arriving at my destination, but She comes every week to remind me where I need to go.

We sit and eat together as a family. We talk and we sing. I connect to them; they connect to me. I connect to the Shechinah; She connects to me.

My children sing a Shabbat song:

Because I keep Shabbat, G‑d keeps me. It is a sign for eternity between Him and me.

In our daily life, we have obstacles that prevent us or stall us from getting to where we need to be. But each week we receive a gift, Shabbat. Every week Shabbat comes, bringing abundant blessing and clarity. Like a mother, She gently guides us, putting us back on track to help us reach our destination.

Because I keep Shabbat, G‑d keeps me. It is a sign for eternity between Him and me.

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On the Calendar

22 Shevat: Passing of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneersohn

Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory, was the daughter of the sixth Lubavitcher rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, of righteous memory, and wife of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory. The Rebbetzin’s influence on the Lubavitch movement was enormous, but she deliberately remained outside of the limelight.

The following links present a glimpse into the life and passing of the Rebbetzin.

Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory, led an intensely private life. “Very few people knew about the relationship that I had with the Rebbetzin,” said Londoner Mrs. Louise Hager, who knew the Rebbetzin since the 1960s and spoke to her by phone at least once a week. “I think that was one of the strengths of the relationship. It was totally private.”

Although bits and pieces of details of the Rebbetzin’s personal friendships have leaked out through the years, the consensus is that it was her will to remain out of the limelight. For many, it was not until her funeral in 1988 that they realized the tremendous bond that she and her husband, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, shared, and the extraordinary sacrifices she willingly made to facilitate the Rebbe’s devotion to the Jewish people.

The Rebbe led the global Chabad-Lubavitch movement, which would become the largest Jewish organization in the world by the end of the 20th century, and inspired an immense infrastructure for Jewish activism in the United States and the world after the Holocaust.

Back then, thousands of people who came to escort her cortege down Eastern Parkway shed tears as they watched the Rebbe’s raw emotions in somberly escorting the body of his wife. In the days that followed, the Rebbe at times choked up in tears as he said the kaddish, the traditional mourner’s prayer, in her memory, and during a public talk he gave on her legacy.

The Rebbe urged that everyone take the Rebbetzin’s life and actions to heart.

Historical Beginnings

Wife of the Rebbe; daughter of the sixth Lubavitcher rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn; and granddaughter of the fifth Lubavitcher rebbe, Rabbi Sholom DovBer Schneersohn—the Rebbetzin could not have been more immersed in Torah and Jewish scholarship.

While a teenager, she risked discovery by the Russian authorities, and smuggled food and candles to the Novardok yeshivah. Throughout her life she repeatedly risked her life to help others, under both Soviet and Nazi rule, and experienced firsthand the sacrifices of global Jewish leadership. Yet when her husband refused the entreaties of chassidim, Chabad-Lubavitch followers, that he become rebbe, the Rebbetzin urged him to agree, knowing full well the toll it would take on her.

Her pivotal testimony in a mid-1980s federal case regarding the ownership of her father’s priceless library sheds some light on this sacrifice.

Summing up her life’s experience that a rebbe is completely devoted to the community at large and has no private life, she declared that the library, “belongs to the chassidim, because my father belonged to the chassidim.”

The Rebbetzin was a diligent student of chassidic thought, and accounts concur that she was one of the Rebbe’s only confidantes in the world.

Yet, despite her extraordinary role—as unknown as it was to the public—and her regal upbringing and bearing, it seems that she always found common ground with those who came to her, and helped each one feel comfortable and heard.

Life Lessons

Mrs. Daniele Gorlin-Lassner, whose parents shared a close friendship with the Rebbe and Rebbetzin going all the way back to when they lived in Europe, said that the Rebbetzin consciously shunned attention.

“You know, as much as I would like to,” Mrs. Gorlin-Lassner quoted the Rebbetzin saying in the mid-1980s, “I don’t very often frequent the store or go shopping [in the neighborhood]. They all feel that they have to give me special kavod [honor], and that is really something that I don’t want.”

Just as she preferred to focus the spotlight away from herself, the Rebbetzin was ever sensitive to those around her, as evidenced by the recollection of Rabbi Shmuel Lew. Now the director of the Lubavitch House School in London, the flustered Rabbi Lew visited the Rebbetzin with his fiancé and family before he got married.

“There was a beautiful white tablecloth, and she served punch in long crystal glasses with glass straws,” he related. “At one point, when my hand was going over the glass, I didn’t notice the straw, and my hand pushed against the straw. The straw pushed against the glass, and the whole punch spilled on the table.”

Without missing a beat, “the Rebbetzin got all excited,” he continued, as if this was the best thing that could have happened in her home. “She said it’s a sign of blessing.”

Rabbi Lew’s father-in-law, Mr. Zalmon Jaffe, joked afterward that the Rebbetzin seemed “so delighted, that he was tempted to spill over another glass.”

Chicago cardiologist Dr. Ira Weiss, who cared closely for the Rebbe and the Rebbetzin following the Rebbe’s 1977 heart attack, spoke to the Rebbetzin daily.

“The Rebbetzin always worried about me, because I am a bicycle enthusiast,” revealed Dr. Weiss. Knowing how sleep-deprived he was, she would often inquire of him worriedly about his solitary rides home late at night.

In other exchanges, the Rebbetzin’s care for those she never met was evident. In one conversation with Mrs. Leah Kahan—a scholar who periodically visited the Rebbetzin and frequently spoke with her by phone—the Rebebtzin discussed the travails of a group of Satmar followers who had immersed themselves in Lubavitch chassidic teachings. Some of them faced the prospect of violence in their old community.

“It was a very difficult time, because Satmar was very much against [the students’ spiritual pursuits]. The Rebbetzin was very, very concerned,” said Mrs. Kahan.

According to Mrs. Kahan, the Rebbetzin was concerned for all involved, from their parents to their old schools. She worried about the marriage prospects of the newcomers, and was concerned that they should continue to respect their families and that the family unit remain complete.

When it came to the shluchim, the Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries, who serve farflung communities around the world to strengthen Judaism, the Rebbetzin was far more than a steadfast supporter. She admired the hardships they endured and the sacrifices they made to carry out their missions.

Mrs. Kahan remembered that one time when she came to see the Rebbetzin, there were a bunch of handmade items on the table. A group of shluchim had sent them to the Rebbetzin.

“They are so busy,” Mrs. Kahan said the Rebbetzin told her. “They have such heavy schedules, and they have nothing else to do than to think about me and send [these] to me? And who am I?”

When Mrs. Kahan tried responding about how much the Rebbetzin means to the shluchim, the Rebbetzin, in a rebuke of sorts, told her that she evidently does not appreciate enough the shluchim’s impossible schedules.

When traveling to the hospital on the very night of her passing, and in tremendous pain, the Rebbetzin’s sole concern appeared to be about the details of her doctor’s daughter’s engagement and her soon-to-be married life.

“It’s just amazing to me,” said Mrs. Sarah Shemtov, whose father tended at times to the medical needs of the Rebbe and Rebbetzin, “that the Rebbetzin was within an hour or hours before her [soul] left this world, and in the car, she didn’t ask [any] questions about herself.

“The Rebbetzin kept on turning to my father,” continued Mrs. Shemtov, “and asking, ‘So tell me, Doctor, how is the young couple? How are they doing? Are they happy? When is the wedding? Tell me about it.’”

“I think [that] she never thought about herself,” stated Mrs. Kahn. “It was always about somebody else.”

A Ready Listener

Years after visiting her, guests remembered that the Rebbetzin had a way of making the person she was speaking with feel as if he or she was the only one who mattered in the entire world, reminiscent of the way people describe the Rebbe’s undivided attention as he listened to people.

“The Rebbetzin was a person that you felt comfortable telling her everything,” said Mrs. Hadassah Carlebach. “She listened and showed concern, and asked me how things [were] going. [She] made me feel very good, and comforted me many times.”

Following her arrival to the United States after the Holocaust, Mrs. Carlebach went to the Rebbetzin for advice.

“I needed to help feed the family, so I started teaching,” said Mrs. Carlebach. “I told her how hard it was for me, and she encouraged me.

“When I mentioned, ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for it,’” the Rebbetzin expressed her understanding, but then added, ‘While you’re doing it, do [your] best,’” continued Mrs. Carlebach. “She said do the best you can. Whatever you are doing at that point, do the best that you can do.”

Indeed, Mrs. Carlebach persisted, and excelled at teaching for 20 years.

Mrs. Louise Hager, who is now a businesswoman living in London, related the first conversation she had with the Rebbetzin at age 14. The Rebbetzin wanted to know, “What did I enjoy? What were the subjects? Who were my friends? She showed great interest.

“I have to admit, never having been a particularly keen student, I came away wanting to give her something, wanting to impress her, wanting to give her some good news,” added Mrs. Hager. “So, I started to write to her.”

Doing so turned out to be a big incentive to do better: “I made an effort to try and do well in school.”

“The Rebbetzin would relate to anyone, even to the [little] children,” said Rabbi Lew. “She would say [to the little ones], ‘Come to Doda [Aunt].’”

One time, the Rebbetzin asked Rabbi Lew’s son to sing a chassidic melody (niggun).

“He sang a [slow introspective Chabad tune], and she had tears glistening in her eyes,” said Lew. “He said, ‘Do you know it?’

“She answered, ‘It’s my father’s song [known as “The Beinoni”].’”

Life’s Partner

“You know, my husband comes home very late,” Mrs. Gorlin-Lassner said the Rebbetzin told her at the end of their meeting (in the mid-1980s). “He sometimes comes home [at] two, three in the morning. And when he comes home, I am going to have so much to say to him” about the meeting.

“They would have dinner together,” said Dr. Weiss, referring to that time as the Rebbe and the Rebbetzin’s “private tea party.”

Mrs. Carlebach was amazed that the Rebbetzin steadfastly waited up for the Rebbe.

“I don’t know how many wives would stay up [regularly] till 4:00 in the morning and wait for their husband to come home from [meetings] in order to ensure that he wouldn’t be eating by himself,” she said.

Those few involved in the Rebbe and the Rebbetzin’s medical care emphasized how each one tried to shield the other from painful news. They would also call doctors on each other’s behalf.

“The Rebbetzin would always call my father on behalf of the Rebbe, and the Rebbe would always call my father on behalf of the Rebbetzin,” said Mrs. Shemtov. “Each one always called for the other.”

Hager said that she learned about the importance of human relationships from the Rebbetzin.

“Valuing people for what they are, not knocking them, building them up, trying to bring out the best in people, the positive thinking: those are all things that she lived by,” said Hager. “And that’s an example for us: looking at the glass being half-full, not half-empty.”

This Tuesday, 22 Shevat (January 29), marks the 20th anniversary of the passing of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory. Daughter of the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, of righteous memory, and wife of the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, the Rebbetzin’s influence on the Lubavitch movement was enormous, but she deliberately remained outside of the limelight.

Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory, was born in Babinovitch, in present-day Belarus, in 1901. Upon her birth, her grandfather, the Fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom Dovber, wrote from abroad, "If she hasn’t been named yet, she should be called Chaya Mushka," as shown in this letter that now resides in the library of Agudas Chasidei Chabad. In 1920, when the Rebbe was ill, his 19-year-old granddaughter cared for him.

When the Rebbetzin’s father, the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, of righteous memory, assumed leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch, he became the target of continuous threats by Russia’s Soviet authorities. With uncertainty hanging over him, he entrusted his middle daughter Chaya Mushka with the power to conduct all legal transactions on his behalf, as reflected in this document.

The Rebbetzin accompanied her father during his exile from Leningrad to Kostroma, Russia, in 1927. Weeks earlier, the Russian secret police showed up to their home to arrest the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbetzin called out to her cousin and future husband, the Rebbe, "Schneerson! Guests have arrived." The signal allowed the Rebbe to escape arrest, save priceless manuscripts belonging to the Lubavitch movement, and conduct clandestine efforts to commute his future father-in-law’s death sentence and eventually to secure his release. This passport was issued by the Russian government in the late 1920s.

When her parents resided in Rostov-on-the-Don, the Rebbetzin met with her future husband in the restort town of Kislovodsk. She got engaged to the Rebbe before leaving Russia; the couple married in 1928 in Warsaw, Poland. In 1950, after the death of her father, the Rebbetzin convinced her husband to accept the mantle of leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch.

The Rebbe and Rebbetzin resided in this home in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, N.Y., beginning in the mid-1950s. (Jewish Educational Media)

Tens of thousands participated in the Rebbetzin’s funeral procession in 1988.

On Wednesday, February 10, 1988 (Shevat 22, 1988) the Rebbe’s wife of 59 years, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, passed away after a brief illness.

She had felt ill the night before and was brought to the hospital, where she requested a glass of water. After reciting the blessing “Blessed are You, G-d… by whose word all things come into being”, she returned her soul to her Maker.

An erudite and wise woman, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka carried the mantle of her exalted position in a most humble and unpretentious fashion. Though she was the wife of a leader revered by hundreds of thousands, almost nothing was known about her until after her passing, when those who knew her felt that they could tell of her life and personality without violating her jealously guarded privacy.

In a farewell fit for a queen, a procession fifteen thousand strong led by an official police motorcade accompanied her to the Chabad cemetery in Queens, New York. There she was interred near her father, the previous Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson.

On the very day of her burial, the Rebbe established a charity fund in her name, which continues to this day to serve a variety women’s social and educational purposes.

In the days and months following her passing, the Rebbe spoke frequently on the theme, “And the living shall take to heart”—how the passing of a person close to oneself should prompt one to positive action, in the form of lessons derived from that person’s life and deeds undertaken to perpetuate his or her memory.

Childhood, marriage, work, religion, illness—things that one thinks one knows exactly what they mean—were given new meaning in the Rebbe’s teachings. He did the same with the concepts of death and mourning.

The Rebbe noted that Torah law prescribes set periods for mourning the passing of a close relative. A certain set of mourning practices are mandated for the first day; other laws apply to the first three days, seven days, month and year. But isn’t “mourning” a feeling rather than an act? How, then, asked the Rebbe, can a person be instructed to mourn? Or to reduce the intensity of his mourning when a certain mandated "mourning period" ends?

Death, explained the Rebbe, is a phenomenon so devastating to our sense of self that we cannot deal with it with any of the ordinary tools of life. Only our submission to the supra-rational law of G-d can empower us to contain our mourning and not allow it to overwhelm our lives.

As for the concept of death itself, the Rebbe saw death not as the end of life, but as the beginning of new, loftier and a greater form of life. For the soul lives on. Indeed, when the soul is freed from the limits of the physical condition, it can express its spirituality and purity unobscured by the body.

Also: if we define life not merely as existence but as progression and achievement, a person can live beyond the point that the soul and body are parted. If those in the land of the living are spurred by his passing to do positive, constructive and G-dly deeds, than the death itself becomes a form of life.

Finally, a basic tenet of the Jewish faith is the belief that, in the age of Moshiach, those who have died will be restored to eternal life. Thus death is but a temporary hiatus before a renewed, and far greater, phase of life. Indeed, the Talmud compares death to sleep, implying that, like sleep, it is a "descent for the sake of ascent" -- a time of foment and preparation for a greater, more energized tomorrow.

Having had the opportunity to visit with the Rebbe’s wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, Mr. Jules Lassner was deeply impressed by her warmth, hospitality, and the genuine interest she took in others.

One Sunday morning, as he passed by the Rebbe to receive a dollar for charity, he summoned up the courage to say, “After meeting your wife, I understand the expression, ‘Behind every great man is a great woman!’”

The Rebbe smiled from ear to ear.

Who was the Rebbetzin, who had the unique merit of being both the daughter and the wife of saintly and world-changing rebbes?

Precious little is known about her. Not due to lack of interest, but due to her fervent desire to remain unknown.

She would rather sit at home alone, away from the community and the little family she had leftRabbi Chesed Halberstam, a personal aide to the Rebbetzin, relates that one Rosh Hashanah he asked her why she preferred to hear the shofar blown at home, alone, rather than going to “770,” the central Lubavitch synagogue where her husband prayed together with his chassidim.

She responded, “I cannot bear the fuss people make of me when I appear in public.”

Others in her position might have sought out, or at least acquiesced to receiving, the honor and respect that comes with being the wife of a rebbe. Not she.

She would rather sit at home alone, away from the community and the little family she had left, than take advantage of her status as rebbetzin and have attention drawn to herself.1

Rabbi Shmuel Lew, from London, England, recounts a story that occurred when his teenage daughter was studying in a Lubavitch school in New York. The girl’s grandfather, Mr. Zalmon Jaffe, who had a warm relationship with the Rebbetzin, mentioned to the Rebbetzin that his granddaughter had no family in New York, which would be especially difficult for her come the winter, when a family wedding would be celebrated in London and she would not attend. The Rebbetzin told him not to worry. “I will maintain contact with her, G‑d willing.”

Weeks passed, but the girl didn’t hear from the Rebbetzin. Only later was it revealed that the Rebbetzin had called her school, asking to speak to Ms. Lew. The secretary, not knowing who was on the other end of the line, said, “Sorry, but it’s our school policy not to allow phone calls.” The Rebbetzin thanked her and hung up the phone, and eventually found a different way to contact the girl.

What's amazing is that the Rebbetzin did not identify herself to the secretary—which certainly would have produced immediate results and would have spared her future hassle and effort; that was simply not her way.

Indeed, when the Rebbetzin would place grocery orders with the local vendors, she would identify herself simply as “Mrs. Schneerson from President Street.”

Her name, her address, but not her rank.

How reminiscent of a beautiful Midrash about our nation’s first rebbetzin, Tziporah the wife of Moses.

“She didn’t behave in a superior and snobbish fashion, ‘in the ways of royalty,’ but behaved simply and with humility. It was for this reason that Moses married her.”2

A Paradigm of Selflessness

For several decades the Rebbe would, in addition to all of his other exhausting duties, receive people for private audiences a few nights a week.

Sometimes he would come home at three in the morning, sometimes five, and on occasion he would return when it was already light outside.

The Rebbetzin went to extraordinary measures to ensure that her husband would come home to a haven of peaceThe Rebbetzin once told Mrs. Hadassah Carlebach, a relative of the Rebbetzin and somewhat of a confidante, that she always waited up for the Rebbe. That her husband should come home to a dark house and a cold supper to be eaten alone was simply not an option.

According to Louise Hager, who also shared a close relationship with the Rebbetzin, the Rebbetzin went to extraordinary measures to ensure that her husband would come home to a haven of peace, tranquility, and support.

This came at tremendous personal sacrifice.

Mrs. Hager observes that though the Rebbetzin was brought up in a home similar to the one she later had—one where the man of the house (her father) was totally devoted to the wellbeing of the Jewish nation—still, while growing up in Europe, she had been blessed with a large family network and support group. Not so in America, where she didn’t have much family at all, nor any children to be occupied with. So it was at great personal cost that she “gave up” her husband so that the lives of others would be improved and so that an entire world could be bettered.3

The Ultimate Sacrifice

Here again we recall Tziporah. She, too, sacrificed much of her personal relationship with her husband so that he might serve the greater community. In fact, according to our sages, she wasn’t present in Egypt when Moses’ career took off and he was inaugurated as leader of the Israelites. She didn’t have the pleasure of standing at his side when he made his debut as a prophet.

Imagine the pride she might (rightfully) have felt, had she seen her husband stand up to the tyrant Pharaoh, initiate ten historic displays of divine power, and bring freedom to a band of battered slaves!

In fact, according to one opinion,4 she wasn’t even present at Sinai, to witness her husband’s most monumental achievement—when he was singled out to deliver G‑d’s word to man, forever changing the landscape of world history!

And the ultimate sacrifice this superwoman eventually made was accepting a separation from her saintly husband, so that he might attain a higher and unprecedented level of prophecy, one referred to in the Bible as “face-to-face” prophecy.

Without her sacrifices, where would we be today?

It was in her footsteps that the Rebbetzin walked, living a life devoted to others.

Not Just “Self-Less”

“It’s a matter of life and death,” the mother pleadedIt was a winter morning in 1966, at about 3:30 a.m. The Rebbe had already left his office for home—a somewhat early night; there had been no yechidut (private audiences) that night.

Just then a woman frantically phoned the Rebbe’s secretariat saying that her little baby had just fallen and was badly hurt and in critical condition. The doctors were arguing over which procedures to perform, and she desperately needed the Rebbe’s blessing and advice.

The Rebbe’s secretary apologetically explained that it would have to wait until the morning, and that he would consult with the Rebbe first thing after he arrived.

“It’s a matter of life and death,” the mother pleaded. “I need an answer now!”

The secretary decided to dial the Rebbe’s house. If someone would answer, he would apologize for calling so late. He dialed uneasily; the Rebbetzin answered.

“Ver ret?” (“Who is talking?”)

The secretary gave his name and immediately said, “I am sorry for calling so late,” and proceeded to apologize profusely. “It’s chutzpah to call at such a late hour, but there is a lady here in desperate need. She says it is a matter of life and death . . .”

“Why are you asking forgiveness?” the Rebbetzin exclaimed. “On the contrary, my husband and I were sent to this world to serve people in need twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. By your calling us, you are helping us fulfill our mission.”

As deeply moving as the Rebbetzin’s message of sacrifice was, what strikes me most is the unassuming delivery with which it was conveyed. For not only did she completely dedicate her life to others, she said “thank you” for the opportunity. In her mind and heart, it wasn’t she who was doing a favor; it was others who were helping her fulfill her mission!5

There are many people who sacrifice of themselves for others, but how many of them don’t feel righteous about it?

The Rebbetzin’s words weren’t just selfless—where “self” remains, just “less.” They reflected an utter abnegation of self.6

Leaving Space for Others

When it came to herself, she took no credit for living an altruistic lifeMrs. Leah Kahan, a relative of the Rebbetzin, once visited her at home. On the dining room table lay an array of hand-crafted items one might find at a fundraising function. The Rebbetzin turned to Mrs. Kahan, and in a voice filled with pride said, “Look at what the shluchim and shluchot [the Rebbe’s emissaries stationed around the world] sent me.” She continued to go on about how busy and strenuous their lives are, “yet, their busy schedules notwithstanding, they have time to think about me!

“And why me? Who am I?”

At this point, Mrs. Kahan, no longer able to accept the Rebbetzin’s self-effacement, interjected and said, “Rebbetzin, don’t you know what you mean to the shluchim?”

The Rebbetzin, with a hint of a smile but slightly displeased, responded, “Leah, you’re being a bit too harsh.” As if to say, “You are not giving enough consideration to their hardships and sacrifice, and what it means for them to take time off to think about me.”

Here we are presented with the other side of the picture.

When it came to herself, she took no credit for living an altruistic life; in fact, she thanked others for “helping” her live her life for them. But when it came to others and the sacrifices that they made, her voice would swell with pride as she pointed out their merits.

Last Will and Testament

Dr. Robert Feldman was one of the Rebbetzin’s doctors.

One Friday afternoon, Dr. Feldman’s daughter Sarah visited the Rebbetzin together with her younger sister. At the time, Sarah was about to begin dating, and she utilized her time with the Rebbetzin to discuss this new and exciting stage in her life. The Rebbetzin advised her like a mother, providing her with direction and focus.

Approximately one year later, Sarah was about to get engaged to her future husband, Levi Shemtov. Her father arranged for her to visit with the Rebbetzin in order to share the good news. The meeting passed very pleasantly, and the Rebbetzin was clearly delighted.

That meeting took place a mere ten days before the Rebbetzin would pass away; unbeknownst to Sarah, the Rebbetzin was in terrible pain.

On the occasion of Sarah’s engagement, the Rebbetzin called to wish her well. Needless to say, the bride was elated.

The couple-to-be planned to visit the Rebbetzin together, but were told they’d have to wait until she felt better. Sadly, that meeting was not to be.

The night of the Rebbetzin’s passing, the 22nd of Shevat, 1988, Dr. Feldman accompanied the Rebbetzin in the ambulance to the hospital.

What was on the Rebbetzin’s mind was an hour or so before she passed away, you wonder?

The Rebbetzin, suffering terribly, did not ask Dr. Feldman, “How bad is it? Will there be a need for a procedure? What is my prognosis?”

With thoughts about the wellbeing of others, she returned her holy soul to its MakerInstead, with her last strength and not much time to live, she collected herself and asked cheerfully, “So, Doctor, how is the new couple-to-be? Are they happy?” As sirens blared outside, she didn’t stop to think about herself and her fate but continued to ask, “When is the wedding? Please tell me all about it . . .”

This is how she spent her last moments here on earth, fulfilling her mission “to serve people in need twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

With thoughts about the wellbeing of others, she returned her holy soul to its Maker.

But the story is not over.

Right after shiva, the seven-day mourning period for the Rebbetzin, the Rebbe sent for Dr. Feldman.

“Tell me, when is the engagement party?” he asked.

That wasn’t a simple question to answer. According to the original plan, the party was soon scheduled to take place, still within the first thirty days of the Rebbetzin’s passing, considered by Jewish law as a period of mourning, albeit to a lesser degree. However, to push off a happy occasion was no small matter either.

Before Dr. Feldman could answer, the Rebbe continued: “It should take place on the day it was originally scheduled for, and it should not be smaller than originally planned. In fact, it should be bigger!

“Furthermore,” the Rebbe continued—and here he departed from the guidelines he had set down regarding engagement parties, that they should take place at home and for small crowds, in order to keep expenses down—“it should not take place at home, but in a rented hall”—this was unheard of—“and there should be live music [!], and the main thing: much joy!”

The Rebbe’s tone then softened, and in a voice filled with emotion he said, “It should be done this way because this is how the Rebbetzin would have wanted it be . . . and this is what will make the Rebbetzin happy . . .”7

Apparently the Rebbetzin was keeping to her mission, fulfilled to perfection here on earth, even from her elevated place in heaven.

The Rebbe had ensured that her legacy would live on.

With grateful thanks to the Almighty, it is an honor and a privilege to be here tonight and to have the opportunity to share my precious memories of the Rebbetzin, of blessed memory.

It hardly seems possible that twenty-five years have gone by since her passing. It seems only yesterday that I was speaking with the Rebbetzin. Her voice still echoes in my ears.

The first time I was asked to speak in public about the Rebbetzin was here in New York, 22 years ago. I asked for time to think it over.

I discussed it at length with my husband, as I felt that I could not agree without first asking the Rebbe's permission. You see, I know that one of the reasons for the success our friendship, was that the Rebbetzin had complete confidence that I would never seek to make headlines out of the things we discussed in private. This had led to the development of a very close and intimate friendship, rather than a guarded and formal relationship.

The Rebbetzin had complete confidence that I would never seek to make headlines out of the things we discussed.

Much has been said about the Rebbetzin’s great dignity, intelligence, and regal bearing. Undoubtedly she possessed all these characteristics in abundance - not surprising when one looks at her ancestors and upbringing.

However, I felt that all this "greatness" had the effect of making her appear remote and somewhat too intimidating for us to relate to.

So I wrote to the Rebbe explaining that I wanted to try and remove some of the “shadows” that surrounded her and demonstrate what she really was to me a very human and loving person.

Within hours I received an answer to go ahead. And when I passed by the Rebbe at "dollars" just before I spoke, I asked for a blessing that I should do justice to the Rebbetzin. The Rebbe replied that I should have much success and added, “And every time you speak, the bond between you should grow stronger." So tonight I thank each and every one of you for being an active participant in enabling the Rebbe’s blessing to be fulfilled.

So how did this friendship begin? My family’s connection with the Rebbetzin goes back 50 years, when my father, of blessed memory, became seriously ill. All that the doctors could offer him was a new and controversial operation in Paris. Through their connection with Lubavitch in London, my parents turned to the Rebbe and came to New York for a yechidus (private audience). To this day, no one knows exactly what the Rebbe said to my father, but on the strength of the blessings and encouragement given on that occasion, and without any surgical intervention, my father made a truly miraculous recovery.

Filled with feelings of gratitude, my father returned six months later to thank the Rebbe in person. This came to the notice of the Rebbetzin, who sent a message that “if they could spare the time,” she would very much like to meet my parents when they were next in New York.

Not knowing what an intensely private person she was, they had no idea how very unusual it was to receive such an invitation.

When, a year later, they visited her, the Rebbetzin explained that she had been “intrigued” to meet them, having been so very touched that someone had actually cared enough to make a second visit - purely for the purpose of expressing their thanks to the Rebbe.

Often, when we pass through troubled times and receive help, once the crisis is over, all we want to do is to forget the whole unpleasant episode, and this often includes the very people who helped us. Memories can be most painful, and so the ideal of hakorat hatov, of expressing thanks, often goes by the wayside.

My father’s one simple action, therefore , set in train a deep and loving friendship between the Rebbetzin and our family one that continues to permeate and enrich our lives.

I was 14 years old when my parents brought me to New York for Purim. Naturally I had heard so much about the Rebbetzin, and I was so excited to meet her. I shall never forget my first impression of a truly regal, albeit tiny, figure, immaculately groomed, wearing a black Chanel-type suit and exquisite coral and gold jewellery.

She graciously led us to a beautifully set table, in the center of which stood the most magnificent cake in the shape of the walls of Jerusalem. Very proudly, she informed us that N’shei Chabad had presented this cake as shalach manot, a Purim gift. The Rebbetzin never missed an opportunity to speak with fondness and great admiration of “our ladies.”

The Rebbetzin never missed an opportunity to speak with fondness and great admiration of “Our Ladies”.

At that stage of my life, my main preoccupation was with obtaining and consuming all the sweet things I could lay my hands on! Becoming more and more overweight in the process and weighing almost 200lbs, I was driving my mother to distraction!

So, you can just imagine my delight when, as soon as I had devoured my first piece of cake, the Rebbetzin promptly put an even bigger piece on my plate, and my poor mother could only sit by and look on helplessly!

However, the Rebbetzin knew exactly what she was doing, because as soon as I was satisfied she slowly and skilfully asked me about my life. Which were my favorite subjects in school? What were my hobbies? And so on. She seemed so genuinely interested in all the facets of my life that I immediately felt at ease. Indeed one of her most outstanding characteristics, something she had very much in common with the Rebbe, was the ability to relate to whomever she was with, whatever their age or their circumstances.

Not having previously been a very keen student, I found myself, for the first time, motivated to impress someone. I came away from that meeting having gained a new aim in life: to try to give the Rebbetzin nachas.

I started writing to her regularly, keeping her in touch with everything that I was doing. And even though I did not see her again for another six years when I came back to New York with my husband, the Rebbetzin became a major figure in my life.

After we were married, and as the children were born, she would play an active and pivotal role in our everyday existence, as in addition to writing, I was telephoning her at least once a week. Over the years, the Rebbetzin came to take the place of the grandmothers I did not have the privilege to know. I came to regard her as such – something of which she was very much aware and which, I believe, gave her great pleasure.

Although she was a woman in her seventies and eighties when I knew her, I would value her practical advice on just about everything. From the children’s education, to household matters, to fashion, as she was truly a woman of our times and very much of this world, sharing with the Rebbe the rare attribute of being a “ladder standing on the earth, whose head reached the heavens.” –Whilst her ideals and spirit were on an altogether higher plane, her feet were nevertheless planted firmly on the ground. During my early visits to New York, concerned that I shouldn’t pay inflated prices, she would say, “Go look in Manhattan, and then come back and buy in Brooklyn!”

And just like so many of us bubbies, she would show her love with food! Sending me home on a Thursday night with two Boston cream pies for Shabbat because she remembered that one of the children had liked it. And giving me six boxes of chocolates for my father’s 70th birthday, because as she said, “we so want to be part of the celebration.” And I was forever struck that for the Rebbetzin, a relationship was not for what she could get out of it – but rather, what she could put into it.

My husband traveled regularly to New York on business and he would visit the Rebbetzin often, but I was occupied with the children and so could only visit occasionally. Yet, each moment that I was able to spend with her was so precious, an opportunity to gain so much, hearing her talk of the years growing up in Russia and later on her life with the Rebbe in Europe. And looking together at pictures taken at those times.

It was also a chance for me to voice my concerns. In particular, when our children were small, the Rebbe was in the process of encouraging us women to go out and talk about candle lighting, keeping a kosher home and family purity. At the time I just couldn’t bring myself to do this. I felt terribly inadequate. And I could not even blame the famous English reserve, as many of my friends were indeed participating with great success. All I seemed capable of was the apparently mundane and unexciting daily routine of being a wife and mother.

When I discussed this with the Rebbetzin, she would say, “But Louise, I don’t understand the problem. I know you love having people in your home. When they come and share a Shabbat or Jewish holiday with you and see a Jewish family proud and natural with their tradition - who knows how their lives will be touched? And you never know, perhaps one day you will be able to do other things as well?”

In this way, she led me to re-assess the value of what I had come to take for granted as ordinary, making me realize that everything is built upon the home and its strong foundations, whilst at the same time leaving the way open for me to aspire to wider achievements. I learned from the Rebbetzin that the important thing is to be at peace with whatever one’s stage of life is at, giving it one’s all, whilst being receptive to the opportunities that arise.

Over the years whenever I have spoken, this point seems to resonate very strongly, with many women telling me that they too are in awe of those who are outwardly more active, but they have been tremendously encouraged at hearing the of importance that the Rebbetzin placed on being a devoted wife and a good mother.

To say that I was a slow developer is something of an understatement, but opportunities do arise and people do change, and the fact that I have been able to come out of my comfort zone, is very much due to the Rebbetzin’s words of wisdom and foresight, and the incredible and unwavering support of my beloved husband, of blessed memory.

And tonight I have the opportunity to fulfill a task that hasn’t come easily to me. At the last private meeting that I had with the Rebbe, out of the blue, or so it seemed to me, he said that I should learn Maimonides' Sefer Hamitzvot every day and should encourage other ladies to do so too. Apart from my nearest and dearest, I must confess that I have had limited success in doing this, something which has bothered me considerably. I could not then have imagined that some 26 years later, I would be standing here before so many incredible women and be able to pass on this request from the Rebbe. And I thank the Almighty for His guiding hand.

It became more and more obvious as I got to know her better what a vital role the Rebbetzin played in the Rebbe’s life.

It became more and more obvious as I got to know her better what a vital role the Rebbetzin played in the Rebbe’s life. The downstairs study of their home was full of newspapers and periodicals in several languages – Hebrew. English, Yiddish, German, French and Russian. It was the Rebbetzin who scoured these papers to bring to the Rebbe’s attention the latest news and world developments. In today’s terms, she was his “Google.”

The Rebbetzin would always refer to the Rebbe simply as “my husband.” She would always speak about “…how WE do such and such…or WE like to do…” And every time she spoke about the Rebbe, particularly in connection with his many innovative achievements, her eyes would light up and her face would glow with pride. This somehow seemed so natural and brought home to me the fact that theirs was a bond in the truest and most profound sense.

Indeed, when she passed away, and someone mentioned to the Rebbe that he had heard that the Rebbetzin had been an outstanding wife, the Rebbe unhesitatingly replied, “That is an understatement! and continued, “in my opinion, no estimation does her justice – G‑d alone knows her true qualities.”

In January 1984 my relationship with the Rebbetzin was cemented and intensified further. Following injuries sustained in a fall, the Rebbetzin was in great pain and hardly seeing anyone. Over the years she had shown such constant concern for all of us that I wanted to do something, anything, to show my love for her. But what could I realistically do from such a distance?

Then I had an idea. I phoned and told her that I had no other reason to come to New York at that time, but I would come on my own if she would see me. There was an audible gasp on the other end of the line. She said, “You would come just for me.” And I repeated, “Only for you.” I could hear her smiling!

I had imagined that I would stay for only hour or so as she was weak, but to my surprise, lunch was served for us both, and before I looked round almost five hours had gone by. The next day followed much the same pattern.

I made two more of these two-day trips to New York, one of them ten days before Rosh Hashanah. The Rebbetzin couldn’t get over the fact that a housewife could get away from home at such a busy time. I assured her that everything was under control, with the freezer full. But that wasn’t enough!

She wanted to know exactly what I had prepared and when did I intend to serve this or that and which meals we were having guests? No detail was too insignificant for her to be involved with.

The last time I was with the Rebbetzin was but a few days before she passed away. Although there was much happening at the time in London, and it was difficult for me to get away, I felt some sort of inexplicable sense of urgency that forced me to make the journey without delay. With hindsight I now see that visit as having been rather different from all the others in many ways. What stands out uppermost in my memory is the way in which I took my leave of her.

Since she had been unwell, I had always kissed her goodbye and she would remain seated. This time was different. It had started snowing and as I was getting into the car, I looked up. To my surprise, the Rebbetzin had come to the window. I shall never forget that scene, the snow falling gently, the Rebbetzin, a regal yet frail figure, framed in the window, waving goodbye. That picture stayed in my mind all the way home, and I felt somewhat uneasy and disturbed by it.

I leave you to imagine my reaction when, a few days later, I received the terrible news of her passing. I did manage to get to New York in time to participate in the funeral. I could not believe that this was actually happening. All I could think of was that, thank G-d, at least I was able to carry out this last mitzvah for someone I loved so very much.

The whole family felt as though we had lost a limb. No more phone calls, no more personal contact. And, of course, the inevitable questions: Why hadn’t we discussed this or that, when we’d had the opportunity?

Our lives would never be the same again.

But I would like to conclude on a positive note.

In true grandmotherly fashion, the Rebbetzin was always concerned for our wellbeing. After every meeting or letter that we wrote to the Rebbe, she would ask, “Did you get what you wanted from my husband?”

Just a year before she passed away we were considering moving homes. My husband wrote a letter putting down the pros and cons and asking for the Rebbe’s advice. The Rebbe answered, “Kirzoin zugosoi shetichyeh, shehi akeres habais," You should do as your wife wishes ,as she is the mainstay in the home.”

The Rebbetzin of course knew of the proposed move and when we next spoke I told her that the Rebbe’s reply was not what I had expected! Such was the closeness between us that it seemed natural for me to speak so openly. I said “I can not make this decision, it is too big. Please tell the Rebbe - I need him to tell me YES or NO”!

I can still hear her spontaneous laughter as she responded, “Bravo, bravo!" This was an expression she often used to show her agreement. ”Bravo, bravo - if my husband says you can do it, you can do it!”

”Bravo, bravo - if my husband says you can do it, you can do it!”

Dear friends, we often tend to think that a blessing or an answer is given for a specific question or time. But we should know that there is no expiry date and sometimes it is even more relevant years later.

So this response, given to me by the Rebbe and endorsed by the Rebbetzin, over a quarter of a century ago has been a source of great encouragement on many occasions over the years.

And when, almost two years ago my world was suddenly turned upside down, these words give me tremendous comfort and strength on a constant basis.

And whilst many of the Rebbe’s answers are given to an individual, they are often relevant to others too. The underlying message of that blessing is the Rebbe and Rebbetzin’s deep, deep belief in the potential of each and every one of us to grow and develop, in our own unique and individual way, overcoming the various challenges we face.

And to every Shluchah and everyone involved in shlichus work.

As ”women at the forefront” your ability to change the world for good, and hasten what we all pray for, the coming of Moshiach speedily is limitless. I salute you all!

FOOTNOTES

1.Indeed, most chassidim did not even know what the Rebbetzin looked like (especially in the later years). Hence the following story I heard: After the Rebbe initiated his Candle-Lighting Campaign, with the aim of encouraging Jewish women of all backgrounds to light Shabbat candles, a group of Lubavitch students out campaigning approached a woman and asked her whether she lit Shabbat candles. Little did they know that they had approached the wife of the campaign’s initiator . . .

2.Paraphrased from Midrash Hagadol, Numbers 12:1. Amazingly, to the best of my knowledge, this is the only explicit mention of a reason for any Biblical marriage!

3.About the Rebbetzin it can perhaps be said, echoing the words of Rabbi Akiva to his thousands of students regarding his wife, “Your Torah and mine are all to her credit” (Talmud, Ketubot 63a).

4.Ibn Ezra on Exodus 18:1.

5.The Rebbetzin’s words recall the words of the Mishnah: “If you have studied a lot of Torah, don’t take credit—for that is the reason for which you were created” (Ethics of the Fathers 2:8).

6.Hadassah Carlebach once mentioned to the Rebbetzin how impressed she was that the Rebbe stands for hours and gives out dollars to be given for charity. The Rebbetzin simply responded, “Today, this is what the chassidim need, and so this is what my husband gives.”

7.Subsequently, the families of the bride and groom received further directives from the Rebbe encouraging them to serve food on china, etc.!

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Feature

Death by Secrets

By Tzvi Freeman and Yehuda Shurpin

We’ve explained why midrash and aggadah are so vital to our Torah diet. We’ve explained that these stories speak to us from a higher plane of reality. And we’ve also demonstrated that even if you don’t get it, you still do get it—meaning that you’ve still got truth even if you’re clueless to the meaning inside.

We’ve also provided some guidelines to determine whether a story is an anecdote or a parable. Now, let’s take a test case. Let’s look at a story of the Talmud and see what’s meant literally, what’s meant to point to something deeper, and how it could be true for everyone on their level.

Practically Speaking

One of the giveaway signs of down-to-earth literalness is practical application.

Aside from context, one of the giveaway signs of down-to-earth literalness is practical application. If you see a story cited in the determination of a halachah—what to do and what not to do—you know that at least the relevant details must stay tied down to the ground.

Here’s an example. First, the Talmud presents us an opinion on a very practical matter:1

Rabbah taught, “A man is obligated to get drunk on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai.’”

Fine so far. But then the Talmud proceeds with a relevant anecdote:

Rabbah and Rabbi Zeira held their Purim feast together. They became drunk. Rabbah got up and slaughtered Rabbi Zeira. The next day, Rabbah pleaded for divine mercy, and brought Rabbi Zeira back to life. A year passed, and Rabbah said to Rabbi Zeira, “Come, let us hold the Purim feast together!” Rabbi Zeira replied, “Miracles don’t happen every day.”2

In this case, I guarantee this is not meant to be taken at face value. Rabbah was one of the star sages and respected teachers of the Talmud, well-known for his righteousness. That is implicit in the story itself: if you or I would “plead for divine mercy,” do you think we would be successful at bringing our victim back to life?

Besides, if this were a compulsive behavior issue, would Rabbi Zeira have no concern other than the unlikelihood of a repeat resurrection? How about “I’d feel safer celebrating with someone a tad less bloodthirsty”? And what about Rabbah? He seems to have felt no remorse whatsoever for his recklessness—on the contrary, he’s quite gung-ho about doing the whole thing again.

So, we’re out to find some clues to the deeper meaning of this story. Maybe they weren’t really drunk? Maybe Rabbah didn’t really murder Rabbi Zeira? Maybe these are just allegories with some spiritual meaning?

But not so fast: Think of what this story is out to tell us. Quite obviously, that there are still limits to drinking, even on Purim. Some people just shouldn’t get drunk (or drink at all). After all, the entire story comes framed within the context of the halachah preceding it. In fact, several classic halachic authorities take the anecdote as the Talmud’s rejection of Rabbah’s teaching—better not to get drunk, lest you murder your colleagues and find yourself incapable of resurrecting them.3

That’s the rule of thumb we’re talking about, mentioned by Ramban and others: As soon as you see a practical, halachic application within a story, you know there’s some relevant details here with which you cannot tamper.4

Internally, as well, the story resists a non-literal interpretation: If Rabbah didn’t really kill Rabbi Zeira, then how could he resurrect him? And if he didn’t really resurrect him, then what is Rabbi Zeira’s concern about non-repetitive miracles?

Death by secrets

What we appear to be dealing with in this case is a real-life anecdote told in figurative terms.

What we appear to be dealing with in this case is a real-life anecdote told in figurative terms. Rabbah and Rabbi Zeira were drunk, but not from the wine; and Rabbah slaughtered Rabbi Zeira, but not with a slaughtering knife. Everything was good, very good—to the point that Rabbah was ready to go it again. Just not something that us amateurs should attempt without clinical supervision.

”When wine enters,” the Talmud tells us, “secrets come out.” Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, in his classic Shnei Luchot ha-Brit, describes how great sages and holy men would consume much wine and celebrate—and the channels of their mind would open so that the deepest secrets of the Torah would flow out of their mouths.5 He cites stories of the Talmud to this effect.6 Rabbi Chaim ibn Attar, in his commentary to the Torah, Ohr ha-Chaim, describes how it was these secrets that emerged through the drinking of wine that carried Nadav and Avihu, the two sons of Aaron, to death as their souls departed from their bodies in ecstatic divine love.

Now, Rabbah was able to imbibe these secrets and remain alive, as his name implies: rab means “great.” But Rabbi Zeira could not contain such intense light: ze’ir means “small.” So Rabbah’s sharing of mystical secrets created such a great thirst for divine union in Rabbi Zeira’s soul that it departed, and his body was left dead. 7 The next day is no longer Purim—no longer a day for escaping all bounds and limitations, but a day for fulfilling your purpose down here on earth inside a physical body—so Rabbah dutifully resurrects his colleague.

The next year, Rabbah had no regrets, and was ready to perform the same clinical procedure on Rabbi Zeira once again—take him for a ride up to heaven and back again the next morning. Or perhaps he figured Rabbi Zeira had enough time to also attain a higher level, and would be able to hang in there.

But Rabbi Zeira, being a humble man, was not so sure. Certainly, he desired with all his soul to attain such divine ecstasy once again, to escape his body and return, to have both heaven and earth in a single 24 hours. But perhaps this time his soul would not be willing to return—or perhaps this time Rabbah would not be capable of a repeat of last year’s miracle. Ultimately, after all, we fulfill our purpose of being while alive on this earth.

Whatever the case, the lesson remains the same: Don’t get carried away with your wine, no matter its substance.

Whatever the case, the lesson remains the same: Don’t get carried away with your wine, no matter its substance. Keep your feet on the ground. If you know you’re the type to be easily carried away when drinking, avoid it altogether.

Only that now the message reaches to many more echelons of society, to each person on his own level—the spiritual mystic with his Zohar, and the teenager with his friends at a party. The teenage drinkers would likely not be too impressed by Rabbi Zeira’s ecstatic expiration of the soul. And even if they were, it’s not really something you want to start talking about with them—who knows, they’ll probably want to try it for themselves.

So, the beautiful woman of secrets peeks out from a small window, concealing what needs to be concealed from the the passerby on the street while revealing what needs to be revealed to the wise-hearted seeker. Each takes what he needs to take, and leaves behind what does not belong to him as of yet.

Rabbi Yehuda Shurpin responds to questions for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.

FOOTNOTES

1. On the following, see Likkutei Sichot, vol. 31, pp. 177ff (Purim 2).

2. Talmud, Megillah 7b.

3. Ran and Sefer ha-Ma’or in the name of Rabbi Efraim; cited in Beit Yosef, Bayit Chadash, Turei Zahav and Yad Efraim, Orach Chaim 695. The Shulchan Aruch ibid., however, preserves the statement of Rabbah as halachically binding.

4. Torat ha-Adam, Sha’ar ha-Gemul (in Kitvei Ramban [ed. Chavel], II:285).

5. Shaloh, Shaar ha-Otiyot.

6. Talmud, Sanhedrin 38a, top; Shabbat 67b, concerning Rabbi Akiva. See other instances cited in Shaloh ibid.

7. The term “slaughtered” is also significant. Before slaughtering, an animal is not kosher. Slaughtering raises it to that state. So too, Rabbi Zeira’s “slaughtering” was an elevation to a higher state.

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Your Questions

Not Keeping Promises

By Rosally Saltsman

Dear Rachel,

I am a person who tries very hard to keep her word and be punctual. But I am constantly aggravated, frustrated and inconvenienced by people who don’t keep appointments, show up on time, pay on time or keep their promises. I feel so hurt and disappointed that these people don’t seem to respect me or my time. Please help me find a solution!

What’s the Good Word

Dear What’s the Good Word,

I hear you. It can be very aggravating when people are inconsiderate and don’t understand how that affects us.

The Torah mandates that we keep our word. It also tells us not to take a vow lightly. In Exodus 23:7 we are told, “Distance yourself from a false word,” which means that we have to be very careful that It can be very aggravating when people are inconsiderateour words are not only true, but also don’t contain a trace of falsehood. As King David says, “I hate every path of falsehood.”1 Many have the custom to say “bli neder” (without a vow) or “b’ezrat Hashem” (with G‑d’s help) when making a promise, because ultimately it’s up to G‑d whether our plans work out or not.

In Judaism, there are only very limited circumstances in which one is permitted to lie for the sake of peace. (As in, “Doesn’t my wife look gorgeous?” “Oh, yes, lovely!”) But what you’re talking about doesn’t fall into that category. On the contrary, these untruths are causing conflict and eroding the trust in your relationships.

Judaism also values every moment of life. If it comes down to it, one is permitted to transgress every law in the Torah, except three cardinal ones, in order to prolong someone’s life for even one minute. Since every moment is precious, G‑d doesn’t want you to waste your time, and certainly not that of someone else.

That said, we can’t control other people. We can control only ourselves. So, let me offer you a few suggestions of how to deal with these recurring situations:

Be exemplary. If you are always on time and keep your word, people will be more likely to follow your example. Make it your special mitzvah to live your life with total integrity.

Be forgiving. People may have the best intentions, but sometimes things do come up. Acts of G‑d don’t refer only to tornadoes and hurricanes; a traffic jam is also an act of G‑d.

A traffic jam is also an act of G‑d

Protect yourself. If a person disappoints you multiple times, you may be training him or her to treat you that way. So, as much as possible, avoid people who are bound to let you down. Choose whom you want to deal with and how you want to interact with them.

Be realistic. If a relationship or partnership is too valuable to give up, be realistic about what to expect. If a friend constantly lets you down, don’t expect next time to be different; take any promise with a grain of salt. But if you want to maintain the relationship, don’t harp on the person’s failures, and create contingency plans in case promises don’t materialize.

Adopt coping strategies. If a person is pathologically late and often keeps you waiting for half an hour, bring something to do while you wait, or don’t rush to be on time.

Be honest and straightforward. Explain to the other person the extent to which his or her behavior bothers you, and lay down some consequences if the behavior continues. Then make sure to follow through with your consequences, if necessary. Perhaps you could offer a kind of exchange: you’ll make an effort to improve in one area if the other person works on this area.

Since the Torah cautions us to distance ourselves from falsehood, it is up to us to make sure that we are in situations and relationships with people who honor that precept as well. So, while I would advise you to be a bit more tolerant of friends who tend to be 10 minutes late, people who perpetually don’t keep their word should be kept at arm’s length. People who don’t keep their word will often prevent you from keeping yours.

You mention feeling hurt and disrespected, which makes me feel that you take this flaw in others very personally. For the most part, when people don’t live up to their word, it’s a reflection of some weakness in them, not you. It’s their inability to plan their time wisely, their tendency to get When people don’t live up to their word, it’s a reflection of some weakness in them, not youdistracted, or their fear of saying no. So, try not to take their actions personally, or ascribe meanings that aren’t necessarily true. You are, after all, the master of your own happiness, so you can choose to give people the benefit of the doubt and interpret their actions in the best possible light.

There’s one final point I want to make, which in no way contradicts everything I’ve said until now. We live in extremely stressful times, with tremendous demands on every moment of our lives. This stress can compromise our physical and mental health. So, while we have to be mindful of wasting time, there’s a benefit to being more easygoing. Sometimes, someone who is late or does not keep commitments is not inconsiderate, but rather has a more relaxed and easygoing personality. A person’s pace is very much an inborn characteristic, and while we appreciate others trying to keep step with us, it’s not a bad idea to sometimes just go with the flow and march to the other person’s drummer.

May your time always be well and contentedly spent!

All the best,

Rachel

Rosally Saltsman is a freelance writer originally from Montreal living in Israel.

FOOTNOTES

1. Psalms 119:104.

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Your Questions

How Do I Get My Children to Appreciate Their heritage?

By Bronya Shaffer

Question:

How do I get my kids to have a greater love of G‑d and belief in Him? And, do you have any suggestions how to make Shabbat more special for them?

Answer:

This is something that parents have struggled with for thousands of years, so don’t feel it’s something unique to you or your children.

Often when we have something truly valuable, we take it for granted. And when children grow up with advantages—whether they are material or spiritual—those advantages lose value as they are taken for granted. We seem to yearn for and desire what we don’t have, even while being immune to the intrinsic value of what we do possess.

I’ll share a short anecdote with you: For many years, while my children were young, I’d spend my summers in a small community of friends and neighbors out of the city. Every Friday I’d give out little trinkets to the little girls—plastic bracelets or necklaces, stick-on earrings, that kind of stuff—to make their Shabbat beautiful. Among the little girls was one whose parents were in the precious jewelry business, and one summer she appeared with beautiful little diamonds in her ears. Imagine our chuckles when this little girl went crying to her mother that she wanted to discard her diamond earrings because she wanted to get the plastic, glittery stick-ons!

I often think of this little girl . . . we are so often in that place. We have diamonds in our possession, but we’re attracted to the glitter of the plastic.

So, how do we make our children recognize the diamonds we give them at birth? It’s an ongoing, and sometimes not easy, task.

(First, let me point out that there is a great deal of literature on this subject, how to make Judaism exciting and fun. There are also websites that children can visit towards this end—start here.)

But at home, the most important thing is modeling. Modeling for our children our own attachment to, and reverence for, the Torah. They see your love for it, they see how you live by its rules, they see your pleasure, and sometimes even frustration—that’s okay, too. They hear phrases like “thank G‑d,” “with G‑d’s help” and “G‑d willing.” They hear you dialogue with G‑d—like, “I don’t understand why this is happening, G‑d, but You’re the ruler.” Along those lines . . .

When you create enhancement for a mitzvah . . . getting a really nice mezuzah case in order to be able to say to your child: a mezuzah is holy, so I want to put it in something really beautiful. Or, when preparing Shabbat, they hear you saying out loud, “Ah, beautiful holy Shabbat—I hope this soup comes out really delicious.” I’m sure you get my drift.

And then, stories. All kinds of stories, depending on the ages of children.

Realize that none of the above can be expected to suddenly create within the child love for and belief in G‑d—it is a process. And ultimately, the goal is not to have G‑d-fearing children, but to raise a child who’s been inundated with your own feelings and actions, and who will grow up to look back on a childhood where this was a pleasurable part of his growing up: a child who will grow up to be a G‑d-fearing adult.

With regards to Shabbat, what helps a great deal is the “special” stuff of Shabbat: nice clothes and, especially, good food. For children—and adults too!—this makes Shabbat special. If they’re not old enough to appreciate “nice” clothes, find nevertheless some special item of clothing that they love, and designate it for Shabbat. Do that as well with food: get some treats, and they are called “Shabbat treats”; books that they love that are read solely on Shabbat; toys and activities that they enjoy which are marked “Special for Shabbat.” Just like your candlesticks and kiddush cup, the children have their “Shabbat Only” items. Make them desirable and attractive.

Of course, the above could get costly. Keep in mind that all of our financial sustenance is predetermined by G‑d at the start of every year. And we’re taught that the expenditures for Shabbat and Jewish holidays—nice clothes, delicious and plentiful food, etc.—is not included in the accounting of what we’ll earn. That means that whether we spend more or less, it will not impact our final earnings. It’s a nice thought to consider while in Toys-R-Us seeking those special Shabbat toys . . .

See also How do we add a special ambiance to our Shabbat meals?

Bronya Shaffer for Chabad.org

Mrs. Bronya Shaffer is a noted globetrotting lecturer on Jewish women's issues, and serves as a personal counselor and mentor for women, couples and adolescents. Mrs. Shaffer, a responder for Chabad.org’s Ask the Rabbi service, lives with her ten children in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.

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Story

The Lawsuit

By Yanki Tauber

One Friday afternoon a man knocked on the door of Rabbi Yizchak Aizik, rabbi of Vitebsk. “Rabbi, I have a din Torah (a matter of litigation),” he said. “I request that you hear my case and hand down a ruling.”

“The truth is,” said the rabbi, “that I’m quite busy now with preparations for Shabbat. Perhaps you and your litigant can come after Shabbat, and I’ll hear you both out.”

“I’m a melamed (teacher),” said the man, “who teaches children from morning to night. The only time I’m free is on Friday afternoons.”

“Very well,” said Rabbi Yizchak Aizik, “I’ll hear your case now. But we must summon your litigant. It is forbidden for me to hear your arguments without his being present.”

“He is present,” said the man. “My din Torah is with G‑d.”

“Okay,” said Rabbi Yizchak Aizik, after a long pause. “Come into the beit din1 and I’ll hear your case.”

Said the melamed: “G‑d has blessed me with a daughter, who has now reached marriageable age. But I have not a kopek in my pocket—no money for clothes or wedding expenses, much less a dowry. My claim is that G‑d is legally obligated to provide for my daughter’s wedding.”

“What is your basis for such a claim?” asked Rabbi Yitzchak Aizik.

“The Torah states, ‘There are three partners to a person: his father, mother and G‑d.’2 Two of the partners are paupers, but the third partner is, by His own attestation, quite wealthy: does He not declare, ‘Mine is the silver, Mine is the gold’3? It is therefore the duty of the rich partner to assume the expenditures of our joint endeavor.”

The rabbi retreated to his study to check the relevant sources and ponder the case. After a while, he emerged with his verdict. “The melamed is in the right,” he declared. “The Almighty is duty-bound, by Torah law, to provide for the young woman’s marriage.”

When the melamed neared home, he saw a luxurious coach pulling away from his dilapidated hut. “You won’t believe what just happened,” said his wife, the moment he came through the door. “Some nobleman was here with his wife. The lady has it in her mind that someone has given her the evil eye, and heard that the melamed’s wife knows the proper charms to ward it off. I did as she asked, and when the nobleman asked me how much he should pay me, I named the sum we need for the dowry and wedding expenses. Without a word, the man put the money on the table and left.”

Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.

Illustration: Detail from a painting by Chassidic artist Hendel Lieberman.

FOOTNOTES

1. The room set aside for conducting din Torahs; usually the rabbi’s study, or an anteroom in the synagogue.

2. Talmud, Kiddushin 30b.

3. Haggai 2:8.

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The Rebbe

“Name Him Yosef Yitzchak”

Dr. Yechiel Lasri

My family immigrated to Israel from Ksar Souk, Morocco. We are Sephardi Jews of rich ancestry, and this is why, when I was about ten, I began to wonder about an unusual picture that hung on the wall of our home. Our Sephardi neighbors typically decorated their walls with portraits of Sephardi tzaddikim—usually arrayed in turbans and robes—but we had a picture of a bearded man in a black hat, a suit and a tie.

One time I asked my mother about him, and she told me this story:

Many years earlier—this was in the early 1950s, after the birth of my older brother Shmuel and sister Simcha—she became pregnant again. It was a normal pregnancy, nine months, and a normal birth in the local hospital. But a half-hour after the birth, the baby died.

When I was about ten, I began to wonder about an unusual picture that hung on the wall of our home.

When this happened the first time, the family was very upset, of course. When it happened a second time, they were shocked. But when it happened a third time, they began to panic.

And then my mother became pregnant again. During the pregnancy, she consulted with specialists and with rabbis. The doctors said that there was no health problem—that this pregnancy was completely normal, just as the others had been, and that they had no idea at all what could be wrong. Then one of the rabbis in our city, Rabbi Rachamim Lasri—a relative of our family, from whom I also learned aleph-beit in school before I immigrated to Israel—suggested that she turn to the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

At that time the Rebbe’s name was famous throughout Morocco because of the emissaries he had sent, some of whom our family was acquainted with. So, it was decided that Rabbi Lasri should write to the Rebbe.

It was a normal pregnancy. But a half-hour after the birth, the baby died. This happened three times.

My mother told me that Rabbi Lasri took this very seriously—he first immersed in the mikvah and then he sat down to write a letter to the Rebbe, relating our family’s story.

Shortly, there came a response. The Rebbe said that the mezuzah of the house, as well as my father’s tefillin, should be checked to assure that they are kosher. Whatever is wrong with them should be fixed; my parents should give charity; and, with G‑d’s help, everything would turn out well and a boy would be born. He made only one small request: “If possible, could the child be named after my father-in-law, the Previous Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak.”

Of course, the Rebbe’s response was greeted with great joy. The mezuzah of the house was checked and, indeed, it needed to be fixed, as did my father’s tefillin, and everyone hoped for the best.

Yosef Yitzchak Lasri

This time the pregnancy ended well. A healthy baby boy was born on August 21, 1957, and he survived.

But when it came to naming the baby, the family faced a dilemma that they hadn’t foreseen: There had been a highly revered rabbi in our city, Rabbi Yechiel Dahan, and my mother’s best friend had dreamt about him. In the dream, she saw him coming to my mother and putting a son into her arms. Everyone considered this to be a sign from above, and many in the family thought the child should be named Yechiel after Rabbi Dahan.

Things got even more complicated when my father revealed that he had committed to name the baby Shimon after Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. My father was a member of a group which would study the Zohar every night after the evening prayers. Some years before, my father had resolved that if he would have a healthy boy, he would name him after the Zohar’s author.

Indeed, two years later, my younger brother was born, and he was named Yosef Yitzchak.

After much debate—whether to name the baby after Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak, after Rabbi Yechiel Dahan, or after Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai—a conclusion was reached. The honor of the local community was paramount, so I was named Yechiel Shimon.

The family wrote to the Rebbe to explain, and his response was: “You did the right thing to honor your community. G‑d willing, you will have another son, and I ask that you name him Yosef Yitzchak.”

Indeed, two years later, my younger brother was born, and he was named Yosef Yitzchak.

This is the story my mother told me when I asked about the unusual picture on the wall of our house—the picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. My mother now lives in Ashdod, Israel, and to this day the Rebbe’s picture hangs proudly in her living room.

http://www.chabad.org/2432505

Dr. Yechiel Lasri is an Israeli physician and politician who currently serves as the mayor of Ashdod, Israel. He was interviewed in November 2011.

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Art

The Rebbetzin

By Bentzion Elisha

Digital Retouching and Art Utilizing Photoshop and Lightroom

Artist’s Statement: Every holy man has a holy woman behind him, and the Rebbetzin was the holy woman behind the Rebbe. This royal daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, and wife of the Rebbe was described as “indescribable” even by her own husband, the Rebbe, who commented after her passing that only G‑d knows of her true greatness.

In her famous signature of modesty, we have only a few glimpses to her likeness. The most famous one is a cropped picture taken of her at a wedding reception. I felt this wrinkled old picture deserved a little more attention to highlight this great woman. This is a creative suggestion of how she might have looked in her youth, based on the original black-and-white image.

Rabbi Bentzion Elisha is an award-winning chassidic photographer and writer, based in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, New York, where he resides with his family.

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Art

Mishpatim Art

By Ahuva Klein

Artist’s Statement: The Eved Ivri goes free.

Ahuva Klein is an artist and teacher living in Israel. Her artwork, which is primarily Biblical and Judaic, has been exhibited in Israel and abroad.

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Cooking

Lemon Garlic Salmon

By Miriam Szokovski

I am not a fish eater, but a friend of mine makes this recipe and I've watched it being devoured by her family and guests numerous times, so I feel confident sharing it with all of you.

You'll need fresh lemons, oil, salt, black pepper, fresh garlic and scallions. You do need fresh lemons and fresh garlic - since those are the primary flavors, replacing them with garlic powder or store-bought lemon juice will significantly alter the taste.

You'll also need a side of salmon with the skin on. Place the salmon, skin-side-down, on a baking sheet. Combine the lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper in a bowl and pour over the salmon. (I juiced about 5 lemons for 1 cup of juice, but of course it will depend on the size of your lemons and how ripe they are.) Chop the garlic and scallions and sprinkle them over the salmon.

Broil on high for about 30 minutes. Cook for less time if you prefer it less charred. Serve with salad, or mashed potatoes, or anything else that goes with fish (ya'all would probably know that better than me, with the no-fish thing and all).

Easily serves 20 people. In fact, a side of salmon is a great way to cook when you're not sure exactly how many people to expect, since it's not portioned into exact pieces.

Ingredients

1 side of salmon, deboned, with skin on

1 cup fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup oil

1 Tbsp. salt

1 tsp. black pepper

20 large cloves of garlic, chopped

6-8 scallions

Directions

Place salmon skin side down on a baking tray.

Combine the lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper and pour over salmon.

Sprinkle the garlic and scallions over the salmon.

Broil on high for approximately 30 minutes. (Slightly less if you prefer it less charred.)

Enjoy!

Miriam Szokovski is the author of historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She enjoys tinkering with recipes, and teaches cooking classes to young children. Miriam shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher and in the N'shei Chabad Newsletter.

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Jewish News

After Diligent Search, Burial of Former 'John Doe' Proves a Mitzvah

By Menachem Posner

Jeffrey Gollinger's few remaining possessions. The only possible clue to his identity, other than his name, was a Chanukah guide that he had kept.

Rabbi Yosef Wolvovsky traveled an hour each way on Jan. 10 to perform a graveside funeral for a man he had never met. Eight of the other nine men present that Friday morning were in a similar position.

But duty called, and the group rose to the occasion.

“It all began earlier in the week,” explains Wolvovsky, who co-directs the Chabad Jewish Center of Glastonbury, Conn., with his wife, Yehudis. “I was in the office of Dr. Steven Rafalowsky, a friend with whom I study Torah and put on tefillin. All of a sudden, I start getting calls and urgent text messages from my colleague, Rabbi Levi Schectman, who serves as Chabad on Campus rabbi at Wesleyan University, about 15 miles away from Glastonbury. Someone had passed away, and it seemed urgent.”

After excusing himself and calling Schectman, Wolvovsky learned that a man named Jeffrey Gollinger, 72, had passed away in a nearby hospital. A long-term resident at the Twin Maples Health Care Facility—a nursing home in Durham, Conn.—Gollinger suffered from physical and mental handicaps, and had no known relatives.

The staff knew that he was Jewish and that a rabbi visited occasionally, but had no instructions for burial and didn’t know the rabbi’s name or whereabouts. Left with no recourse, they were in the process of turning his body over to the state.

While looking through his meager possessions, they discovered a Chanukah guide published by Shlomo Lakein of the Crown-Heights, N.Y., based Outreach Publishing Corp. and distributed by the Chabad yeshivah in New Haven, Conn. Hoping to find the rabbi, they called the number on the pamphlet. They reached Rabbi Yosef Lustig, principal of the high school division. Since the school distributes hundreds of such publications tucked into menorah kits every year, he had no idea who brought Gollinger that particular flier.

Gollinger—a long-term resident at the Twin Maples nursing home in Durham, Conn., who suffered from physical and mental handicaps—had no known relatives.

Using Chabad.org's Chabad center locator, Lustig determined that the closest Chabad center was Schectman’s and gave him a call. Since Schectman’s primary work is with university students, he quickly contacted Wolvovsky, hoping that perhaps he was the rabbi in question or would otherwise know how to care for Gollinger’s remains.

A Sacred Obligation

In Judaism, caring for the dead is known as chesed shel emet, or “true kindness,” since it’s done with no possible hope for reward. When the deceased leaves no relatives or friends, he or she is known as a met mitzvah, and it is a sacred obligation to help bring him or her to proper Jewish burial.

Right then and there, Wolvovsky and Rafalowsky started working the phones and searching the Internet, looking for possible relatives with no success. At the same time, Wolvovsky contacted other Chabad rabbis in the area, hoping to discover the unidentified rabbi.

At last, he struck gold. Upon the advice of Rabbi Yosef Hodakov of Chabad of Westville, Conn., he called Rabbi Berel Levitin, a Chabad rabbi whose main work involves Torah classes and other services for seniors in New Haven.

It turned out that Levitin had been visiting the man for 20 years. Gollinger’s father had left when he was a small child; his mother had passed away in 1966. Ever since, he had been alone in the world. Levitin first met him when Gollinger was living in a group home in New Haven. Gollinger would often walk near the yeshivah and enjoyed interacting with the students.

“He was always really happy when I would visit,” says Levitin. “We would put on tefillin and celebrate Jewish holidays together. He was just so thrilled to be able to say the blessings with me and ask how his old friends at the yeshivah were doing.

They may not have been aware of it, but he felt very close to them.”

With time, Gollinger was transferred to a succession of facilities, ultimately ending up in Durham, a half-hour drive away. Levitin continued to visit, bringing holiday goodies, prayers, news from the yeshivah—and most importantly, his companionship.

Upon learning of the death of his friend, Levitin began making arrangements for the funeral. He called the Robert E. Shure Funeral Home, with which he had a relationship, and was surprised to learn that Gollinger had put down some money toward his funeral many decades ago.

Rabbi Berel Levitin called the Robert E. Shure Funeral Home and was surprised to learn that Gollinger had put down some money toward his funeral many decades ago.

Upon further investigation, Levitin learned that he had left instructions that he be buried near his mother. However, due to a breakdown in communication, the facility where he had last been living was unaware of the arrangements, and the funeral home had no way of knowing that he had died.

“Thank G‑d, we were able to give him a proper Jewish burial right next to his mother,” says Levitin. “Rabbi Wolvovsky and I were joined by eight students from the yeshivah, and the kaddish prayer was recited for his soul.”

“You never know the power of a mitzvah,” Wolvovsky concludes. “Someone gave a Chanukah pamphlet to a lonely man in a nursing home, and that one isolated act of kindness was the key to ensuring that he was accorded a dignified and spiritually significant burial with the people who meant the most to him.”

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Jewish News

Working to Make a Judaic ‘One-Stop Shop’ in Chicago's East Rogers Park

By Karen Schwartz

Although the last synagogue in Chicago's East Rogers Park closed down in 2002, Rabbi Yoel Wolf, right, and his wife Rivky are spurring a resurgence in Jewish life there.

Rabbi Yoel Wolf and his wife Rivky started Chabad of East Rogers Park, on the far north side of Chicago, in August. Gonzalo Escobar, who lives in the building across the street, saw the couple moving in.

“I saw the rabbi, suspected it might be Chabad, and went and introduced myself,” says Escobar. Escobar had previously been involved with Chabad during his time as a graduate student at Harvard University, and says he hopes to see this Chabad continue to grow.

In Boston and abroad, Escobar has taken advantage of the chance to attend Shabbat dinners and lunches, and to get involved in Chabad activities. Likewise, he has been to all of Wolf’s events so far and looks forward to replicating his experiences, complete with the good food, good company and the chance to meet other young adults.

This Chabad is the latest to open in Illinois, which is home to 40 centers, several in areas experiencing a rebirth in Jewish life, according to Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, regional director of Lubavitch Chabad of Illinois.

“We’re always looking at opportunities, and we always look at possibilities,” he says. “There’s much more work ahead of us, for sure, but step by step, we evaluate different areas. [The emissaries] are doing wonderful work.”

‘Resurgence in the Area’

Rabbi Wolf shaking the lulav on Sukkot with Sarah Gabel

Moscowitz, who grew up in East Rogers Park, says the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s proved the heyday of Jewish life in East Rogers. He cites a previous Chabad synagogue in the area, run by Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Hecht, who was sent by the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, of righteous memory—in 1942, and in the same breath notes a Jewish population that started dwindling in the late ’60s and early ’70s. The last synagogue closed down in 2002.

“Today, there’s a resurgence in that area, and there’s a lot of young people living there,” he says. “It’s a very up-and-coming neighborhood.”

East Rogers Park represents a diverse Jewish community, reports Moscowitz, including many young people who moved to the area because of the access to downtown—young people who are also looking for the opportunity to connect.

Upping Participants and Programs

The Wolfs have their operations underway, and are already welcoming those people in. They began by inviting guests to Friday-night dinners, learning one-on-one, and then hosting larger meals with services. Chabad’s first event was a Chanukah party in December that drew 25 people. They also just held a “Friday Night Live!” event on Jan. 3, a Shabbat experience for beginners, followed by dinner.

Rabbi Yoel and Rivky Wolf on the way to their new home in Chicago.

Rafael Bratman, 35 and a jeweler by trade, grew up in East Rogers Park and lives there now. He has eaten Shabbat meals at Chabad and attended the Chanukah party with friends.

“We all had a great time,” he says. “I met tons of people there, and I knew some people, too.” He recalled the jelly beans in glasses used to make a colorful menorah with style; the latkes and other outstanding food; dreidel games; and singing.

“I really hope the community will continue to grow,” says Bratman, adding that he looks forward to going back for Shabbat and other Jewish holidays in the future. “I really hope they continue to blossom, and that more and more people will come and celebrate together.”

The number of interested participants keeps growing—when the Wolfs arrived five months ago, they knew only one person in East Rogers Park. Now, they have a list of 65 contacts and expect to add students from nearby Loyola University to it.

Although the last synagogue in Chicago's East Rogers Park closed down in 2002, a young Chabad couple is spurring a resurgence in Jewish life there.

The rebbetzin plans to add challah-baking and a women’s group this year; the rabbi is working on offering lectures, and Shabbat and holiday programs.

“We made sure to get a place with a big dining room and a big living room,” says Wolf of their condo, Chabad’s current base of operations. Their eventual goal is to be a full-fledged Jewish center where the community can spend Shabbat and holidays.

“We have to be that one-stop shop,” he says, explaining that he hopes to make the area into a Jewish destination in the city for those who want to live on Lake Michigan and along the train line. Rogers Park is bounded by the city of Evanston, Ill., one of Chicago’s North Shore communities and home to the prestigious Northwestern University.

“We got a resounding welcome; people are excited to see Yiddishkeit here once again, as well as people who find it meaningful to have a community here,” says the rabbi. “The interest is beyond what we expected when we got here—we’re very excited!”

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Jewish News

A Task for the Ages: Bringing Jewish Life Back to Budapest

By Menachem Posner

At Chabad's Open University for Judaic Studies, Hungarians study Torah topics using original coursework developed by Rabbi Baruch Oberlander.

In August of 1989, just before the Hungarian portion of the Iron Curtain came crashing down for good, young Rabbi Baruch Oberlander and Batsheva, his wife of five months, moved to Budapest, Hungary, to serve as Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries there.

Born in Williamsburg, N.Y., to survivors who had emigrated from Budapest following the Holocaust, Oberlander grew up hearing Hungarian alongside Yiddish, and was steeped in vivid memories of di alte heim (“the old home”). Yet he never imagined that he would one day return to Budapest to recreate that which his parents were sure was lost forever.

Situated in Central Europe, prewar Budapest was the lively epicenter of a diverse Jewish life.

Heavily influenced by Vienna and Berlin to the west, it was home to the upwardly mobile middle and upper classes, which built grand synagogues and lived in homes lining the stately Andrassy Avenue, modeled after Paris’ Champs-Élysées, as they sought to integrate into Hungarian society.

Yet it was also home to deeply pious Chassidim, dedicated to the teachings and lifestyles championed by the Chassidic Rebbes of the easternmost regions of the country, where Hungary, Ukraine and Romania meet in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains.

The successive ravages of Nazism and Communism had taken their toll, and the once-proud Budapest Jewish community of nearly 200,000 strong had been halved in size and lost much of its grandeur.

First, the Need for Books

When they arrived, the Oberlanders discovered a kosher butcher shop, a bakery and synagogues, but very little in terms of vibrant Judaism that would speak to the younger generation. “The biggest events were Holocaust memorials,” says Oberlander. “There was nothing happy.”

One particular challenge was the fact that there had been almost no Jewish religious literature published in Hungarian since before the Holocaust, some 40 years earlier.

In 2012, Hungary’s Minister of Human Resources Zoltan Balog, right, presented Rabbi Baruch Oberlander with Hungary’s highest state honor, the Order of Merit.

Oberlander, who was somewhat familiar with spoken Hungarian, immediately set to work expanding the selection. His first publication was a Hungarian translation of “This Is My God” by Herman Wouk. It was followed by “Think Jewish” by Zalman Posner and other books. He also published a number of books by Chabad Chassid Naftali Kraus, a Hungarian-born Israeli journalist who never forgot about his former compatriots and wrote many books for them on a range of topics.

Especially important were the Hebrew-Hungarian siddurim (prayerbooks).

“Until then, the only bilingual siddurim were very old, mostly from before World War I,” Oberlander explains, “which were either in German or in archaic Hungarian with prayers for the well-being of the Emperor Franz Joseph. When the first Hungarian-Hebrew siddur was published in 1841, the purpose was not to teach Jews the meaning of the prayers—for they still understood Hebrew, and there were many Yiddish translations already available. Rather, they were printed to make Jews assimilate into the broader Hungarian culture. Of course, we had the opposite in mind: helping Hungarian Jews reclaim their Jewish heritage, which was often all but buried by years of repression.”

A Chanukah mobile menorah parade has become an annual event on Budapest's bridges and boulevards, along with the many other holiday events around the country.

Since the majority of synagogues in Hungary prayed according to the non-Chassidic Ashkenazic liturgy, the new prayerbook—called Sámuel Imája—follows that rite. In the ensuing years, it was followed by machzorim for the High Holidays and other books. A transliterated siddur is slated for release in March.

To date, the most popular publication has been two editions of the Passover Haggadah, which has sold more than 30,000 copies.

Adult Education and a ‘Bet Din’

Another area sorely lacking was that of adult education. Oberlander, who had been giving a course on Jewish law at the venerable 450-year-old ELTE (Eötvös Loránd University) since 1991, founded an “open university” where people studied Torah topics, using original coursework that he developed. Today, located in the modern Keren Or Chabad center, it attracts dozens of attendees, who participate in lectures from a roster of Chabad rabbis on a nightly basis.

In 1998, it was followed by the Pesti Jesiva, an institution for advanced Torah studies with a core of students from the United States and Israel, who were soon joined by young Hungarian Jews whose appetite for Judaism was whetted by Oberlander’s classes.

Pesti Jesiva also served as a source of rabbinic talent, as many of the country’s Chabad rabbis are locals whose first taste of Judaism was at right there at the institution, coupled with foreign students who were enchanted by the local community and never left. They include Israeli-born Rabbi Shmuel Raskin (’01), who serves as rabbi of the Israeli community and director of the Keren Or Chabad Israeli Center; local-born Rabbi Asher Faith (’04), who serves as youth director; Israeli-born Rabbi Shmuel Feigen (’08), who serves as rabbi in Debrecen; and Rabbi Shmuel Glitsenstein, who serves as rabbi at the Nagyfuvaros Utca synagogue. Other rabbis, such as Slomó Köves (’01), Menachem Mendel Nógrádi and Yehoshua Fuchs, also studied there.

Another area Oberlander noticed was sorely lacking was that of a functioning bet din (ecclesiastical court) to perform lifecycle events and conversions, and supply kosher food produced at the highest standards.

The magnificently renovated Óbuda synagogue, which was built in 1820 in classic French Empire style.

To fill the void, Oberlander, joined by Köves and Rabbi Sholom Hurwitz, formed the country’s only permanent bet din in 2008, with Oberlander serving as av bet din (head of the court).

One area of service is certifying people’s Jewish identity, ensuring that they and their children will be accepted in Jewish communities around the globe. Since some of Hungary’s Jews had intermarried as early as the mid-1800s—and many more sought to repress their Jewish identity following the Holocaust and during the Communist years—Oberlander says it is a painstaking, though rewarding, process.

“There was one young man who came to us claiming that his maternal grandmother was Jewish, but there was no documentation to back his claims,” Oberlander recalls. “I asked to speak to the grandmother, who had the most amazing tale.

“She told me that she was born in a small border town in the Carpathian Mountains. One day, when she was 8, she left home to get some milk. Right then, the Nazis marched into town. Watching from a distance, she saw them taking away her family on a truck.

Wearing just a sweater, she hid in the snow on a hill overlooking the city for the rest of the day. Relatives living in a different city spirited her to Budapest, where she was adopted by a non-Jewish woman.

“She continued to tell me that she tried hard to forget Yiddish and the prayers she had learned in her childhood. She did not even tell her husband that she was Jewish until 1984.

“I quizzed her about Jewish foods and holidays, and she knew everything, but how was I to know if she was a Jewish child or perhaps a non-Jew who had worked in a Jewish home? At one point, I asked her if she remembered going to synagogue. She looked at me strangely and said, ‘What? Girls don’t go to synagogue!’ This was indeed largely true in rural communities in those days, and I instinctively felt that she was telling the truth. But I still had no paper to prove it.”

During the course of the conversation, Oberlander saw that the woman’s daughter was crying. It was the first time she had heard the full story of her mother’s childhood.

Eventually, she was able to produce a cache of postmarked letters between her and her since-deceased cousin in Israel that corroborated the story, and the family was certified as bona fide Jews. As a result, the grandson came closer to Judaism, underwent circumcision, and is now married to a Jewish woman.

The bet din also certifies a growing line of kosher meats, dairy items and other staples, in addition to two kosher restaurants.

In response to the recent resurgence of xenophobia in Hungarian politics and public discourse, Chabad invited leaders of other major Jewish organizations to found the Action and Protection Foundation, which monitors and combats anti-Semitism. In December of last year, the foundation’s inauguration was attended by Jewish Agency chairman Natan Sharansky; World Zionist Organization chair Avraham Duvdevani; and other Israeli and Hungarian officials.

Taking Care of the Young and Old

Of course, no community infrastructure can be built without having the very young and very old in mind as well.

Rabbi Slomó Köves, left, has been serving as the country’s only mohel, or ritual circumciser, since 2003.

Since 2003, Rabbi Köves—an early protégé of Oberlander’s who studied in yeshivahs in France, the United States and Israel before returning to Pesti Jesiva in 2009—has been serving as the country’s only mohel, or ritual circumciser. He says he performs his sacred craft for dozens of families every year. Also rabbi at the magnificently renovated Óbuda synagogue, which was built in 1820 in classic French Empire style, he is responsible for much of the day-to-day growth and administration of Chabad in Hungary.

Chabad’s Gan Menachem kindergarten and Beis Menachem school—directed by Rebbetzin Batsheva Oberlander—recently moved into a spacious new former public school on Dohány Street, which once formed the border of the Jewish ghetto built by the Nazis. “Since this was the Jewish neighborhood, we have parents who went to the school as children,” Oberlander notes. “Now, their children are going to the same building—but they are going to study Torah.”

At the other end of the journey of life, Chabad recently acquired a string of old-age homes for 1,200 people. While many of the residents are not Jewish, the Jewish people who live in the homes are now able to request and receive kosher meals, and have access to rabbinical care and other amenities.

Yet even as Chabad continues to grow Budapest’s Jewish infrastructure, Rabbi Oberlander insists that they retain their original philosophy of teaching and working with each individual.

“The other week, we celebrated the bar mitzvah of a boy whose mother was a student of mine in law school nearly 20 years ago,” he says. “It was just beautiful to see how we have been a part of their lives for so many years.”

The Sasz Chevra Chabad-Lubavitch synagogue located on Vasvári Pál utca was built in 1887 and became a main center for Jewish life in Budapest under the leadership of Rabbi Baruch and Batsheva Oberlander.

The first of a series of articles on the revivial of Jewish life in Hungary

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Jewish News

Grodno’s Great Synagogue Again to Rebuild From the Ashes

By Dovid Margolin

Rabbi Yitzchak Kofman, clearing away the ruins from the recent fire at the 500-year-old Great Choral Synagogue in Grodno, Belarus.

It was late November 2013, and a children’s Chanukah program was scheduled to take place at the nearly 500-year-old Great Choral Synagogue in Grodno, Belarus. But the familiar holiday scene of children cheerfully eating latkes and spinning dreidels would not take place. Instead, a fire broke out in the synagogue’s kitchen, gutting the rooms where the event was set to take place.

The Jewish community of Grodno—destroyed by the Nazis, suppressed by the Soviets, yet still alive today—had been dealt another setback.

“The fire hit us on erev Chanukah,” says Rabbi Yitzchak Kofman, who, together with his wife Nechama moved to Grodno 11 years ago to help revive the ancient Jewish community. “It damaged everything that we had there—the room that we use as the shul, the community room and the kitchen. We have a small office on the first floor that wasn’t damaged, but you cannot make any programs in a small office.”

Prior to the blaze, the imposing building’s facade had recently undergone a full restoration. The community has since launched www.fireingrodno.com, a website to help raise badly needed funds for the efforts ahead.

“The shul is in the center of Grodno and attracts many tourists,” explains Kofman. “Although it has not been in good condition for many years—the main sanctuary does not have heat—the facade was just painted, and the city was keen on giving tax breaks to help that happen. Thank G‑d, the outside was not damaged too much, but we must still start all over with the rooms that we were using for our community activities.”

Prior to the blaze, the imposing building’s facade had recently undergone a full restoration.

Facing the charred reality of the synagogue’s current state, Kofman hopes to gain strength from the fire’s devastation and double down in his efforts for the area’s thousands of Jews. “I think we have an opportunity to rebuild in a much bigger way,” he says.

A Rich and Troubled Past

Grodno’s Jewish past is a rich one, dating back to at least 1389, when Jews were initially allowed to settle there. But as with so much of Europe, along with their golden age the Jews of Grodno have seen extraordinarily difficult times there as well, suffering from expulsion, Cossack pogroms, European wars, revolution and, of course, the Holocaust.

Built initially in 1578, the Great Synagogue was commissioned by the community’s famed leader, Rabbi Mordechai Yaffe, known widely as “the Levush” for his 10-volume codification of Jewish law, Levush Hamalchus. Designed by Italian architect Santi Gucci—the court artist of King Sigismund II Augustus of Poland—the synagogue was built of brick and survived until 1899, when it was heavily damaged by fire.

The synagogue was rebuilt in 1907 in a mix of eclectic and Moorish styles, serving this important center of European Jewry until the Nazi surprise invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941.

Before World War II, Grodno’s Jewish community numbered 25,000—half of the city’s overall population—and had scores of Jewish institutions and schools, such as Yavneh, Tarbut and Talmud Torah.

Until 1939, Grodno was also home to Yeshivas Shaar HaTorah, led by the renowned Talmudic genius Rabbi Shimon Shkop, who transformed the school into one of the most influential Lithuanian-style yeshivah in pre-war Europe. A successor school, Yeshivas Shaar HaTorah-Grodno, is today located in the Kew Gardens neighborhood of Queens, N.Y.

“When the community began here, they built a synagogue and a Jewish cemetery in what is now the center of the city,” explains Kofman. “When the city began to grow, they built a second one, a bit further out. Those two are gone today; the Russians built a stadium on one and a parking lot on the other.”

A third, newer Jewish cemetery, however, still exists.

“It was placed on the other side of the Neman River that Grodno sits on, and therefore was spared destruction,” says Kofman. “The earliest interment in that cemetery is 1782. That is the one Rav Shimon Shkop is buried in, and the one still in use today.”

World War and Cold War

These days, Grodno sits some 15 miles from the modern Belorussian-Polish border. In the years following World War I, Grodno was a part of Poland and, as opposed to their brethren on the other side of the Iron Curtain in the Soviet Union, Jewish life flourished.

When Poland was split between Nazi Germany and the USSR following the Molotov-Ribbentrop Non-Aggression Pact of 1939, Grodno found itself in Soviet hands. But it would not be for long.

On June 22, 1941, the Germans surprised their erstwhile Communist allies by invading the Soviet Union.

Facing the charred reality of the synagogue’s current state, Kofman hopes to gain strength from the fire’s devastation and double down in his efforts for the area’s thousands of Jews.

“The bombs on Grodno began to fall at 4 o’clock in the morning,” recalled Tzvi Chassid, a Grodno-born Jewish community member, speaking on a 2010 mini-documentary about the Jewish community of Grodno, and who has since passed away. “There was a big panic, and the Germans captured Grodno within one day.”

In November of 1942, the Jews of Grodno were sealed into a ghetto surrounding the Great Synagogue. Deportations to German concentration camps began.

“Within a few months, the [Jewish] population of Grodno was deported to the death camps and killed,” said Chassid. “On March 12, 1943, the Germans announced Grodno [to be] Judenrein … clean of Jews.”

By the end of World War II, Grodno, along with the rest of Belarus, was a part of the Soviet Union, and the Great Synagogue occupied by the regime. For the next 50 years, the synagogue would be out of Jewish hands, used alternatively for the storage of food and pharmaceuticals, and later, as a workplace for local artists.

When the synagogue was finally returned with the fall of communism in 1991, it was heavily damaged, with no electricity or running water. To date, it remains the only part of the once-vast Jewish infrastructure of Grodno to be handed back to the Jewish community.

Striving for a Rebirth

Born in the United States and raised in Israel, Rabbi Yitzchok Kofman and his Israeli-born wife Nechama arrived in Grodno in 2003 to lead the revival of the city’s Jewish community. Living in faraway Belarus, the Kofmans’ six children attend school via the Brooklyn-based Shluchim Office’s Online School for Chabad emissaries living in places with no available Jewish education.

Since their arrival, the couple has opened a Jewish preschool and kindergarten—in a location separate from the synagogue—but have always hoped to rebuild the ancient synagogue to serve as the all-purpose Jewish community center it once was.

A restoration of the Great Choral Synagogue promised to restore the historic structure to its former glory, as illustrated in this computer-generated image. (File photo)

With the help of the Rohr Family Foundation and private donors, the massive, dilapidated synagogue was partially renovated, with rooms being made usable for a synagogue and community center. Yet the great sanctuary—with its soaring, vaulted ceiling and detailed moldings—has remained unheated and in need of significant repair. When fire struck this past Chanukah, the progress that has been made until now took a big step backwards, spelling difficulty for the Jews of Grodno.

“We have plans to turn the entire synagogue into a JCC,” says Rabbi Kofman. “To see the main sanctuary renovated, and space for a kosher store, a Jewish bookstore and a Jewish museum. We actually opened a small part of the museum already, but that, too, is in the part of the building that was badly damaged.”

Facing the daunting challenge of rebuilding the Great Synagogue yet again, Kofman remains steadfast. “There is a Chassidic Yiddish adage, Noch ah fayer vet men reich—‘Following a fire, one becomes wealthy.’ That applies in both a physical sense, as well as a spiritual one.”

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Jewish News

In Israel, Canadian Delegation’s First Order of Business Is Charity

By Menachem Posner

Co-host Mark Adler MP—whose riding of York, Ontario, includes several highly Jewish enclaves north of Toronto.

They had deplaned just hours before, yet the first item on the agenda for the delegation accompanying Prime Minister Stephen Harper of Canada on his first official visit to the Middle East was charity.

At a reception at the David Citadel Hotel just outside the walls of Jerusalem’s Old City, the group of nearly 200 political and communal leaders learned about the charitable activities of Colel Chabad, Israel's oldest continuously operating charity, which has been caring for the poor in the Israel since 1788.

“It’s a testament to this group’s kindness,” notes Rabbi Zalman Duchman of Colel Chabad. “Even before economic development, they gathered to discuss charity and philanthropy—not just as a side concern, but at the front and center of their agenda.”

Rabbi Chaim Mendelsohn, the Ottawa-based director of public affairs for the Canadian Federation of Chabad-Lubavitch, emceed the event. In addition to Duchman, the group heard from co-host Mark Adler MP—whose riding of York, Ontario, includes several highly Jewish enclaves north of Toronto, and Rabbi Mendel Kaplan of Chabad @ Flamingo, in Thornhill, Ontario. Rabbi Zalman A. Grossbaum, director of the Chabad-Lubavitch Community Center in Thornhill, led the group in the saying of Psalms.

A high point of the evening was the performance of 14-year-old child star Daniel Pruzansky, who is being raised by his Russian-born mother. Pruzansky effortlessly climbed the scales as he sang a dazzling repertoire of Yiddish and English classics. Colel Chabad has been instrumental in helping him with his general education, and also arranging the musical training that has allowed him to achieve celebrity status in Israel and beyond.

An exhibit showed the breadth and scope of Colel Chabad's activities in Israel.

Duchman says his group is deeply honored to be the delegation’s first stop. “Colel Chabad is but one among hundreds of other Chabad organizations here in Israel, and neither are we the only charitable group in Israel, either,” he notes. “I feel the choice reflects our dedication to helping the poor, especially orphans.”

Some of the members of the Canadian delegation who accompanied Prime Minister Stephen Harper on his first visit to Israel.

Colel Chabad just opened its 25th soup kitchen earlier this year and will be celebrating a joint bat mitzvah for 35 orphan girls this coming Wednesday.

Some members of the Canadian rabbinic delegation.

Rabbi Mendel Kaplan, left, and Rabbi Zalman A. Grossbaum, center, both of Thornhill, Ontario, addressed the gathering.

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Jewish News

Beth Rivkah Girls’ Schools Mark 100 Years Since the Passing of Its Namesake

By Dovid Margolin and Menachem Posner

Girls from the Beth Rivkah Schools gathered at Lubavitch World Headquarters in Brooklyn, N.Y, to mark the 100th anniversary of passing of Rebbetzin Rivkah, after whom the school is named.

There was a war raging over in Europe, and anyway, America was supposed to be different. The sons and daughters of American Jews went to public school; Jewish day schools hardly existed in the United States circa 1940, and Jewish schools geared for girls had been a novelty even in the old world—the one that was in the midst of getting destroyed.

Yet when Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, of righteous memory, escaped from the European inferno and arrived in New York in March of 1940, he immediately set about establishing Jewish schools, ones that would raise the level of religious observance across the vast spectrum of American Jewry.

After replanting his famous yeshivah Tomchei Temimim in New York, the first Beth Rivkah girls’ school opened its doors in 1942.

On Jan. 16—Tu B’Shevat, the New Year of the Trees—nearly 2,300 students and staff of the central Associated Beth Rivkah Schools gathered at Lubavitch World Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y., to mark a century since the 1914 passing of the school’s namesake, Rebbetzin Rivkah Schneersohn, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s grandmother.

“We want the girls to better understand and be proud of the fact that they study at Beth Rivkah,” explains Rabbi Bentzion Stock, the school’s administrator. “The Previous Rebbe founded Beth Rivkah, and he placed the [Lubavitcher] Rebbe [Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory] in charge of the school.”

At a Beth Rivkah dinner back in 1946, the Rebbe, who was Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s son-in-law and would become his successor, addressed the gathering as the school's chairman. He said people ask “whether it is our intention to create a school that will graduate rebbetzins. Our goal is that every student ... understand her responsibility as a part of the nation of Israel, as a builder of a future home in Israel, and as a mother in Israel."

Founded under the umbrella of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch, the educational arm of Chabad-Lubavitch, Beth Rivkah welcomed its first class in a small house on Riverdale Road in East New York, Brooklyn. Over the next few years, branches popped up in Boston and Springfield, Mass.; Providence, R.I.; Bridgeport and New Haven, Conn.; Buffalo, N.Y.; and in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, Penn. Additionally, a Beth Sarah school—named for Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak’s mother, Rebbetzin Shterna Sarah, who had passed away in New York in 1942—was established in Newark, N.J.

As the school grew it changed locations, and from Riverdale Avenue moved to occupy the second floor of a synagogue on Stone Avenue in Brownsville, Brooklyn. When demographic changes in the neighborhood made it too unsafe for the girls’ school to remain there, a suitable building was found on Church Avenue and Bedford—the former Yeshiva University High School of Brooklyn building—where the school moved in 1967.

The first Beth Rivkah girls’ school opened its doors in 1942 in Brooklyn, N.Y. It was soon followed by branches on five continents.

Staff at the school describe how over the years, guided by the Rebbe’s directive that no Jewish child be turned away from a Jewish education, tens of thousands of girls have walked Beth Rivkah’s halls, including an influx of hundreds of girls of Iranian-Jewish heritage in the aftermath of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, as well as thousands of Russian girls from the former Soviet Union.

Today, Beth Rivkah is located at two separate sites in Crown Heights, with the elementary school in the modern Campus Chomesh building that was completed in the mid-1990s. The campus was named after the Rebbe’s wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, of righteous memory, and the groundbreaking took place within 30 days of her passing in 1989.

On his way to visit the Rebbetzin’s resting place, the Rebbe stopped by the groundbreaking and presented Rabbi Abraham Shemtov with a contribution in the amount of $470, the numerical equivalent of the Rebbetzin’s Hebrew name. The Rebbe asked that Ronald O. Perelman, the principal benefactor of the project, be informed that the Rebbe “wished to be a partner in building the campus.”

Sister schools sharing the name Beth Rivkah can be found in such cities as Montreal, Canada; Kfar Chabad, Israel; Paris, France; and Melbourne, Australia.

A Shining Example

Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak named his school after the mother of his father and predecessor, Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber of Lubavitch. Rebbetzin Rivkah was born in the Belarussian village of Lubavitch in 1833; she herself was of distinguished lineage, having been the great-granddaughter of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of the Chabad movement, and granddaughter of Rabbi Dovber Schneuri, Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s son and successor.

Rebbetzin Rivkah passed away on the 10th day of Shevat in 1914. She is buried in the Lubavitch village cemetery, near the graves of her husband and father-in-law.

Speaking to the girls, Rabbi Leibel Newman, dean of education at Beth Rivkah, shared many anecdotes from Rebbetzin Rivkah’s life. Orphaned at an early age, she was raised by her maternal grandmother, Rebbetzin Sheina, and in 1849 married her cousin, Rabbi Shmuel Schneersohn, of righteous memory, who would become the fourth Chabad Rebbe.

When she was widowed in her early 50s, she threw herself into caring for the sick and needy. And when her son, Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber founded the Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim in Lubavitch in 1897, she dedicated herself to caring for the students’ well-being. She oversaw food preparations, made sure the students’ needs were met and was even known to monitor their scholastic progress.

Her grandson, young Yosef Yitzchak, would often visit her, and she would tell him stories of past generations of Chabad Rebbes and Chassidim, many of which he would commit to writing and eventually publish for the benefit of generations to come.

Girls from the Beth Rivkah Schools in Brooklyn, N.Y., marked the 100th anniversary of passing of Rebbetzin Rivkah, after whom the school is named, with a specially prepared video presentation on her extraordinary life.

She passed away on the 10th day of Shevat in 1914. Since her son—the Rebbe at that time—was out of town, her grandson Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak made arrangements for her funeral and interment. She is buried in the Lubavitch village cemetery, near the graves of her husband and father-in-law. (Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak would later pass away on the very same date in 1950).

“It was very interesting to hear about her life,” reflected 10-year-old Sarah Gurevtich, who attended with her fifth-grade class. “I guess I can learn from her, and the way she welcomed guests and cared for others.”

“The Previous Rebbe used to go to Rebbetzin Rivkah’s home every day on his way from cheder,” explains Leah Jacobson, a principal at Beth Rivkah. “We know that those stories had a tremendous effect on him. The Previous Rebbe said when he came to America that ‘America is nisht anderesh—‘America is no different.’ He meant that the traditions must be upkept and that a woman, as the nurturer of a Jewish home, has a tremendous opportunity to do that.

“We gathered today to remember who this special woman was—a woman of kindness and knowledge. She is the namesake of our school, and we strive to continue her legacy.”

Girls from the Beth Rivkah Schools attended a special gathering at Lubavitch World Headquarters in Brooklyn, N.Y., to mark the 100th anniversary of passing of Rebbetzin Rivkah, after whom the school is named.

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Missionary Renegade

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Chabad Magazine – Tuesday, 13 Tevet 5774 · 14 January 2014 and Tuesday, 20 Tevet 5774 · 21 January 2014

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