For Your Shabbat Table (ARCHIVE)
Remebering our Beginnning
- This is a story about love.
- Of a forlorn forsaken girl,
- Broken, humiliated and desecrated,
- To the point that she saw herself
- And then, her hero savior
- And humiliated her tormentors
- Slayed her pursuers and bid her
- To follow him on an impossible journey
- Through impassable hurdles.
- Choosing her though she was
- Bare, emaciated, uncomely.
- For she was his true love.
- In her elopement she took
- Hardtack: a scarcely edible cracker
- That sailors took on long sea-journeys
- Though through the Desert did he lead her.
- And he asked her that on their elopement anniversary
- She again eats the hardtack
- To remember her love for Him.
- And this she does, the bride maiden,
- For three thousand three hundred thirty-five anniversaries
- And counting she remembers,
- It hasn’t been a fairytale romance
- There have been harsh bumps that threatened their trip direly.
- But it has been a love story.
- A story that began with love and has love throughout.
- It is our story, and you are the main actor.
- Share this matzah with fellow members of the tribe
- Who may not have their own
- And tell your children of the love that is now their own.
How the Experts Got It So Wrong
Historians know little about destiny, AKA history in foresight. Check Jewish encyclopedias, almanacs, theses, analyses and expositions published as recently as the 90’s and you will find minimal mention of the Rebbe or Chabad. However virtually all publications and studies of the past decade reflect the meteoric growth and ubiquitous presence of Chabad in every locale and feature of contemporary Jewish life.
The picture that captured the story of our nation
The picture that captured the story of our nation by Rabbi Uriel Vigler Chabad Israel Center, NY
A powerful picture made the rounds on social media this week. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and that’s certainly true here. In fact, this one picture captures the story of our nation—past, present, and future.
As Israeli Col. Golan Vach and his crew worked alongside local rescuers to locate the bodies of a Jewish couple buried in the Champlain Towers debris, Vach noticed that many of the books he came across were from the Talmud. A photographer snapped the photo of him handing over several of the holy volumes to a South Florida Urban Search and Rescue team member, with the tremendous piles of rubble and dust in the background. The image soon spread across American Jewish social media and WhatsApp groups.
We are deeply pained by the loss of so many lives. Already 54 bodies have been found, and 80 remain missing. Each one has family and friends who love and miss them. The loss is immeasurable, and the heartache of those still waiting for news is overwhelming.
And out of the devastation, what was rescued? The Torah. The Talmud. The central text of our nation, the people of the book.
This is the story of our nation since time immemorial. What has kept us going throughout millenia of exile and persecution? The holy Torah.
This week we begin the 9-day mourning period, culminating in Tisha B’Av, the day both our Holy Temples were destroyed, turned into piles of rubble and debris. For the last 2,000 years we have been in exile, pained and suffering, longing to be reunited. But one thing has kept us strong: the Torah, our book, our faith.
In fact, when the Roman Emperor Vespasian was about to destroy the Temple, he granted the Jewish sage Rabbi Yochanan a single request. What did he ask for? He asked him to spare Yavneh—the city of learning—and its sages. This way, although the physical Temple was turned into rubble, the Torah knowledge and texts remained intact, able to serve as our source of strength for the last 2,000 years!
As a Jewish nation we have suffered so much for those 2,000 years. We have faced persecution after persecution, pogroms and tragedies. And what has kept us going and will continue to keep us going through this tragedy too? Our strong belief in G-d and His Torah.
The pain of the Surfside collapse is tremendous! And while we reach to the Torah for comfort, we demand that G-d end this exile and all the tragedies immediately, with the coming of Moshiach and the ultimate Redemption. May He comfort the families of the Surfside victims together with all other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem!
We Are All Surfside!
We Are All Surfside by Rabbi Uriel Vigler; Chabad Israel Center, NY
When I think of a safe, comfortable place to live, one of the first places that comes to mind is Miami. No earthquakes, terrorists, or tragedy … just warm weather, blue skies, endless ocean, peace and quiet. It’s irresistible. And I know I’m not alone.
So when the Champlain Towers collapsed last week, the whole world was horrified. And we’ve been glued to the news ever since. Each time we receive the heartbreaking update about a body being discovered, we mourn with the victims and their families. And we feel the collective pain of those still waiting for any news of their missing loved ones, some of whom I know personally, and many of whom belong to the local Chabad community in Bal Harbor led by Rabbi Sholom Lipskar.
I tried to Google, “What are the odds of a building collapse in America?” and the only results were related to the Miami condo collapse. That’s how rare this tragedy is. There’s nothing to compare to, no history, no statistics.
We live in the US, not some third world country. We have building regulations and extensive know-how. Engineers know how to build structures that can withstand hurricanes, sea erosion, high air pressure, earthquakes, and more. And this is a modern building, built in the ‘80s.
None of the theories put forth so far can explain what happened. Theories such as cracks in structural columns, vibrations from construction next door, barrier island erosion, subsidence exacerbated by sea-level rise, sinkholes and seawater weakened structures all fail to adequately explain how a building can suddenly collapse in the middle of the night.
And yet, it happened. It’s a disaster that defies logic. Yes, we know that everything in the world comes from G-d, but this is one we can’t begin to comprehend. Why did this tragedy happen? And on the heels of so many similar tragedies in recent months: First, the deadliest civilian disaster in Israel’s history where 45 people were killed in the Meron crowd crush. Then two people died when a tiered seating structure collapsed in a synagogue in Givat Ze’ev, and 14 people fell to their deaths in the cable car disaster in Italy.
But just as the tragedy is beyond our understanding, the cure will also defy nature and logic. Even though experts say the chances of finding anyone alive at this point are virtually nil, still we pray and hope and hold out.
We know our Heavenly Father can perform miracles. Millions of pounds of metal have already been removed from the scene. Israeli teams have flown in. And while the work remains painfully slow, we remain hopeful.
As Jews, we don’t give up. As long as there is the minutest chance that someone will be found alive, we continue to hope, to pray, and to demand a miracle from G-d.
This is the story of our nation. A nation which has persevered throughout millennia, remaining optimistic in the face of terror and devastation. That’s our heritage, and it now stands us in good stead. Let’s storm the heavens and demand that G-d perform a miracle and rescue all the people who are still trapped. Pick a mitzvah to do in their merit and start immediately.
We pray for G-d to rebuild the Temple, bring Moshiach, and wipe away our tears. That will be the final and ultimate cure for all our suffering.
When The World Fell silent
When The World Fell Silent Rabbi Mendy Lew, Stanmore, UK
As Shabbat ended last week, the terrible and tragic news quickly filtered through of the demise of former Chief Rabbi Sacks. In recent weeks, even as news of his wellbeing became more and more ominous, we continued praying for him and for his recovery. We hoped. We believed.
Some years ago, he remarked that the possibility of death was not theologically challenging to him. He believed passionately that one’s journey in this world ends when G-d deems the individual as completing his, or her, unique mission. Not a moment sooner. Not a moment later. Last Shabbat, G-d summoned our beloved teacher, mentor and friend back home.
There has been understandable sorrow throughout the Jewish community, in this country and beyond. There has also been an outpouring of grief by non-Jews all across the world. His powerful arguments and reasonings in defense of goodness and integrity crossed all boundaries.
He was rightly acknowledged as a gifted orator and writer, whose writings and lectures profoundly touched all. He could capture any occasion and immediately put it in the right context and framework. His brilliant essays and wise words were highly sought after. In a world of confusion and disorder, his message resonated as the voice of reason and clarity, an expression of morality, and a call to justice.
His energy and spirit, his belief in the future, his embrace of modern technology, his ability to see others and to trust them, his fairness, his humility, his determination and his undoubted, extraordinary, talent and intellect were awesome, and enabled him to connect with all ages and all types. He saw the humanity in each person. Nothing else mattered.
Standing by the coffin on Sunday, powerful emotions were swirling through my mind. Due to current government regulations, the crowd was sparse - limited to close family members and a number of communal figures. It would not be unreasonable, in normal circumstances, to have expected a mass gathering well into four figures.
It seemed most unfair, improper, disrespectful even.
At the same time, there was something intensely compelling. It was peaceful, quiet and calm. In some strange and mysterious way, the tranquil setting only served to amplify the greatness of the man. In the hushed gathering, one could focus on how a mere mortal could rise so majestically high.
It was specifically this emotional setting which prompted Rabbi Rosenfeld to break out into the moving melody from Psalm 63: “My soul thirsts for You”. Reminding us all of the epitaph for which Rabbi Sacks himself yearned - that he was one who thirsted for G-d.
Since we all innately believed that Rabbi Sacks was one of ours, it is easy to forget that he was also a private citizen. Away from the adoring crowds, the doting masses and the loving community was a man trying to be a good husband, father and grandfather. This was not lost on me during the funeral, where the family were granted their final opportunity to be alone with their beloved patriarch.
It is also what prompted a particular conversation between Rabbi Sacks and me to come flooding back.
But, first, a brief history:
I feel privileged that Rabbi Sacks played an essential part in my life since my early childhood. Being close to my parents, there were many memorable interactions between Rabbi Sacks and Elaine, and my own parents and family.
In 1992, when I entered the Rabbinate in this country, I attended the customary interview by Rabbi Sacks - the newly installed Chief Rabbi. As I entered his office, I realized that our relationship was about to change - forever. My longstanding friend was about to become my teacher, my mentor and my guide.
It was not a downgrade. On the contrary. It deepened the existing bonds. It opened up a channel of communication, which would go a long way into helping mold me and shape me - utilizing my own unique gifts and talents.
Which brings me back to the particular interaction, which popped up during the funeral.
Chief Rabbi Sacks had been explaining to me the effect of a Rabbi on his congregation. He illustrated his point with the well-known prayer and song from the Yom Kippur Mussaf service: “Mareh Kohen” (the appearance of the High Priest).
The prayers on Yom Kippur afternoon describe in vivid and graphic detail the sublime and magnificent service of the Main Kohen in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. There was high drama and awe-inspiring moments.
The highlight of the service was the Main Kohen’s entry into the Holy of Holies. The entire edifice was holy. Only select people could enter and perform. But the Holy of Holies, where the Holy Ark was placed, was of so sacred a nature that no one was ever permitted to enter, under penalty of Divine retribution. It was the chosen place, in this physical and material world, for G-d’s spirit to rest.
Yom Kippur was the exception. On this precious and sacred day, the Kohen Gadol was required to enter and pray on behalf of the people. In that tiny physical space - where Heaven and Earth literally come face-to-face - the Main Kohen would beseech and plead with the Almighty that the people should be granted forgiveness, and that the world should enjoy good health, stability and economic success.
Upon his safe exit, the people would look at him intently - ‘Mareh Kohen’. They waited expectantly on his reassurance that the coming year would be a good one. For them, their families, and for the Jewish people. And indeed for the entire world.
Rabbi Sack’s point was that while the people looked at the kohen Gadol in awe and admiration, they were also trying to assess his inner mood. Was he optimistic, confident and hopeful - expressed with a smile and a calm demeanor? Was he worried and concerned - reflected by the opposite?
‘Mareh Kohen’ - the appearance of the Kohen - according to Rabbi Sacks was vital to the confidence and mood, and the mental wellbeing, of the people. His positive and upbeat body language would remove any anxiety and help to raise their spirits.
Knowing how much it meant to the masses, the Kohen always made a point of carrying himself with joy. His portrayal of confidence and optimism would go a long way in ensuring that the people kept their sanity and focused on their own personal growth and opportunity.
In the excellent Koren-Sacks Yom Kippur Machzor (page 900) Rabbi Sacks concludes this point as follows: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
All those years ago, he reminded me of this point. The Rabbi is the face of the congregation. He is the leader of his particular ‘nation’. If he remains upbeat and confident, the community follows suit. This remains the challenge to any Rabbi in what can often be a very lonely place.
A year or two after that interaction it was my turn to ask Rabbi Sacks a follow-up question. A personal one.
“At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.” I wanted to know if, away from the public eye, this also applies to the man of the house?
Behind closed doors, a husband’s mood will determine if it’s a happy abode, or one filled with dread and gloom.
A father’s countenance when he enters the home will either bring soothing and calm to the children, or fear and terror.
Does the man of the house have a responsibility to what goes on in his private space? Does he have a moral obligation to always be upbeat, calm and pleasant so that the home is a warm environment in which one can flourish, develop and grow?
Rabbi Sacks gave me one of his irrepressible smiles. He didn’t need to say another word. The implication was clear: the inner sanctity of home life is, in many ways, even more vital for a mood to be set.
In the Holy of Holies - which is marriage - the High Priest, the husband, must utilize intense sensitivity, compassion and kindness if the sacred edifice and space is to remain firm, strong, warm and loving.
As a father, he must be equally gentle and compassionate in the home so that the children can live healthily, in an atmosphere of love and embrace, and to be fortified with emotional stability.
That interaction came flooding back to me on Sunday.
The world knows and acknowledges how much Rabbi Sacks was a leader for our time. How he almost singlehandedly lifted individuals, communities and societies by his sheer presence, confidence and belief.
The world knows how much our own High Priest found the inner resolve and motivation to help our lost generation find its equilibrium and balance. To elevate us on his journey of optimism and belief.
The world accepts how much toil and tears he invested for our future. That the traditions of the past be fused with modernity to create a model looking forward with confidence and faith.
Because Rabbi Sacks believed that: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
On Sunday, the second part of the equation was laid bare for all to see. Especially with the moving and powerful words by his younger daughter, Gila, who shared a little of the warm and cozy climate at home. How much they benefitted from him being their father - away from prying eyes.
Yes, Rabbi Sacks was indeed a High Priest to his family - creating a loving and warm home where marriage, affection and love could sparkle and glow, and where their children could find the space to develop and grow.
When a loved one passes away, the mourner needs to summon up the strength to appreciate the loss, and to value the contribution of that individual to one’s life. How much effort and toil is dispensed to allow the journey of life to unfold.
When a Chief Rabbi passes away, we as a community must do the same. To summon up the strength to appreciate the loss, and to value the contribution of the Chief Rabbi to one’s life. How much effort and toil he dispensed to allow our religious and spiritual journey to unfold.
The best and most appropriate manner to remember the great man, Rabbi and friend is to grow in our learning - and in our Jewish identity.
We should also actively work towards becoming good role models to others, and especially to those in our immediate circle. To be kind, caring, understanding and loving. To be fair and honest, with love, sweetness and compassion.
After all: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
May the family of Chief Rabbi Sacks find true comfort and consolation. May we as a community find the same.
From Splitting Seas to Entebbe, from Soothsayers to UN Councils
Behold a people! These are a people unlike any other and their military victories are unparalleled. They will not be spoken of in military academies for years to come; they will confound military academies forever. So spoke he who hates Jews three millennia ago, so (dares not) speak the one who hates Jews today.
Six days in June, their air force flew less than fifteen feet above the sea, without radio communication. Were they a few inches too low they would have sunk. Were they a few inches too high, the radar would have picked them up. All the planes made it. They came unto the airfields where the pharaohs once ruled; had they come moments earlier or moments later the sun would not have blinded the watchtower’s eyes. But the sun was just so, and they destroyed Egypt within minutes.
They analyzed through satellite the desert that bears the name of the mountain that gave them their destiny, and there they found in the Sinai a strip of terrain just firm enough and just wide enough to cross the desert with their heavy tanks. Now all they needed was a tank battle. To displace tanks it takes a minimum of three to one ration in favor of the attacker. But the children of Israel had the ratio of three to one against them. Mathematicians out there! what were the odds against the Jews? But they won.
And less than ten years later again, only this time it is my memory, not only my fascination, that leads my quest to delve into the eye of G-d Himself. I was twelve that summer and in New York. Shopping either in the Lower East Side or Boro Park, I do not know. I had just devoured an orange and vanilla ice cream popsicle, my fourth of the day. They were a quarter or less and I kept on getting change from my father as he sat in the parked car reading while my mother shopped – as he always did.
It came through on a radio playing by an open shop on that hot day; a plane was hijacked with loads of Israelis. Air France Flight 139 on route to Paris. And a day or two later, in my grandparents Besonhurst home, a call from Nashville came. One of the ladies in shul, Elise Rosenberg --my friend Ari’s mother – had a sister on that flight. I don’t know her sister’s name but as I got older and went to Morocco and returned to share my two-years of memories with Elise, I got a fuller picture of this woman. Born in Fez, to the prestigious and ancient Assouline family, she like many North African Jews had lived in both Israel and France and had family in both countries and traveled between them.
Elsie was fasting every day and saying Tehillim for her sister. By the time my parents hung up the phone with her, I went from being worried the way a boy is worried when he hears disturbing news to being obsessed the way only a boy can be. We went into Shabbos with the question: will the government of Israel negotiate or not? There were hot opinions around the table, my father, my grandfather, and everyone else. And then Motzei Shabbos leaving my grandfather’s Avenue O Jewish Center, where O meets Bay Parkway, we heard the radio again and rushed home to hear the full reports. They were saved!! And I still remember my mother punching both fists in the air like a boxer who won the championship. I have since devoured every morsel of information I could get on that story. It was an unprecedented maneuver and in the three-decades plus since, it remains unparalleled.
The next morning of course was the Bicentennial and I had been waiting for this since we arrived in New York. We got a good spot under the Verrazano to watch the big ships from across the world pay homage to the Red White and Blue. A man was hawking commemoration issue booklets for $2.00: “they’ll be worth a lot a hundred years from now!” The fire-ships let out jets of water in celebration and the Italians (seemingly everyone there except us) roared when the red white and green passed under the bridge. The next day you could board the ships. The Israeli ship was packed: old ladies were crying and young men were reverently fingering the flag and an old lady admonished a strapping young sailor not to stand too close to the edge of the ship: ”you could fall in!” and he smiled, glad to know his grandmother had sent her sisterhood to look after him.
And the Rebbe spoke of this miracle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=De4tV29IzHs .
Within a week the UN of course was meeting to. . .what else than condemn Israel for invading a sovereign country.. . .
Behold a people, these people are unlike any other and their military victories are unparalleled. From where do they draw their strength, asked this figure in the Bible? And those who knew the Rebbe at the time had a surprisingly nuanced answer: he has not military might at all, do not try to defeat him with force for he has none. He gains his power from his speech (interestingly, he had a speech defect) so you too must vanquish him with speech. Back then they hired soothsayers; since no one knows where to find a good one, they hire ad agencies and think tanks instead. And they curse the Jewish people; sometimes for cash, sometimes for accolades -- an oftentimes more effective means of purchase. . .
And this soothsayers curses turn into blessings. Beautiful, poetic blessings, stirring and heartwarming.
I see them from the hilltops. . a nation that dwells alone . . .
. . . who can count the infants of Jacob? . . .