Chabad Magazine – Wednesday, Shevat 28, 5774 • January 29, 2014
Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
You may have read that Bill Gates, the world’s richest man,
recently said that by 2035 no nation will be as poor as any of the 35 that the
World Bank now classifies as low-income, even adjusting for inflation. In other
words, the world is getting better, much better, for just about everyone.
In large part this is due to wealthy nations and
individuals—including Mr. Gates—contributing vast sums to promote health and
education among less-fortunate nations.
What a great way to use wealth, something an increasing number
of world’s richest people are discovering. It’s a secret we first learned in
this week’s Torah portion over 3,000 years ago. This week we read how G‑d instructed our ancestors to donate “gold, silver and copper;
blue, purple and scarlet wool,” and other materials to create what would be His
home on earth: the Tabernacle.
The Talmud explains that riches were not created just for us to
hoard and enjoy. Rather, they are a tool we can use to make the world a better,
G‑dly place.
Our ancestors did it, billionaires are doing it, and we can do
it too.
Menachem Posner,
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
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Daily Thought:
Proof
In life, we almost never wait for 100% guarantees.
We trust that the dentist is a dentist, the taxi driver is a
taxi driver, and so on—and put our lives in their hands—on flimsy, tacit
evidence.
Yet, when it comes to a simple good deed, people demand 100%
proof that this is really what G‑d wants them
to do!
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Parshah
The Self-Made Child
By Chana Weisberg
My daughter is always complaining that “all the other mothers”
always do their children’s projects and homework for them. I will help her with
the research, explain to her anything she doesn’t understand, share ideas and
generally guide her along; but I like the actual work to be her own. How else
will she learn to express her own thoughts and creativity?
My daughter, on the other hand, complains that her projects are
just not as glamorous, her essays don’t have the “fancy” words, and her
homework doesn’t look as polished as her friends’.
She hints to me, too, how all the other mothers prepare their
daughters’ lunches, tidy up their children’s rooms, make their beds and take
care of a host of such tasks. I feel that she’s at the age where she’s old
enough to assume some of these responsibilities for herself.
Am I being a rotten parent in not catering to her, or are these
other parents missing the point?
This week’s Torah reading, Terumah (Exodus 25:1–27:19)—as well
as a sizable portion of the book of Exodus—is devoted to the construction of
the Sanctuary (Mishkan) built by the children of Israel in the desert.
The Torah, which is usually very sparing with words, is
uncharacteristically elaborate when it comes to describing the Sanctuary. All
the materials used in the construction, the components and furnishings of the
Sanctuary, as well as every minute detail of the actual construction—are listed
and described, sometimes numerous times.
All in all, thirteen chapters are devoted to describing how the
Jewish people were to fashion this edifice. In contrast, the Torah devotes only
one chapter to the creation of the universe! Only three chapters are devoted to
the description of the awe-inspiring and monumental event of the revelation of
G‑d at Mt. Sinai.
Moreover, the Sanctuary was only a “tent,” a temporary dwelling
serving as the religious focal point in the desert. Once the Jewish people
entered the Land of Israel, the Sanctuary was replaced by the Holy Temple in
Jerusalem.
Why, then, does the Torah describe the Sanctuary at such great length,
while almost glossing over the creation of our world and giving a relatively
short account of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai? Is there perhaps a
lesson for us as parents to guide us in the education of our children?
At Sinai (and certainly at the creation of the world), we were
passive participants. G‑d descended in
all His glory and majesty, accompanied by breathtaking sounds and sights of
grand thunder and lightening, while the Jewish people merely observed and
heard.
In fact, because of the non-participatory nature of the Sinai
experience, the impression of the holiness wasn’t permanent. After the Divine
Presence departed from the mountain, it reverted to its former non-holy status.
Similarly, soon after the spiritually inspired nation had experienced the
awesome revelation of G‑d, they
stooped to serve a golden calf.
Unlike the Sinai experience, the Sanctuary did not miraculously
descend upon the Jewish people—they had to build it themselves, with their own
materials, with their own hands and sweat. Everyone took part in the
undertaking, men and women, rich and poor, each contributing his or her
talents, resources and expertise.
This human participation is what caused the material objects
with which we built the Sanctuary to become permeated with enduring holiness.
This is also why the Torah devotes so many chapters to the building of the
Sanctuary.
The overwhelming emphasis on its construction teaches us that
there is something very valuable about us using our own personal resources and
creativity. It might not be as earth-shattering an event as the revelation of G‑d, and the end product might not be as “polished” or
overwhelming, but its effect can, in many ways, be more valuable and
enduring—precisely because it is our own contribution.
The challenge and achievement of actualizing our own abilities
and creating something with our own talents results in something that is far
more cherished than something that is presented to us on a golden platter. It
helps us to grow as individuals, fine-tunes our skills and stretches our
capabilities in ways that being passive recipients can not.
Perhaps there is a message here for us as parents. Help, guide,
instruct and brainstorm with your children. But remember that the greatest
learning experience comes when you help your children actualize their own
abilities, to create their own edifices.
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.
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.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Three Chambers
By Yanki Tauber
Imagine a house with three rooms.
In one room you wheel and deal, build and demolish, eat and
sleep, work and play. This is the largest room in your house.
In the second room you pray and meditate, study and contemplate.
Here you have heart-to-heart talks with your spouse, your children and your
closest friends.
The third, which is the smallest and innermost room, is where
you go to be alone with yourself.
Your life is this three-chambered house. Because you are three
selves: your material self, which participates in and interacts with the
material world; the spiritual you, which relates to the ideas, feelings and
altruistic yearnings in yourself and others; and your ultimate self, the “I”
that comprises, and (therefore) transcends, both matter and spirit.
The bulk of your time is spent in the first chamber, for there
resides the bulk of your life. You treasure your hours in the second chamber,
few and occasional as they are, for in these you recognize a higher quality and
more refined mode of being. Rarely do you enter the third chamber, consumed as
you are with the press of the material and the call of the spiritual; perhaps
you visit there one day a year, or a single moment in your lifetime. But there
it ever is, your absolute center—that which enables you to construct doorways
and windows between the other two chambers; that which makes each of them, and
both together, yourself.
G‑d, too, has
such a three-roomed home. He dwells in our world, making Himself available to
His creations on these three levels.
He decreed a multitude of mitzvot, physical acts which He deemed
inroads to His essence. He said: When you give this coin to charity, when you
wind these tefillin on your arm, when you eat this matzah on Passover, your are
actualizing My will, bonding with My very self.
He also said: Here are My thoughts, engraved in stone and
inscribed on parchment. These are the adjectives by which I have allowed Myself
to be called, these are the words with which I can be addressed, these are the
feelings in which I have invested Myself to parallel yours. Study My Torah,
pray to Me with the formulae composed by My prophets, and you shall enter the
chamber where My spiritual self dwells and commune with Me.
He also said: There is an innermost point of meeting with Me—I
Myself as I transcend both the physical and spiritual channels of connection I
have entered. Very rarely will you encounter Me thus. Perhaps once a year on
Yom Kippur, when you divest yourself entirely of your bodily self. Perhaps once
a year on Purim, when you surrender knowledge and feeling to be known and
sensed by Me. Perhaps once in a lifetime, in an act of extreme self-sacrifice
for My sake. But there I am. And from there I radiate My essence to the two
other chambers; from there derives your ability to navigate them both, and to
pass from one to the other and back again.
When the children of Israel camped in the desert, G‑d commanded them to build a model of His home on earth. The
Mishkan (Tabernacle) they constructed was comprised of three domains: the courtyard,
the Holy, and the Holy of Holies.
In the courtyard stood the laver at which those entering the
Tabernacle washed their hands and feet; there animals were slaughtered, offered
on the outer altar, and eaten by the priests. This was the most “physical” of
the Mishkan’s domains, where the resources of the material world were processed
and incorporated into man’s service of G‑d.
The Holy housed the golden menorah in which seven flames burned,
fueled by the purest olive oil; the golden table and its showbread; and the
inner altar for burning incense. This was the spiritual arena, the “mind” and
“heart” of the Mishkan.
The Holy of Holies was the smallest, innermost chamber, where
space and anti-space coexisted, and into which only the high priest entered,
and only on the holiest day of the year. This was the soul of the divine abode.
We built that first prototype following detailed instructions
which Moses received at Sinai. When the last pillar, tapestry and partition had
been fixed in its place, G‑d made His
presence dwell in the Tabernacle—empowering us to replicate its three domains
in the three chambers of our lives.
By Yanki Tauber; based on the teachings of the Rebbe.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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The Portable Torah
By Naftali Silberberg
In this week’s Torah portion, the Jews are commanded to erect a
Tabernacle wherein G‑d’s presence
will rest. In its inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies, would rest the tablets of
the covenant, ensconced in the holy ark. Moses was commanded to plate the
wooden ark with pure gold, and to attach four golden rings to its corners. G‑d then directed Moses:
You shall make poles of acacia wood, and you shall overlay them
with gold. You shall bring the poles into the rings on the sides of the ark, to
carry the ark with them. The poles of the ark shall be in the rings; they shall
not be removed.1
Even after the ark reached its final destination, the poles
remained lodged within the rings
The ark was always transported atop the shoulders of the
Levites. There certainly was no shortage of wagons to carry the ark, but the
personal attention it was given was a sign of reverence. The poles facilitated
the shoulder mode of transportation.
Even when the Jews were camped in a particular area of the
desert for a lengthy stay, and even after the ark reached its final destination
in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, the poles remained lodged within the rings
which were affixed to the ark.
Why weren’t the poles removed when the ark wasn’t traveling?
What are we to learn from the fact that the holiest artifact in the world was
always ready to travel at a moment’s notice? Interestingly, while poles were
also attached to other vessels, such as the altars and the showbread table,
there was no prohibition against removing their poles when they were not in
use.
An understanding of the uniqueness of the Tabernacle, and the
special function which it served, will explain the ark’s permanent need for
travel accessories. Unlike the Temples, which were stationary in Jerusalem, the
Tabernacle was mobile, and was carried around throughout the “great and awesome
desert, [which was inhabited by] snakes, vipers and scorpions, and drought
where there was no water.”2 In a deeper sense, the desert represents a
spiritual wasteland, a place devoid of Torah—which is compared to
life-sustaining waters. Such a place is the natural habitat for “snakes and
scorpions”—all sorts of spiritually dangerous influences and diseases.
Unfortunately, the people who find themselves in a spiritual
desert are oblivious to the toxicity of the environment, and completely unaware
of the existence of healthy lands which are blessed with streams of the purest
water. It is the obligation of the tribe of Levi, those devoted to G‑d’s service, to pick themselves up, take along the ark and the
Divine Presence, trek through the desert, and bring the quenching waters of
Torah to the doorstep of the lost Jew. Once the person has tasted the sweet
waters, there’s no turning back to the desert routine . . .
The desert represents a spiritual wasteland, a place devoid of
Torah
The Levites would certainly rather spend their time swimming in
the refreshing waters of the Torah; but it is their duty to approach their
fellow Jews, no matter where they may be, and revive their souls.
This is why the poles were never removed from the ark. The Torah
must always be ready to be rushed to the assistance of a thirsty Jew. The
scholars must never consider themselves above running into the desert to save
the Jew who is dying from spiritual thirst.
Rabbi Naftali Silberberg is a writer, editor, and director of
the curriculum department at the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute. Rabbi
Silberberg resides in Brooklyn, NY, with his wife Chaya Mushka and their three
children.
Illustration by Chassidic artist Michoel Muchnik; click here to
view or purchase Mr. Muchnik's art.
FOOTNOTES
1. Exodus 25:13–15.
2. Deuteronomy 8:15.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Terumah Poem
By Chana Engel
Any architect out there, a physics student should know,
In the design of a window, there’s a structure to follow,
The angles and measurements, leave a wider inner rim,
So as to maximize the sunshine that’s entering in.
But the Tabernacle’s construction had a strange innovation,
The measurements were inverted for the windows’ creation,
With the inner narrow, light flow was reduced,
And from seeming “fault” the Tabernacle’s role is deduced.
Windows outwardly angled don’t draw sunlight in,
Their focus is outwards, spread the warmth from within,
The glow of the menorah they amplified around,
Reverberating beyond, like an echoing sound.
In every relationship, you’re a giver or taker,
Fine-tune your focus, zoom in on another.
Lend a hand—be a giver, take the time to share,
Do your friends a favor when you have a moment to spare.
Be a lamplighter, illuminate the night,
Take what you have within and use it to ignite.
Light up a smile, so it shines all around,
And when your kindness snowballs—it just may rebound!
“Don’t think about what you need by your door,
Rather focus on what you're needed for.”
Chana Engel grew up in Melbourne, Australia, and shares her
poems with a wide-ranging circle of Jews. She is currently studying in Israel.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Terumah in a Nutshell
The people of Israel are called upon to contribute thirteen
materials—gold, silver and copper; blue-, purple- and red-dyed wool; flax, goat
hair, animal skins, wood, olive oil, spices and gems—out of which, G‑d says to Moses, “They shall make for Me a Sanctuary, and I
shall dwell amidst them.”
On the summit of Mount Sinai, Moses is given detailed
instructions on how to construct this dwelling for G‑d so that it could be readily dismantled, transported and
reassembled as the people journeyed in the desert.
In the Sanctuary’s inner chamber, behind an artistically woven
curtain, was the ark containing the tablets of testimony engraved with the Ten
Commandments; on the ark’s cover stood two winged cherubim hammered out of pure
gold. In the outer chamber stood the seven-branched menorah, and the table upon
which the “showbread” was arranged.
The Sanctuary’s three walls were fitted together from 48 upright
wooden boards, each of which was overlaid with gold and held up by a pair of
silver foundation sockets. The roof was formed of three layers of coverings:
(a) tapestries of multicolored wool and linen; (b) a covering made of goat
hair; (c) a covering of ram and tachash skins. Across the front of the
Sanctuary was an embroidered screen held up by five posts.
Surrounding the Sanctuary and the copper-plated altar which
fronted it was an enclosure of linen hangings, supported by 60 wooden posts
with silver hooks and trimmings, and reinforced by copper stakes.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Women
My Week Without a Cell Phone
By Blumie Raskin
Today is Day Six without a phone.
Besides for feeling slightly isolated, it’s not too bad.
I’ve been doing things that I know I would not be doing if my
phone was sitting next to me, shiny screen beckoning.
Like waltzing to music in my living room with my delighted
nine-month-old as my dancing partner, her tiny hand encased in mine as she
giggles at this new game.
Like realizing that it is only one o’clock and I have already
accomplished what usually takes me until three!
Like thinking about writing this article and actually sitting
down to write it . . .
According to CNN, on average, people check their phones 34 times
a day, sometimes with only a 10-minute break between checks. The Huffington
Besides for feeling slightly isolated, it’s not too badPost relates that 73% of
Americans would feel panicked if they lost their phone, while 14% admitted that
they would feel “desperate.”
Honestly, when my phone died while I was out last Tuesday, I
definitely felt the faint flutter of panic. And when I came home, placed it
into the charger, and returned an hour later to a blank screen, I would say
there was an element of desperation as I stabbed violently at the home button
and power button (to no avail).
On Tuesday night I went to an event with my husband. There was
no picture-taking of the food, ourselves, or anything else. In fact, no one
besides for the people who saw us there even knew we went.
Wonder of wonders.
That night I tried every imaginable way to resurrect my phone,
including switching the charging cable, the charging port, even the charging
room. I even left it in rice overnight (although it had been nowhere near
water).
The next morning, I admired my reflection in the black screen
and searched deep within its depths for a trace of my beloved apps. The only
thing I saw were my eyes, round and fearful.
We decided to involve the expert: the fix-it man. He figured the
issue was either the battery or the charging port, and replaced my battery to
see what would happen. I had a working phone! I rushed to catch up on
WhatsApps, texts and Instagram news. I was secretly pleased to see the amount
of social-media notifications I had missed, but the pleased feeling
disintegrated fast, almost as quickly as the new battery ran out. I was left
pensive and thoughtful, even as we discussed giving the phone back to the magic
maker the following day.
And when Thursday lifted its sleepy head and my baby woke me up
with her coos and babbling in her crib, soon after the sun had made its hazy
appearance in a pink-tinged sky, I marveled at my unhurried morning cuddles
with her, at my slow and pointed morning routine, at my casual saunter to the
bathroom to wash up.
I was not rushing to check anything, to update myself, to see
what I had “missed.” I was not reaching out blindly for a cold, hard object
that “connects” me but leaves me with no real connection. I was focused and
living for the “now,” and the only thing I rushed to do was to get back to my
bed, where my baby was lying on her back and holding her feet to her mouth
while singing in her baby voice. I flopped down on the bed next to her, and
watched her eyes light up and a joyful laugh rise from her belly.
I didn’t give my phone in that day.
I didn’t give it in the next day either.
On Sunday night, my husband went around to the fix-it man’s
apartment and handed him my phone.
Tonight, I will get my phone back. It’s going to be funny having
it again, hearing the “ding” of a new e‑mail or the
“whoosh” of a new message. I have this crazy, insane, almost
shouldn’t-be-said-aloud thought that maybe, maybe, I don’t want my phone back
after all . . .
It is dawning on me that perhaps my methods of “connection” are
not really that great. After all, think about the way we connect to G‑d. There Maybe, maybe, I don’t want my phone back after all . .
.is no phone line, no Facebook page, no following Him on Twitter. No texting or
messaging, and certainly no photos of Him to “like” on Instagram.
G‑d is reachable
through a deeper form of connection: prayer. Prayer is not an instant process;
it takes time to meditate and consider our relationship with G‑d, without other distractions. First, we praise and acknowledge
G‑d as our Creator. Then we ask for what we need and want,
realizing that only He is able to provide it. And finally, we thank Him for
what He does in our lives. Through this three-step process of prayer we create
a bond that is felt, not seen.
No wonder relationships today are at an all-time low. We don’t
talk anymore. We don’t converse and have meaningful discussions with people
face-to-face, gauging their reactions and physically interacting with them. Our
relationships are based on screens and cyberspace and apps! How is a deeper
connection supposed to develop?
Maybe it’s time we applied our connection with G‑d to our relationships with those around us who are near and
dear. Maybe it’s time that we really started to think about our friends and
family and how much we appreciate their being a part of our lives, rather than
just “friending” them.
My phone will be back in about six hours, shiny screen
beckoning. Perhaps I will shut it off for two or three hours a day, so that I
will be forced to connect in other, more meaningful ways with those around me.
I hear my baby moving around in her crib, and I have a husband
to make dinner for.
Please excuse me while I go connect with the people I love.
Blumie Abend is a wife and mother currently living in Crown
Heights. She has a passion for writing and currently works as a freelance
writer.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Meet the Jewish Month of Adar I
This month, Adar l, is an added month in the Jewish leap year.
This year is a shanah meuberet (lit., “a pregnant year”), more commonly known
as a leap year, on the Jewish calendar. The Jewish leap year, which occurs 7
times in a 19-year cycle, has 13 months instead of the regular year’s 12. This
is so that the lunar-based Jewish year (which is 354.37 days) should remain
aligned with the solar year (365.25 days) and seasons. It is important to keep
the calendars aligned in order for the festivals to retain their positions
relative to the seasons as prescribed by the Torah. The added month is called
Adar I, and is inserted before the month of Adar (termed Adar II in leap
years).
Adar is the official “happy month,” as is written, “As soon as
Adar begins, increase in joy!” In a leap year, we have two months of extra
happiness!
The festival of Purim, celebrated on Adar 14, is in Adar II in
leap years, while the 14th of Adar I is marked symbolically as Purim
Katan—Minor Purim.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Back to the Calm
By Sarah Chana Radcliffe
Spouses and children are the love of our lives—and the bane of
our existence! Day-to-day interactions can bring warmth and laughter, but also
stress and aggravation. If we’re not careful, the stressful part, like a dark
cloud, can block out all the sunny, loving feelings. When we trip over that
shoe for the hundredth time, we can forget that its owner is one of the most
important and cherished people in our lives.
Because we live with family members, there are innumerable
opportunities for experiencing frustration, hurt and upset. They don’t do what
we want them to do. They don’t listen. They don’t understand. Sometimes it even
They don’t listen. They don’t understandfeels like they don’t care. If, on top
of all this, we neglect ourselves—failing to support ourselves emotionally and
physically—we can get easily run down and discouraged. Life can seem like one
large battle.
Fortunately, there are ways to prevent wear and tear on our
souls. In fact, it is a Torah obligation for us to learn them, because we are
deemed responsible for maintaining the health of the vehicle that carries our
spirit.1 Self-care requires many things: making time for our interests and
passions; having fun; making sure to get sufficient sleep, exercise and healthy
food; building a circle of support; and more. Of course, all this isn’t easy,
especially for overburdened parents. So, it becomes even more important to
learn the fastest, most productive and easiest ways to refresh our souls.
One such way is called the one-moment breath. Like the
one-minute breath, only shorter, this is a brief pause that removes us from
worldly concerns. It pushes the “stop” button on the valve that releases stress
chemistry into the body. It acts as a transition from a bad-feeling place to a
good-feeling place, with a stopover in momentary bliss. Here’s how it works:
When you notice that you’re feeling any unpleasant emotion
(worry, irritation, upset, etc.), close your eyes and allow your mind to rest
on one cycle of your breath, one pleasantly slow inhale and exhale. Then open
your eyes. That’s it.
Now, you might be wondering what such a simple exercise could
accomplish. The best way to find out is to do it yourself a few times
throughout your day. At first, your stressed-out body might not quite know what
to do with the pause, but after a few times it will quickly catch on. In fact,
After a few times, it will quickly catch onthe more frequently and consistently
you use this breath in stressful moments, the more profound and effective it
becomes. After all, our bodies don’t really enjoy the stress chemistry we pour
through them and, given the option, will always choose the kind of good-feeling
chemistry that accompanies the one-moment breath.
Once the breath has improved your chemical soup, you will find
that you will be more successful at solving your current problem, you will feel
more compassionate and forgiving, and you will have easier access to the big
picture and the big solutions. Your mental and physical functioning and wellbeing
will improve. You will have more energy for the business of living, and more
ability to develop healthier relationships with the ones you love.
Even if they still leave their shoes in the middle of the floor.
Sarah Chana Radcliffe is the author of The Fear Fix, Make
Yourself at Home and Raise Your Kids without Raising Your Voice. Visit her
parenting page or access her teleclasses.
FOOTNOTES
1. Deuteronomy 4:9.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Thirteen Ways Chabad Shluchos Inspire Us
By Mordechai Lightstone
The 22nd of the Hebrew month of Shevat marks the yahrtzeit of
Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson of righteous memory, life-partner of the
Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory. In her memory, it’s
also the date of the Kinus HaShluchos, the annual gathering of female Chabad
emissaries from around the world.
In honor of these extraordinary women, let's take a look at some
of the many hats they wear:
1. Community leaders
As Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries, Shluchos serve in many communal
leadership roles, including: counseling and mentoring community members,
educating small and large student bodies, teaching and nurturing adult
students, directing and overseeing large institutions and programs, planning
and creating community, plus whole lot more. And all with a uniquely feminine
touch.
2. Scholars
Chabad Shluchos serve as educators, teachers and scholars in
communities around the globe, bringing the timeless lessons of the Torah to
those thirsty for knowledge.
3. Wives
Shliach and Shluchah are two halves of one whole. The decision
to move to the farthest reaches of the world is made as a couple, and they
support each other every step of the way.
Rabbi Yitzi Hurwitz, the popular co-director of the Chabad
Jewish Center of Temecula Valley, Calif., was recently diagnosed with ALS,
known also as Lou Gehrig’s disease. His wife, Dina, has come to the fore,
spearheading an effort to help her husband, rallying the community around him.
4. Mothers
If the harried life of a Chabad emissary looks busy in the
public sphere, it’s important to remember that it’s only part of her work. For
a Shluchah, raising her children is not just another one of her many roles. The
family is the cornerstone of Jewish life upon which everything else is built.
In raising her children—sometimes far from Jewish schools—she also builds a
paradigm of authentic Jewish life for others to experience and emulate.
5. Providers of sustenance
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKyuEbtr2W8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKyuEbtr2W8
No Shabbat would be complete without special foods to honor the
holy day. More often than not, the Shluchah prepares or oversees delicious
homemade meals for the many guests—all in addition to providing counsel and
teaching. Upholding the kosher standard of the home—symbolized by separating
the challah dough—is one of the three mitzvahs entrusted to Jewish women. These
meals, which seamlessly blend tradition and exotic dishes, are a particular
feat in communities that have little in the way of kosher ingredients.
6. Masters of prayer
“Now Chana spoke in her
heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard.” (I Samuel 1:13)
It is the quiet, soulful prayer of Chana from which the sages of
the Talmud learned many important aspects of prayer. These quiet, personal
conversations with the Creator are an inspiration to all those who wish to
commune with the divine. Often, it is the whispered prayer of the Shluchah that
provides spiritual fortification to the community.
7. Teachers
Studies repeatedly show that a Jewish education is one of the
key deciding factors in the formation of Jewish identity. Chabad’s network of
Hebrew schools, preschools and day schools forms a powerful force in the Jewish
community. The majority of these schools are operated by Shluchos, who have
succeeded in making Jewish learning both fun and meaningful.
8. Camp directors
Thousands of children—and their families—have had their first
taste of Jewish life at a Gan Israel camp. Planning trips, coordinating
counselors, and caring for every child, the Shluchah is the heart and soul of
this powerful source of experiential education.
9. From hosting personal encounters . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8HXcIBho3I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8HXcIBho3I
Visiting the home of Chabad emissaries can be a moving
experience for everyone from local community members to international
celebrities. Shluchos around the world host guests at their Shabbat tables and
during the week.
. . . to coordinating communal events
Many Shluchos regularly plan and direct events for hundreds of
community members with the poise and effect of full-time event coordinators.
10. Global networkers:
The Shluchah keeps in touch with sister Shluchos from all over
the word. Together they form part a network, creating Jewish engagement and
building Jewish identity.
11. Pioneers
Many Shluchos have broadened the horizons of Jewish communal
engagement, far, far from where they once called home.
Rivkie Holtzberg was a pioneering Chabad emissary in India.
Together with her husband, Rabbi Gabi Holtzberg, and four of their guests, she
was killed in the terrorist attacks in Mumbai in November of 2008. She serves
as a shining example of the bold tenacity of the Shluchah to strike out with
her husband and children and move to strange and foreign communities.
12. Friends
The Shluchah gives herself: she is a friend to laugh with, a
shoulder to cry on, and a listening, caring ear.
13. Harbingers of peace
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lzn5EknbaU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lzn5EknbaU
With Shabbat comes rest. Ushering in Shabbat with Jewish women
around the world, Shluchos bring warmth and light into the home. Over the past
40 years, they have distributed millions of Shabbat candles, encouraging
countless women and girls to bring the Shabbat and holiday light into their own
homes.
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.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
Video
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Growing Older
By Frumma Rosenberg-Gottlieb
Can we get older and still be lovable? The Rebbe’s perspective
on aging, and tips on how to age gracefully, positively and successfully.
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Make Me a Sanctuary
By Mendel Kaplan
Every synagogue is known as a “miniature sanctuary” (mikdash
me’at). How does one show respect for a shul?
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The 39 Prohibitions of Shabbat, Lesson 2
By Mendel Dubov
The melachot of threshing and winnowing
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-------
Essay
Captive Souls
By Tzvi Freeman
Who Is Shechinah, And What Does She Want from My Life?
Shechinah שכינה is derived from the word shochen שכן, “to dwell
within.” The Shechinah is G‑d as G‑d is dwelling within. Sometimes we translate Shechinah as “The
Divine Presence.”
The word Shechinah is feminine, and so when we refer to G‑d as the Shechinah, we say “She.” Of course, we’re still referring
to the same One G‑d, just in a
different modality.
After all, you were probably wondering why we insist on calling
G‑d “He.” We’re not talking about a being limited by any
form—certainly not a body that could be identified as male or female.
But consider this: As soon as we just In that duality, we take
the female role, so that He calls us She and we call Him He.begin to refer to G‑d, we have already compromised His oneness. Because we have
already created a duality—there is us and there is G‑d. In that duality, we take the female role, so that He calls us
She and we call Him He. Then we do whatever we can to mend the schism between
us and return to one.
How the Shechinah Was Exiled
You may have heard of the primordial disaster, a creation narrative
first told by Rabbi Yitzchak Luria, known as “the Ari.” The narrative is told
in dazzling, spectacular metaphor, fit for a grand eye-candy sci-fi movie. But
it is all metaphor. Metaphor of a reality no human being could ever imagine.
And so it is told in these fabulous terms:
Prior to the creation of our chain of worlds, another order was
first created, that of Tohu. Tohu was the first example of planned
obsolescence: it was designed to fail. Tohu is the source of every type of
passion and desire that has the potential to destroy everything in its wake,
including itself. It was designed with absolute intensity, so that the energy
it contained would be in complete conflict with the vessels its energy entered.
And so, Tohu brought about its own destruction.
But for a purpose.
From that initial catastrophe, the highest sparks fell to the
lowest places. Think of an explosion: Those elements upon which the greatest
force is exerted will fly the furthest from the core of the explosion. Which
tells us that to find the most powerful remnants of the essence-light of Tohu,
we need to journey to the lowest of the worlds that explosion generated.
Where is the lowest of worlds? You’re in it. This is the world
of total otherness, a world where there dwell creatures that have no sense of
anything else other than this world. Some even sense that they themselves are
the masters of this world, or even that nothing else exists other than
themselves. It is a material world: Things couldn’t get more discretely
tangible, more self-absorbed, more otherly, than they are down here.
Which is why the Shechinah descends within this world: to seek
out those most precious sparks, to rescue them from their shells of darkness,
to reconnect them to their source above so that they become once again
meaningful and divine—all through us, Her agents, so that this world and this
life of ours plays out as not just another zero-sum game, but as an investment
with incomparable returns.
In that search, Her destiny becomes wrapped up in theirs, wrapped
up in darkness and in confusion. So much so that She cannot redeem those sparks
without redeeming Herself. And in that struggle, as we will see, She redeems
not only the sparks, but the darkness itself.
The Shechinah’s Secret
This story of the Shechinah is often called “The Secret of the
Exile of the Shechinah.” It is called a secret because it contains a puzzle,
this time an oxymoron in its very title, one that cannot be entirely solved
from within our frame of reference:
Can the Creator of all things become trapped within that which
S/He created?
How is it possible that the Shechinah—G‑d Herself—could be in exile? Can a prisoner be imprisoned by his
own guards in a prison of his own making? Can the Creator of all things become
trapped within that which S/He created? Can a singularity be trapped within
itself?
The question is not of some distant, abstract being. The soul
that breathes within us is a fractal of the Shechinah, and the journey of that
soul mirrors the drama of the Shechinah, as one cell of a hologram contains the
whole. Understanding the paradox of our own journey and exile will help us
fathom the depth of this secret of the Shechinah. Perhaps it will even hint to
some notion of its resolution.
Like the Shechinah, our soul is not here for her own sake—she
(the soul is also called a she) is perfect before her descent below. She comes
here, as does the Shechinah, to redeem the sparks of the body in which she is
infused, of the personality she is given, and of the portion of this world to
which she is assigned.
We call this process birur and tikkun. Birur means to sort out
the good from the bad, the desirable from the waste, much as a prospector sifts
through the sand for flakes of gold, or a smith separates the pure metal from
the dross. So too, we struggle to discard the bad, the ugly and the deceptions
that surround us, seeking out all the divine sparks they contain. Seeking value
wherever it can be found.
Birur can be performed only when wisdom is the master; as the
Zohar says, “With wisdom they will be purified.”1 The wisdom to which the Zohar
refers is a kind of higher vision, one that permits us to transcend our own
personal desires and surrender to a higher truth. A wisdom that allows us to
see beyond the mud—mostly our own mud—to recognize the gold that is there,
embrace it, and distinguish it from its caked, dark shell. It is also a wisdom
that ties us tightly to the heavens above, so as not to be dragged down by the
lime pits below.
Tikkun is the second step, when the divine spark is connected to
its proper place. At this point it sheds its outer, muddy crust, and begins to
glow through the shell that shrouded it, so that the shell itself is
transformed to become divine.
This is the profit gained through the deficit of Tohu’s
catastrophic fall: not only are the sparks returned to their place, but the
artifacts in which they entrapped themselves now too become divine.
Your footsteps are directed from above to bring you to those
divine sparks that belong to your soul alone.
Wherever your feet lead you, they are directed from above, to
bring you into proximity to those divine sparks that belong to your soul alone.
It may be a herb waiting to provide its healing powers, a stroke of wisdom that
has yet to find an understanding heart, a human relationship that must be
healed, a grand landscape that has been waiting to grant inspiration. If you
learn to say a blessing over your food before eating, then a fruit somewhere in
the world may await that blessing of yours. If you have learned to study Torah,
there may be a place in the world sustained by divine sparks that have been
waiting since the beginning of Creation to provide you an inspiring place to
study, so that your words of Torah will redeem them.
Whenever some new harmony is made in G‑d’s world, whenever it is endowed in new divine meaning, another
redemption has been made; the completion is yet nearer.
Recycled Souls
With you as her agent uncovering and redeeming those sparks, the
Shechinah digs Herself yet deeper, lower, into yet greater darkness, to find
sparks still unknown. Not without compensation. As with the sparks themselves,
the greater Her descent, the higher She will later ascend.
The same is true with this soul of yours which has had to return
many times to this world until her job would be complete. And on the path of
her mission, almost inevitably she will fall at times into the mire. She falls
when she is blinded by the deceptions of the darkness, tricked by the passions
of the beast into which she has been infused, and bribed by the ego in which
she has been encased. Now she must redeem herself as well, and in doing so she
not only redeems the most hidden sparks—she transforms the most intransigent
darkness to which those sparks have given life.
The Shechinah Herself also stumbles and falls into the mud. Her
children, our own souls, bring her there. So that now She, too, can no longer
redeem them without redeeming Herself. Her destiny becomes wrapped up in
theirs.
By now, all our souls have been recycled many times. What your
soul accomplished in previous descents, and what is left to be accomplished—all
that is of necessity hidden from you. As Rabbi Moshe Cordovero wrote, “Those
who know do not say, and those who say do not know.” For if we would know, we
would accomplish without struggle. And it is the struggle itself that brings
out the innermost powers, the powers of redemption.
As with the sparks, and as with the Shechinah, the further the
soul descends, the greater will be her ultimate ascent. Indeed, there is only
ascent. For the descent itself, in retrospect, is the active stage that powers
the ascent.
Being Within
The mystery of the exile of the Shechinah applies to the soul as
well: If the soul is G‑dly, the very
breath of G‑d within us,
how can she descend? More so, how can she be imprisoned and limited by the
bonds of a physical body?
This world cannot be healed except by those who dwell within it.
The answer lies in the very process we are describing. Birur,
tikkun—these cannot happen from afar. This world cannot be healed and
transformed except by those who dwell within it. Allow the Infinite Light to
shine into our world unshielded, and there is no world—it would vanish as a
shadow before a bright light. Tikkun means keeping the world standing while
repairing from within—as one might renovate a home without disturbing its
inhabitants. The ultimate tikkun is a harmony of a world that can contain
Infinite Light and yet remain a world.
To do that requires something that is of the world and yet
beyond it. It requires a captive. And so the Shechinah, and our souls that are
sparks of the Shechinah, place themselves in voluntary captivity so they can do
the job from inside.
Monique Sternin, an international social activist, was also an
inside worker. She tells how she once arrived in New Zealand to help the
aboriginals there. An aboriginal woman told her, “If you are here to help me, I
do not need your help, and it will not help anyways. But if you are here
because your destiny is tied to mine, then we can work together to repair all
this.” That is the process of tikkun.
We are all international activists—the yeshivah student
struggling for clarity in an abstruse Talmudic passage, the storeowner who
refuses to sell faulty merchandise, the little girl joyfully lighting her
candle before Shabbat, the hiker who reaches the top of her climb and
breathlessly recites a blessing to the Creator for the magnificent view, the
young father who has just now started wrapping tefillin every morning, the
subway commuter who lent the guy next to him a shoulder to sleep upon, and the
simple Jew who checks for a kosher symbol on the package before making a
purchase. Our destiny is tied to the destiny of those books, that merchandise,
that time of the week, that mountain, that morning rush, that neighbor and that
train, and the food in that package. We cannot live without them, and their
redemption cannot come without us. We are all inside workers.
Yet after all is said, the question still burns: G‑d in captivity?!
Truth, after all, is not all about answers. A burning question
can contain more truth than a comfortable answer. In this case, if we would
understand the answer and grasp it fully, we would feel fine right where we
are. We would effectively no longer be captives. Grasping the answer would
sabotage the mission.
The Deepest Sparks
If you’ve ever set out to clean up a teenager’s room, you can
probably relate to the following: Daunted by the task ahead of you, you
cleverly start with the big stuff. Having dislodged some furniture, moving them
into appropriate corners, tossed a few cardboard boxes into recycling, and
discovering that, yes, there is a floor down there, only then can you really
get started. But that’s also when it becomes apparent just how ugly this mess
really is. Now is time for the scraping, grinding, elbow grease and harsh
chemicals. The hardest tasks are always left for last.
The greater the spark, the more intense the battle.
So too with our messy world. As soon as the initial sparks are
redeemed, yet more challenging missions arise. As time progresses, the divine
sparks become harder to discover, locked within the darkest realms, stubbornly
refusing to be extricated from there. The darkness itself fights back, lashing
out at any soul that comes to take away its captives. The greater the spark,
the more intense the battle.
Eventually, once you have reached deep within your soul and
revealed its most hidden powers, then the most hidden sparks also become
revealed. As it turns out, redemption of those sparks is intrinsically bound
with the redemption of your innermost soul.
The battle goes yet deeper. There are those sparks that cannot
be redeemed by a head-on attack, but only by failure and return. Failure is one
of those things that cannot be prearranged. Yet it is only through failure that
you can redeem not only the most intense sparks of Tohu, but the darkness
itself. The darkness caused you to fail. And now, when you return, it is that
experience of the darkness that drives you with unstoppable impetus. You have
become what the Zohar calls “a master of return, who is drawn to G‑d with greater power than the one who has never failed.”>2
An immeasurably great power. The power of darkness.
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.
Natalia Kadish is a Surrealist artist inspired by the joy received
from learning Torah and contemplating the infinite. She received a BA in
Illustration from School of Visual Arts. Her art has been displayed in several
concerts, including Irving Plaza in NYC. While incorporating the realism of her
father, Laszlo Kubinyi’s, illustrations, she explores mystical concepts and
understandings inspired by her visit to the Artists’ Colony in Tzfat, Israel.
Her goal is to reveal the love in hearts and share her inspiration with all.
FOOTNOTES
1. Zohar III:254b. See
also Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, Tanya, Iggeret HaKodesh 28.
2. Zohar I:129b.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Cooking
Challah With a Touch of Elegance
By Chana Scop
The highlight of the Shabbat table is always the fresh loaves of
challah waiting to be sliced and devoured.
Here’s a simple way to make your challah even more special, as a
beautiful centerpiece for a special occasion.
As you can see here, it is just a stunning ribbon that accents
this challah duo.
Of course, all challah would need to be covered for kiddush, but
why not show off something beautiful until then?
I found this ribbon in a craft store near me; you can easily
find something similar in your local crafting store or online. Try
tinseltrading.com, for example.
Here is a very soft, gentle and beautiful way to display challah
that is being used for a special occasion, such as a wedding or bat mitzvah
celebration.
You may want to experiment with different colors of tulle. For a
fancy Shabbat dinner, try black tulle, with gold placecards. Or gold tulle with
black placecards, and the guests’ names in gold.
You can even make small individual challahs, wrap them this way
and put one at each guest’s place. Put your placecards between the challah and
the bow, sticking out enough that each guest can find their place.
To create this look:
Purchase tulle of your choice. I bought two large spools, one
gold and one cream, from save-on-crafts.com.
Lay the tulle across the top of the challah and bring both ends
gently to the underside of the loaf. Switch hands, so that the ribbon ends are
now going in the opposite direction (kind of a mini-twist under the challah).
Now bring both ends back to the front, and tie in a bow on top
of your first layer of tulle. Trim ends of bow, and gently pull bow to expand.
Here’s my recipe for great-tasting home baked challah.
Time:
20 minutes prep time
1½ hours rising time
½ hour bake time
Yields: seven challahs
Ingredients
2¼ tsp. active dry yeast
¾ cup warm water
1 tsp. sugar
1½ cups boiling water
2 cups cold water
4 eggs, mixed
1 heaping tbsp. kosher salt
¾ cup vegetable oil
1 cup of sugar
1 5-lb. bag of good quality flour
1 egg, beaten, for egg wash
Directions
Sprinkle yeast into warm water, add sugar and stir gently. Let
sit until foamy, about 5–10 minutes. In a mixer (or bowl), add all other
ingredients except flour and stir. Add yeast mixture when foamy and stir again.
Add 13–14 cups of flour (almost the whole bag).
Using a dough hook, mix until dough is not sticky and bounces
back when touched.
Place in a bowl and pat with a little oil. Cover with plastic
wrap and let rise for 1½ to 2 hours.
When the dough has risen, say the blessing and remove a piece of
dough for the mitzvah of separating challah.
Shape dough and let rise another half hour. Coat with beaten egg
wash and bake at 350° F for 30–40 minutes.
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.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Question
Where Does the Torah Say to Light Shabbat Candles?
By Tzvi Freeman
Question:
I think this is a beautiful tradition, and I want to learn all I
can about it. However, is it actually written in Torah to light a candle, or
does it say only to observe the Sabbath and keep it holy?
Response:
The most precious things in life are said silently. Those who
need to understand—those who are not strangers, those who hear the words from
the inside—understand. Similarly with Shabbat: when G‑d gave it to us, He did not need to spell out its most precious
customs.
Take a look: whenever the Torah mentions Shabbat, it always
seems to be assuming that we know what it’s talking about. The Torah admonishes
us to “keep the Shabbat” and “remember the Shabbat.” We are to rest on the
seventh day from the work of the other six, and so are our servants and domesticated
animals. Don’t make a fire.1 There’s a strong implication that we don’t build
tabernacles on Shabbat.2 From all this we can figure out a lot of things that
we are not supposed to do—such as anything that’s involved in building a
tabernacle. But regarding what we are supposed to do, not a word. It seems that
the Moses crowd just knew—perhaps by intuition, perhaps by tradition.
The prophet Isaiah, however, does elaborate a little on what
Shabbat entails. His audience was, after all, a little more distant from the
light of Sinai—and so needed things spelled out. He says, “If you restrain your
foot because of the Sabbath, from performing your affairs on My holy day, and
you will call the Sabbath ‘a delight’ and G‑d’s holy day
‘honored’ . . .”3
So, Shabbat is a day we are to honor and delight in. But how do
you honor and delight in it? Apparently, Isaiah’s audience needed no further
explanation. But in Talmudic times, things got to the point that it was
necessary for the rabbis to spell out every word: you honor the Shabbat with
clean clothes, and delight in it with fine food and drink.4
Now, here’s where the Shabbat candles come in:5 Have you ever
sat down to a delicious meal in the dark? Not too much fun. Who knows what that
fork may end up piercing? But, worst of all, even the finest cuisine becomes a
drab affair when you can’t see the colors, textures and forms of those
delicious morsels. We are visual creatures, and even our capacity to derive
pleasure from our food is tied to our visual experience. “A blind person,” the
rabbis say, “is never satisfied from his food.”6
And so, as long as Jews were interested in “calling the Shabbat
a day of delight,” they must have had a lamp lit for the nighttime meal. It had
to be lit beforehand, since—as we are told explicitly7—we cannot create a fire
on Shabbat. And since it is the woman who generally takes the responsibilities
of the home, presumably she took the responsibility for the lamp.
Yet it seems that later down the line, there were Jews who felt
okay skimping on the visual experience. Maybe the cost of oil was escalating.
True, you can’t eat a meal without light and enjoy it. But people said, “Let’s
just eat it that way anyway, and say we did.” Now, if people don’t want to
enjoy, it’s hard to tell them, “You must enjoy!” But sitting in a dark home all
Shabbat creates other problems. Shabbat is meant to be a day of peace and
harmony. A dark house, with people tripping over every unseen obstacle8 and
falling all over each other is not conducive to peace and harmony.
So, at some unspecified point in history, for the sake of shalom
bayit (family harmony),9 the spiritual leaders of the generation made a
distinct requirement that every home must have a lamp lit before Shabbat in
every room where people may walk and bump into things.10 They declared that
anyone who would be careful with it would be blessed with children who would be
Torah scholars, as the verse states, “For a mitzvah is a lamp, and the Torah is
light.”11 They interpreted this to mean that through the mitzvah of the lamp
would come the light of Torah.12
Nevertheless, the principal lamp is the one that shines over the
Shabbat meal.13 The other lamps can be replaced today with electric lights, but
the light by the meal should be a burning flame—unless that’s just not possible
(e.g., in a hospital).
Now you can see that the Shabbat lamp, even though it is
technically a rabbinic institution, has always been an integral part of the
Shabbat. Our tradition is that Abraham and Sarah kept the entire Torah even
though it was not yet given. They knew the Torah from their understanding of
the inner mechanics of the universe. Sarah lit the Shabbat lamp, as did
Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. It’s reasonable to believe that at no time in our
history did a Friday night pass without that light. And with that light we will
enter into the “day that is entirely Shabbat and rest for eternal life.” May
that time come sooner than we can imagine.
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.
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.
FOOTNOTES
1. Exodus 35:3.
2. Ibid.
3. Isaiah 58:13.
4. Talmud, Shabbat 113a
and 118b; Mishneh Torah, Hil. Shabbat 30:1; Tur and Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim
242 and 262.
5. Mishneh Torah (ibid.
5:1) describes ner Shabbat in terms of delight. In 30:5, however, it is
described in terms of honoring Shabbat. The Rebbe (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 11, p.
295) resolves this: lighting before Shabbat honors the Shabbat by preparing for
it. Once Shabbat has entered, the light provides delight. I focus here on the
second aspect, since (see Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, 263:11, end) the main mitzvah
of ner Shabbat is not the lighting, but the enjoyment of the light on Shabbat
(and for this reason, a woman who has not made the blessing at the time of
lighting can make a blessing later on Shabbat, when she benefits from the
light).
6. Yoma 74b.
7. Exodus 35:3.
8. Rashi to Shabbat 25b,
s.v. hadlakat.
9. Shabbat 23b. Rambam
appears to consider ner Shabbat to be principally for the sake of enjoying
Shabbat. Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, however, seems to consider shalom bayit the
chief factor. See Likkutei Sichot, vol. 16, p. 374.
10. Mishneh Torah, ibid.;
Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 263:1.
11. Proverbs 6:23.
12. Shabbat 23b and Rashi
ad loc.
13. Ohr Zarua, Hilchot
Erev Shabbat 11; Rema, Orach Chaim 263:10; Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav 263:1.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Story
Check Out My Room
By Dov Peretz Elkins
A prominent rabbi of Newton, Massachusetts, attended a
housewarming party at a large, beautiful home in his wealthy suburb of Boston.
Guests oohed and ahhed, checking out every unusual piece of
furniture, every exotic light fixture, every imported piece of handcrafted art,
the thick azure carpets, the golden hand-carved door handles both inside and
outside, and on and on and on.
During the course of the evening, the homeowners related to
their guests that they had paid the highest fee for their interior decorator,
but it was worth every penny. The results were astonishing. Every decision,
down to the last window treatment, was just impeccable. They could not have
been more pleased.
“This,” they declared, in contrast to how most people thought a
home should be furnished, “is interior decorating.”
About an hour passed, and the elderly mother of the hostess, who
lived with her daughter and son-in-law, asked her rabbi friend to come upstairs
and take a look at her room.
Having left the posh living room and dining room of this large,
magnificently appointed and lavish home, the elderly woman opened the door of
her upstairs bedroom and pointed her finger toward the windowsill. When the
rabbi looked, he was astounded at what he saw.
The woman did not point, as the daughter did, to any of the
furniture or decorations of the room. She pointed only to the windowsill,
toward a row of charity boxes, pushkes, one for every worthwhile cause
imaginable. There were boxes for hospitals, yeshivot (religious schools),
orphanages, battered women’s shelters, homes for children who were blind or
deaf, funds for the handicapped—you name it! One for every single Jewish
institution she could find that distributed charity boxes for people to drop
coins in and return when full.
Before modern methods of fundraising took hold, these small
charity boxes “decorated” kitchen windows in every traditional Jewish home.
“Now, Rabbi,” said the elderly woman, gazing proudly at her windowsill filled
with charity boxes—“this is interior decorating!”
Excerpted from Jewish Stories from Heaven and Earth (Jewish
Lights Publishing, 2008).
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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The Rebbe
The Rebbe and the Scientist: Looking for Life on Mars
By Velvl Greene
In 1960, I began working for NASA as part of the Planetary
Quarantine Division, which was then charged with trying to find life on Mars.
The Rebbe was very, very interested in the work I was doing. When we first met,
he asked me if I knew what the Baal Shem Tov, the 18th-century founder of the
chassidic movement, meant when he spoke of divine providence.
I said that I did. The principle of divine providence which the
Baal Shem Tov taught is that nothing a Jew sees and hears is random. Rather, it
is all designed by Heaven to bring you closer to Torah and to G‑d. There is nothing wasted.
And the Rebbe said, “If this is true for everybody, how much
more true is it for a person who is exploring the stratosphere, or searching
for life on Mars, or working in a medical laboratory dealing with diseases, or
traveling all over the world and meeting so many people.”
“Nothing a Jew sees and hears is random . . . certainly when
searching for life on Mars”
He went on, “You must have a wealth of stories and anecdotes and
events and impressions—each one of which demonstrates divine providence. You
should keep a journal of these stories and events, and then try to analyze them
to see what is the lesson you can learn from these things. And if you can’t
figure it out by yourself, then bring them to me and I’ll help you.”
I followed his advice. And today I have a journal with hundreds
and hundreds of stories and events, and I plan, some day, to disseminate these
stories to as many people as possible.
Back then—this was the early 1970s—when word got around that I
was working with NASA and looking for life on Mars, some religious Jews would
rebuke me. They said, “You mustn’t do that. You mustn’t work in the space
biology program or the exobiology program, because it goes contrary to Torah.
You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work.” Since at this point I had already
begun my journey to Jewish practice, their words caused me concern—was I doing
something wrong? I didn’t know what to make of these statements. Rabbi Feller
suggested that the next time I would meet with the Rebbe, I should ask the
Rebbe if that was in fact true.
“You should look for life on Mars, and you should keep looking
for life on Mars”
The Rebbe didn’t respond right away. He thought for a while, and
then he said this:
“You should look for life on Mars, and you should keep looking
for life on Mars. If you don’t find it, then keep looking elsewhere, and do not
stop looking, because to sit here in this world and say there is no life
elsewhere is to put a limit around what G‑d can do. And
nobody can do that!”
And then he asked me if it would be possible for him to read
some of my reports to NASA, and he was careful to add, “if they are not
classified.”
I told him that there were many unclassified documents that I
could send him, but I asked, “Why should the Rebbe want to read this? I mean,
most of it is preliminary—we haven’t been to Mars yet. We’re just doing
experiments to plan for the Martian trip, and what we’re doing is just normal
bacteriology; it’s not very exciting . . .”
He said, “Let me decide that.”
So I promised him that I would do it, but several months went
by, and I didn’t send him anything. The next time I was in New York and stopped
at Chabad headquarters for afternoon prayers, the Rebbe noticed me and called
me over. He said, “You promised me something!”
The Rebbe noticed me and called me over. He said, “You promised
me something!”
“What did I forget?”
“You promised me the reports.”
“Well, I thought the Rebbe is so busy . . .”
“Don’t have pity on me. Send the reports.”
I went home and assembled a pile of unclassified documents—three
or four thick folders—and I sent them all to the Rebbe. Most of this material
described what we thought the Martian environment might be like, based on
information from flybys. This was work from before the first landing on Mars,
which would not take place until July 1976. In those early days, we were trying
to develop a sampling device that could test the dust on Mars for the presence
of living microbes. We were speculating what types of microbes might be there,
so we could provide the proper nutrients to grow them when we got there.
It was straight laboratory work—I had a big group of
microbiologists working for me, generating mounds and mounds of reports which
we would send to NASA. But, until we actually landed on Mars and took samples,
everything we were doing was speculation.
“In the first place you say that these bacteria would grow
there, and in the second you say that they wouldn’t”
At the next audience I had with the Rebbe, he said to me, “There
is something I’d like to bring up. Obviously it’s because I don’t understand
your work, but it seems to me that there is a disagreement between something
you wrote in one place about bacteria on Mars and what you wrote in another report
several years later that describes the same experiment.” And he named the
volume. “In the first place you say that these bacteria would grow there, and
in the second you say that they wouldn’t.”
I told him that I couldn’t remember what he was referring to,
but that I would look it up. And when I went home I dug out these dusty reports
and read them, and of course he was right. There was a discrepancy.
When I came to the Rebbe the next time, which was a year later,
I told him, “With regard to the discrepancy, the Rebbe was right—what I said
here I didn’t say there, simply because I made a typographical mistake. And I’m
going to correct it.”
“I don’t like contradictions in science”
He said, “Thank you. You make me feel better. I don’t like
contradictions in science. But if the difference between what you said here and
there is because you made a simple mistake—well, that makes me feel better.”
After that, every time I saw him he asked me for more reports.
And, one time, I answered him in a flippant way. I said, “They say that the
Rebbe has ruach ha-kodesh, divine vision. If that is true, why is the Rebbe
asking me for a report? Doesn’t he know what is going on?”
If any chassidim had been in the room, they would have slapped
me. But the Rebbe just smiled and said, “Vos men zogt, zol men zuggen—what they
say, let them say. From you, I want a report.”
The late Dr. Velvl Greene, a bacteriologist and professor
emeritus at Ben-Gurion University as well as director of the Lord Jacobovits
Center for Jewish Medical Ethics in Be’er Sheva, Israel, also worked for NASA’s
Planetary Quarantine Division, which was charged with trying to find life on
Mars. He was interviewed in his home in Be’er Sheva in April 2008.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Art
One Heart
By Sara Seldowitz
At the giving of the Torah, the Jewish people camped in front of
the mountain, as one man with one heart.
Artist’s Statement: At the giving of the Torah, the Jewish
people camped in front of the mountain, so united they were likened to one
person with one heart.
Sara was born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Vibrant
colors, rhythm and balance in nature influences her compositions. Sara, a
self-taught artist, has enjoyed creating artwork since she was a child and has
experimented with different techniques and mixed media. Sara combines rich
colors and texture in her paintings inspired by Jewish themes and ancient
texts. In her creative artwork she hopes to express the joy of living in G-d's
world. Sara lives with her family in Brooklyn, NY.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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Terumah Art
By Ahuva Klein
Artist’s Statement: The Jewish people bring tithes for the Tabernacle.
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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Chabad.org c/o
Chabad Lubavitch Media Center
784 Eastern Parkway Suite 405
Brooklyn, NY 11213
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