Zalman's Blog
My First Tu B’Shvat as an Adult
When I think of my memories of celebrating Tu B’Shvat in my formative years, my mind inevitably turns to a dreary, rainy evening in 1991, in Brooklyn, NY.
Then just a couple of weeks post-Bar Mitzvah, I had travelled to NYC with my classmates and our teacher, to spend time in Crown Heights with the Lubavitcher Rebbe and receive his personal blessing in honour of our Bar Mitzvahs.
At the time, my eldest sister was studying in NY. One afternoon she took me to another Jewish enclave, Borough Park, for dinner at what is allegedly one of NY’s best Kosher pizza places.
When we arrived back in Crown Heights, my sister had the taxi drop me off at my host family. Upon entering the house, I found it eerily quiet and wondered where they might be on a rainy and cold winter’s evening.
A few minutes later, the phone began to ring incessantly. After a few minutes of constant ringing, I plucked the courage to answer the phone, to discover that it was my sister on the line.
“Zalmy”, she said excitedly, “the Rebbe is giving out $5 bills in honour of Tu B’Shvat. Come quickly to 770 [Chabad HQ and the Rebbe’s Synagogue], so you don’t miss out!”
Yup. It’s true. As a kid, I was known as Zalmy. What’s also true is that as a child I had a pretty intense fear of the dark. But that’s not all. Coming from my own safe and familiar territory of Stamford Hill in North London, 13 year old Zalmy considered Crown Heights and Brooklyn a crime ridden slum. Walking alone down the streets of the neighbourhood was a terrifying experience for me; even in broad daylight.
But the great Lubavitcher Rebbe was giving out $5 bills and blessings. How could I possibly miss out on this unbelievable opportunity?!
By the early 1980s, with the Rebbe’s famous ability to display genuine care, concern and sage advice then world-renowned, many Jews and non-Jews from every walk of life wished to meet him. It had become impossible for the Rebbe to give every individual a chance for a personal meeting, so in the late 1980s he devised a system where he would stand for many hours each Sunday afternoon/evening, and occasionally on other special occasions, handing out a dollar bill to be given to charity, together with a blessing, to every person who sought a moment of his precious time.
During our week-and-a-half visit that January, my classmates and I were privileged to pass by the Rebbe and receive his personal blessing on 5 occasions.
“I can’t come”, I found myself telling my sister. “Why not?” she countered. “I’m scared to walk alone at night here”, I responded.
Two minutes later, the phone rings again. My sister had just seen my host outside the Synagogue. “Mrs Laine is coming in the car to pick you up”.
I replaced the phone on the cradle, (this was 1991… remember), and allowed myself just a few short seconds to size up the situation.
I then quickly grabbed my coat and ran through the rain, faster than I’d probably ran in my life, with crazed images of muggers chasing me. I only slowed my pace when I’d completed the three long, dark blocks of Carroll Street and had reached the corner of the busy and lit up Kingston Avenue, filled with its Jewish owned shops and businesses.
By the time I arrived at 770 that evening, most of the thousands there had already received their $5 bill and blessing, and I quickly rushed to join the dwindling queue and receive mine.
But the excitement on that memorable evening wasn't yet over. I soon met up with my classmates, and together with our teacher, we headed over to the home of a generous philanthropist, who had managed to get hold of a small quantity of fruit from the Rebbe’s own Tu B’Shvat bowl.
Our teacher sat at the table cutting little pieces of fruit into even smaller pieces, so we can each partake in these precious fruits.
Tu B’Shvat. Precious fruits. What’s this all supposed to mean?
I don’t profess to have enough of my own novel interpretations, but I am thankful that the Rebbe’s talks from that visit are published.
The Talmud relates that the 1st Century Mishnaic sage Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa lived in abject poverty and sufficed on just a 1.4 litre bowl of carobs for an entire week. Google what a carob is and let that sink in!
The Talmud also tells us, on the same page, that Rabbi Chanina was accustomed to having miracles in his life.
In fact, many have the custom to eat carobs on Tu B’Shvat. One reason given for this is to emphasis the awareness of miracles in daily life.
Which leads me to another feature in the story of that trip to NY. Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait and the world was in the thick of the first Gulf War. The USA and allies were threatening a massive offensive to push the Iraqis back, so Saddam turned his missile launchers on America’s other Middle-Eastern ally—Israel.
The fear that engulfed Jewish communities across the world was overwhelming. In Israel, the national mood was somber and apprehensive. Every citizen was given a gas mask, with growing concern from international intelligence that Saddam would unleash his store of chemical weapons on the country. Every family created a secure ‘sealed room’ in case of a strike.
When we boarded the Air India flight at Heathrow, I glanced out of the window and was shocked to see army personnel and army vehicles filling the tarmac.
The world held its breath.
But from NY, one single voice of optimism reassured the world. “The Land of Israel is safe”, the Rebbe declared.
On the first Thursday evening of our visit, we all lined up, together with thousands of others, to receive a booklet (and another two crisp dollar bills) from the Rebbe. The booklet contained a Chassidic essay on miracles by the 5th Lubavitcher Rebbe, titled “Blessed is He Who makes Miracles”.
The Rebbe’s relentless message was absolute. Don’t succumb to the harsh realities. We can change reality.
The Rebbe urged us all to believe in miracles. They can and do happen. That Shabbat, I stood packed like a sardine in an audience of thousands and listened as the Rebbe quoted from this week’s Torah portion, when we read of the exodus and the crossing of the sea. In just this one portion, we read of a whole host of miracles that surrounded our ancestors as they began their journey across the desert.
The Torah isn’t just telling us about something that happened 3,500 years ago. It’s teaching us what really should define us as a people today. Nothing really needs to be limited to what it may look like on its superficial surface. Dig deeper, and discover the miracles that are hidden within.
If you’d step outside and look at a tree now, you could easily argue that all you see are bare, stone cold branches. But we all know that in just a few short weeks, those branches will sprout buds, then leaves and fruit, and a whole new cycle of life and hope will emerge.
This Tu B’Shvat, take a bright, colourful fruit. Hold it in your palm. Make a blessing. For just a moment, consider that someone took a little seed and stuffed it into the dark, cold, dull brown earth.
But because someone believed, that little buried seed was filled with hope. It grew roots and sprouted as a tiny sapling out of the dark and the cold. Then it grew branches, buds and leaves. Those buds developed into a full-blown colourful, sweet and delicious fruit, filled in turn with its own promising seeds, for even greater future potential.
Don’t be afraid of the dark. There are miracles there, waiting for you to discover and unleash!
Premature Thankfulness
We Jews have a strange daily exercise.
Every morning, immediately upon waking, we recite the prayer of Modeh Ani, thanking G-d for another day.
But isn't that a strange thing to do? Surely we should thank G-d at the end of the day, when we're filled with gratitude for the success that it was?! When we've reflected on the blessings realised today, the opportunities we have successfully harnessed, the friendships and relationships that have filled us with love; that sounds like the appropriate moment to be thankful. (And perhaps if all went pear-shaped, we can end our day with a good moan and pray for a better tomorrow).
Why are we thankful when our day has barely started, and the potential for a miserable day is still very much on the cards?!
The beauty of this little prayer is precisely in this oddity. Thanksgiving isn't (just) a way of acknowledging our past blessings. It's the surest way to empower us to recognise our future blessings. When we're thankful that we are alive, we create the positive frame of mind that empowers us, that inspires and motivates us, so that we can make today the best day yet.
I'm awake. My lungs are filled with breath. I can eat and drink. I can communicate with others. I can engage in meaningful and productive tasks. I can give to others, to share and to care. I can be. Today. How wonderful.
Having watched with curiosity the various views and reactions to weddings during Covid restrictions, both in the UK and elsewhere, I've noticed three perspectives. 1. Break the rules and throw the best party possible. (No comment). 2. Reschedule. (And then reschedule again?) 3. Make the most minimalistic wedding possible, adhering to the restrictions, so we can be married.
The third category is a pretty brave one, perhaps even a bit of a tear-jerker. What motivates a bride and groom to sacrifice all of the great aspirations and dreams of every normal young couple? Why would they forfeit the chance of a lifetime, to share the joy of their wedding, with live music, dancing, catered meal and celebration with friends? Instead these folks are getting married in a 30 minute ceremony with only immediate family and a rabbi in attendance!
Shterna’s paternal grandparents met in a DP camp in Germany, soon after liberation from Auschwitz. Her grandmother told us how her two sisters and an aunt, all survivors, went fishing in preparation for the wedding. They returned with a small bucket of tiny fish, which they successfully turned in to one roll of Gefilta fish. And that was the wedding feast. Enough for a small portion each for the bride and groom, and a few select others. For the dancing, the entire DP camp joined in.
It’s the final bit above that always catches me. These emaciated beings, who had lost everything and worse, danced. Certainly not for the past. Probably not even for the present. But for the beautiful potential realised in the joy of marriage and the hopes of rebuilding and rebirth.
Today, thank G-d, that bride is the proud 94-year-old matriarch of a family numbering over 100. May she continue to derive much Nachat and joy from them all! The dancing goes on.
That’s Modeh Ani. Filled with thankfulness for what the future will bring. So you can dance in a DP camp. And you can certainly dance in the comfort of your own room, in 2020, in the midst of Covid.
Sure I'll face curveballs. That's life. That's what living is about. In fact, I'm thankful for the opportunity G-d has given me to face up to those curveballs. When I fall, I know that He'll be by my side, lifting me up. Throughout my day, as each challenge presents itself, I'll be reminded that I woke up this morning thankful, because I knew then, as I know now, that the beauty of my day isn't defined by how well it went, but rather by how well I'm willing to navigate it.
Which brings us to the final point: If today doesn't go as planned, or worse, it was an absolute disaster, our Modeh Ani thanksgiving this morning is still 'Kosher'. There's no retrospective delete button on that prayer. The very fact that we made it to the end of the day, and are still sensitive enough to care about the shortcomings, mistakes and frustrations, is a brilliant expression of the still-beating heart within us, and the desire for life that propels us to make the next day (even) better.
Modeh Ani; Thank You Hashem for allowing us to face the next 24 hours. We can do it. Because You empower us.
Saliva Off a Ducks Back!
Blessing? Curse? Or someplace in between?
Are our reactions to upsetting experiences always justified? How much of our response is due to something beyond our own control? Caused by the actions and behaviours of another, who has consciously or subconsciously trampled our space, rights and sensitivities?
Do we ever consider that perhaps the other has far less of a role to play and our reaction is really based on our own prejudice and bias?
Or do we just lack the maturity and confidence to even consider that question at all?
And just to help us consider the question, the media/internet has Laurel vs Yannie gone viral. I got Yannie on my phone at home, while I got Laurel from the same phone on campus! Talk about perspectives! (Did I lose you? Google Laurel vs Yannie).
Last Shabbat, in the Parsha of Bechukotai, we read the 49 curses that make up the harsh rebuke , warnings of exile , persecution and other evils that will befall the Jewish people if they abandon their covenant with G-d. A similar, even more intense reading can be found in the portion of Ki Tavo, consisting of 98 curses, and read annually on the second to last Shabbat before Rosh Hashana.
In fact, as discussed in this week’s Pizza n Parsha class, (Watch it hear https://www.facebook.com/ZalmanShterna/videos/10156639837499396 ), these readings are specifically read in the lead up to Shavuot and Rosh Hashanah, though always cushioned with another reading in between the curses and the actual Festival.
Rabbi Shneur Zalman, the first leader of the Chabad movement, was the regular Torah-reader in his Synagogue. One year, on Shabbat Ki Tavo when the portion of 98 curses is read, he was out of town, so another member of the community filled the role of Torah reader. His son Dovber, future leader of Chabad, who was then not yet Bar Mitzvah, was in attendance at the Synagogue. Hearing the curses caused profound anguish to the boy, leaving him physically unwell, to the extent that more than two weeks later, his father was concerned whether he had recovered sufficiently to be able to fast on Yom Kippur.
Considering that the young prodigy had been hearing and comprehending the Torah reading for some years now, the Chassidim asked why it was that he suffered such intense anguish on this occasion. To which he replied "When Father reads, one hears no curses."
Are they really negative curses, or do we misread life’s experiences?
At 6:45am last Friday morning, returning from having dropped off Raizel, Mendel and Shmulik at Brighton station for their journey to school in London, I noticed a fellow who I’d identify as a construction site worker, due to his hard hat, attire and backpack, walking across the main road. Although some distance from me, the fellow noticed me and began aggressively spitting in my direction.
To be honest, I felt sorry for the chap. He had to get up early to face another day of work, only to have the misfortune of having to almost cross paths with a Jew! How frustrating for him. As I drove round the corner towards the Chabad House, I watched the guy continue towards the path through ‘The Level’ park, all the while continuing his strange, angry spitting in my direction.
Please, please! Take the time to read to the end of this entry. I will consider deleting this entire post if I get any sympathy messages! He was quite a few meters from me, and no chance that his saliva could have assisted at all with the removal of the seagull stains on my once-pristine car.
Making the quick decision to attempt a photo of the fellow, just in case we cross paths again, I pulled over to park near the bus-stop. Although also close to the house, we generally park in the next section of parking, further south along the road, as it is easier to get the younger kids to those spaces. We only park north of the bus-stop when there are no spaces at all in the southern section. By the time I had parked, the guy had disappeared between the amusement rides of the annual May Bank Holiday fair, so I promptly headed home, mildly confused as well as amused by the odd, and I will admit somewhat uncomfortable encounter. Nope, I have no intention of reporting it, to the CST, Sussex Police or anyone else for that matter. By the time my coffee was made, I’d completely forgotten about it. Keep on reading…
Later that morning, on a quick pre-Shabbat shop at Sainsbury’s, a middle-aged woman pushing a loaded shopping cart passed me in the isle, and as she did so, barely giving me the chance to register, she softly wished me ‘Good Shabbos’. I don’t believe we’ve met before, though judging by the brief encounter, I’d venture that she lives locally. This time, I’d enjoyed a pleasant experience, and the contrast compared to the episode earlier that morning, left me with food-for-thought as I headed to the checkouts.
And then I promptly filed away both experiences somewhere in the back of my mind, soon to be entirely forgotten. Or so I thought.
Mid-afternoon, the doorbell rings. I open the door to find Gil, a Brighton University student, standing there offering me a small, plush toy Torah, wrapped in some cloth.
Gil: “I found this at the bus stop. Is it yours?”.
Me: “Hmmm. Who else in this neighborhood would drop a toy Torah in the street??! Yup, looks like one of ours”.
At which point, I hear Shterna’s voice behind me saying “oh, I wondered where Levi had dropped that this morning on the way to the car”.
Me: “Gil. We usually see you on a Friday night or evening social. Seeing as you’re here, would you like to pop in and put on Tefillin?”.
My narrow, prejudiced perspective had made me confidently assume that I was seeing individual and isolated moments last Friday. But as Gil was reciting the Shema in the Chabad House library, the full picture of this strange chain of events slowly came in to focus.
4 year old Levi drops a very Jewish looking toy at the bus stop, which he usually doesn’t pass on his way to the car. Later that day, Gil passes the bus stop (he wouldn’t have passed the parking spaces further south). Does a Mitzvah and returns the toy, and winds up bagging another Mitzvah - Tefillin.
And only because some deeply prejudiced guy gave me some negative attitude earlier that morning, causing me to park differently than usual.
Thank you Mr. ‘Angry Construction-Site Worker’ for being in the right place, at the right time, with the right attitude. It’s in your merit that a Jew did another Mitzvah.
And thank you also for reminding me of the importance of constantly recognizing that you, and I, are just pawns in G-d’s masterplan.
Curse?! No way! More like revealed blessing.
Male Chauvinism and the Search for Chametz
Every year, on the evening before Pesach, cynical me has a good chuckle. Thousands of Jewish husbands, poking around, under, over and around every bit of furniture in the home, armed with feather, candle and wooden spoon.
For the past many weeks, their dedicated wives have spent dozens of hours, as they scrubbed and clean every nook and cranny of the home. Occasionally assisted by their husband, who generously spares 3.5 minutes to help the Pesach cleaning effort.
By this evening, each of these homemakers know their home better than ever before. They can tell you exactly where to find the nail clipper, odd green sock, and the obscure antihistamine lotion, hidden away at the back of the bathroom cabinet. Show up the blokes at nightfall and commence their search, as though their 'incapable wives' would inadvertently overlook an essential crumb or cracker, somewhere nowhere near the kitchen or dining room.
Is tonight's Bedikat Chametz exercise really a show of macho superiority, or something far deeper?!
In many Chassidic homes, the search is an intense one, lasting far longer that one would think necessary. According to Chabad philosophy, tonight's search is far less about finding elusive bits of leaven, overlooked by a haggard, overtired Jewish mother; it's much more about personal introspection and the search for your personal spiritual leaven.
To achieve personal freedom, all negativity needs to be purged. Tonight, we reveal true light. We search in the deepest recesses of our soul, for those bits of bread that get in the way of our quest for true freedom.
Get your searching kit. Take your time. Tomorrow night, we celebrate freedom. Tonight we pave the way to achieve that freedom, by dispelling darkness, at candlelight. The candle of Torah, Mitzvot and of the soul.
Mazal Tov. We're preparing for our Bar Mitzvah
Today, 5th Tevet, marks a special milestone for Shterna and myself. On this day 12 years ago, we boarded a BA flight at New York's JFK, on our way to our new position as Chabad Shluchim to Brighton.
The English date was New Year's Eve 2004. We remember it well, as Heathrow had a skeleton staff for New Year's Day, so we waited an hour for our luggage to arrive.
I don't know where to start! We honestly had very little clue of what to expect, other than that Rabbi Pesach & Mrs Penina Efune and their (then) younger children were waiting enthusiastically to welcome us to the city and introduce us to Brighton & Hove's Jewish community.
Our job description was varied. Inspire seniors. Teach young children. Run youth programmes and work with young adults and young couples. And assist with congregational responsibilities at the BHHC’s West Hove Synagogue. Oh, and get involved with the student community too.
Funny how things go. At the time, I was slightly relieved that the student stuff would be pretty low down on the list, almost like an after-thought. We were fairly young, close in age to the students and all that, but I felt safer on the Bimah in the Synagogue, or at the front of the classroom, than at informal conversation with students. On a regular Friday night nowadays, I get challenged with an average of 10 hard-hitting questions, relating to all areas of Jewish life, Halacha and philosophy. Change and growth is exciting, rewarding and so much more.
We’d bought a few too many books and some furniture as newlyweds in the USA. Noah would have been impressed by our 20ft container, packed to the door, with everything but the kitchen sink. The incredulous look on the lorry driver’s face, when he discovered that we’d given up the good life in the United States, choosing instead ‘backwater’ Brighton, England, will probably make me smile for many years to come.
Raizel was born in March of that year, just 2 ½ months after our arrival, followed by Mushka in the summer of 2005. ‘A Mentch Tracht un G-t Lacht – We plan and the Almighty has a good chuckle’ is a wonderful expression. We thought we’d settle down for a while. During our first 10 years, we lived in Braemore Court, Pembroke Gardens and Medina Villas, all in Hove. Then Golden Lane (Norfolk Sq), Vere Road and Elm Grove in Brighton. Along that journey, Mendel, Shmulik, Yankel and Chana made their safe arrivals into our lives.
By this point, our job description had well and truly been transformed; our lives had become intertwined with that of the Jewish students and the universities. We continue to be part of the local Jewish community in so many ways, cherish the many relationships formed, and feel blessed to include so many of its members as our friends. But our passion and commitment is to the students, here in Brighton and beyond, as far as Canterbury in the east and Southampton to the west.
As directors of Chabad at SE Coast Universities, we think we’re doing some pretty important stuff. And to get this stuff done, we needed some space. Mind you, our growing family needed a bit of space too. So in the summer of 2013, we moved into our Chabad House, overlooking The Level, in Brighton’s densely student-populated area. We’re technically in Hanover, which the locals consider more Bohemian than Bohemia, and being part of the local facebook community group provides daily entertaining reminders of the colourful community we live in. University of Brighton’s Phoenix Halls are virtually in our back garden and the noise of rowdy, intoxicated students throughout the night, reminds us that we’ve chosen our location well. Levi, now almost 2, was born soon after we had settled into the Chabad House.
How does one reflect on 12 years without boring reader or writer?!
Students face all sorts of pressures. Sadly, over the years, we’ve had the difficult task of counselling students through very challenging circumstances, including suicide attempts. When mentioning this recently to someone, the apt response was “wow, what you and Shterna do is really important.” We couldn’t agree more!
Rosh Hashanah dinners. Kol Nidrei and Neilah Services. Sukkot events, Chanukah parties and Giant Menorah Lightings. Lunch n Learns at 3 different universities weekly and Pizza n Parsha. Shabbat dinners and women’s issues. And dozens of one-to-one sessions, for learning, counselling or just caring.
During the academic term, breathing is a luxury.
So on this 12 th anniversary, the first thing I’m thankful for is that it’s not term-time, so I can actually reflect.
Tomorrow begins our 13 th year in Brighton. We’re determined, more than ever, to grow during our Bar Mitzvah year and the years to follow.
We thank our partners who’ve made our success thus far a reality. Our friends for their encouragement and support and our students for making it all worthwhile. And our kids for all being such wonderful members of our team.
L’chaim to the next 12 years.
Canterbury Tales
We’ve done it before, and each time, the routine gets that much easier. Cook up a Shabbos storm, load the kitchen sink and everything else into the car, and head off someplace beyond the comforts of our Brighton base.
Our destination: Southampton or Canterbury.
Captive audience: Jewish students and a sprinkle of local Jews.
Weekly Lunch and Learns and regular social events are fantastic opportunities to build friendships and inspire, but a Shabbos experience is a whole lot more.
With 20 students in attendance, the cosy atmosphere at Friday night dinner lasted until close to 2 o’clock in the morning. Song, food, L’chaim and a wonderful atmosphere prevailed.
The setting for our most recent Canterbury Tale was an 18th Century cottage in the heart of the old town, a stone’s throw from the Old Synagogue, now a music hall for the Kings School. Walking to Shul on Shabbos morning, I could not help but wonder about the lives of the various Jewish characters who have lived in Canterbury during the past eight hundred and fifty years. Under the spell of the fairytale character of the city, I let my imagination picture Jews of all sorts hurrying along the very same cobbled streets, each on their way to the Synagogue of their era.
Whether the Jews of the past enjoyed a Kiddush like ours, with delicious hot cholent, kugel, and the equivalent of Shterna’s homemade cakes, would be wishful imagination. One thing of which I am certain, they’d be shocked to find vibrant Jewish life, after the last Synagogue ceased services in 1911!
Allow me to share a thought I shared with the students:
Rabbi Yosi ben Kismah, a second century sage of the Mishna, relates that he once encountered a ‘macher’, who enquired about his hometown. “I am from a great town of sages and scribes”, responded R’ Yosi. “Rabbi”, countered the ‘macher’, “if you come and reside among us, in our town, I’d be happy to offer you an impressive, executive salary” (Silver, gold, precious stones and diamonds would all be included in the contract...). “To which I responded”, continues R’ Yosi, “If you were to offer me all the treasures of the world, I would only live in a place of Torah!”
Here’s what I pointed out to the students. Look at the conversation carefully, and you will observe that R’ Yosi never actually declined the tempting offer. What he objected to was being perceived as the ‘rabbi’ in town, while everyone else gets on with their mundane, meaningless lives. Says R’ Yosi, ‘if you’d like me to consider the position, you must be open to being influenced by Judaism’s teachings, so that I can in turn inspire you to make your town ‘a place of Torah’ and of vibrant Jewish life; a place which I’d be more than happy to call my own’.
It is thanks to the many students in Brighton, Southampton and Canterbury, who have shown an impressive enthusiasm towards Jewish teaching and living, that our partnership in Jewish revival has been possible.
Shabbos, 23rd June, 3rd of Tammuz, marks the 18th anniversary of the passing of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, whose teachings have inspired Shterna and myself, and thousands of other Chabad-Lubavitch rabbis and rebbitzens, to reach beyond our own comfort-zone, often schlepping the kitchen sink with us, to awaken another Jewish spark.
As Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks reflects, “the Rebbe did something absolutely extraordinary; he said to himself: if the Nazis searched out every Jew in hate, we will search out every Jew in love.”