Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
The Brexit is big news these days. In case you live with your head under a rock, Brexit is a big referendum on Thursday when British voters will decide whether to leave the European Union.
While there is lively debate whether it would be wise for the UK to leave the EU, since I am not British, I will keep my opinion to myself. However, it seems fairly clear that they would be allowed to back out, should they wish to. It was a union made for economic and political purposes, and a change in circumstance can very well render the union a burden rather than a boon.
And then there are unions that just don’t break up. Like the union of the Jewish people. We can disagree with each other. We can vex each other. We can do everything different from each other. It does not matter. We are one people, united by a common Torah and a common Father in Heaven.
You may like falafel, and the guy down the hall may like gefilte-fish. You may go to synagogue twice daily, and the Jew across town many not have stepped foot since his bar mitzvah.
We are one people. Forever. No Jewxit for us, and thank G‑d for that!
Menachem Posner
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
Reporting
G‑d doesn't need you to report on the dirt in His world.
He sent you here to search out the jewels hidden in the mud, clean them and polish them until they shine.
And when you bring them to Him, the angels make a crown of them for Him, saying, "Look what Your children have made for You out of the mud!"
This Week's Features:
Printable Magazine
If Judaism Is Spiritual, Why All the Rules?
On Freedom By Choice by Tzvi Freeman
Dear Ask-the-Rabbi Rabbi,
I was a social activist for many years, and then began dabbling in Buddhism. Now I feel drawn back to my Jewish roots. I’m excited by Judaism’s joy and celebration of life, but discouraged by the seemingly endless list of dos, don’ts and details. I’m looking for spirituality and self-expression, not more rules to follow. Isn’t modern life already stifling enough that we have to add yet more restrictions?
—A. Sikur
Dear A,
Yes, life has rules. Many rules. Why? Because the universe is built of rules. Whatever you care to call them—physics, karma, social norms, natural consequences. We all live within those rules. They are, after all, the infrastructure of being.
But Judaism More than Torah is about keeping rules, it’s about breaking them.is Torah, and while Torah has rules, at it’s depth, it’s really about breaking rules.
If Torah was just about rules, G‑dwould have introduced it at Mount Sinai by saying, “I am G‑d who created heaven and earth.” Then we would understand that our duty is to follow the laws of heaven and earth. But instead, He said, “I am G‑d who took you out of the land of the Egypt.” Because Torah is about escaping the bondage of a limited world, about transcending the laws of heaven and earth.1
In the beginning G‑d created the heavens and the earth.2
As a programmer codes parameters at the head of the program; as a screenwriter lays out the profile of each character before the script begins; as the artist mixes his palette before his brush touches the canvas; as the musician chooses his key, mode and meter before he begins to play—all in order to compose a new reality, an entire world consistent and harmonious within itself; to artfully suspend disbelief and grant life to that which never before existed—so too, in six days, the Creator set the rules of heaven and earth.
And God saw the light that it was good, and God separated between the light and between the darkness. And God called the light day, and the darkness He called night.3
And so there was Rule #1: Light should be light and dark should be dark, and each will have its time and boundary.
And God made the expanse and it separated between the water that was below the expanse and the water that was above the expanse, and it was so.4
And so there was Rule #2: The heavens will be above and the earth will be below, and each will have its space and boundary.
From there, all that exists was given its boundary, its limitations, its space to be a thing all of its own, as though it had no creator. As though it were just a thing that is because it always was.
Which is how it remained for the next 2,448 years. Until the Torah was given. And then it was time to break all the rules.
There was a king who decreed, “The citizens of Rome may not descend to Syria, and the citizens of Syria may not arise to Rome.”
So, too, when the Holy One, may He be blessed, created the world, He decreed, “The heavens are the heavens of G‑d, and the earth He has given to the children of Adam.”
But when He wished to give the Torah, he annulled His original decree. He said, “Those below shall rise above and above shall descend below. And I will initiate.”
And so it says, “And G‑d descended upon Mount Sinai…”
And after, it is written, “To Moses He said, ‘Arise up to G‑d!’”
That is the meaning of the verse, “Whatever G‑d desires, so He does, in the heavens and in the earth.”5
So it was that the very first rules of creation were knocked down by none other than the One who had set them up to begin with. And that was only to show us the way to follow. Which means that the rules of Torah are nothing less than keys to liberation from those rules that had been set in the six days of creation.
From Sinai on, light must break into the place of darkness, and darkness must begin to shine like light. Wisdom must pour down from the heavens and soak the earth, and the earth must sprout with wisdom. Serenity and spirituality must leave the place of the hermits and enter the place of common daily business, and the common people must come to know G‑d in all their ways of business. The innermost secret wisdom must spill out onto the street, until the street will speak wisdom.
And all your challenges, your upbringing, your handicaps, your impossible circumstances— everything the world throws at you to keep you chained to its bondage—no longer must any of these hold you back, but rather they must be transformed and exploited to become your means of achieving true freedom, a freedom you have fought for and won on your own, wielding the light-saber of Torah.
The Artist’s Signature
Why did the Creator create rules and then teach us to break them?
Perhaps G‑d is an artist. Perhaps the universe is art.
An artist’s greatest wish is to create a work that will live and breathe on its own. The portrait artist wants you to stare at his portrait and be grabbed by the life running through the subject. The author wants you to immerse yourself in a life he has constructed until it becomes your life. The producer wants you to forget your reality and live within the one he has created for you.
And then, at the bottom corner of the painting, on the cover of the book, at the end of the movie, the artist punctures a hole in his art and bursts its bubble. He signs his name and tells you, “I made this.”
Is the beauty gone? No. It is revealed. As long as we were suspended within its grasp, we had no context, no space to appreciate it. The signature provides that space, so that we can step back and say, “How awesome! How wondrous! What art is this!”
It is a paradox, but the signature, in the very act of subverting the artist’s genius, completes it.
The rules, the parameters, the protocols—they are all there to create a masterpiece of beauty. As David wrote in his Psalms, “Who awesome are Your works, oh G‑d! Due to Your great might, Your enemies deny You!”6Meaning: You outdid Yourself. You created a world that seems so real, so self-sustaining, so compelling, that those dwelling within it can deny there was ever an Artist who made this.
So there is a Torah,Torah is the Artist’s signature, and we were given the job to stamp that signature on each of His works. the Artist’s signature,7 and we were given the job to stamp that signature on each of His works. To create a space, a vacuum, a window for the Creator to enter His creation, and for the creation to reveal its Creator.
To break out of prison, you need a hatchet and a crowbar. But there is no beauty in a broken grate. To break out of the prison of this world, you must liberate the world itself. The prison must be shown for what it truly is, a garden, an art gallery, a novel, yet incomplete, awaiting our work to redeem its beauty. Awaiting the final signature of the infinite mind that made it and sustains it.
The Artist’s Paradox
The artist’s paradox is rich and juicy. In one way, it tells us how the laws of nature exist to create a real world. In another way, it tells us how the laws of Torah create beauty in that world.
The artist’s paradox is that to become an artist you must have two opposite qualities: A fountain of creative expression that bursts through any restraint, coupled with the discipline to labor for hours until the rules of the craft sink into your bones. “Once you get rid of the garbage-movements,” a cellist once taught me, “once your fingers go only where they need to go, then you can start playing music.”
Art, then, is not simply to leap into the air, open your mouth and release the emotions inside, or to throw paint on a canvas and expect beauty to emerge. Art is the unbounded in tight, determinate containers.
Why? Because true art is not simply about something you want to express. Art is the artist placing the very core of his being on the table. The core of your being doesn’t naturally flow outward. The core of your being is unknown to all, invisible even to yourself. Even to say that it is unbounded does not capture its essence. It is free. It is that of you that can choose to be whatever it wishes to be.
So that the only window upon your core of being is at the nexus of two opposite lines, a point where creativity and rigorous discipline somehow impossibly cross. That is art, that is beauty—that window of paradox.
Every
If Judaism Is Spiritual, Why All the Rules?
On Freedom By Choice by Tzvi Freeman
Dear Ask-the-Rabbi Rabbi,I was a social activist for many years, and then began dabbling in Buddhism. Now I feel drawn back to my Jewish roots. I’m excited by Judaism’s joy and celebration of life, but discouraged by the seemingly endless list of dos, don’ts and details. I’m looking for spirituality and self-expression, not more rules to follow. Isn’t modern life already stifling enough that we have to add yet more restrictions?
—A. Sikur
Dear A,
Yes, life has rules. Many rules. Why? Because the universe is built of rules. Whatever you care to call them—physics, karma, social norms, natural consequences. We all live within those rules. They are, after all, the infrastructure of being.
But Judaism More than Torah is about keeping rules, it’s about breaking them.is Torah, and while Torah has rules, at it’s depth, it’s really about breaking rules.
If Torah was just about rules, G‑dwould have introduced it at Mount Sinai by saying, “I am G‑d who created heaven and earth.” Then we would understand that our duty is to follow the laws of heaven and earth. But instead, He said, “I am G‑d who took you out of the land of the Egypt.” Because Torah is about escaping the bondage of a limited world, about transcending the laws of heaven and earth.1
In the beginning G‑d created the heavens and the earth.2
As a programmer codes parameters at the head of the program; as a screenwriter lays out the profile of each character before the script begins; as the artist mixes his palette before his brush touches the canvas; as the musician chooses his key, mode and meter before he begins to play—all in order to compose a new reality, an entire world consistent and harmonious within itself; to artfully suspend disbelief and grant life to that which never before existed—so too, in six days, the Creator set the rules of heaven and earth.
And God saw the light that it was good, and God separated between the light and between the darkness. And God called the light day, and the darkness He called night.3
And so there was Rule #1: Light should be light and dark should be dark, and each will have its time and boundary.
And God made the expanse and it separated between the water that was below the expanse and the water that was above the expanse, and it was so.4
And so there was Rule #2: The heavens will be above and the earth will be below, and each will have its space and boundary.
From there, all that exists was given its boundary, its limitations, its space to be a thing all of its own, as though it had no creator. As though it were just a thing that is because it always was.
Which is how it remained for the next 2,448 years. Until the Torah was given. And then it was time to break all the rules.
There was a king who decreed, “The citizens of Rome may not descend to Syria, and the citizens of Syria may not arise to Rome.”
So, too, when the Holy One, may He be blessed, created the world, He decreed, “The heavens are the heavens of G‑d, and the earth He has given to the children of Adam.”
But when He wished to give the Torah, he annulled His original decree. He said, “Those below shall rise above and above shall descend below. And I will initiate.”
And so it says, “And G‑d descended upon Mount Sinai…”
And after, it is written, “To Moses He said, ‘Arise up to G‑d!’”
That is the meaning of the verse, “Whatever G‑d desires, so He does, in the heavens and in the earth.”5
So it was that the very first rules of creation were knocked down by none other than the One who had set them up to begin with. And that was only to show us the way to follow. Which means that the rules of Torah are nothing less than keys to liberation from those rules that had been set in the six days of creation.
From Sinai on, light must break into the place of darkness, and darkness must begin to shine like light. Wisdom must pour down from the heavens and soak the earth, and the earth must sprout with wisdom. Serenity and spirituality must leave the place of the hermits and enter the place of common daily business, and the common people must come to know G‑d in all their ways of business. The innermost secret wisdom must spill out onto the street, until the street will speak wisdom.
And all your challenges, your upbringing, your handicaps, your impossible circumstances— everything the world throws at you to keep you chained to its bondage—no longer must any of these hold you back, but rather they must be transformed and exploited to become your means of achieving true freedom, a freedom you have fought for and won on your own, wielding the light-saber of Torah.
The Artist’s Signature
Why did the Creator create rules and then teach us to break them?
Perhaps G‑d is an artist. Perhaps the universe is art.
An artist’s greatest wish is to create a work that will live and breathe on its own. The portrait artist wants you to stare at his portrait and be grabbed by the life running through the subject. The author wants you to immerse yourself in a life he has constructed until it becomes your life. The producer wants you to forget your reality and live within the one he has created for you.
And then, at the bottom corner of the painting, on the cover of the book, at the end of the movie, the artist punctures a hole in his art and bursts its bubble. He signs his name and tells you, “I made this.”
Is the beauty gone? No. It is revealed. As long as we were suspended within its grasp, we had no context, no space to appreciate it. The signature provides that space, so that we can step back and say, “How awesome! How wondrous! What art is this!”
It is a paradox, but the signature, in the very act of subverting the artist’s genius, completes it.
The rules, the parameters, the protocols—they are all there to create a masterpiece of beauty. As David wrote in his Psalms, “Who awesome are Your works, oh G‑d! Due to Your great might, Your enemies deny You!”6Meaning: You outdid Yourself. You created a world that seems so real, so self-sustaining, so compelling, that those dwelling within it can deny there was ever an Artist who made this.
So there is a Torah,Torah is the Artist’s signature, and we were given the job to stamp that signature on each of His works. the Artist’s signature,7 and we were given the job to stamp that signature on each of His works. To create a space, a vacuum, a window for the Creator to enter His creation, and for the creation to reveal its Creator.
To break out of prison, you need a hatchet and a crowbar. But there is no beauty in a broken grate. To break out of the prison of this world, you must liberate the world itself. The prison must be shown for what it truly is, a garden, an art gallery, a novel, yet incomplete, awaiting our work to redeem its beauty. Awaiting the final signature of the infinite mind that made it and sustains it.
The Artist’s Paradox
The artist’s paradox is rich and juicy. In one way, it tells us how the laws of nature exist to create a real world. In another way, it tells us how the laws of Torah create beauty in that world.
The artist’s paradox is that to become an artist you must have two opposite qualities: A fountain of creative expression that bursts through any restraint, coupled with the discipline to labor for hours until the rules of the craft sink into your bones. “Once you get rid of the garbage-movements,” a cellist once taught me, “once your fingers go only where they need to go, then you can start playing music.”
Art, then, is not simply to leap into the air, open your mouth and release the emotions inside, or to throw paint on a canvas and expect beauty to emerge. Art is the unbounded in tight, determinate containers.
Why? Because true art is not simply about something you want to express. Art is the artist placing the very core of his being on the table. The core of your being doesn’t naturally flow outward. The core of your being is unknown to all, invisible even to yourself. Even to say that it is unbounded does not capture its essence. It is free. It is that of you that can choose to be whatever it wishes to be.
So that the only window upon your core of being is at the nexus of two opposite lines, a point where creativity and rigorous discipline somehow impossibly cross. That is art, that is beauty—that window of paradox.
Every
A paradox says, “I am not this, neither am I the opposite of this." artist emulates the prototype of all art—the creation within which we stand. Here, a rock is not a rock, a flower is not a flower, a carp swimming in a pond is not a carp. Look closer, and you will see. All are articulations of infinite consciousness expressing itself as finite beings. Because the Artist desires the very core of His being to be found within His art. And that can occur only through paradox. A paradox that says, “I am not this, neither am I the opposite of this. I am not finite, nor can you define me as the Infinite. For I can be both at once and neither at the same time.”8
Two Worlds and Their Rules
If so, what is the difference between the outer world and its rules, and the Torah world and its rules? Both are a magnificent paradox, the ultimate art, as infinity squeezes into the finite. What renders one a prison, while the other is true freedom?9
Because the restrictions of the outer world are imposed by its own boundaries, and that makes them hard and real. The restrictions of Torah are imposed by choice—and therefore they are the ultimate freedom.
The laws of nature are bondage. Autumn will follow the summer, and winter the autumn—and there is nothing in all the world you can do about it. You will be younger than your parents. The color of your eyes will be determined at birth. You will have no choice as to where you will be born and to whom, what school you will attend as a child and what food they will give you.
There will be poverty and there will be wealth. There will be war and there will be peace. There will be oppressors and there will be the oppressed. The world will turn, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west, and no human hand can stop it.
Why must the world be this way? Because it is the stage on which a grand drama will play, a masterpiece of art, in which created beings will struggle to make hard choices and overcome sinister darkness with the power of light. Once that drama was composed, every prop was already determined—all the laws of nature, all the patterns of the universe. So that, in this universe, in all these props and backdrops, although He is here, we do not have the Artist at His core. We have bondage.
But why did He choose that drama?
Why did He choose that good is good and bad is bad? Why did He choose that stealing, lying and murder should be harmful? Why did He choose that they could exist at all?
Why did He choose that Shabbat will be on the seventh day? That there will be ten commandments at Sinai and not nine or eleven? That the leather boxes in which the scrolls of tefillin are encased must be cubical and not rounded? And that by our fulfilment of these things, He will be drawn into His world, through each mitzvah in its particular way?
Because He chose. That is what lies beyond all that is beyond—beyond even the infinite: The freedom to choose. And that is where all things began.
So that in the drama itself that plays upon that stage, there lies freedom. As the Grand Director chose freely the elements of that drama, so do we, His actors, choose our parts in it. We choose what will be of those dark brown eyes, that schooling, those struggles with our inner selves and those battles with a world that outrages us for its oppression and inequalities. In each of those choices,In each of these choices, we experience the free choice of our Creator. we experience the freedom of our Creator, the ultimate freedom.
That is the freedom that Torah grants each of us. Every choice, every decision, is another opportunity to connect to the ultimate freedom from which all things began. Each mitzvah is anotherexodus from the Egypt of a bounded world.10
So Many Rules
Now you will understand why there are so many dos and don’ts and details. Because there is so much beauty locked up in this world, so many artifacts that require the Artist’s signature, that require liberation.
A signature, like liberation, requires first that we break the rules. We must make that hollow, that space for the transcendent to enter.
Torah makes that space by breaking the world’s rules and introducing the Shabbat. The whole world screams, “You must keep moving! Keep those thumbs on those keys! Answer when we call! Drive! Run! Make more money! Spend it now!” And we say, “Today is Shabbat and we are free souls. Today we will appreciate what is here, but it will not tell us what to do. Today we are a step higher than the world.”
Torah creates that space by breaking rules and keeping kosher, when all the world demands we eat with them. When it tells us to dress with dignity while all the world demands that we succumb to their styles and fashions, because that is how they want us to look, because that is how they will get us to spend more, and because we must be part of their world. When Torah tells us to be the master over our own impulses, to break the tyranny of passion and immediate gratification that has captured most of humanity in its stranglehold.
Torah breaks all the rules when it lifts us above time.Torah breaks all the rules when it lifts us above time. The world says, “The past is the past and we have left it behind. The future is yet to come. Now is all that is true, all that is real.”
But a Jew sits and learns Torah and all the sages of every generation sit there as well, alive and arguing with one another, informing one another— Adam, Abraham, Moses, David, Isaiah,Judah the Maccabee, Hillel, Rabbi Akiva, Rava, Maimonides, the Kabbalists of 16th-century Safed and the halachic geniuses who apply Torah to 21st-century technology—all in a single room, a single page, a single breath. When a Jew studies Torah or recites the daily prayers, the truths of the past glows vitally in the present, and the present embraces the past. And the past and present together merge to tell us of the glorious future soon to come, when all the world will be redeemed.
With Torah, a Jew breaks the laws of space. Because in Torah, all Jews are one; the entire globe is a small shtetl, and we are the living membrane strewn over it as a net to gather all its holy sparks.
And yet, breaking the rules is not the ultimate goal. The laws are broken only to leave a space in which to sign G‑d’s name. That is the next step, and it is a very radical one indeed.
Chemical Bonding
Before the Torah was given, there were people who lived in the realm of the spirit and shunned all that was earthly. And there were down-to-earth people who lived with feet firmly planted on the physical earth, immersed in its pleasures. There were even a small few, such as Noah, a “man of the earth,”11 who nevertheless lead a spiritual life.
But even for Noah, the spirit was spirit and the earth was earth. Even for Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the material world was no more than a stage upon which a spiritual life could be led. Through their work, a ray of light shone in, but the darkness remained darkness.
The Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, of righteous memory, once compared this to a cup of sweet tea. There was tea. And there was sugar. The two came together and now there was sugary-sweet tea. Nothing new emerged. And nothing truly bonded. All it takes is for the tea to evaporate, and the sugar is left behind.
So it was before Sinai. The soul entered the body, and left the body. The body, and the world, remained unchanged.
But then Torah entered and something new became possible. The spiritual and the physical could fuse and become an entirely new singularity—much as hydrogen and oxygen atoms can bond to create an entirely new substance, one that can only be broken through yet another chemical reaction.12
That is the ultimate purpose of all these rules.Ultimately, the purpose of these rules is a chemical bonding of heaven and earth. They are the laboratory guidelines for those chemical reactions. With them, heaven and earth, the holy and the mundane, the divine creative force and the creation itself all fuse and become one. We take some ink and an animal hide and together they become a Torah scroll, tefillin or a mezuzah—portals of divine light. We take some branches and boards of wood, throw them together, and they become a Sukkah, a place where every act is a divine act. We make a sumptuous meal for Shabbat and every ingredient becomes a perfect bond of the worldly and the transcendent.
The same applies with the everyday activities of life. When you eat your kosher meal mindfully, saying a blessing before you eat and after; when you do business with a conscience, creating value for all stakeholders; when you treat a cranky child with loving patience—in all these things a harmony of parts is achieved. The rules, the restraint, those are the nuclear forces that hold disparate parts in a single bond.
In that bond, the oneness of their Creator shines through. Until every creature will sing its unique part in the symphony that is this universe, loud and clear, in a time very soon to come.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Maamar Anochi 5749, 3b (Torat Menachem, Sefer Hamaamarim Melukat, vol. 3, page 310).
2.Genesis 1:1.
3.Genesis 1:4-5.
4.Genesis 1:7.
5.Midrash Rabbah, Exodus 12:3. Tanchuma, Va’Ereh 15.
6.Psalms 26:3.
7.See Talmud, Shabbat 55b: “The signature of the Holy One, may He be blessed, is truth.” Talmud Berachot 5b: “Truth refers to Torah.” Jerusalem Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 3:8: “Truth only means Torah.”
8.See Likutei Sichot, volume 19, pp. 26-27. Maamar Mayan Ganim, 5702, chapter 1.
9.On the following, see Maamar V’hu K’chattan, 5657, chapter 5 ff; Hemshech 5666 page 52ff.
10.Tanya, chapter 46.
11.Genesis 9:20.
12.In a private letter dated Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5733. Mindel collection.
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VIDEO
Meta-Phor: Exploring Midrash
Biblical exegesis, or the interpretation (Drash) of the Torah, was part of the rabbinic tradition since the earliest literary period. What makes certain interpretations valid and others not? Why is interpretation needed altogether? by Michael Chighel
Watch (14:43)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=3335569&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</span>
Two Worlds and Their Rules
If so, what is the difference between the outer world and its rules, and the Torah world and its rules? Both are a magnificent paradox, the ultimate art, as infinity squeezes into the finite. What renders one a prison, while the other is true freedom?9
Because the restrictions of the outer world are imposed by its own boundaries, and that makes them hard and real. The restrictions of Torah are imposed by choice—and therefore they are the ultimate freedom.
The laws of nature are bondage. Autumn will follow the summer, and winter the autumn—and there is nothing in all the world you can do about it. You will be younger than your parents. The color of your eyes will be determined at birth. You will have no choice as to where you will be born and to whom, what school you will attend as a child and what food they will give you.
There will be poverty and there will be wealth. There will be war and there will be peace. There will be oppressors and there will be the oppressed. The world will turn, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west, and no human hand can stop it.
Why must the world be this way? Because it is the stage on which a grand drama will play, a masterpiece of art, in which created beings will struggle to make hard choices and overcome sinister darkness with the power of light. Once that drama was composed, every prop was already determined—all the laws of nature, all the patterns of the universe. So that, in this universe, in all these props and backdrops, although He is here, we do not have the Artist at His core. We have bondage.
But why did He choose that drama?
Why did He choose that good is good and bad is bad? Why did He choose that stealing, lying and murder should be harmful? Why did He choose that they could exist at all?
Why did He choose that Shabbat will be on the seventh day? That there will be ten commandments at Sinai and not nine or eleven? That the leather boxes in which the scrolls of tefillin are encased must be cubical and not rounded? And that by our fulfilment of these things, He will be drawn into His world, through each mitzvah in its particular way?
Because He chose. That is what lies beyond all that is beyond—beyond even the infinite: The freedom to choose. And that is where all things began.
So that in the drama itself that plays upon that stage, there lies freedom. As the Grand Director chose freely the elements of that drama, so do we, His actors, choose our parts in it. We choose what will be of those dark brown eyes, that schooling, those struggles with our inner selves and those battles with a world that outrages us for its oppression and inequalities. In each of those choices,In each of these choices, we experience the free choice of our Creator. we experience the freedom of our Creator, the ultimate freedom.
That is the freedom that Torah grants each of us. Every choice, every decision, is another opportunity to connect to the ultimate freedom from which all things began. Each mitzvah is anotherexodus from the Egypt of a bounded world.10
So Many Rules
Now you will understand why there are so many dos and don’ts and details. Because there is so much beauty locked up in this world, so many artifacts that require the Artist’s signature, that require liberation.
A signature, like liberation, requires first that we break the rules. We must make that hollow, that space for the transcendent to enter.
Torah makes that space by breaking the world’s rules and introducing the Shabbat. The whole world screams, “You must keep moving! Keep those thumbs on those keys! Answer when we call! Drive! Run! Make more money! Spend it now!” And we say, “Today is Shabbat and we are free souls. Today we will appreciate what is here, but it will not tell us what to do. Today we are a step higher than the world.”
Torah creates that space by breaking rules and keeping kosher, when all the world demands we eat with them. When it tells us to dress with dignity while all the world demands that we succumb to their styles and fashions, because that is how they want us to look, because that is how they will get us to spend more, and because we must be part of their world. When Torah tells us to be the master over our own impulses, to break the tyranny of passion and immediate gratification that has captured most of humanity in its stranglehold.
Torah breaks all the rules when it lifts us above time.Torah breaks all the rules when it lifts us above time. The world says, “The past is the past and we have left it behind. The future is yet to come. Now is all that is true, all that is real.”
But a Jew sits and learns Torah and all the sages of every generation sit there as well, alive and arguing with one another, informing one another— Adam, Abraham, Moses, David, Isaiah,Judah the Maccabee, Hillel, Rabbi Akiva, Rava, Maimonides, the Kabbalists of 16th-century Safed and the halachic geniuses who apply Torah to 21st-century technology—all in a single room, a single page, a single breath. When a Jew studies Torah or recites the daily prayers, the truths of the past glows vitally in the present, and the present embraces the past. And the past and present together merge to tell us of the glorious future soon to come, when all the world will be redeemed.
With Torah, a Jew breaks the laws of space. Because in Torah, all Jews are one; the entire globe is a small shtetl, and we are the living membrane strewn over it as a net to gather all its holy sparks.
And yet, breaking the rules is not the ultimate goal. The laws are broken only to leave a space in which to sign G‑d’s name. That is the next step, and it is a very radical one indeed.
Chemical Bonding
Before the Torah was given, there were people who lived in the realm of the spirit and shunned all that was earthly. And there were down-to-earth people who lived with feet firmly planted on the physical earth, immersed in its pleasures. There were even a small few, such as Noah, a “man of the earth,”11 who nevertheless lead a spiritual life.
But even for Noah, the spirit was spirit and the earth was earth. Even for Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the material world was no more than a stage upon which a spiritual life could be led. Through their work, a ray of light shone in, but the darkness remained darkness.
The Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Schneerson, of righteous memory, once compared this to a cup of sweet tea. There was tea. And there was sugar. The two came together and now there was sugary-sweet tea. Nothing new emerged. And nothing truly bonded. All it takes is for the tea to evaporate, and the sugar is left behind.
So it was before Sinai. The soul entered the body, and left the body. The body, and the world, remained unchanged.
But then Torah entered and something new became possible. The spiritual and the physical could fuse and become an entirely new singularity—much as hydrogen and oxygen atoms can bond to create an entirely new substance, one that can only be broken through yet another chemical reaction.12
That is the ultimate purpose of all these rules.Ultimately, the purpose of these rules is a chemical bonding of heaven and earth. They are the laboratory guidelines for those chemical reactions. With them, heaven and earth, the holy and the mundane, the divine creative force and the creation itself all fuse and become one. We take some ink and an animal hide and together they become a Torah scroll, tefillin or a mezuzah—portals of divine light. We take some branches and boards of wood, throw them together, and they become a Sukkah, a place where every act is a divine act. We make a sumptuous meal for Shabbat and every ingredient becomes a perfect bond of the worldly and the transcendent.
The same applies with the everyday activities of life. When you eat your kosher meal mindfully, saying a blessing before you eat and after; when you do business with a conscience, creating value for all stakeholders; when you treat a cranky child with loving patience—in all these things a harmony of parts is achieved. The rules, the restraint, those are the nuclear forces that hold disparate parts in a single bond.
In that bond, the oneness of their Creator shines through. Until every creature will sing its unique part in the symphony that is this universe, loud and clear, in a time very soon to come.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Maamar Anochi 5749, 3b (Torat Menachem, Sefer Hamaamarim Melukat, vol. 3, page 310).
2.Genesis 1:1.
3.Genesis 1:4-5.
4.Genesis 1:7.
5.Midrash Rabbah, Exodus 12:3. Tanchuma, Va’Ereh 15.
6.Psalms 26:3.
7.See Talmud, Shabbat 55b: “The signature of the Holy One, may He be blessed, is truth.” Talmud Berachot 5b: “Truth refers to Torah.” Jerusalem Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 3:8: “Truth only means Torah.”
8.See Likutei Sichot, volume 19, pp. 26-27. Maamar Mayan Ganim, 5702, chapter 1.
9.On the following, see Maamar V’hu K’chattan, 5657, chapter 5 ff; Hemshech 5666 page 52ff.
10.Tanya, chapter 46.
11.Genesis 9:20.
12.In a private letter dated Rosh Chodesh Sivan 5733. Mindel collection.
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VIDEO
Meta-Phor: Exploring Midrash
Biblical exegesis, or the interpretation (Drash) of the Torah, was part of the rabbinic tradition since the earliest literary period. What makes certain interpretations valid and others not? Why is interpretation needed altogether? by Michael Chighel
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Give Your Child Wings by Ari Shishler
Watch (41:01)
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There Now
For hundreds of years—perhaps since the beginning of creation—a piece of the world has been waiting for your soul to purify and repair it. And you are there . . . now. by Tzvi Freeman
Watch (1:30)
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YOUR QUESTIONS
The Kabbalah of the Tallit
The garment surrounds our body; the fringes hang off it. They represent the two aspects of G-d’s being: His true self that is totally beyond our grasp, and the tiny fraction of His being we can experience. by Aron Moss
Question:
What is the deeper significance of the Tallit?
Answer:
The main idea of Jewish prayer is to connect to G‑d. But how can a finite, limited human being connect to an infinite, unlimited G‑d? Really, it should be impossible. But G‑d wants a relationship with us, so He “limited” Himself.
He did this by expressing Himself in creation. The world we live in is actually an expression of G‑d. Just like a piece of music is an expression of the musician who wrote it, and a painting is an expression of the painter, so too this world and everything in it is G‑d’s work of art. We can’t see G‑d, but we can see His creation. So, just as by looking at a painting or hearing a song we can get a feeling of who the artist is, by observing the beauty of this world, its complexity and its rhythms, we can begin to appreciate G‑d.
But (and this is a big but), even though creation expresses G‑d, it could never express His real self. As beautiful as the world is, it is only an insignificant fraction of G‑d’s true wisdom. And this is where G‑d is very different from an artist. To truly express himself, the artist has to put all his concentration, effort and creativity into his work. But for G‑d to express Himself, it’s exactly the opposite—He limited Himself, lowered Himself to make a physical world. It would be like the brilliant musician having to write a corny jingle about yogurt for a radio ad. Does that express his genius? No! It expresses his patience! Similarly, G‑d didn’t need to invest “effort” in creating such an amazing world. The only effort was in His limiting Himself to create such a finite existence.
The tallit has two parts: the garment itself, and the tzitzit (fringes). The garment surrounds our body, and the fringes hang off it. They represent the two aspects of G‑d’s being. His true self is totally beyond our capacity to grasp, represented by the garment that envelops us. It is only a tiny fraction of His being, the little fringes dangling off the corners, that we can experience.
No matter how holy we feel, G‑d is infinitely holier. He is the tallit that surrounds us. But no matter how unholy we feel, G‑d comes down to us and asks us to talk to Him. He is the tzitzit reaching down for us to grab on to and kiss.
We need to have this in mind when we pray, so we wear a tallit.
Give Your Child Wings by Ari Shishler
Watch (41:01)<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2998086&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</span>
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There Now
For hundreds of years—perhaps since the beginning of creation—a piece of the world has been waiting for your soul to purify and repair it. And you are there . . . now. by Tzvi Freeman
Watch (1:30)<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=406734&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</span>
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YOUR QUESTIONS
The Kabbalah of the Tallit
The garment surrounds our body; the fringes hang off it. They represent the two aspects of G-d’s being: His true self that is totally beyond our grasp, and the tiny fraction of His being we can experience. by Aron Moss
Question:What is the deeper significance of the Tallit?
Answer:
The main idea of Jewish prayer is to connect to G‑d. But how can a finite, limited human being connect to an infinite, unlimited G‑d? Really, it should be impossible. But G‑d wants a relationship with us, so He “limited” Himself.
He did this by expressing Himself in creation. The world we live in is actually an expression of G‑d. Just like a piece of music is an expression of the musician who wrote it, and a painting is an expression of the painter, so too this world and everything in it is G‑d’s work of art. We can’t see G‑d, but we can see His creation. So, just as by looking at a painting or hearing a song we can get a feeling of who the artist is, by observing the beauty of this world, its complexity and its rhythms, we can begin to appreciate G‑d.
But (and this is a big but), even though creation expresses G‑d, it could never express His real self. As beautiful as the world is, it is only an insignificant fraction of G‑d’s true wisdom. And this is where G‑d is very different from an artist. To truly express himself, the artist has to put all his concentration, effort and creativity into his work. But for G‑d to express Himself, it’s exactly the opposite—He limited Himself, lowered Himself to make a physical world. It would be like the brilliant musician having to write a corny jingle about yogurt for a radio ad. Does that express his genius? No! It expresses his patience! Similarly, G‑d didn’t need to invest “effort” in creating such an amazing world. The only effort was in His limiting Himself to create such a finite existence.
The tallit has two parts: the garment itself, and the tzitzit (fringes). The garment surrounds our body, and the fringes hang off it. They represent the two aspects of G‑d’s being. His true self is totally beyond our capacity to grasp, represented by the garment that envelops us. It is only a tiny fraction of His being, the little fringes dangling off the corners, that we can experience.
No matter how holy we feel, G‑d is infinitely holier. He is the tallit that surrounds us. But no matter how unholy we feel, G‑d comes down to us and asks us to talk to Him. He is the tzitzit reaching down for us to grab on to and kiss.
We need to have this in mind when we pray, so we wear a tallit.
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Why Do We Wash Differently in the Morning Than Before a Meal?
In the morning, we alternate. But for bread, we wash each hand three times consecutively. Why the difference? by Yehuda ShurpinQuestion:
When ritually washing our hands in the morning, we alternate three times between the right and left hands. But when it comes to ritually washing for bread, we wash each hand three times consecutively. Why the difference?
Reply:
I should start off by acknowledging that there are various customs with regard to how one should ritually wash his hands. Chabad follows the common custom to wash each hand three times, either consecutively (before bread) or alternating (after sleep).
Let’s look at the underlying reasons for washing at these times.
Washing Away Evil
There are a number of reasons for washing the hands in the morning, but one of the primary reasons is that when we go to sleep at night, our souls ascend to the heavenly realms to get recharged with renewed energy. At that time, our bodies remain with only the lowest soul-powers—those that control our mechanical functions, such as the digestive and respiratory systems. The spiritual vacuum that ensues allows forces of impurity to cleave to the body. When we awaken in the morning, we ritually wash our hands to remove the last vestiges of these foreign influences.
The Kabbalists explain that when we wash our hands, these foreign unclean spirits “jump” from one hand to the next. We therefore alternate between hands in order to eliminate them completely.1
Reasons for Washing for Bread
Along with Chanukah, Purim, and Shabbat candles, washing before bread is a rabbinic mitzvah, decreed with the power vested in the sages by the Torahitself.
How did it come about?
The Torah commands us to separate a small percentage of the wheat, wine and olive oil we produce, and give it as a gift to the kohen (priest). Calledterumah, this separated portion is holy and is not allowed to become impure.
Since people tend to fidget and touch all kinds of things unknowingly, the sages declared that, by default, hands have a minor degree of impurity, which the kohen must wash away before partaking of terumah.2
Biblically, terumah applies to grain, wine and oil.3 But since wine and oil are usually consumed in some sort of vessel and aren’t touched directly with one’s hands, it was never necessary to wash hands before consuming them. Grain, however, is usually eaten in the form of bread, so the rabbis required washing one’s hands before eating bread.4 5
The rabbis didn’t want to differentiate between different kinds of people (kohanim and Israelites), nor between breads (terumah and ordinary bread), so they instituted hand-washing before any kind of bread, thus ensuring that akohen would never eat his terumah without washing.6
Additionally, the sages of the Talmud find support for washing before bread, unrelated to terumah, in the following verse: “You shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I am the L‑rd, your G‑d.”7 They expound, “‘You shall sanctify yourselves’—this refers to washing before eating. ‘And be holy’—this refers to washing after eating.”8 Washing before bread is so important, the sages say, that neglecting it can lead to poverty (or worse).9
So why do we wash more than once? Because the first washing purifies our hands, but at the same time that water becomes impure. A second washing purifies the water that remains on our hands. The reason some wash a third time is just in case the second waters didn’t reach all the first waters.
Based on the rationale for hand-washing for bread, there is no reason to wash intermittently. On the contrary, intermittent washing can potentially lead to various problems, since the first waters left on our hands are still considered impure. Transferring the cup from hand to hand creates the possibility of transferring this impure water as well.10
Awaiting the Messianic Era
Although we still separate terumah, we no longer give it to the kohen to eat, since we are all assumed to be in a state of ritual impurity (a level of impurity that can not be purified by a simple washing of the hands, but rather requires the ashes of the red heifer).11
But we still wash our hands faithfully. This way we will be prepared for the moment Moshiach arrives and the laws of purity are reinstated—may it happen speedily in our days!12
FOOTNOTES
1.Arizal, Shaar ha-Kavanot, Birchot ha-Shachar; Magen Avraham, Orach Chaim 4:7; Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 4:1–2 (Mahadura Batra).
2.Talmud, Shabbat 13b.
3.Deuteronomy 18:4.
4.Since other grain-based foods are less common than bread, the rabbis never included them in the mitzvah of hand-washing.
5.See Talmud, Chullin 105a–106a; Rabbeinu Yonah on Talmud, Berachot 41a; Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 158:1; Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 158:1.
6.Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 158:1.
7.Leviticus 20:7.
8.Talmud, Berachot 53b.
9.See Talmud, Shabbat 62b and Sotah 4b; see also Mishnah Berurah 158:1, and Aruch ha-Shulchan, Orach Chaim 158:2.
10.Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 158:1; Seder Netilat Yadayim li-Seudah 2.
11.See Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 457:20.
12.Levush 158:1; Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 158:1.
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WOMEN
I Used to Resent Prayer; Now I Embrace it
I did not know how to deal with the loss, and I took it out on the One who was responsible. I turned my back on G‑d. by Etti Krinsky
I moved in with my grandparents, my mother’s parents.
I was not on good terms with G‑d at that point. My paternal grandmother’s health was quickly deteriorating, and I was terrified. I couldn’t process what it would mean to lose someone who meant so much to me, and I translated that fear into disrupting my life in different ways.
A few months into the year, my nightmare came true, and my beloved grandmother tragically passed away much too soon.
I took that as a declaration of war between G‑d and me.
I was furious. I was sickened. I did not know how to deal with the loss, and I took it out on the One who was responsible. I turned my back on G‑d.
Daily prayer had always been a sensitive subject for me. As a child, I often just skipped the morning prayers because they felt too long and too boring. In high school, davening (praying) was a mandated part of the morning schedule, so I tried to force myself to pray. But the prescribed Hebrew words held no meaning for me. I didn’t fully understand the prayers, and I certainly didn’t understand why I had to say words written by rabbis who had nothing to do with me.
But if I had forced myself to pray before, this was a whole new experience. The words felt like chalk in my mouth, and after a while I just stopped saying them. I wasn’t going to pray to this G‑d.
After it all became too much, I knew I had to express my knotted emotions so that someone could help me untangle them.
In a voice shaky with tears, I told my father that praying to G‑d had become undesirable for me. That it took physical strength to get myself to say the words, and even when I did, I didn’t believe what I was saying.
He sat down with me, and we talked it through. He let me cry and speak. I felt the knot that had taken up so much room in my soul slowly untie.
I began trying a little harder.
I focused on the words a bit more.
Praying anytime other than while in school was beyond me, but since the school handed me 45 minutes to pray, I did my best to say the words each day. I still didn’t understand everything I was saying, and I wasn’t praying on weekends andI felt that knot slowly untie vacations, but at least I was climbing up the hill instead of sliding down it. I kept my father’s words in mind, and I was no longer angry at G‑d.
After high school, I attended a seminary, where we learned about Jewish philosophy and practice. In the middle of the year, the school took us on a two-week trip to Israel.
It was life-changing—and that is an understatement.
It was there that I discovered G‑d and His glory. Everything I saw took my breath away. I soaked up the holiness and the knowledge that was so easy to find. I lived for each new moment, and I held on to everything I saw and learned.
It was there that I prayed every single morning. Not only did I pray, but I prayed with excitement. There, I could feel G‑d. I could practically see Him. I prayed at the Kotel (Western Wall) and the resting places of our ancestors. I felt the Torah come alive, and everything suddenly made sense. I couldn’t believe I had spent years questioning what was so obviously true.
Israel was a balm to me. It soothed my frayed nerves, it softened my rough edges, and it opened my heart to the possibility of loving my religion. After two weeks of feeling the words I had in my siddur (prayerbook), I knew I couldn’t go back to my previous ways.
My 18th birthday was on the very last day of the trip, and it was then that I made my silent vow to G‑d that I would pray every single morning.
I haven’t broken that promise yet.
A few weeks after my trip, I was home and had a bit of extra time in the morning. I decided to pray out of a beautiful siddur with translations and explanations, a gift I had received in 12th grade but never really used because it was too bulky to bring to school. As I prayed, I spent a few extra moments on each page to understand the words that I was saying. Suddenly, I froze. I slowly read the words הרופא לשבורי לב ומחבש לעצבותם—“He heals the brokenhearted, and He bandages their wounds.”
This is exactly what I had needed to hear after my grandmother’s death! I couldn’t believe that it was right there in the siddur all along. Tears filled my eyes as I kept reading, suddenly discovering a world of prayers that literally offered the words I was searching for. When I didn’t know how to praise G‑d anymore, here came these words—ancient words, words so relevant and meaningful—and all I had to do was whisper them.
The nextAll I had to do was whisper words I stumbled upon told me that G‑d created everything. That He created light, and that darkness is just the absence of light. Darkness means only that you can’t see what is there.
The good was never taken away; I was just blinded by the darkness.
I felt as if I had written every word in the siddur, and I cried harder that day than I had in a while. It finally felt right. The siddur finally felt like my own.
Unfortunately, just a few months later, I lost another grandparent. This time it was sudden, with no warning. I woke up to the terrible news. My grandfather, Rabbi Klein, was gone.
Again, I was devastated, and I remembered how I had reacted when my grandmother passed away. That deep anger, that deep wound that I didn’t know how to fix. I could tell my parents felt I was a ticking time bomb; they held their breath for my reaction to the loss.
But this time, I had G‑d on my side. I had Him close, in my siddur, in my heart. I opened my siddur that morning and I turned to G‑d. I prayed to him, deeply, achingly, sadly. But I turned to Him, instead of away from Him.
The next night, my sisters and I were gathered around, talking about what good deed we could take on in the merit of our grandfather’s soul.
We thought about his special personality, the holy things he did, and we sifted through possibilities of things we could take on. My sister thought for another minute and then said, “Zeidy always asked me if I had davened. I think we should all add something extra in our davening, depending on what level we’re on.”
We all agreed, knowing that it would mean a lot to him, and that it was tailored to our own personal levels.
That night, when I closed my eyes, I kept seeing my Zeidy davening. In his house, for the afternoon or evening prayers, in shul, whispering something on the couch. It was obviously important to him.
It had only recently become so important to me.
My grandfather was Israeli, and he spoke fluent Hebrew. I remember feeling jealous at times that he could easily understand the words in the siddur.
I knew that by putting effort into understanding every word that I said indavening, it would not only connect me to G‑d, but it would connect me to my Zeidy, whom I missed desperately.I had Him close, in my heart
When my grandmother passed away, I lacked that connection to G‑d, I had no foundation to fall back on, so I fell—far, far down. But this time, I had slowly been building and building, and now my foundation was strong enough to hold me up.
After my grandfather’s shivah, I started making time to translate the prayers. Each week I spend time focusing on a new paragraph. I translate it, learn its explanation, and write a small note in my siddur so that I can think about what I learned each time I say it.
Now I realize that prayer is not only about thanking G‑d or asking Him for what I need; it has become a lifeline, something I look forward to each morning. Only now do I know how precious and important each prayer is. I don’t feel like I’m repeating myself day after day anymore. I feel like each morning is another chance to express myself, to really speak what my heart is trying to say.
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Coming to Terms with My Special-Needs Sister
Our beautiful princess was changing in front of us, and there was nothing we could do about it. by Chani Vogel
Decades later, the memory is still so clear to me . . .Coming to Terms with My Special-Needs Sister
Our beautiful princess was changing in front of us, and there was nothing we could do about it. by Chani Vogel
“Mazal tov, Chani! It’s a girl! ”
I was eating lunch at school when the cook called me out to the kitchen for a phone call. I vividly recall the rotary phone as she handed me the receiver, with a smile on her face. It was my father. He sounded so happy as he toldAnother girl? We already had four girls!me that Mommy had given birth to a girl. Another girl? We already had four girls. But I said mazal tov regardless because, thank G‑d, the baby was healthy. And I went back to my lunch.
The first two years of her life, my sister Sara’le was just a princess. With four older sisters who doted on her, she displayed superior intelligence, and we all thought that she was the cutest baby ever.
When she was two, Sara’le started to regress. Suddenly, she was not making eye contact. She had been almost completely toilet-trained, and now she had to wear diapers all the time. It was very unsettling.
In those days, little was known about autism, except for the fact that it was like a huge rug, and many symptoms were swept right under it.
Our beautiful princess was changing in front of us, and there was nothing we could do about it.
When I would take Sara’le to shul, she suddenly would say strange things. Where was the little princess that my friends would flock towards, excitedly waiting to hear her sing?
My friends slowly stopped coming to see what she was wearing, or what cute antic she came up with. They said things along the lines of “You are making her do that,” “You want attention, and this is not the way to get it,” “There is nothing wrong with your sister; she doesn’t have a mongoloid face.”
The pain and embarrassment were awful. Self-doubt set in. Was I really looking for attention so badly? I would come home and cry into my pillow. I didn’t want to share the pain with anyone else. What did they understand?
One morning, I woke up and realized I could not live my life worrying about what others thought. Sara’le was a beautiful little girl. She had a great sense of humor. She liked to laugh and giggle. When you acted silly, she got it.
I am sure the I could not live my life worrying about what others thoughtsun shone brighter that day than it had over the past few months. I turned my face upward and drank in the warmth it provided. I knew, suddenly, that it was going to be okay. My sister would live her life to the absolute best of her ability, and I would learn to live with her and the issues that went along with being Sara’le’s sister.
And as long as I remembered that G‑d presented me with my unique challenges, I would be able to figure out a way to deal with them.
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STORY
The Man in the Train Station
Sit down for a moment. I’m about to tell a story, and trust me—you’ll want to be sitting down for this one. So begins the tale of a tortured Jew’s encounter with the enigmatic Man in the Train Station. by Eli Landes
Sit down for a moment. I’m about to tell a story, and trust me—you’ll want to be sitting down for this one.The Man in the Train Station
Sit down for a moment. I’m about to tell a story, and trust me—you’ll want to be sitting down for this one. So begins the tale of a tortured Jew’s encounter with the enigmatic Man in the Train Station. by Eli Landes
Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard stories before. Exciting stories, thrilling stories, stories that set your heart pounding and blood racing. You may think you’re a veteran of tales—that you’ve You’ll want to be sitting down for this oneheard them all. But mark my words: none of them will be like this one.
You see, this story has something all of those others don’t.
This is my story.
Not all of it, of course. That would blow your mind. Just a small piece, a sliver, a taste, just enough to open your eyes and shatter your walls.
Who am I? Well—sit down. Lean back. And listen.
This story begins in a train station. It’s one of those small ones, the ones with only a few trains that you just know are filled with people going out and empty of people coming back, the building still modern and classy in a desperate attempt to conceal that it’s a dying relic of bygone days. People are bustling about, moving back and forth. Near the back, nearly unnoticed, sits a man in black.
This man . . . well, let me paint you a word picture. There’s something about him, something alluring, captivating, exotic, and even a little dangerous. Though everyone around him is busy, those who glance at him always glance back again, something telling them that they’ve never seen the likes of him before. It’s not his face that catches the eye, though he’s handsome enough—his mess of black hair swept artfully back from his forehead, not a strand out of place, his jaw strong and chiseled, his nose sharp and hooked. It’s in the way he sits, in the air around him. And it’s in his eyes. Those eyes—those eyes are coal-black, haunting, unforgettable, eyes that seem to pierce the soul and see all its secrets. There’s danger in those eyes, and promise too.
The man’s dressed in black, sporting an immaculately pressed suit with a long black coat over it. On anyone else the lone color would look drab, even depressing. But on him, it only makes him more captivating.
You’ve probably guessed it by now. The man is me.
I sit with graceful calm, an artless ease that cannot be faked. Chin resting casually on my fist, I idly survey the crowd rushing past, the corner of my lip curled up slightly in mild amusement. I watch and wait; I have all the time in the world.
You see, I’m the con man. Not a con man; the con man. The best, the greatest, the master of them all. And I’m here, at this small train station in this unremarkable little town, waiting for my mark.
I don’t know who it’ll be yet. I scan the crowd as I wait, seeing if anyone catches my eye. They’re all running, running to trains, running from trains, all busy, never idle. They’re here with a purpose, with a goal. None of them are why I’m here; they’re meaningless, mere extras to flesh out the scene. So I sit and wait, poised, patient, knowing that it’s only a matter of time.
And then he enters.
Let time freeze for a moment. The train station, the whole world, can rush on by unnoticed. There’s only one stage in this play, and it has only two occupants. Everyone else is forgotten; there’s only him.
He walks aimlessly into the station and stops, looking around in that lost way that tells me he’s not searching for anything. A young Jewish boy, maybe 17 or 18. He’s not carrying much, just a small bag that can probably fit only a change of clothing. His face is expressionless, the kind of emptiness born not from lack of feeling but from too much to bear. After a moment, he turns and slowly walks to a bench and sits down. His hands drum idly on the strap of his bag, then stop, then start again. He shifts back and forth, and even from here I can see him sigh.
The mark is made.
Let time unfreeze.
And I stand.
Cue the music. It’s a smooth jazz, a cool blues, a softly tempting melody as I slowly walk towards the boy. My coat billows around me as people stop for a moment to stare, their gaze caught on the sight of something so casually elegant. The crowds part seamlessly before me, almost as if it’s scripted, as if no one would dare stand between me and my mark. I move calmly, leisurely, head bobbing ever so slightly to the soundtrack inside my head.
I reach the boy and sit down next to him. Lost in his thoughts, he still hasn’t noticed me.
“Crazy, isn’t it?”
The boy starts and turns. The train station is loud and I didn’t raise my voice, but I know from experience that he’ll hear me. It’s like one of those movies where there’s a loud, hectic scene, and then someone speaks—softly, casually, almost as if in an I didn’t raise my voice, but I know he’ll hear meafterthought—but everything suddenly silences to hear. I’ve got that type of voice—captivating, the kind that makes you lean close and strain to listen.
The boy frowns. “What is?”
I lean back and wave vaguely, a gesture that somehow encompasses the entire station. “This. Them. All of it. Look how they run, how they’re always so busy. The hustle and bustle of life—don’t they see how crazy it is? They’re chasing life, chasing time, but time is a cynical, sadistic creature. Always a step out of the way, close enough to make you think you can catch up, but always dancing just out of reach.”
“Uh . . . yeah. I guess so.” He’s clearly trying to muster the courage to tell me to go away.
I nod as if I haven’t noticed, as if I’m some crazy person passing on his ridiculous fancies. As if every word, every gesture, isn’t a strand in my masterful plan. “The way I see it, there’s no point. We spend our time trying to catch as much of life as we can, but life is just a handful of moments that trickle out of your fingers even as you try to hold them.”
I lean close, letting my voice drop just a little lower. “But then there are moments. Tiny pockets of time when things feel . . . different. Little things we didn’t notice yesterday just don’t add up anymore. It’s like we hit a snag, a small hitch, and we should have kept on moving but we stopped instead, just for a second, to look over our shoulder to see what it was. And there’s a voice inside of us saying we need to keep moving. That there’s no time to waste, that we have things to do. But for some reason, it feels wrong. Time, life—it’s not important right now. They can wait. Right now, there’s only that moment—and you.”
The boy swallows. Stares at me, unblinking. He still thinks I’m crazy, wants to tell me to leave, but my words have hit too close to home. Something I’m saying is resonating with him. I turn to face the station again, pretending that I still haven’t noticed.
“Do you know what defines those moments? Doubt. Doubt’s an odd little thing. It creeps along and asks a simple question. ‘Are you sure?’ That’s it; that’s all it asks. So first you try answering it, but the voice keeps asking, in that soft, insidious voice, ‘Are you sure?’ Eventually you just ignore it, tell yourself that everything is fine. That doubts are natural. That with time they’ll go away. But through it all the voice keeps asking, over and over. And then, one day, you can’t shut it out anymore. The voice is in your head, and it’s asking the question, over and over. That same, innocent question; the worst question we can ever be asked.
“‘Are you sure?’”
For a long time, the boy is silent. Then, staring at me unblinkingly, as if I’m a rabid snake about to bite, he speaks, almost fearfully:
“Who are you?”
Who am I? Oh, little boy, if you knew, you would run—run and run and never look back. “I’m someone who’s been around. Someone who’s seen.” That, at least, is true. “And I’m someone who has seen too many people collapse under the weight of decisions they just needed a helping hand for. So that’s why I’m here. I was sitting over there, and I saw you, and . . . well. Let’s just say I can recognize a soul in torment when I see one. And if I can help, then I’d like to.”
That said, I turn slightly to gaze around the train station, letting the boy think in peace. It doesn’t matter anyway; he may believe he’s making this decision on his own, but it’s a foregone conclusion. The net is spread, the bait has wandered in, and now it’s time to tie the knot. He’s hooked now; he won’t back away.
He holds out a hand. “I’m Avi.”
I take the hand and shake it. And smile. “Call me Mr. Snark.”
I lean back against the wall casually. Change the soundtrack to something fast, a tune with spirit. The game begins now; I weave my web.
Come into my lair, fly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Avi. Now—what’s troubling you?”
He begins, slowly, haltingly. “I’m a . . . a student, of sorts. I study in what’s called a yeshivah, which is . . .”—as he talks, his hands clench and unclench, wringing together, squeezing each other tight before letting go. “No. That’s not a good beginning.” He takes a deep breath.
“I grew up in a religious Jewish home. I’m not sure how much you know about Orthodox Judaism, or Judaism in general, but it’s not just a religion; it’s a lifestyle. And it’s a lifestyle I believed in—still believe in. It’s just . . . well, I’ve been feeling . . . lost, somehow. All my life, I’ve been striving towards a goal, a path, and I just can’t seem to reach it.” The words speed up now, come faster and smoother. It’s like a dam’s opened, and now that he’s begun he can’t stop. “As a Jew, my life is dedicated to serving G‑d. And I want to be on that path, be focused on my religion, be excited about my religion, but I keep struggling with things I should have mastered years ago. I struggle to wake up, to find the energy to pray—can you believe that? Eighteen years as a religious Jew, and I still struggle to pray. To find the interest, the passion. What type of religious Jew struggles to find the energy to pray?!” His voice is still quiet, but he’s animated now, hands clenched tight, voice taut with an inward-focused anger. “It’s like the whole world is standing in I struggle with things I should’ve mastered years agoline outside a palace, waiting,waiting, to get inside. And I am one of the few who is allowed in. And I go in and turn to the window to stare outside. I have what so many wish for, and I struggle to even be interested! What’s wrong with me?!”
He leans back, spent, as if the words have exhausted him. He waves a hand vaguely, hopelessly, as if signaling a problem too vast for words. “So . . . I don’t know. I’ve begun feeling that maybe it’s over. Maybe it’s time for me to give up. Maybe I’ve been beating a dead horse for too long, and it’s time for me to just . . . stop. So I came here.” He laughs suddenly, a sound that has nothing to do with humor. “I mean, I’m not even sure why I’m here. A train station? Where would I go? What train do I get on?” He sighs. “I guess . . . anywhere.”
This is my moment. I’m poised for the kill—I have only to say the right words to make this mark mine. Yet, suddenly, I’ve lost my calm, my cool composure. The soundtrack has stopped; the train station has emptied and gone silent. When did that happen?
I force myself to speak. “You already know the answer, don’t you?” The speech is prepared, smooth and suave, but the honeyed words taste like ash in my mouth. “Religion is about the absence of conflict.” Lies. Only the dead don’t feel conflict. Religion isn’t about the absence of conflict; it’s about overcoming conflict. “If you struggle so often, if so many times you succumb to your baser nature, then clearly you aren’t meant to be religious.” Lies. Religion isn’t the percentage of time you feel holy. It’s the struggles you face, and the moments you find the strength to surmount them. “You say you want to be on the path. To be religious. But if after 18 years you still haven’t succeeded, then clearly it’s time to try a new path.” Lies, lies, lies. He is on the path. His conflicts, his struggles—that is religion.
I sit, ashamed, my words echoing in the loud, deafening well of silence. Surely, any moment now, someone will run up and grab him, tell him the truth, tell him that the angels themselves are jealous of his strength, that the very fact he cares means his religion isn’t dead.
Tell him that a struggling, beating heart is sign of life. That it’s the silent heart that’s the dead one.
I wait, fearfully, hopefully, for someone to tell him, but no one comes. There’s just the silence. The silence and my lies.
And the boy nods. “You’re right.” He sighs, then slowly stands. “You’re right.”
He walks towards the booth to buy a ticket.
I stand, then slowly walk to the exit. I was successful—the con was set in motion. I will see him again, and after today my plans will be easier.
The boy is now mine.
Was there ever a victory that tasted so sour?
As I reach the door, something makes me turn back. The boy has reached the train and stopped. As I watch, he reaches down to unzip his bag, and slowly removes his tefillin from inside. For a moment he stands still, holding them, then reaches over to leave them on the bench. Then he shakes his head. He returns the tefillin to his backpack, zips it back up.
He boards the train.
And I know that, even though he’s on the train, he’ll never be mine. There’s a fire inside of him, and that fire will never go out. He’ll keep fighting, and one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day—he will return.
I turn back around and exit the station. As I do, I realize something.
I’m smiling.
I’m not sure why I write this small piece of my tale. I guess I write it for you. I’ve been fighting this war for so long, from the very beginning. My weapons are lies, deceit, half-truths and honeyed words. I tell you that you’re worthless, that your struggles make After all these years, I never winyou evil. I tell you to give up, to give in. And yet, after all these years, I never win. You always come back, in some form or fashion.
So I write this story for you. To tell you that, after all these years of fighting you, there’s no one I respect more than you. That your struggles don’t make you weak; they make you great. That I stand in awe of your strength, your ability to fight when everything has gone wrong.
That if you only knew the way I saw you, you’d never listen to me.
Who am I? Well, you’ve probably guessed it by now. I am the voice in your ear, the shadow behind your back. When you feel down, when you slip, when you stumble, I am there to lend a hand. A hand you shouldn’t take. I’m the liar, the seducer, your oldest enemy, the one you’ve been fighting against for longer than even you remember.
I am the snake, the serpent. I have been called the Adversary, the Accuser, the Prosecutor, the Angel of Death. The Babylonian rabbis referred to me as the Evil Inclination; to the masters of Kabbalah I am the Old, Foolish King.
I am G‑d’s servant, a loyal follower fulfilling his given duty.
My name is Satan.
This is my story.
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Why Did Moshe Buy a Stroller?
There was one prayer that wasn’t answered—the prayer for grandchildren by Rivki Gellis
Moshe as a child in Turkey
Growing up in Istanbul, Turkey, Moshe Tzarfati learned early on to have faith in the face of adversity. Though most Jews were afraid to publicly display their Jewishness, and tried to blend in with the Muslim populace, Moshe joined the youth group at the local synagogue. “In the company of Rabbi Gorodetski [theChabad emissary who would visit Istanbul], I absorbed Torah and halachah,” Moshe recalls. “We spoke a lot about faith. He told us that we should always remember G‑d in our hearts, and have faith. The faith we talked about there in the synagogue penetrated deep into my life.
“Joining the activities in the synagogue wasn’t easy. Local boys ambushed us on our way to and from the synagogue. They chased us and tried to hurt us. We were so afraid of them, we would stagger the times we left, and leave by different exits, but we never considered not going.”
The strong faith that Moshe cultivated in Istanbul would stand him in good stead throughout his life.
The Test of Faith
In 1976, Moshe moved with his wife and child to Israel, where they had two more children. Moshe describes how his faith continued to sustain him: “I always knew G‑d existed and that He runs the world. When I needed something out of the ordinary, for instance to get through a surgery or to make a good business deal, I would pray and promise G‑d that if He listened to my prayer, I would strengthen my observance in a certain area. After my prayer was answered, though, it was hard to keep my promises.”
But there was one prayer that wasn’t answered—the prayer for grandchildren.
“The one thing I wanted most in the world wasn’t happening. I prayed, I gave a lot of charity, I visited the graves of righteous rabbis, I did everything I could think of so that I would be blessed with grandchildren. Jenny, our oldest daughter, had been married for ten years but was still childless. You can’t imagine the sorrow and the tension this created. There were days I couldn’t stand it anymore, seeing them suffer so, physically and emotionally. Besides sympathizing with the pain of our children, my wife and I wanted a grandchild with all our hearts. We saw our friends enjoying their grandchildren and listened to the stories they told about them, but we didn’t have any. It was hard. I would lift my eyes to the heavens and promise that if I had a grandchild, I would be more careful with various mitzvahs. But it was always conditional. I always wanted the blessing to be sent before I agreed to improve.”
One Friday afternoon Moshe went out, engrossed in his pain and confusion, and hurried to the Rashbi Synagogue to fulfill his much-beloved custom, singing Song of Songs before welcoming Shabbat. On the way, he met a friend who asked how he was. When he saw Moshe’s haggard face, he suggested that Moshe join him for Shabbat prayers at his Chabad synagogue.
“Until then, my acquaintance with Rabbi Aharon Karniel, the Chabad emissary in my community, had been minimal. I knew that he was pleasant and that he was always concerned with my welfare; the one time I’d turned to him for assistance, he answered positively and did whatever he could to help. Even so, I told my friend, ‘I have no connection with the Chabad synagogue. I’m not a chassid, I’m not Ashkenazi, and it’s my custom to sing Song of Songs, which Chabad congregations don’t sing.’”
But inexplicably, Moshe decided to go with his friend to Chabad. “The rabbi very charmingly welcomed me and invited me to . . . sing Song of Songs! I couldn’t believe it! An Ashkenazic, chassidic synagogue, singing Song of Songs? Today, all the Ashkenazim there sing it with me, and that’s why a lot ofSephardim have joined their synagogue. It was true brotherly love,” Moshe continues with wonder in his voice.
The Rebbe’s Blessing
On the Shabbat before Rosh Chodesh, we bless the new month and pray for a month of joy and salvation for all Jews. After morning prayers, members of Chabad synagogues gather together for a farbrengen to sing and share Torah insights over light refreshments. Rabbi Karniel encouraged Moshe to stay for the event.
“That was when everything started to change,” Moshe remembers. “Between one song and the next, the rabbi told a story of two Chabad chassidim who had been childless for many years. They went to the Rebbe to ask him to bless each of them with children, and he did. After a while, they both returned to the Rebbe, one with a son and the other without. The Rebbe explained that the difference between them was that the first truly believed that the Rebbe’s blessing would help. His faith was so strong that it was immediately expressed in action; after receiving the Rebbe’s blessing, he’d gone to buy a baby carriage. The other chassid had believed that the Rebbe’s blessing would help, but continued life the way he always had.”
Moshe hung on to every word of the rabbi’s story. He felt he was being told a personal message.
“The minute Shabbat was over, I went to buy a stroller. I picked out the most expensive one in the store. I was so moved, I had no doubt that this was the right thing to do and the last thing that needed to be done before hearing good news.”
Now Moshe had to decide how to break the news of the stroller to his family. He found a safe place to hide the stroller while he thought of a plan. “Shabbat came, and my wife and all our kids were sitting around the table. I decided I didn’t care what they thought; I knew that a miracle was about to happen. I showed them the stroller. They were all shocked into open-mouthed, wide-eyed silence. Until my daughter said, ‘You’re crazy.’ Everyone agreed with her. They were sure that my long wait for grandchildren had affected my mind. Some of them tried to convince me to stop going to the Chabad synagogue.”
Did he regret it? Did he have any doubts? Maybe it wasn’t going to happen, and everyone would be disappointed? “No. My faith was so strong that I knew that soon they’d understand. I was sure that it was going to happen, and soon.
“A couple of months later, we got news that our daughter Jenny and her husband Ilan were expecting.” Moshe pauses to choke back a sob. “He’s already three years old, may he live to be 120.”
Why Did Moshe Buy a Stroller?
There was one prayer that wasn’t answered—the prayer for grandchildren by Rivki Gellis
Moshe as a child in Turkey
Growing up in Istanbul, Turkey, Moshe Tzarfati learned early on to have faith in the face of adversity. Though most Jews were afraid to publicly display their Jewishness, and tried to blend in with the Muslim populace, Moshe joined the youth group at the local synagogue. “In the company of Rabbi Gorodetski [theChabad emissary who would visit Istanbul], I absorbed Torah and halachah,” Moshe recalls. “We spoke a lot about faith. He told us that we should always remember G‑d in our hearts, and have faith. The faith we talked about there in the synagogue penetrated deep into my life.
“Joining the activities in the synagogue wasn’t easy. Local boys ambushed us on our way to and from the synagogue. They chased us and tried to hurt us. We were so afraid of them, we would stagger the times we left, and leave by different exits, but we never considered not going.”
The strong faith that Moshe cultivated in Istanbul would stand him in good stead throughout his life.
The Test of Faith
In 1976, Moshe moved with his wife and child to Israel, where they had two more children. Moshe describes how his faith continued to sustain him: “I always knew G‑d existed and that He runs the world. When I needed something out of the ordinary, for instance to get through a surgery or to make a good business deal, I would pray and promise G‑d that if He listened to my prayer, I would strengthen my observance in a certain area. After my prayer was answered, though, it was hard to keep my promises.”
But there was one prayer that wasn’t answered—the prayer for grandchildren.
“The one thing I wanted most in the world wasn’t happening. I prayed, I gave a lot of charity, I visited the graves of righteous rabbis, I did everything I could think of so that I would be blessed with grandchildren. Jenny, our oldest daughter, had been married for ten years but was still childless. You can’t imagine the sorrow and the tension this created. There were days I couldn’t stand it anymore, seeing them suffer so, physically and emotionally. Besides sympathizing with the pain of our children, my wife and I wanted a grandchild with all our hearts. We saw our friends enjoying their grandchildren and listened to the stories they told about them, but we didn’t have any. It was hard. I would lift my eyes to the heavens and promise that if I had a grandchild, I would be more careful with various mitzvahs. But it was always conditional. I always wanted the blessing to be sent before I agreed to improve.”
One Friday afternoon Moshe went out, engrossed in his pain and confusion, and hurried to the Rashbi Synagogue to fulfill his much-beloved custom, singing Song of Songs before welcoming Shabbat. On the way, he met a friend who asked how he was. When he saw Moshe’s haggard face, he suggested that Moshe join him for Shabbat prayers at his Chabad synagogue.
“Until then, my acquaintance with Rabbi Aharon Karniel, the Chabad emissary in my community, had been minimal. I knew that he was pleasant and that he was always concerned with my welfare; the one time I’d turned to him for assistance, he answered positively and did whatever he could to help. Even so, I told my friend, ‘I have no connection with the Chabad synagogue. I’m not a chassid, I’m not Ashkenazi, and it’s my custom to sing Song of Songs, which Chabad congregations don’t sing.’”
But inexplicably, Moshe decided to go with his friend to Chabad. “The rabbi very charmingly welcomed me and invited me to . . . sing Song of Songs! I couldn’t believe it! An Ashkenazic, chassidic synagogue, singing Song of Songs? Today, all the Ashkenazim there sing it with me, and that’s why a lot ofSephardim have joined their synagogue. It was true brotherly love,” Moshe continues with wonder in his voice.
The Rebbe’s Blessing
On the Shabbat before Rosh Chodesh, we bless the new month and pray for a month of joy and salvation for all Jews. After morning prayers, members of Chabad synagogues gather together for a farbrengen to sing and share Torah insights over light refreshments. Rabbi Karniel encouraged Moshe to stay for the event.
“That was when everything started to change,” Moshe remembers. “Between one song and the next, the rabbi told a story of two Chabad chassidim who had been childless for many years. They went to the Rebbe to ask him to bless each of them with children, and he did. After a while, they both returned to the Rebbe, one with a son and the other without. The Rebbe explained that the difference between them was that the first truly believed that the Rebbe’s blessing would help. His faith was so strong that it was immediately expressed in action; after receiving the Rebbe’s blessing, he’d gone to buy a baby carriage. The other chassid had believed that the Rebbe’s blessing would help, but continued life the way he always had.”
Moshe hung on to every word of the rabbi’s story. He felt he was being told a personal message.
“The minute Shabbat was over, I went to buy a stroller. I picked out the most expensive one in the store. I was so moved, I had no doubt that this was the right thing to do and the last thing that needed to be done before hearing good news.”
Now Moshe had to decide how to break the news of the stroller to his family. He found a safe place to hide the stroller while he thought of a plan. “Shabbat came, and my wife and all our kids were sitting around the table. I decided I didn’t care what they thought; I knew that a miracle was about to happen. I showed them the stroller. They were all shocked into open-mouthed, wide-eyed silence. Until my daughter said, ‘You’re crazy.’ Everyone agreed with her. They were sure that my long wait for grandchildren had affected my mind. Some of them tried to convince me to stop going to the Chabad synagogue.”
Did he regret it? Did he have any doubts? Maybe it wasn’t going to happen, and everyone would be disappointed? “No. My faith was so strong that I knew that soon they’d understand. I was sure that it was going to happen, and soon.
“A couple of months later, we got news that our daughter Jenny and her husband Ilan were expecting.” Moshe pauses to choke back a sob. “He’s already three years old, may he live to be 120.”
The Story Continues
One day a stranger came to Moshe and told him that Rabbi Karniel sent him. The man said that he and his wife had been married for almost eight years and still didn’t have children.
“At first I didn’t know what he wanted, but I told him the story. He got excited, asked some questions and said goodbye. After that man left, I understood that I too am an emissary of the Rebbe. Now I tell the story every chance I get. Jews become stronger in their faith when they hear the story of a miracle happening in our times. Telling my story is the way I can strengthen other Jews’ faith.”
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PARSHAH
Seven Branches, Seven Truths
A lesson from the seven-branched menorah: You don't have to be a carbon copy of somebody else to be a good Jew. The critical issue is, are you kindled? by Nechoma Greisman
The candelabra in the Tabernacle and in the Holy Temple had seven branches. One of the major daily services of Aaron, the high priest, was kindling the candelabra. The verse, however, uses an unusual expression for this task—“when you will raise up the lamps,” rather than the more common expression, “to light the lamps.” The commenter Rashi explains that the priest had to coax the flame “until it rises up on its own.”Seven Branches, Seven Truths
A lesson from the seven-branched menorah: You don't have to be a carbon copy of somebody else to be a good Jew. The critical issue is, are you kindled? by Nechoma Greisman
Based on a verse in Zechariah which compares the Jewish people to a golden candelabra, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains that each of the seven lamps of the candelabra corresponds to one of the seven holy character traits: kindness (chesed), austerity (gevurah), compassion (tiferet), etc.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe points out that one of the conclusions we must draw from this is that there are really several different paths in Judaism. There are seven different ways. We are not all the same, and we are not all meant to be the same. Just as there are seven basic character traits, so too there are seven legitimate and valid ways to be a candelabra—a luminary. You don’t have to be a carbon copy of somebody else to be a good Jew. The critical issue is, are you kindled? Are you lit up? If you are lit up, and you are illuminating the surroundings as a candelabra of Judaism, then your way is valid. The Torah teaches us this by the fact that the candelabra does not have one branch, but seven, so that everybody can be themselves and serve G‑daccording to their own personality and way, provided that they are illuminating the world in the way G‑d wants.
The windows of the Temple in Jerusalem were very unusual. Most of the time, when you build a house, you make the windows in such a way that the light from the outside will come into the house. But in the Temple, the windows were built in such a way that the light from inside could shine out, but not vice versa. This, too, is a lesson to every person—that he is not supposed to be influenced by the “outside” world, by what the street has to offer. Rather, he must kindle his own candelabra and illuminate the world around him, even the street outside.
We mentioned before that there are seven paths, there are seven approaches to Judaism. There is the way of love (ahavah), and the way of fear (yir’ah)—austerity or severity . Everyone is probably familiar with both approaches. We’ve all gone through school, and have probably experienced teachers who teach with love. The kids love them; they love the kids. There’s a feeling of joy and participation. Then we have all had teachers who were very strict disciplinarians. If you made one move, you were out of the room, or standing in the corner, or writing lines a hundred times. Both of them were teachers; both of them were trying to do the same thing—teach children. But they had different approaches—one with love, the other with fear. Now you might say, “What’s the difference? Do it with love, do it with fear, as long as you accomplish your goals. What’s the difference what method you use?”
However, the Rebbe says that there is a difference. Even though the way of the person who kindles you with fear is legitimate, nevertheless how much better, how much more pleasant it is when your way of kindling is with love . . .
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Please Try Again
You can be physically close, yet detached and distant in attitude—here in body, elsewhere in mind. by Yitzi Hurwitz
The first unique thing about this mitzvah is that the Torah tells us the story of how this mitzvah came to be. “There were people that were impure ... They came before Moses ... saying, ‘Why should we lose out?’ ... ”
Another unique thing is that they only asked about being impure—a condition that was no fault of their own. However, G‑d added that if a person is far away (which is understood to mean even a minimal distance), he, too, can make up on Pesach Sheni.
What lesson can we take from these two oddities: the story behind the mitzvah; and the addition of the person who is far, but not really far at all?
You can be near and far at the same time. You can be physically close, yet detached and distant in attitude—here in body, elsewhere in mind. For example, you could be praying to G‑d; you are saying the words, but your mind is wandering. G‑d wants us to be close to Him, to love Him, and yet, it is possible to be so close and totally ignore Him.
To this person, G‑d says: “I still want you to be close to Me. Try again. Do it better.”
Like the people in the story of Pesach Sheni, you need to really want it. If you do, it will always be possible to get close to Hashem.
At home, too, our spouses and our children yearn for our love and closeness. While we might be with them physically, they may feel ignored because our attention is not focused on them.
Not able to move, I yearn to hug and play with my kids. I realize the value of spending quality time with them, and I do the best I can in my circumstance to be with them.
First you need to realize what you are missing out on. Then you need to truly want to change. Finally you have know that they yearn for this connection and will welcome your love.
Don’t give up on the best thing you have.
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Love Your Fellow
Several weeks ago, on Shabbat afternoon, we had a fascinating discussion. How should we respond when we learn through the media that our fellow Jew has behaved improperly or even immorally? by Lazer Gurkow
Several weeks ago, on Shabbat afternoon, we had a fascinating discussion. How should we respond when we learn through the media that our fellow Jew has behaved improperly or even immorally? Should we jump to condemn and separate ourselves from the crime lest it reflect badly on the entire community, or should we respond with love, as the Torah commands, “Love your fellow Jew as yourself”?
All too often, we react with instant condemnation upon hearing the allegation of a fellow Jew’s crime. Our justification is that we must not give our critics an opening to paint all Jews with the same brush.
We might claim that we do so for good reason, but the litmus test is how we feel in our hearts. Do we love the fellow that we condemn, or could we care less if he spent a lifetime in jail? Do we feel pain as we are forced to denounce his actions, or do we do it with equanimity and even a bit of self-righteousness? Have we dragged him down because we had no choice, or did we do it to pull ourselves up and make ourselves look good by comparison?
Love Your Fellow
The Torah’s commandment to love our fellow requires at the very least that we shed hot tears when we are forced to condemn another. It requires that we do so with reluctance and only in extreme cases, where it is absolutely necessary. It also requires that once we have condemned another, we treat him as family by reaching out to help him in any way we can.
But that is hardly all this commandment requires. “Love your fellow” requires that we feel as if we are condemning ourselves. This is the height of irony. Our reason for public condemnation is to disassociate ourselves from the crime and avoid being painted by the same brush, yet internally we must take responsibility for our fellow’s crimes.
How could a fellow Jew have stooped so low without us noticing his slow but steady decline? Even if we don’t know the sinner in question, we are still not absolved. Had we expressed our true love for the Jews we do know, it would surely have inspired them to express their true love for the Jews they know, who in turn would continue to pay it forward. If it is true that all of society was once separated by six degrees, the advent of the Internet and social media has brought us even closer. There is no doubt that our positive influence upon our friends could eventually have reached the Jew in question. Can we truthfully say that we treat everyone we know with genuine love and that we are concerned about their worries and fears? If the answer is no, we are somewhat responsible.
One Piece
Furthermore, the Torah teaches us that the entire Jewish nation is a single unit. If one piece is defective, the entire unit is impacted. Just as the arm cannot claim to be unaffected by the leg’s illness and the leg cannot claim to be unaffected by the arm’s amputation, so can no Jew remain untarnished by a fellow’s sin, nor can we claim to be unaffected by the condemnation of our fellow. We are one body.
We learn this from the Torah’s description of the Menorah, the candelabra in the ancient Temple. The Torah says, “This was the form of the Menorah: hammered work of gold, from its base to its flower it was hammered work.”2The Menorah was a single piece of gold, hammered into 49 components. There were cups, flowers, buttons and branches. Each was distinct from the other, but they were all of a piece.
From the base to the flower they were one. The base is at the bottom, the flowers were (among other places) at the top. The base represents the “simple” Jew, and the flowers represent the scholarly, pious and righteous Jew. Further, the Hebrew for “flower,” perach, has the same etymological root as the Hebrew word for “soaring,” poreach. The Holy Jew’s rituals are performed with such passion and enthusiasm that they soar heavenward and touch the Divine. You would think this kind of Jew has little in common with the basic Jew at the very bottom, yet the Torah tells us they are of a single piece.
“Love your fellow Jew” doesn’t just require us to love another, but to feel that this other is part of ourselves, a limb of our body. Just as the legs may trip and fall, causing the arm to break, we are affected by the sin of our fellow.
One Circle
If you look carefully at the verse describing the the Menorah, the final words seem redundant: “This was the form of the Menorah: hammered work of gold, from its base to its flower it was hammered work.” Why repeat the words “hammered work”?
The first mention of the Menorah being of hammered work reminds us that we are separate limbs of a single body and that we require and depend on each other, as we have discussed till this point. The second mention of being hammered from a single piece takes us to a much deeper level.
At this point, the Torah wants us to recall that before we became separate parts, we were a single ball of gold. Before we became separate limbs, we were a single embryo. Just as the same life force that animates the arm flows through the leg, so is part of me in you and part of you in me. A fault in you may have originated in me, and by the same token, a strength in me may have originated in you. If I rise and you fall, we are still part of the same organism; we share the same vitality and character.
With this mindset, it is nearly impossible to condemn another without feeling that we are condemning ourselves. Sometimes circumstances require our condemnation of another, but it should be as traumatic as confessing our own sin and as condemning our own behavior. For we are hammered of one piece.3
FOOTNOTES
1.Leviticus 19:18.
2.Numbers 4:8.
3.This essay is based on Likkutei Torah, Behaalotecha, p. 32, and Sefer Maamarim 5730, p. 247.
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Learn Behaalotecha in Depth
A condensation of the weekly Torah portion alongside select commentaries culled from the Midrash, Talmud, Chassidic masters, and the broad corpus of Jewish scholarship.
Parshat Behaalotecha In-Depth
Numbers 8:1-12:16
Parshah Summary
Our Parshah opens with G‑d's instruction to Aaron to "raise light" in the lamps of the menorah in the Sanctuary, so that "the seven lamps should give light toward the face of the menorah."
The Levites immerse in a pool of water, shave off all their hair, are sprinkled with the ashes of the Red Heifer, and bring offerings to G‑d. The people lay their hands upon the Levites (as a person does when bringing an offering to G‑d), and Aaron the High Priest lifts each of them up as an "uplifting before G‑d" (as the Kohen does with those portions of the offering that are given to him). For,
"And after that, the Levites went in to do their servicein the Tent of Meeting before Aaron and before his sons; as G‑d had commanded Moses..."
But not all were able to do so:
A straight long blast (tekiah) is to be used to summon the people: if both trumpets are sounded, the entire people should gather before the entrance of the Sanctuary; one trumpet means that only the tribal heads were being summoned.
When the people break camp, the start of the journey is to be heralded with a series of short blasts (teruah). The first teruah signals the tribes camping to the east to begin moving; the next series of short blasts sets the southern camp in motion, and so on, according to the order instructed earlier (Numbers 2).
Trumpets are also to be sounded when going out to war, and when bringing the seasonal offerings in the Holy Temple.
Moses' father-in-law, Jethro, was in the Israelite camp at the time (cf. Exodus 18). Before they go, Moses says to Jethro: "We are journeying to the place of which G‑d said, 'I will give it to you.' Come you with us, and we will do you good; for G‑d has spoken good concerning Israel."
But Jethro declines. "I will not go; but I will depart to my own land, and to my kindred."
But soon they are complaining again.
Even the long-suffering Moses can tolerate it no longer.
Moses still has difficulty with the whole thing. "The people, among whom I am," he says to G‑d, "are six hundred thousand footmen. And You have said: I will give them meat, that they may eat a whole month. Shall flocks and herds be slain for them, to suffice them? or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered together for them, to suffice them?"
"Is G‑d's hand short?" says G‑d in reply. "You shall see now whether My word shall come to pass to you or not."
Joshua, Moses' faithful disciple, is upset. When two of the elected men, Eldad and Meidad, prophesy in the camp, he urges Moses to imprison them.
"Are you jealous for me?" says Moses "Would that all G‑d's people were prophets, and that G‑d would set His spirit upon them!"
G‑d speaks suddenly to Moses, Aaron and Miriam, and summons them to the Sanctuary. There He appears in a pillar of cloud and speaks only to Aaron and Miriam:
And this was the work of the menorah: it was ofhammered gold, from its shaft, to its flowers, it was hammered work; according to the pattern which G‑d had shown Moses, so he made the menorah.
Moses then gathers all the people in front of the Sanctuary, where the tribe of Levi is initiated into the Temple service as assistants to the Kohanim (priests).The Levites immerse in a pool of water, shave off all their hair, are sprinkled with the ashes of the Red Heifer, and bring offerings to G‑d. The people lay their hands upon the Levites (as a person does when bringing an offering to G‑d), and Aaron the High Priest lifts each of them up as an "uplifting before G‑d" (as the Kohen does with those portions of the offering that are given to him). For,
The Levites are given as a gift to Aaron and to his sons from among the children of Israel, to do the service of the children of Israel in the Tent of Meeting, and to make atonement for the children of Israel...
On the day before the Exodus, while still in Egypt, every Israelite family had brought a lamb or kid as a Passover offering to G‑d. Now it is a year later--in the month of Nissan of the year 2449 from creation (1312 BCE)--and G‑d commands Moses:The Second Passover
The children of Israel shall keep the Passover at its appointed season.
In the fourteenth day of this month, at evening... according to all the rites of it, and according to all the ceremonies of it, shall you keep it.
There were certain persons who were contaminated by [contact with the dead body of a] human soul, that could not keep the Passover on that day; and they came before Moses and before Aaron on that day.
And those persons said to him: "We are contaminated... Why should we be deprived, that we may not offer the offering of G‑d in its appointed season among the children of Israel?"
G‑d responded by instituting the law of Pesach Sheini, the "Second Passover":And those persons said to him: "We are contaminated... Why should we be deprived, that we may not offer the offering of G‑d in its appointed season among the children of Israel?"
And Moses said to them: "Stand by, and I will hear what G‑d will command concerning you."
And G‑d spoke to Moses saying:
"...If any man of you, or of your future generations, shall be impure by reason of contact with a dead body, or be on a journey afar off, he shall keep the Passover to G‑d. On the fourteenth day of the second month at evening they shall keep it, and eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs..."
Journeys and Encampments
And on the day that the Sanctuary was erected, the cloud covered the Sanctuary, the Tent of the Testimony; and at evening there was upon the Sanctuary as it were the appearance of fire, until the morning.
So it was always: the cloud covered it by day, and the appearance of fire by night.
And when the cloud was taken up from above the Tent, then after that the children of Israel journeyed. And in the place where the cloud came to rest, there the children of Israel encamped. At the commandment of G‑d the children of Israel journeyed, and at the commandment of G‑d they encamped...
When the cloud tarried long upon the Sanctuary many days, then the children of Israel kept the charge of G‑d, and journeyed not. At times it was, that the cloud was a few days upon the Sanctuary... And at times it was, that the cloud abode from evening until morning, and that the cloud was taken up in the morning, then they journeyed...
Or whether it were two days, or a month, or a year, that the cloud tarried upon the Sanctuary, remaining over it, the children of Israel remained encamped, and journeyed not; but when it was taken up, they journeyed.
At the commandment of G‑d they remained encamped, and at the commandment of G‑d they journeyed; they kept the charge of G‑d, at the commandment of G‑d by the hand of Moses.
G‑d instructs Moses to make two silver trumpets, which should be used "to summon the community, and to make journey the camps."Trumpets
A straight long blast (tekiah) is to be used to summon the people: if both trumpets are sounded, the entire people should gather before the entrance of the Sanctuary; one trumpet means that only the tribal heads were being summoned.
When the people break camp, the start of the journey is to be heralded with a series of short blasts (teruah). The first teruah signals the tribes camping to the east to begin moving; the next series of short blasts sets the southern camp in motion, and so on, according to the order instructed earlier (Numbers 2).
Trumpets are also to be sounded when going out to war, and when bringing the seasonal offerings in the Holy Temple.
For eleven months and twenty days, the people of Israel camped at the foot of Mount Sinai. There they received the Torah; there the worshipped the Golden Calf, repented their sin, and obtained G‑d's forgiveness; there they constructed the Sanctuary and dedicated it as the "Tent of Meeting" and Divine dwelling in their midst. Then came the Divine command to move on.Onward From Sinai
And it came to pass on the twentieth day of the second month, in the second year, that the cloud was taken up from off the Sanctuary of the Testimony.
And the children of Israel took their journeys out of the Sinai Desert; and the cloud rested in the wilderness of Paran.But Jethro declines. "I will not go; but I will depart to my own land, and to my kindred."
And they departed from the mountain of G‑d three days' journey; and the Ark of the Covenant of G‑d went before them in the three days' journey, to search out a resting place for them.
The Ark in Motion
And it came to pass, when the Ark went forth, that Moses said, "Rise up, G‑d, and let Your enemies be scattered; and let those who hate You flee before You."
And when it rested, he said, "Return, G‑d, to the ten thousand thousands of Israel."
(These two verses are bracketed in the Torah with two inverted nun's, signifying that they constitute "a book unto itself")The people complain, incurring the wrath of G‑d, and a fire rages at "the edge of the camp." The people cry out to Moses, who prays for the fire to be quenched.Manna and Meat
But soon they are complaining again.
And the mixed multitude that was among them fell a lusting; and the children of Israel also wept again, and said: "Who shall give us meat to eat?"
"We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egyptfor nothing; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlic. But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all,beside this manna, before our eyes..."
Moses heard the people weeping throughout theirfamilies, every man in the door of his tent. And the anger of G‑d burned greatly; Moses also was displeased.
And Moses said to G‑d: "Why have You afflicted Your servant? And why have I not found favor in Your sight, that You lay the burden of all this people upon me?
"Have I conceived all this people? Have I begotten them, that You should say to me: Carry them in your bosom, as a nurse carries the suckling child, to the land which You have sworn to their fathers?
"Whence should I have meat to give to all this people? For they weep to me, saying: Give us meat that we may eat. I am not able to bear all this people alone, because it is too heavy for me..."
If the burden is too heavy for you to bear alone, says G‑d to Moses, "Gather to Me seventy men of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be the elders of the people, and officers over them; and bring them to the Tent of Meeting, that they may stand there with you."Delegation
And I will come down and talk with you there. And I will emanate of the spirit which is upon you, and will bestow it upon them; and they shall bear the burden of the people with you, that you bear it not yourself alone.
As for the meat they're asking for:
And say to the people: Sanctify yourselves against tomorrow, and you shall eat meat; for you have wept in the ears of G‑d, saying, Who shall give us meat to eat? ... Therefore G‑d will give you meat, and you shall eat.
Not one day shall you eat, nor two days, nor five days, nor ten days, nor twenty days; but a whole month, until it come out at your nostrils, and it be loathsome to you; because you have despised G‑d who is among you, and have wept before Him, saying: Why did we come out of Egypt?
"Is G‑d's hand short?" says G‑d in reply. "You shall see now whether My word shall come to pass to you or not."
The seventy elders are selected, and G‑d "emanates of the spirit" which He has bestowed upon Moses to them, and they receive the gift of prophecy.Eldad, Meidad and Joshua
Joshua, Moses' faithful disciple, is upset. When two of the elected men, Eldad and Meidad, prophesy in the camp, he urges Moses to imprison them.
"Are you jealous for me?" says Moses "Would that all G‑d's people were prophets, and that G‑d would set His spirit upon them!"
"The Meat Yet Between Their Teeth"
Moses retired into the camp, he and the elders of Israel.
And a wind went out from G‑d, and brought quails from the sea, and let them fall by the camp, about a day's journey on this side, and about a day's journey on the other side, round about the camp and about two cubits high upon the face of the earth.
The people stood up all that day, and all that night, and all the next day, and they gathered the quails--he that gathered least gathered ten heaps; and they spread them all abroad for themselves round about the camp.
The meat was yet between their teeth, before it be cut, that the wrath of G‑d was inflamed against the people; and G‑d smote the people with a very great plague.
And he called the name of that place Kivrot-Hatta'avah (Graves of Lust), because there they buried the people that lusted.
And the people journeyed from Kivrot-Hatta'avah to Hazeirot, and camped at Hazeirot.
Moses' sister, Miriam, speaks negatively about her brother's marriage with the "Kushite woman" he wed. "Was it indeed only with Moses that G‑d spoke?" she says to her other brother Aaron. "Has He not spoken also with us?"Miriam Criticizes Moses
And G‑d heard. Now the man Moses was very humble, more so than all the men that were upon the face of the earth.
Hear now My words: If there be a prophet among you, I G‑d make myself known to him in a vision, and speak to him in a dream.
When the cloud departs, Miriam is snow-white with leprosy (the punishment for lashon ha-ra, evil speech).
My servant Moses is not so, for he is the trusted one in all My house.
With him I speak mouth to mouth, manifestly, and not in riddles; and the similitude of G‑d does he behold. Why then were you not afraid to speak against my servant Moses?
And Moses cried to G‑d, saying: "I beseech You, O G‑d, heal her now!"
G‑d orders that Miriam be secluded outside of the camp for seven days, after which she will be healed. "And the people journeyed not until Miriam was brought in again."
And after that the people journeyed from Hazierot, and camped in the wilderness of Paran.
From Our Sages
Speak to Aaron and say to him: “When you raise light in the lamps . . .” (Numbers 8:2)
Aaron did not bring an offering (for the Sanctuary’s dedication—see previous Parshah) with the other princes of the tribes, and so he thought: Woe is me! Perhaps it is on my account that G‑d does not accept the tribe of Levi? G‑d therefore said to Moses: “Go and say to Aaron: Fear not, you have in store for you an honor greater than this . . . : the offerings shall remain in force only as long as the Temple stands, but the lamps shall always give light . . .”
(Midrash Rabbah; Rashi)
Were not the lamps of the menorah also extinguished with the destruction of the Holy Temple? But this alludes to the Chanukah lights, which were instituted in the time of the Second Temple by the Hasmoneans, descendents of Aaron, and which did not cease.
(Nachmanides)
moreIt is written, “Nor does darkness obscure for You; the night shines as the day, darkness is as light” (Psalms 139:12). Yet to us He says: “When you raise light in the lamps”!
To what may the matter be compared? To the case of a king who had a friend. The king said to him: “I want you to know that I shall dine with you. Go then and make preparations for me.” His friend went and prepared a common couch, a common candelabra and a common table. When the king arrived, there came with him ministers who encompassed him on this side and that, and a golden candlestick preceded him. His friend, seeing all this pomp, felt ashamed and put away all that he had prepared for him, as it was all common. Said the king to him: “Did I not tell you that I would dine with you? Why did you not prepare anything for me?” His friend answered him: “Seeing all the pomp that accompanied you, I felt ashamed, and put away all that I had prepared for you, because they were common utensils.” “By your life!” said the king to him, “I shall set aside all the utensils that I have brought, and for love of you I shall use none but yours!” So in our case. The Holy One, blessed be He, is all light; as it says, “The light dwells with Him” (Daniel 2:22). Yet He said to Israel: “Prepare for Me a candelabra and lamps.”
(Midrash Rabbah)
When a person builds a house, he makes the windows narrow on the outside and wider on the inside, so that the light from the outside should optimally illuminate the interior. But when King Solomon built the Holy Temple in Jerusalem he made the windows narrow within and wide without, so that its light should emanate to the outside and illuminate the world.
(Midrash Rabbah)
This is to teach us that the lamplighter must hold the flame to the wick until a flame arises of its own accord.
(Rashi)
The spiritual significance of the mitzvah of lighting the menorah is that one should be a “lamplighter” who ignites that latent potential within “the soul of man, a lamp of G‑d” (Proverbs 20:27).Here, too, the endeavor must be to kindle the lamp “so that a flame arises of its own accord.” In teaching and influencing one’s fellow, the objective should be to establish him or her as a self-sufficient luminary: to assist in developing his talents and abilities so that his lamp independently glows and, in turn, kindles the potential in others.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
When the kohen came to kindle the menorah’s lamps each afternoon in the Holy Temple, he found them fully prepared for lighting: earlier in the day the lamps had been cleaned and filled with oil, and fresh wicks had been inserted. All he had to do was bring near the flame he carried, so that its proximity to the waiting lamp would unleash the potential for illumination which the lamp already holds.
Therein lies an important lesson to the spiritual lamplighter. Do not think that you are achieving anything that your fellow could not, in truth, achieve on his own; do not think that you are giving him something he does not already possess. The soul of your fellow is a ready lamp, filled with the purest oil and equipped with all that is required to convert its fuel into a blazing flame. It lacks only the proximity of another lamp to ignite it. If your own soul is alight, its contact with another’s soul will awaken its potential for light, so that it may illuminate its surroundings and kindle other souls, in turn.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
Imagine standing in the Sanctuary, before the holy menorah, and to be capable of actually lighting the lamps—to place the wicks in position, and to fill the lamps without spilling the oil on the floor! This was truly an exceptional achievement on the part of Aaron.
(Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev)
We find that Moses experienced more difficulty in understanding the construction of the menorah than he did in that of all the other vessels of the Sanctuary. So G‑d said to him: Take a talent of gold, cast it into the furnace and take it out again, and the menorah will assume shape of its own accord. Thus the verse says (Exodus 25:31): “Its cups, its knobs and its flowers, shall come out of it . . .”
Moses smote [the piece of gold] with a hammer, and the menorah took shape of its own accord. For this reason it says, “of hammered work it shall be made” (tei’aseh)—implying that it shall be made of its own accord.
(Midrash Rabbah)
The menorah represents the people of Israel, G‑d’s “light unto the nations.” Its many components attest to the fact that the Jewish nation is comprised of different tribes, and includes individuals from all walks of life.But even as the menorah’s form expresses the diversity within Israel, there are two laws which point to the menorah’s integrity. One law concerns the making of the menorah; the second law, the manner of its lighting.
An artifact of the menorah’s complexity is usually fashioned by first molding each of its parts on its own and then welding them together. The menorah, however, was hammered out of a single piece of gold, originating as a single object and remaining a single object through the various stages of its construction, until the finished product.
This represents the fact that while there are nations that are a coalition of variant groups, each formed by its own ancestry and experience but welded together by common interest and habitat, this is not the case with the Jewish people: all souls of Israel are of a single essence, and their division into distinct individuals is merely their investment into different bodies and physical lives.
The second law is that although the menorah sheds its light with seven lamps, they must all be turned toward the central stem, in keeping with G‑d’s instruction to Aaron that “the seven lamps shall give light toward the face of the menorah.” This expresses the truth that although the soul of Israel shines not with a single light, but by means of a seven-lamp menorah representing the various prototypes of human character (the seven sefirot), at the same time all lamps of the menorah face the body from which they extend, emphasizing their singular origin and their singular goal.
In other words: we all come from the same place, and we are all oriented toward the same goal. The differences are only in order to better express our Source and to more completely achieve our goal. Which makes them not differences, but the ultimate expression of oneness.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
The menorah also represents the Torah, the source of divine light in the world. This is alluded to in the menorah’s design, which is detailed in the 25th chapter of Exodus. The menorah had 7 branches, 11 knobs, 9 flowers and 22 goblets, and was 17 handbreadths in height. These numbers represent the five books of the Written Torah: the first verse in the book of Genesis has 7 words, the first verse of Exodus has 11 words, the first verse of Leviticus has 9 words, the first verse of Numbers has 17 words, and the first verse of Deuteronomy—22 words.
(Divrei Noam)
G‑d spoke to Moses . . . in the first month of the second year after they came out of the land of Egypt . . . (9:1)
The events related in this chapter occurred in the first month of that year, while the events of the first chapters of this book (Numbers) occurred in the second month. This teaches us that the Torah does not necessarily follow in chronological order.Why, indeed, does not the Book of Numbers open with this chapter? Because it is a disgrace for Israel. For in the forty years that the Jewish people were in the desert, this was the only Passover offering they brought.
(Sifri; Rashi)
The reason that our ancestors brought no other Passover offering that G‑d did not allow them to. G‑d had instructed that the annual Passover offering should be observed only “when you come into the land that G‑d shall give to you” (Exodus 12:25); the Passover observed in Egypt and the one held in the desert in the following year were exceptions to this rule, specifically commanded by G‑d. So why should the fact that they brought no other Passover offerings in the desert be regarded as a “disgrace”?The answer lies in the story of the “Second Passover” itself. A group of Jews had found themselves in a state which, according to Torah law, absolved them from the duty to bring the Passover offering. Yet they refused to reconcile themselves to this. And their impassioned plea and demand, “Why should we be deprived?” swayed G‑d to establish a new institution, the “Second Passover,” to enable them, and all who will find themselves in a similar situation in future generations, to “present G‑d’s offering in its time, amongst the children of Israel.”
Therein lies the “disgrace” in those thirty-eight Passoverless years in the desert. Why did the Jewish people reconcile themselves to the divine decree? Why did they accept this void in their relationship with G‑d? Why did they not petition for an opportunity to serve Him in the full and optimum manner that the mitzvot of the Torah describe?
For more than nineteen hundred years now, our Passovers have been incomplete. We eat the matzah and the bitter herbs, we drink the four cups of wine, ask and answer the four questions; but the heart and essence of Passover, the Passover offering, is absent from our Seder table. For G‑d has hidden His face from us—has removed the Holy Temple, the seat of His manifest presence on physical earth, from our midst.
The lesson of the “displaced” ninth chapter of Numbers is clear: G‑d desires and expects of us that we refuse to reconcile ourselves to the decree of galut and its diminution of His manifest involvement in our lives. He desires and expects of us that we storm the gates of heaven with the plea and demand: “Why should we be deprived?!”
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
There were certain persons who were contaminated by [contact with the dead body of a] human soul (9:6)
Who were they? Rabbi Ishmael says that they were the ones carrying Joseph’s coffin. Rabbi Akiva says that they were Mishael and Eltzafan, who contaminated themselves for the bodies of Nadav and Avihu (cf. Leviticus 10).Rabbi Yitzchak says: If they were Joseph’s pallbearers, they had ample opportunity to purify themselves; if they were Mishael and Eltzafan, they had ample opportunity to purify themselves. So who were they? People who contaminated themselves for the sake of a met mitzvah (a “charity case” who has no one to attend to him).
(Sifri)
If any man of you, or of your future generations, shall be unclean . . . or be on a journey afar off, he shall keep the Passover to G‑d on the fourteenth day of the second month . . . (9:10–11)
The meaning of the “Second Passover” is that it is never too late; there is always a second chance.
(Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch)
Why was the mitzvah of the “Second Passover” not commanded directly by G‑d in the Torah from the very start, as were virtually all other mitzvot?Because the Second Passover represents the power of teshuvah—the power to “return” and rectify past failings and transform them, retroactively, into merits. This cannot derive from Torah itself, since Torah, which defines what is desirable and undesirable in the eyes of G‑d, cannot regard a failure to fulfill a divine command as something “positive.” The mitzvah of the Second Passover could come only as the divine response to the profound yearning of a soul superseding “Torah,” as it were, crying out for attachment to G‑d from a place so deep within itself that it transcends failing and merit, and can therefore reach back to transform the failing into merit.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
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And at times it was that the cloud abode from evening until morning . . . then they journeyed (9:21)
The Sanctuary was a formidable structure, consisting of hundreds of foundation sockets, wall sections, pillars, tapestries and furnishings; a work crew of several thousand Levites assembled the Sanctuary at each camp, and dismantled and transported it when the divine command would come to move on. Yet the “Tent of Meeting” was erected at every encampment—even if only for a single day!This teaches us that each and every one of our “stations” in life is significant unto itself. A person may find him- or herself in a certain place or in a certain situation for a very brief period, and it may seem to him that he is merely “on the way” to some other place. Yet there is always something in that place or situation to be sanctified—something that can serve as a “Tent of Meeting” between heaven and earth.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
This is in keeping with the common saying: Use your local grain for sowing, even if of a lesser quality.
(Midrash HaGadol)
Though Jethro returned to Midian, his children remained with the Jewish people, as related in the Book of Judges (Judges 1:16).
(Sforno)
They ran from Mount Sinai like children let out from school.
(Jerusalem Talmud)
For this section, G‑d placed symbols above and below . . . because it ranks as a separate book.
(Talmud, Shabbat 115b)
“Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn out her seven pillars” (Proverbs 9:1). Bar Kappara interpreted this verse as referring to the Torah and its seven books. But surely there are only five? Bar Kappara considered the portion from the beginning of the book of Numbers until the verse “It came to pass when the ark went forth” as one book; the two verses “It came to pass . . .” and “When it rested . . .” as another book; and from there to the end of Numbers as yet another book. By this count, we have seven.
(Midrash Rabbah)
“The edge of the camp” are the lowly fringe, the “mixed multitude.” Rabbi Shimon ben Menasia says: the officers and leaders.
(Rashi; Midrash Tanchuma)
The mixed multitude that was among them fell a-lusting . . . “Who shall give us meat to eat?” (11:4)
Shall we say that they asked for the flesh of animals? But surely the manna changed in their mouth into any taste they desired, as it says, “He gave them their request” (Psalms 106:15), and “He gave them that which they craved” (ibid. 78:29). Shall we say that they had no oxen or cattle? But surely it is already written, “A mixed multitude went up also with them; also flocks and herds” (Exodus 12:38). Shall we assume that they had eaten them up in the wilderness? But surely it is written (on the eve of their entry into the Land of Israel forty years later), “Now the children of Reuben . . . had a very great multitude of cattle” (Numbers 32:1). Hence, they were only looking for an excuse to complain.Rabbi Shimeon concluded that they did not lust for meat, but for sexual vice.
(Rashi; Midrash Rabbah)
Rav and Shmuel differed as to the meaning of this. One says it means fish. The other says it is an idiom for forbidden sexual relations. . . . This is also the meaning of what is says further on, “Moses heard the people weeping throughout their families”—they were weeping over the incestuous relations that were now forbidden them.
(Talmud, Yoma 75a)
Pharaoh did not even give them straw (cf. Exodus 5), and they said that they received free fish! If they would have known about the manna beforehand, they would have claimed to have already eaten it at Pharaoh’s table . . .
(Midrash Rabbah)
“For nothing”—without the responsibility of the mitzvot.
(Sifri)
The Lubavitcher Rebbe illustrates the deeper significance of the “free fish” of Egypt with the following parable:A wealthy nobleman was once touring his estate, and came upon a peasant pitching hay. The nobleman was fascinated by the flowing motions of the peasant’s arms and shoulders, and the graceful sweep of the pitchfork through the air. He so greatly enjoyed the spectacle that he struck a deal with the peasant: for ten rubles a day, the peasant agreed to come to the mansion and enact his hay-pitching technique in the nobleman’s drawing room.
The next day the peasant arrived at the mansion, hardly concealing his glee at his new line of work. After swinging his empty pitchfork for over an hour, he collected his ten rubles—many times over his usual wage for a week of labor. But by the following day, his enthusiasm had waned. Several days later, he announced to his master that he was quitting his new commission.
“But I don’t understand,” puzzled the nobleman. “Why choose to swing heavy loads in the winter cold and summer heat, when you can perform such an effortless task in the comfort of my home and earn many times your usual pay?”
“But Master,” said the peasant, “I don’t see the work.”
A person derives pleasure from material things only by comparing what he has to what his neighbors have. So although they could enjoy every taste in the world in the manna, they derived no pleasure from it, since everyone had it . . .
(Rabbi Yonatan Eibeschutz)
Moses was unable to lower himself to the task of providing Israel with meat—his soul was far too lofty to deal with so mundane a need.
(Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch)
Gather to Me seventy men of the elders of Israel, whom you know to be . . . officers over them (11:16)
While they were still in Egypt, they had had seventy elders, as it says (Exodus 3:16), “Go and gather the elders of Israel together.” But these new elders were those who were then the Israelite “officers” whom Pharaoh set over the children of Israel.When the children of Israel failed to meet the quota of bricks set by Pharaoh, the taskmasters would beat the officers, as it is written (ibid. 5:14), “The Israelite officers were beaten. . . .” These officers allowed themselves to be beaten for the people’s sake, and did not hand them over to the taskmasters, saying: It is better that we be beaten, and the rest of the people should not be harmed.
Therefore, when G‑d said to Moses, “Gather to Me seventy men,” and Moses said, “My Master, I do not know who is worthy and who is not worthy,” G‑d said: “Those whom you know to be the elders of the people and officers over them.” Those officers who gave themselves over to be beaten over the brick quotas, they shall now be elevated to this greatness.
(Midrash Tanchuma)
Moses thought: What shall I do? If I bring five from each tribe, the total will not amount to seventy: there will only be sixty. If I bring six from each tribe, there will be two more than seventy. If I bring six from one tribe and five from another, I will introduce jealousy between the tribes.
What did he do? He took seventy-two ballots, and wrote on seventy of them “elder,” and two ballots he left blank. Then he mixed them up in an urn and proclaimed: “Come and draw your ballots.” A man who drew out a ballot inscribed with the word “elder” knew that he had been appointed an elder. And one who drew out a blank knew that he had not been appointed, and the superintendent would say to him: “There is still a ballot in the urn inscribed with the word ‘elder’; had you been worthy of being appointed, you would have drawn it.”
(Midrash Rabbah)
The seventy elders correspond to the seventy biblically ordained holy days of the year: 52 Sabbaths, seven days of Passover, eight days of Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Shavuot.
(Yalkut Shimoni)
Gather to Me seventy men of the elders of Israel. . . . And I will emanate of the spirit which is upon you, and will bestow it upon them (11:16–17)
Should you object that while one sage permits, another prohibits; while one disqualifies, another declares fit; while one rules that a thing is unclean, another rules that it is clean; while Rabbi Eliezer condemns, Rabbi Joshua acquits; while Beth Shammai disqualify, Beth Hillel declare fit—to whom, then, shall we listen? Says G‑d: Nevertheless, it is all given from one Shepherd.
(Midrash Rabbah)
Was Moses’ prophecy perhaps diminished? No. This is comparable to a burning candle from which many candles are lit, yet its own light is not diminished. So, too, Moses lost nothing that was his.
(Midrash Rabbah)
On the most basic level, this is the difference between physical and spiritual giving. In physical giving, the giver’s resources are depleted by his gift—he now has less money or energy than before. In spiritual giving, however, there is no loss. When a person teaches his fellow, his own knowledge is not diminished—if anything, it is enhanced.Upon deeper contemplation, however, it would seem that spiritual giving, too, carries a “price.” If the disciple is inferior to the teacher in knowledge and mental capability, the time and effort expended in teaching him is invariably at the expense of the teacher’s own intellectual development; also, the need for the teacher to “coarsen” and simplify his ideas to fit the disciple’s mind will ultimately detract from the depth and abstraction of his own thoughts. By the same token, dealing with people of lower moral and spiritual level than oneself cannot but affect one’s own spiritual state. The recipients of this “spiritual charity” will be elevated by it, but its giver will be diminished by the relationship, however subtly.
Indeed, we find an example of such spiritual descent in Moses’ bestowal of the leadership upon Joshua. In contrast to the appointment of the seventy elders, where he was told to “emanate” his spirit to them, Moses is here commanded to “take Joshua the son of Nun, and lay your hand upon him . . . and give of your glory upon him” (Numbers 27:18–20). Here the Midrash comments, “Lay your hand upon him—like one who kindles a candle from a candle; Give of your glory—like one who pours from one vessel into another vessel.”
In other words, there are two kinds of spiritual gifts: a gift that “costs” the giver nothing (“emanation,” which is like “kindling a candle from a candle”), and a gift that involves a removal of something from the giver in order that the recipient should receive something (“pouring from one vessel into another”).
There are times when we indeed sacrifice something of ourselves for the benefit of a fellow. But there are also times when we commit ourselves to our fellow so absolutely—when the gift comes from a place so deep and so true within us—that we only grow from the experience, no matter how much we give of ourselves.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
He called the name of that place Kivrot Hataavah, because there they buried the people that lusted (11:34)
The literal meaning of Kivrot Hataavah is “graves of lust”: not only the “people that lusted” were buried there, but also the lust itself . . .
(Binah Le-Ittim)
When the elders were appointed, the people of Israel lit candles and rejoiced for the seventy elders who had been elevated to greatness. When Miriam saw the candles, she said: “Fortunate are these men, and fortunate are their wives!” Said Tzipporah to her: “Do not say ‘Fortunate are their wives,’ say ‘Woe unto their wives!’ For from the day that G‑d spoke to Moses your brother, he has not had relations with me.”
Immediately Miriam went to Aaron, and they took to discussing the matter, as it says, “Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses about the woman”—about his separating himself from the woman. They said: “Moses is a prideful one. Did G‑d speak only with him? He has already spoken with many prophets, ourselves included; did we separate from our spouses?”
Thus the verse attests, to refute them: “Now the man Moses was very humble, more so than all the men that were upon the face of the earth.”
G‑d appeared to them suddenly, when they had not yet purified themselves [through immersion in a pool of water] following marital relations, and they began calling, “Water! Water!” This was to teach them that Moses did right in separating from his wife, since the Divine Presence revealed itself to him constantly, and there was no preset time for divine communication.
G‑d said to them: “The prophets of whom you spoke, in dreams and visions did I communicate with them. Not so is My manner with Moses My servant. And it was I who told him to separate from his wife.” (Where did G‑d say this? Following the revelation at Sinai [when all the people were commanded to separate from their wives for three days], G‑d said to Moses: “Go and say to them: ‘Return to your tents’; but you stay here with Me.”)
(Sifri; Rashi)
Was she then a Cushite? She was a Midianite! Rather, it means that her beauty was obvious to all, as the blackness of a Cushite is obvious to all.
(Sifri; Rashi)
If there be a prophet among you, I . . . speak to him in a dream. My servant Moses is not so (12:6–7)
In sleep, when the soul frees itself to a certain degree from the confines of the body, it can begin to perceive the divine essence that hides behind the material world. Moses, however, was able to see G‑dliness even when awake—for him the material world did not conceal.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
When Moses began to pray at the shore of the Red Sea, G‑d said to him: “Moses! My children are in dire straits, and you stand and pray profusely? . . . There is a time to pray at length, and there is a time to pray briefly . . .
(Mechilta Beshalach)
Once a certain disciple went down [to lead the prayer] before the ark in the presence of Rabbi Eliezer, and he spun out the prayer to a great length. His disciples said to him: Master, how long-winded this fellow is! He replied to them: Is he drawing it out any more than our master Moses, of whom it is written (Deuteronomy 9:25): “The forty days and the forty nights that I threw myself down before G‑d in supplication”?Another time it happened that a certain disciple went down before the ark in the presence of Rabbi Eliezer, and he cut the prayer very short. His disciples said to him: How concise this fellow is! He replied to them: Is he any more concise than our master Moses, who prayed, as it is written: “I beseech You, O G‑d, heal her now”?
(Talmud, Berachot 34a)
There are prayers that are answered after a hundred years . . . there are prayers that are answered after ninety years . . . and there are prayers that are answered after seven days.
(Midrash Yalkut Hamachiri)
Miriam waited a short while for Moses, as it is written (Exodus 2:4), “His sister stood afar off, to know what would be done to him.” Therefore Israel was delayed for her seven days in the wilderness, as it is written, “The people journeyed not till Miriam was brought in again.”
(Talmud, Sotah 9b)
LIFESTYLE
Romaine Pepper Steak Salad
A medley of light summer vegetables topped with slivers of pepper steak. Step-by-step tutorial with photos and directions. by Miriam Szokovski
Cut the pepper steak into bite-size pieces. (Seriously, who wants to whip out a knife and start cutting their salad in the middle of eating?) On a low flame, sauté the meat in soy sauce, honey, oil and garlic powder until cooked through. Remove the pieces and let them cool slightly. If you add them to the salad when they’re hot, they’ll make the lettuce warm and wilty (ew).
Meanwhile, stick all the dressing ingredients in the blender or food processor, and give it a whir. It should be thick and creamy, and smell delicious. There’s more than enough dressing in this recipe, so don’t dump it all on the salad at once. Add a few spoons, mix, taste; repeat until you’re satisfied.
Salad Ingredients:
2 heads lettuce
2 cups shredded purple cabbage
6 radishes, cut into thin rounds
1 orange, cut into chunks
1 avocado, cut into chunks
¼ cup pumpkin seeds (optional)
½ lb. pepper steak
2 tbsp. honey
2 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
Salad Directions:
Cut pepper steak into bite-size pieces and sauté in honey, soy sauce, garlic and olive oil until cooked through.
Mix all salad ingredients, add dressing to taste, and serve immediately.
Dressing Ingredients:
½ cup mayonnaise
8 cloves garlic
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
3 tbsp. honey
3 tbsp. Dijon mustard
¼ tsp. salt
1 tbsp. olive oil
4 scallions
Dressing Directions:
In a blender or food processor, blend until thick and creamy.
Store in the refrigerator for up to a week.
What’s your favorite summery salad? Leave a comment and let us know. Or better yet, send it to us (if it’s your own recipe) so we can add it to ourdatabase.
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The Menorah: Joy & Illumination by Yoram Raanan
According to the Midrash, when Aaron lit the menorah in the Mishkan(Tabernacle), G‑d promised that its light would shine forever. In the Temple, the flame of the menorah burned continuously, and, in its memory, all synagogues keep a light—the ner tamid—constantly lit. In this menorah, light shines in the dancing swirling color, celebrating the menorah as a symbol of illumination and joy. Arising from molten gold, white flames ascend toward the cool sky with outstretched wings, while golden rays stream down toward the earth, in the subtle movement between earth and spirit.
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JEWISH NEWS
Barn Mitzvah: Historic Structure in Maryland to Become Jewish Education Center
The historic Garrett Farmhouse, which includes a 20,000-square-foot barn built in 1879, is being purchased by Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, Md. by Dovid Margolin
Rabbi Sholom and Chana Raichik, co-directors of Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, Md., offered the winning bid on the historic Garrett Farmhouse, which they plan to convert into an educational center.
Drive down Darnestown Road in Gaithersburg, Md., and in the distance, two white silos rise up like aged sentries guarding part of suburban Maryland’s rural roots.
The silos belong to the Garrett Farmhouse, which includes a 20,000-square-foot barn built in 1879. The property is being purchased by Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, with the intention of transforming it into an educational center for the area’s Jewish community.
Decades ago, the main green-and-white dairy barn and milk house were converted to serve as an area veterinary hospital. Recently, the property went up for sale. Located on a highly visible intersection, it has long attracted the attention of Rabbi Sholom and Chana Raichik, co-directors of the regional Chabad center. When the historic structure went up for auction on Lag BaOmer, Raichik decided it was propitious time to make an offer.
“Normally, these auctions are held onShabbat, but this one came up on a Thursday, on Lag BaOmer, an auspicious day for good things,” says Raichik, whose center is less than a mile down the road. “The space we’re in doesn’t support an extensive educational facility, so we have been looking for the opportunity to expand. This came up, and we decided to see if it would come in at a price that fit our plans. My wife was saying tehillim [prayers] while I was waving my bid card. Thank G‑d, it worked out, and we jumped on it.”
Rabbi Sholom Raichik, left, wraps tefillin with Steve Steinberg, the current owner of the property
While Garrett Farmhouse may be landmarked as a significant example of vernacular architecture, it shouldn’t be confused with its more famous—or rather, infamous—namesake: the long-gone Garrett Farmhouse in Northern Virginia, where President Abraham Lincoln’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth, died in a shootout with Union troops.
Once the purchasing process is settled (Chabad plans to close within a month of the auction), Raichik envisions a host of opportunities in the eye-catching space with the ultimate goal of turning it into a full-service educational facility for children, teenagers and adults. He says the local Jewish community has been enthusiastic about the purchase.
“The uniqueness of the structure lends itself to a lot of opportunities,” he adds, “so we’re very excited about the possibilities.”
The farmhouse shares its name with another more famous—or rather, infamous—one. The Garrett Farmhouse in Northern Virginia, which is no longer standing, is the site where President Abraham Lincoln's assassin, John Wilkes Booth, died in a shootout with Union troops.
The barn contains some 20,000 square feet of space.
The rabbi says “the uniqueness of the structure lends itself to a lot of opportunities.”
JEWISH NEWS
Barn Mitzvah: Historic Structure in Maryland to Become Jewish Education Center
The historic Garrett Farmhouse, which includes a 20,000-square-foot barn built in 1879, is being purchased by Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, Md. by Dovid Margolin
Rabbi Sholom and Chana Raichik, co-directors of Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, Md., offered the winning bid on the historic Garrett Farmhouse, which they plan to convert into an educational center.
Drive down Darnestown Road in Gaithersburg, Md., and in the distance, two white silos rise up like aged sentries guarding part of suburban Maryland’s rural roots.
The silos belong to the Garrett Farmhouse, which includes a 20,000-square-foot barn built in 1879. The property is being purchased by Chabad of Upper Montgomery County in Gaithersburg, with the intention of transforming it into an educational center for the area’s Jewish community.
Decades ago, the main green-and-white dairy barn and milk house were converted to serve as an area veterinary hospital. Recently, the property went up for sale. Located on a highly visible intersection, it has long attracted the attention of Rabbi Sholom and Chana Raichik, co-directors of the regional Chabad center. When the historic structure went up for auction on Lag BaOmer, Raichik decided it was propitious time to make an offer.
“Normally, these auctions are held onShabbat, but this one came up on a Thursday, on Lag BaOmer, an auspicious day for good things,” says Raichik, whose center is less than a mile down the road. “The space we’re in doesn’t support an extensive educational facility, so we have been looking for the opportunity to expand. This came up, and we decided to see if it would come in at a price that fit our plans. My wife was saying tehillim [prayers] while I was waving my bid card. Thank G‑d, it worked out, and we jumped on it.”
Rabbi Sholom Raichik, left, wraps tefillin with Steve Steinberg, the current owner of the property
While Garrett Farmhouse may be landmarked as a significant example of vernacular architecture, it shouldn’t be confused with its more famous—or rather, infamous—namesake: the long-gone Garrett Farmhouse in Northern Virginia, where President Abraham Lincoln’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth, died in a shootout with Union troops.
Once the purchasing process is settled (Chabad plans to close within a month of the auction), Raichik envisions a host of opportunities in the eye-catching space with the ultimate goal of turning it into a full-service educational facility for children, teenagers and adults. He says the local Jewish community has been enthusiastic about the purchase.
“The uniqueness of the structure lends itself to a lot of opportunities,” he adds, “so we’re very excited about the possibilities.”
The farmhouse shares its name with another more famous—or rather, infamous—one. The Garrett Farmhouse in Northern Virginia, which is no longer standing, is the site where President Abraham Lincoln's assassin, John Wilkes Booth, died in a shootout with Union troops.
The barn contains some 20,000 square feet of space.
The rabbi says “the uniqueness of the structure lends itself to a lot of opportunities.”
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Pioneering Chabad at UPenn Celebrates Building Opening
An expansive new space and ‘place of respite’ for Jewish students. by Reuvena Leah Grodnitzky
Cutting the ribbon dedicating the Ronald O. Perelman Center for Jewish Life-Lubavitch House at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia are, from left: Rabbi Avrohom Shemtov, Boris Kalandar, event co-chair David Magerman, Penn psychology professor Paul Rozin, Rabbi Ephraim Levin, Rabbi Menachem Schmidt, Jesse Roth, Rabbi Levi Haskelevich, Nechama Haskelevich and Flora Levin. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
Cloudy skies couldn’t put a damper on the early-evening ribbon-cutting and building dedication of the Ronald O. Perelman Center for Jewish Life-Lubavitch House at the University of Pennsylvania. Dozens of alumni, supporters, community members and rabbis gathered on June 16 to be a part of the celebration that was more than 10 years in the making.
“This new center is a reminder of the seed that the Lubavitcher Rebbe [RabbiMenachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory] planted 55 years ago, when I first came to campus to begin teaching Torah classes in 1962,” said Rabbi Avrohom Shemtov, director of the Philadelphia Lubavitcher Center. “Chabadat UPenn was the first set program at a college campus, though today Chabad on Campus is considered a normal facet of Jewish outreach.”
Perelman, of Revlon cosmetics fame and the building’s namesake, is a product of those first encounters on campus. A graduate of the university’s Wharton School of Business, he met Shemtov some 40 years ago, and hardly a day has passed since that the two haven’t conducted a learning session by phone, he said.
“I’m so happy to support a center where ‘every Jew is family,’ and where Jews of all backgrounds can come together to worship, celebrate and explore their heritage in a warm environment,” said Perelman in a letter that Shemtov read at the event. “Faith plays an enormous role in my life, and it’s my privilege and obligation to give back to others. I hope that Chabad will continue to enrich student life at UPenn with wisdom, understanding and knowledge.”
Event co-chairs were Eric Gribetz, Ilan Kaufthal and David Magerman.
Dozens of alumni, supporters, community members and rabbis gathered on June 16 to be a part of the celebration. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
‘A Central Place’
According to Rabbi Ephraim Levin, director of Lubavitch House at Penn, the new center is a renovation of an original building that was more than 100 years old. The first half of the building, purchased in 1980, could host a maximum of 40 guests for Shabbat and holidays, and was in use until renovations began. With the acquisition of the second side of the building in 2005, the $5 million renovation project launched in full force, seeking to increase its capacity from 12,000 square feet to 25,000 square feet, and boost the seating to accommodate 120 guests.
Attendees of all ages came to the event. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
“UPenn is a central place in terms of American leaders that emerge from there, including people who have come from our Chabad House,” said Rabbi Menachem Schmidt, executive director of Lubavitch House at Penn, who moved to campus in 1980 with his wife, Chava. “The new facility will enable us to have a larger variety of programs and has already made a difference in terms of holding even better programming. This is only the beginning: We look forward to increasing what we’re doing in many different ways.”
Approximately 3,500 Jewish undergraduate and graduate students attend the university, according to Levin, out of a total student body of more than 24,000.
Said Rabbi Shemtov: “Chabad at UPenn was the first set program at a college campus, though today Chabad on Campus is considered a normal facet of Jewish outreach.” (Photo: Marc Smiler)
The first floor of the building contains a social hall—for meals, conferences, speakers and meetings—as well as the Bait Yaakov, Safra Family synagogue and library. The basement boasts a lounge, which will soon be converted into a coffee-shop-like food establishment to supplement the campus’s kosher-meal plan, by making kosher food available on nights and weekends. There are also plenty of offices upstairs, in addition to student dormitory housing—a three-bedroom space and eight studio apartments—with a separate entrance from the outside.
“The various features of the new building represent how our Chabad House provides something for every Jew,” said Levin, who moved to the campus in 1990 with his wife, Flora. “We are able to provide experiences that are positive and meaningful for all levels of interest, from learning and classes, to hospitality for Shabbat and holidays, to our Jewish Heritage Program (JHP) internships and Birthright Israel trips.”
Rabbi Levi and Nechama Haskelevich, the campus rabbi couple at Lubavitch House at UPenn, lead a 40-student Birthright trip every year and engage some 50 students in weekly learning opportunities. And JHP organizes some 2,000 students across campus to participate in a Shabbat meal in their own living spaces twice a year.
“We have already seen an increase in attendance at the Chabad House since moving into the new space. Students really appreciate the large and beautifully appointed interior; they enjoy hanging out with friends, relaxing and studying,” said Nechama Haskelevich, who moved to campus in 2000 with her husband. “We are also able to hold multiple events simultaneously, which is only increasing our reach on campus, and we look forward to continuing to grow our activities here at Penn.”
For fourth-year medical student Miranda Rosenberg, the new building has been the ideal location for her connection to Chabad.
“It’s gorgeous,” said Rosenberg, who is originally from South Florida and has been involved with Chabad since her undergraduate days at Harvard University. “I know that it will be incredible for our community in that it’s such an open, welcome space.”
Ashley Friedman, who studies law at Temple University, participates in young-professional events through JHP. Of the new development, she said: “I think it’s a beautiful building. It’s a great place for people to come for Jewish events and is in a central location on campus. It’s a wonderful place for people to meet each other.”
Rabbi Levi Haskelevich, left, with keynote speaker Jon Huntsman Jr., himself a graduate of Penn (Photo: Marc Smiler)
Rabbi Avrohom Shemtov, left, with Huntsman (Photo: Marc Smiler)
‘A Center of Tranquility’
To show support for the grand opening, University Chaplain Rev. Charles L. Howard brought greetings from the school’s president, Amy Gutmann, in which she called Chabad at UPenn “a pioneering model for Chabad on Campus,” adding that the new building will enable Chabad to make an even “fuller contribution to religious life at Penn.”
Howard, himself a Penn graduate, emphasized that he “sees humanity at its best at Lubavitch,” and hopes that Chabad will continue to “bring the sweet spirit of joy to Penn’s campus.”
The event’s keynote speaker Jon Huntsman Jr.—former governor of Utah, and a U.S. ambassador for Singapore and China—spoke of the impact Chabad has on the University of Pennsylvania, his alma mater.
“This is a center of tranquility that represents understanding, respect and tolerance,” said Huntsman, a Utah native. “There is a respect for others here that transcends all boundaries. Chabad is home for people looking for a place of respite, where they can connect. This place represents the best of the community.”
Penn dental students Michael Moshenayov, left, and Daniel Shimansky (Photo: Marc Smiler)
Members of the Landes family, longtime local friends and supporters of Lubavitch house at Penn. From left are former Jewish educator Sora Landes, with son Joshua Landes, granddaughter Rachel Kolman and daughter Rebecca Landes Kolman. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
Guests mingle at the dedication ceremony and get an inside look at the new space. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
Huntsman—former governor of Utah, and a U.S. ambassador for Singapore and China—spoke of the impact Chabad has on the University of Pennsylvania, his alma mater. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
The crowd takes in the speakers, who noted that the upgrded and expanded facility will allow more programming of all kinds. (Photo: Marc Smiler)
The Johnson Pavilion and Hamilton Walk of the Perelman School of Medicine at Penn. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
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Oregon Seniors, Students Bond Through Weekly Torah Study
Intergenerational interactions provide life lessons for bar mitzvah-age teens. by Karen Schwartz
Throughout the school year, five students have visited seniors at an assisted-living facility in Portland, Ore., each week as part of a program called “Torah & Us.” From left, bottom row, are: Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, principal of Maimonides Jewish Day School and the boys' teacher; Noach Both, Menachem Wilhelm, Ari Becker, Mendel Greenberg and Shmuel Dovid Mishulovin.
Some bar mitzvah-age boys in the U.S. Pacific Northwest who will head off toyeshivah and high schools this fall will take with them many experiences and fond memories from their current academic year. One of them is sure to be their weekly trips to Cedar Sinai Park, a senior-citizen housing campus in Portland, Ore.
Five teens started visiting residents there in October, leading sessions related to the weekly Torah portion. The program evolved into its current format, “Torah & Us,” over the course of several months. Now it includes a PowerPoint presentation, a question of the week and a lively discussion with those at the assisted-living facility. The young men also present a modified program once a month for the campus’s nursing home.
“We wanted to teach about working with other people and recognizing everyone’s strengths, especially the elders, who have so much to give,” says Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, the boys’ teacher and the principal of MaimonidesJewish Day School, which is under the auspices of Chabad of Oregon.
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Mendel Greenberg, 13, says his favorite week was when they tackled the topic of modesty. The conversation drew a large crowd, he relates; people came with a “whole bunch of views” on the appropriate way to dress. “It made the whole day, the whole thing worthwhile,” he says.
Attendance has been on the rise since the introduction of “Torah & Us,” affirms Jemi Kostiner Mansfield, director of spiritual life of Cedar Sinai Park. She also helps coordinate the visits.
“The residents regularly comment on what a joy it is to see young people actively sharing their love of Judaism and learning. The singing, especially, brings smiles to most faces, as does the enthusiasm,” she says. “There have been very thoughtful conversations about the question of the week and some discussions that veer far off the intended path, challenging the students to think beyond the limits of their current learning.”
Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm
On a personal level, she says, she enjoys the opportunity to interact with the students and has relished watching them grow into their roles as confident presenters and discussion moderators. “It doesn’t hurt that I’ve raised two boys,” she adds, “and so I look on this group with more than a drop of motherly pride at their progress.”
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker. The boys develop their PowerPoint presentations and choose stories ahead of time. “It’s fun, and it’s an opportunity for us to learn about and interact with the older generation.”
Becker says that in addition to improving his public speaking and getting the chance to do community service, he’s been impressed by how open everyone has been to sharing their opinions. “I really like the conversations we have. I like the variety and hearing other people’s perspectives.”
Noach Both talks with a resident at Cedar Sinai Park.
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker.
‘How to Be Better Mensches’
Devorah Both, whose 14-year-old son Noach takes part in the program, drives the group to the senior center and likes to stay for the program. “One of the most important things to me is the response from the seniors: They tell the kids to ‘speak louder, speak slowly.’ It’s really fun to watch them respond to the kids, to teach them how to be better mensches,” she says.
With the fellows off to different yeshivahs and high schools in the fall, Kostiner Mansfield hopes that they’ll take with them the experiences they have created over the past year and the relationships they have built. She also looks forward to a new contingent of students from the school coming to visit. “I’d love to see ‘Torah & Us’ continue to grow and thrive, strengthening the connection between the elders at Cedar Sinai Park with the rest of the Portland Jewish Community.”
The rabbi confirms that the program will continue in the fall with the oldest class. As for the current crop of boys, they graduated on June 15.
Wilhelm says as these students look to the future, “I hope they remember the power and importance of every individual, and the ability each of us has to make a positive imprint and difference in other people’s lives.”
The program will continue in the fall with the oldest class at Maimonides Jewish Day School. The current participants graduated on June 15.
Throughout the school year, five students have visited seniors at an assisted-living facility in Portland, Ore., each week as part of a program called “Torah & Us.” From left, bottom row, are: Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, principal of Maimonides Jewish Day School and the boys' teacher; Noach Both, Menachem Wilhelm, Ari Becker, Mendel Greenberg and Shmuel Dovid Mishulovin.
Some bar mitzvah-age boys in the U.S. Pacific Northwest who will head off toyeshivah and high schools this fall will take with them many experiences and fond memories from their current academic year. One of them is sure to be their weekly trips to Cedar Sinai Park, a senior-citizen housing campus in Portland, Ore.
Five teens started visiting residents there in October, leading sessions related to the weekly Torah portion. The program evolved into its current format, “Torah & Us,” over the course of several months. Now it includes a PowerPoint presentation, a question of the week and a lively discussion with those at the assisted-living facility. The young men also present a modified program once a month for the campus’s nursing home.
“We wanted to teach about working with other people and recognizing everyone’s strengths, especially the elders, who have so much to give,” says Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, the boys’ teacher and the principal of MaimonidesJewish Day School, which is under the auspices of Chabad of Oregon.
Mendel Greenberg, 13, says his favorite week was when they tackled the topic of modesty. The conversation drew a large crowd, he relates; people came with a “whole bunch of views” on the appropriate way to dress. “It made the whole day, the whole thing worthwhile,” he says.
Attendance has been on the rise since the introduction of “Torah & Us,” affirms Jemi Kostiner Mansfield, director of spiritual life of Cedar Sinai Park. She also helps coordinate the visits.
“The residents regularly comment on what a joy it is to see young people actively sharing their love of Judaism and learning. The singing, especially, brings smiles to most faces, as does the enthusiasm,” she says. “There have been very thoughtful conversations about the question of the week and some discussions that veer far off the intended path, challenging the students to think beyond the limits of their current learning.”
Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm
On a personal level, she says, she enjoys the opportunity to interact with the students and has relished watching them grow into their roles as confident presenters and discussion moderators. “It doesn’t hurt that I’ve raised two boys,” she adds, “and so I look on this group with more than a drop of motherly pride at their progress.”
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker. The boys develop their PowerPoint presentations and choose stories ahead of time. “It’s fun, and it’s an opportunity for us to learn about and interact with the older generation.”
Becker says that in addition to improving his public speaking and getting the chance to do community service, he’s been impressed by how open everyone has been to sharing their opinions. “I really like the conversations we have. I like the variety and hearing other people’s perspectives.”
Noach Both talks with a resident at Cedar Sinai Park.
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker.
‘How to Be Better Mensches’
Devorah Both, whose 14-year-old son Noach takes part in the program, drives the group to the senior center and likes to stay for the program. “One of the most important things to me is the response from the seniors: They tell the kids to ‘speak louder, speak slowly.’ It’s really fun to watch them respond to the kids, to teach them how to be better mensches,” she says.
With the fellows off to different yeshivahs and high schools in the fall, Kostiner Mansfield hopes that they’ll take with them the experiences they have created over the past year and the relationships they have built. She also looks forward to a new contingent of students from the school coming to visit. “I’d love to see ‘Torah & Us’ continue to grow and thrive, strengthening the connection between the elders at Cedar Sinai Park with the rest of the Portland Jewish Community.”
The rabbi confirms that the program will continue in the fall with the oldest class. As for the current crop of boys, they graduated on June 15.
Wilhelm says as these students look to the future, “I hope they remember the power and importance of every individual, and the ability each of us has to make a positive imprint and difference in other people’s lives.”
The program will continue in the fall with the oldest class at Maimonides Jewish Day School. The current participants graduated on June 15.
Oregon Seniors, Students Bond Through Weekly Torah Study
Intergenerational interactions provide life lessons for bar mitzvah-age teens. by Karen Schwartz
Throughout the school year, five students have visited seniors at an assisted-living facility in Portland, Ore., each week as part of a program called “Torah & Us.” From left, bottom row, are: Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, principal of Maimonides Jewish Day School and the boys' teacher; Noach Both, Menachem Wilhelm, Ari Becker, Mendel Greenberg and Shmuel Dovid Mishulovin.
Some bar mitzvah-age boys in the U.S. Pacific Northwest who will head off toyeshivah and high schools this fall will take with them many experiences and fond memories from their current academic year. One of them is sure to be their weekly trips to Cedar Sinai Park, a senior-citizen housing campus in Portland, Ore.
Five teens started visiting residents there in October, leading sessions related to the weekly Torah portion. The program evolved into its current format, “Torah & Us,” over the course of several months. Now it includes a PowerPoint presentation, a question of the week and a lively discussion with those at the assisted-living facility. The young men also present a modified program once a month for the campus’s nursing home.
“We wanted to teach about working with other people and recognizing everyone’s strengths, especially the elders, who have so much to give,” says Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, the boys’ teacher and the principal of MaimonidesJewish Day School, which is under the auspices of Chabad of Oregon.
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Related News Stories
Young and Old Enjoy Time Together in Yud Shevat Program
Assisted-Living Seniors to Mix With Preschoolers at Innovative South Florida Residence
Chabad Centers
Chabad Lubavitch of Oregon
Knowledge Base
Torah Study(262)
More on Chabad.org
The Golden Years
Mendel Greenberg, 13, says his favorite week was when they tackled the topic of modesty. The conversation drew a large crowd, he relates; people came with a “whole bunch of views” on the appropriate way to dress. “It made the whole day, the whole thing worthwhile,” he says.
Attendance has been on the rise since the introduction of “Torah & Us,” affirms Jemi Kostiner Mansfield, director of spiritual life of Cedar Sinai Park. She also helps coordinate the visits.
“The residents regularly comment on what a joy it is to see young people actively sharing their love of Judaism and learning. The singing, especially, brings smiles to most faces, as does the enthusiasm,” she says. “There have been very thoughtful conversations about the question of the week and some discussions that veer far off the intended path, challenging the students to think beyond the limits of their current learning.”
Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm
On a personal level, she says, she enjoys the opportunity to interact with the students and has relished watching them grow into their roles as confident presenters and discussion moderators. “It doesn’t hurt that I’ve raised two boys,” she adds, “and so I look on this group with more than a drop of motherly pride at their progress.”
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker. The boys develop their PowerPoint presentations and choose stories ahead of time. “It’s fun, and it’s an opportunity for us to learn about and interact with the older generation.”
Becker says that in addition to improving his public speaking and getting the chance to do community service, he’s been impressed by how open everyone has been to sharing their opinions. “I really like the conversations we have. I like the variety and hearing other people’s perspectives.”
Noach Both talks with a resident at Cedar Sinai Park.
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker.
‘How to Be Better Mensches’
Devorah Both, whose 14-year-old son Noach takes part in the program, drives the group to the senior center and likes to stay for the program. “One of the most important things to me is the response from the seniors: They tell the kids to ‘speak louder, speak slowly.’ It’s really fun to watch them respond to the kids, to teach them how to be better mensches,” she says.
With the fellows off to different yeshivahs and high schools in the fall, Kostiner Mansfield hopes that they’ll take with them the experiences they have created over the past year and the relationships they have built. She also looks forward to a new contingent of students from the school coming to visit. “I’d love to see ‘Torah & Us’ continue to grow and thrive, strengthening the connection between the elders at Cedar Sinai Park with the rest of the Portland Jewish Community.”
The rabbi confirms that the program will continue in the fall with the oldest class. As for the current crop of boys, they graduated on June 15.
Wilhelm says as these students look to the future, “I hope they remember the power and importance of every individual, and the ability each of us has to make a positive imprint and difference in other people’s lives.”
The program will continue in the fall with the oldest class at Maimonides Jewish Day School. The current participants graduated on June 15.
Throughout the school year, five students have visited seniors at an assisted-living facility in Portland, Ore., each week as part of a program called “Torah & Us.” From left, bottom row, are: Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, principal of Maimonides Jewish Day School and the boys' teacher; Noach Both, Menachem Wilhelm, Ari Becker, Mendel Greenberg and Shmuel Dovid Mishulovin.
Some bar mitzvah-age boys in the U.S. Pacific Northwest who will head off toyeshivah and high schools this fall will take with them many experiences and fond memories from their current academic year. One of them is sure to be their weekly trips to Cedar Sinai Park, a senior-citizen housing campus in Portland, Ore.
Five teens started visiting residents there in October, leading sessions related to the weekly Torah portion. The program evolved into its current format, “Torah & Us,” over the course of several months. Now it includes a PowerPoint presentation, a question of the week and a lively discussion with those at the assisted-living facility. The young men also present a modified program once a month for the campus’s nursing home.
“We wanted to teach about working with other people and recognizing everyone’s strengths, especially the elders, who have so much to give,” says Rabbi Shneur Wilhelm, the boys’ teacher and the principal of MaimonidesJewish Day School, which is under the auspices of Chabad of Oregon.
Mendel Greenberg, 13, says his favorite week was when they tackled the topic of modesty. The conversation drew a large crowd, he relates; people came with a “whole bunch of views” on the appropriate way to dress. “It made the whole day, the whole thing worthwhile,” he says.
Attendance has been on the rise since the introduction of “Torah & Us,” affirms Jemi Kostiner Mansfield, director of spiritual life of Cedar Sinai Park. She also helps coordinate the visits.
“The residents regularly comment on what a joy it is to see young people actively sharing their love of Judaism and learning. The singing, especially, brings smiles to most faces, as does the enthusiasm,” she says. “There have been very thoughtful conversations about the question of the week and some discussions that veer far off the intended path, challenging the students to think beyond the limits of their current learning.”
On a personal level, she says, she enjoys the opportunity to interact with the students and has relished watching them grow into their roles as confident presenters and discussion moderators. “It doesn’t hurt that I’ve raised two boys,” she adds, “and so I look on this group with more than a drop of motherly pride at their progress.”
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker. The boys develop their PowerPoint presentations and choose stories ahead of time. “It’s fun, and it’s an opportunity for us to learn about and interact with the older generation.”
Becker says that in addition to improving his public speaking and getting the chance to do community service, he’s been impressed by how open everyone has been to sharing their opinions. “I really like the conversations we have. I like the variety and hearing other people’s perspectives.”
Noach Both talks with a resident at Cedar Sinai Park.
Preparing is hard work, but it’s worth it, says 13-year-old Ari Becker.
‘How to Be Better Mensches’
Devorah Both, whose 14-year-old son Noach takes part in the program, drives the group to the senior center and likes to stay for the program. “One of the most important things to me is the response from the seniors: They tell the kids to ‘speak louder, speak slowly.’ It’s really fun to watch them respond to the kids, to teach them how to be better mensches,” she says.
With the fellows off to different yeshivahs and high schools in the fall, Kostiner Mansfield hopes that they’ll take with them the experiences they have created over the past year and the relationships they have built. She also looks forward to a new contingent of students from the school coming to visit. “I’d love to see ‘Torah & Us’ continue to grow and thrive, strengthening the connection between the elders at Cedar Sinai Park with the rest of the Portland Jewish Community.”
The rabbi confirms that the program will continue in the fall with the oldest class. As for the current crop of boys, they graduated on June 15.
Wilhelm says as these students look to the future, “I hope they remember the power and importance of every individual, and the ability each of us has to make a positive imprint and difference in other people’s lives.”
The program will continue in the fall with the oldest class at Maimonides Jewish Day School. The current participants graduated on June 15.
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Laypeople, Scholars, Innovators at 12-Hour Marathon ‘Teach-In’
‘One to One’ at New York Public Library aims to catalyze individual actions for good. by Dovid Margolin
A marathon of public conversations and fireside chats at the inaugural One-to-One Global Forum are designed to spur tangible and transformative societal good.
As the clock struck 1 p.m., some 75 influential leaders, innovators and changemakers gathered together with a large group of laypeople at the New York Public Library’s Stephen A. Schwarzman Building on Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street in Manhattan. For the next 12 hours, with barely an interruption, they will engage in a marathon of public conversations and fireside chats—impactful dialogues that organizers of the inaugural One-to-One Global Forumsay are designed to spur tangible and transformative societal good.
An audience of several hundred people will participate in the fast-paced discussions held in the library’s soaring, glass-domed meeting space, with the day being split up into four three-hour segments. The event is being streamed at Onetoone.global, on Facebook Live and Livestream.
Among those taking part are Randi Zuckerberg, founder and CEO of Zuckerberg Media; Scott Harrison, founder and CEO of Charity: Water; and filmmaker and philanthropist Abigail Disney. And that’s just before 4 p.m.
Featuring high-profile leaders such as former New York Mayor David Dinkins and former New York State Attorney General Robert Abrams, One-to-One is also drawing big-name guests from around the world. Philanthropist Eduardo Elsztain—chairman of IRSA, Argentina’s largest real estate developer, as well as the South American country’s largest mortgage lender, Banco Hipotecario—will speak, as will Howard Weinstein, the Brazil-based creator of Solar Ear, a groundbreaking low-cost digital hearing aid. A delegation from South Africa will also be on hand, led by mining magnate Sipho Nkosi, president of Chamber of Mines of South Africa and CEO of Exxaro Coal.
In 2014, Nkosi joined JohannesburgChabad-Lubavitch emissary Rabbi David Masinter in spearheading the ARK campaign, which at its inception set a goal to distribute 1 million bright-yellow charity boxes shaped like the Biblical ark. ARK, an acronym for Acts of Random Kindness, distributes the instantly recognizable charity boxes throughout the country, encouraging citizens to put a little money in each day and give it to someone less fortunate. Endorsed by celebrities and embraced by corporations, Ark has popularized the slogan “Change the World for Good” throughout the country of 53 million people.
The Need for Positive Inspiration
“The goal here is to educate. People today are overwhelmed with negative images and bad news,” says Beata Gutman of Grasshopper Global, who serves as executive producer of the event. “We need positive inspiration. Many of the leaders who will be on stage are people who identified problems and then worked to provide the solution.”
Co-sponsored by the United Nations Foundation, The Global Education & Leadership Foundation, HarperCollins and the New York University’s Bronfman Center, One-to-One’s premise was inspired by the Lubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—who is often referred to as the most influential rabbi in modern times.
“The Rebbe’s approach was to touch people and to motivate them to act on a ‘one-to-one’ basis,” explains actress Monique Coleman, who is the event’s Master of Ceremonies. “The questions and the talks will be probing. What shaped the presenters? What inspired them? What motivated them? And how do we transform good thoughts and good ideas into actual, concrete action?”
Millions of people around the world were first introduced to the Rebbe throughThe New York Times best-selling biography written by Joseph Telushkin, titled REBBE: The Life and Teachings of Menachem M. Schneerson, the Most Influential Rabbi in Modern History (Harper, 2014). Many of the speakers will draw from the Rebbe’s teachings, especially as depicted in Telushkin’s book—which, more than just a retelling of the Rebbe’s life, also related many of his foundational teachings—speaking about how these teachings have informed their own personal or public lives. Telushkin himself, the author of more than 20 books, including Jewish Literacy, will speak past midnight.
Other presenters will include Justin Rockefeller and syndicated talk-show host Michael Medved. Participants will also hear from scholars such as Professor Elliot Wolfson of the University of California, Santa Barbara; and Professors Philip Wexler and Jonathan Garb, both of Hebrew University inJerusalem.
Organizers say that One-to-One will see select speakers unveil for the first time new partnerships, collaborations and groundbreaking research that evolves from the event’s underlying philosophy.
Of course, when the event wraps up at 1 a.m. and people begin filtering down the sweeping staircase of the Beaux Arts library building and out into the night air, it will already be June 21—a new day filled with new opportunities.
Scott Harrison, founder and CEO of Charity: Water---------------------
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