This past Sunday of Chol HaMoed, owing to the great generosity of the Kohlhagen family, our Boca Raton Synagogue community had the distinct honor of welcoming two Sifrei Torah into our collection. While all Torah scrolls are sacred and worthy of our love and affection, the extraordinary story of one of these Sifrei Torah in particular makes me look forward with added excitement to dancing with it on Simchas Torah in just a few days from now.

 

While most modern Sifrei Torah have 42 lines per column, this very large scroll has 67 lines. It was written in Spain and has been carbon-dated to over 600 years placing it prior to the Spanish Inquisition. From Spain it was moved to Horinghausen, Germany, where it resided for decades. It was later moved to Kassel, Germany, before our member Steven Kolhagen’s great, great, great-grandfather Marcus brought it to his hometown of Korbach, Germany.

 

When Hitler rose to power, Steven’s grandfather, Arthur, prepared to leave Germany and removed the klaf of the Torah from its atzei chaim. Only by hiding the klaf in a mattress was he able to smuggle it to the United States where it found a home in a Shul in Washington Heights. In the late 1950s thirteen families, including the Kohlhagens, formed the first orthodox Shul in Teaneck, NJ, Congregation Bnai Yeshurun—something I personally appreciate: I grew up davening in Bnai Yeshurun and celebrated my Bar Mitzvah and Aufruf there—where they used this Torah until 1967.

 

That year, Arthur suffered a heart attack and was unable to walk the long distance from his home in Bergenfield to Bnai Yeshurun. With the direct assistance of the Lubavitcher Rebbe zt’l, Arthur opened a new Shul in his home that grew to become Congregation Beth Abraham, which now boasts many hundreds of families.

 

The Kohlhagen family now lives in Florida and we are incredibly proud and honored to be the latest stop on the remarkable journey of this Torah. As we sang and danced the Torah from their home to BRS, I couldn’t help but think that this Torah, in many ways, embodies the very story of our people. It came into being many years ago, but almost since its inception has been on the run, fleeing from persecution and oppression. Yet, while the Inquisitors and Nazis, yemach shemam v’zichram, are relics of history, this Torah has not only survived, but it continues to teach, inform, inspire, and uplift as much now as the day it was completed.

 

One can only imagine what this Torah has witnessed and experienced, the stories it could tell, and the places it has been. It has touched lives in Spain, Germany, New York, New Jersey, and now Florida. Over the last six-hundred years, countless have received Aliyos from it, many Bar Mitzvah boys celebrated coming of age with it, others marked their Aufruf with Maftir from it, communities danced with it, and it is still strong, beautiful, kosher, and stands ready for whomever will be called up next to it.

 

The simple truth about this six-century-old Torah, like all Torah scrolls, is that more than we have lifted and carried the Torah, the Torah has lifted and carried us. That sense of lift is what we recognize, celebrate, and strive for on Simchas Torah as we affectionately and lovingly dance for hours with all of our Sifrei Torah, new and old, Ashkenazi, Sefardic and Nusach Ari, simple and ornate alike. The history of our Sifrei Torah must inform, inspire, and strengthen our future commitment to them and all that they represent.

 

In his Pachad Yitzchak (Sukkos #57), Rav Hutner quotes a story from the first Gerrer Rebbe, the great Chiddushei Ha’Rim. Once year on Simchas Torah, the Chiddushei Ha’Rim was observing two of his followers, both great Torah scholars, dancing fervently and enthusiastically.  The Rebbe turned to the person next to him and predicted which of the two would tire first, and so it was.

 

When asked how he knew, the Rebbe explained that the one student was dancing in celebration of all the Torah he had learned the previous year while the other student directed his energy to dance in anticipation and excitement for the Torah he would learn in the coming year. What we have already learned, said the Rebbe, is finite, complete and has limits. What we can yet learn, though, is not defined and therefore our strength for it is greater.

 

Our Sifrei Torah have illustrious histories, but it is up to us to give them meaningful and distinguished futures.

 

As we eagerly anticipate Simchas Torah, it is worthwhile to hear the story of a remarkable hachnasas Sefer Torah that Rabbi Paysach Krohn described:

 

A number of years ago in Flatbush, New York, a very private, soft-spoken gentleman, who always sat near the back of the shul, told his rav that he wanted to donate a Sefer Torahto the congregation. The gentleman, Mr. Shimshon Blau (a pseudonym), told the rabbi that he had commissioned a soferto write the Sefer Torah for him and now the job was nearly complete. The rabbi was incredulous. Mr. Blau was not known to have substantial funds and the cost of a new Sefer Torah was more than $30,000.

 

The rabbi spoke to the sofer and learned that Mr. Blau had indeed been paying small sums of money over the years and recently had made the last payment. The Sefer Torah would be finished in a few days.

 

On Shabbos the rabbi announced the good news to his congregants and everyone went over to Mr. Blau to wish him “mazel tov” and thank him for his generous gift to the shul. Plans were made for the Hachnasas Sefer Torah, the public dedication and welcoming ceremony.

 

A few weeks later on a bright Sunday afternoon, the community gathered at Mr. Blau’s home and escorted him as he carried the Sefer Torah from his home to the street where he walked under a chupah to bring the Torah to the shul. Dancing and singing accompanied those who took turns carrying the Torah, and a special meal was tendered in the shul in honor of the occasion. A few days later, a neighbor asked Mr. Blau if there was a particular reason he decided to have the Sefer Torah written. At first he was hesitant to talk about it, but eventually he relented and told his heartbreaking story.

 

When I called Mr. Blau to hear the story directly from him, he said, “Rabbi, please don’t make me tell the story again. I haven’t slept a full night in the last fifty-five years.” I wasn’t going to press the issue, but then, of his own volition, he began reliving the episode. It is one of the most moving stories I have ever heard. People literally gasp when they first hear it. It is hard not to be moved to tears.

 

Shimshon Blau was only 16 years old when the Nazis took him, his parents, and his sisters from Lodz, their hometown in Poland, to one of the notorious concentration camps. Shortly after their arrival the parents were separated from the children and Shimshon never heard from them again. He was placed in a slave labor barracks and suffered humiliation and heartache every day.

 

One night as he was lying in bed, a Nazi soldier came in to check on the prisoners. He walked from bed to bed—and then he saw Shimshon. Suddenly he lunged at Shimshon’s feet, grabbed his leather boots and yelled, “Those boots are now mine.”

 

Shimshon was shocked. The leather boots had been given to him by his parents shortly before the family had been captured by the Nazis. Shimshon treasured them because they were his last connection to his beloved parents. He had no pictures, no letters, no memento that he could hold onto in a private moment for strength and rejuvenation. The gift of the boots had become a precious memory.

 

Shimshon cried uncontrollably. This cruel act by the Nazi was the axe that severed the last tangible bond with his parents. It was devastating. Shimshon cried for hours. Eventually he fell asleep.

 

The next morning he went out of his barracks barefoot and found the soldier who had taken his boots. In desperation he ran over to him and begged, “Please give me a pair of shoes. I have nothing to wear on my feet. I’ll freeze to death.” He did not dare to antagonize the soldier by asking for his own boots back.

 

Much to Shimshon’s surprise, the soldier told him. “Wait here, I’ll be back in five minutes with some shoes for you.”

 

Shimshon shuddered in the cold as he waited for the soldier to return. In a few minutes the Nazi came back with a pair of shoes and gave them to the startled but grateful teenager.

 

Shimshon went back to his barracks and sat on his bed to put on his new shoes. He looked them over carefully. They were made of wood, but he knew he would have to wear them regardless of what they were made of or how uncomfortable they would be. As he was about to put his foot into the shoe, he looked into its instep and gasped. The instep was a piece of parchment from a Sefer Torah!

 

Shimshon froze in terror. How could the Nazis be so heartless? How could he step down on the words that the Creator Himself had told Moses to write for all generations?

 

But he knew he had no choice. There was nothing else to wear on his feet and it was either these shoes or frostbite and death. Hesitant with guilt, he put them on uneasily.

 

Now, years later, Shimshon said, “With every step I took, I felt I was trampling on the Creator’s Sefer Torah. I swore to myself then that if I ever got out of the camps alive, no matter how rich or poor I was, someday I would have a Sefer Torah written and give back to the Creator the honor that I took from Him by trampling on His Torah. That’s why I gave the shul a Sefer Torah.”

 

Rabbi Krohn concludes: “In his sincerity, Shimshon felt he was trampling on the Creator’s Torah. Who could blame him? But what about us? We must ask ourselves, “Are we in any way trampling on the Creator’s Torah? Do we, unwillingly and sometimes even willingly, violate basic precepts of His Torah, which is in essence trampling on His words? Shimshon Blau surely rectified his “misdeed.” We should do no less.”

 

It is fifteen years later and I still vividly remember how offended and insulted I felt. In my second year studying at YU’s Gruss Kollel in Israel, I joined a separate program twice a week that focused on training outreach professionals. I was the one YU guy among an otherwise homogenous group of “Yeshivish” young men. The classes focused on halachik challenges in outreach, how to speak to a secular audience, how to articulate compelling positions on contemporary issues and responding to difficult questions like why do bad things happen to good people.

 

One day, while giving a talk on halachik methodology, one of the Rebbeim, a prominent Rosh Yeshiva and noted Talmid Chacham said to our group (I remember it almost verbatim): “Do you know why the Modern Orthodox seem so lax in halachik observance? For them, being observant is incredibly challenging and burdensome and it is often incompatible with other aspects of their lifestyle. For them” he continued, “being frum is a sha’as hadchack, an emergency situation and therefore, one can rely on leniencies and minority opinions. The Modern Orthodox,” he concluded, “aren’t abandoning halacha, they simply see their whole lives as b’dieved, extenuating circumstances that allow laxity in halacha.

 

As he spoke, my blood was boiling. His generalization was grossly unfair. How could he make such a sweeping statement about all Modern Orthodox? Here I was learning in the flagship Modern Orthodox Yeshiva’s Kollel with a group of highly devoted, scrupulous, and rigorously committed friends being told that our “movement” lives b’dieved, suboptimal lives.

 

Looking back now, while I still feel his statement was an unfair over-generalization and was an inaccurate analysis of significant parts of the Modern Orthodox world, I realize that it is spot-on for other parts of it. It was once controversially said, “where there is a rabbinic will, there is a halachik way.” That significantly problematic statement can now be amended to read, “where there is anyone with internet access’s will, there is a halachik way.”

 

The recent introduction of a “Shabbos App” is only the most recent development in a string of controversies in the Modern Orthodox world this year in which it seems to me there has been a greater desire to make halacha conform to lifestyle, rather than make lifestyle conform to halacha. The app purports to employ complicated halachik tools like grama to supposedly allow permissible texting on Shabbos. While some claim to have spoken to the programmers of the app and attest that it is both real and represents a “holy” effort, others believe it is a hoax designed to stir up discussion and garner attention.

 

Either way, according to experts, its premise is halachikly ludicrous and if it is real it will yield wholly unholy results for that which has kept the Jews more than the Jews have kept it – our precious Shabbos. I have no interest in giving the app attention other than to say that the interest surrounding it sadly justifies what that Rosh Yeshiva said to our group that day.

 

A Shabbos app can only exist in the imagination of someone for whom not texting on Shabbos is a sha’as hadchak, an emergency situation in which creative legal loopholes should be investigated and employed. In the mind of those for whom Shabbos includes l’chatchila liberating ourselves from the shackles of technology, such an app would never be imagined or desired.

 

As technology figures more prominently in our lives and as the conflicts between aspects of a secular lifestyle become incompatible with halacha, we will be forced to ultimately make a decision about what takes precedence and prominence in our lives and choices.

 

“U’lekachtem lachem ba’yom ha’rishon pri eitz hadar, anaf eitz avos, kapos temarim, take for yourself on the first day a fruit of a beautiful citrus tree.” This week, Jews around the world will universally take the exact same four species. Whether of Ashkenazic or Sephardic descent, both from North America, South America, the Eastern hemisphere or Western hemisphere, all Jews take the same pri eitz ha’dar an esrog. But how do we know that a pri etz hadar, a “beautiful citrus fruit,” is an esrog? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of varieties of citrus fruit – oranges, grapefruits, lemons, pumellos, tangerines, and the list goes on.

 

The Gemara (Sukka 25a) draws the conclusion that a pri eitz ha’dar is an esrog by analyzing the Hebrew word for beautiful, ha’dar. They conclude it is the esrog tree because the word “hadar” in truth has two meanings: beautiful and to dwell. They therefore interpret the pasuk to be referring to a fruit which is dar ba’ilan, “dwells continuously all year on the tree.” The esrog alone fulfills the requirement of constant dwelling. While most other fruits are seasonal, the esrog grows, blossoms and produces fruit throughout all the seasons. It braves the cold, withstands the heat, remains firm and upright in the wind and stubbornly persists in surviving the storm. The esrog is truly dar, it dwells consistently and constantly. In fact, the Hebrew word dar is very similar to the French word duree or the English word endure.

 

The beauty of the esrog is its endurance, its ability to withstand the elements, and to triumph over the prevailing winds. The esrog tree is determined, steadfast and unwavering and thereby produces fruit that the Torah calls beautiful.

 

As we spent technology-free time this holiday with our friends and family sitting in our Sukkahs and waving our four species including our beautiful esrog, let’s remember how fortunate and blessed we are to have been given the tools to disengage from the world. Like the esrog tree, let’s be strong, determined, and steadfast in our commitment to halacha and we too will produce beautiful fruit. Let’s embrace halacha l’chatchila, as nothing short of an ideal way of life.

 

 

 

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…a time to keep silent and a time to speak.”

 

The wisdom in this song is not for the Byrds, it comes from the wisest of all men, King Shlomo. While the picture of many shiva homes today filled with people, food, and conversation is anything but silent, the Midrash interprets “the time for silence” as proscribing our behavior when comforting the bereaved. When Iyov, the very symbol of human suffering, experienced devastating loss, the pasuk (2:13) describes that three of his friends came to comfort and console him: “They sat with him on the ground for a period of seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great.”

 

Consolation can be provided with words, but it is communicated even more powerfully through silent companionship, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable it may feel for the visitor. The acknowledgement of pain and willingness to share it by simply being present is the essence of a shiva call, nichum aveilim. The Talmud (Berachos 6b) in fact states in the name of Rav Pappa, “The reward that comes from visiting the house of a mourner is for one’s silence while there.

 

In an article in Jewish Action in the Fall of 2000, Rabbi Edward Davis shares the story of the time he went to get a haircut while visiting London. As he sat down in the chair the barber asked, “Talk or no talk?” The barber was sensitive to Rabbi Davis’s preference and comfort and didn’t impose a conversation on someone who preferred to sit in silent contemplation.

 

The Shulchan Aruch (y.d. 376:1) mandates that the visitors are not allowed to speak until the mourner speaks first. Essentially, the proper etiquette in a shiva home is to sit with the mourner and through our patient silence offer him or her – talk or no talk?

 

It is natural to struggle with silence. Sitting silently is intimidating, awkward and uncomfortable. Well-intentioned people therefore, sometimes fill the silence by saying things that are in fact insensitive, thoughtless or even hurtful. When people do things like tell the family members about treatments or doctors that may have healed their loved one, or say to someone who has lost a child that at least they have other healthy children, they mean well, but their words are unkind. A woman who lost her father reported a visitor asking her why her mother doesn’t look as perky as usual. An older person who lost his wife shared that someone told him “speak to me after shiva, I have a great shidduch idea for you.”

 

Perhaps because finding the right thing to say can be difficult, the Zohar, as quoted by Rav Wosner (Shevet Ha’Levi y.d. 213), instructs us to specifically prepare our words and our sentiments before we walk into the shiva home.

 

As a community Rabbi I have spent significant time in shiva homes and many mourners have shared their observations following shiva. I share the following advice based on their feedback:

 

 

• A shiva home is not a social scene. The purpose of the visit is solely to interact with and comfort the mourner. Don’t congregate in other areas of the home or enter social conversations with others.

 

• While it is not forbidden to eat in a shiva home, it is not the purpose of the visit and should not be the expectation.

 

• Don’t visit at inconvenient times for the mourners, even if they may be convenient for you, such as meals times, early in the morning or late at night.

 

• Keep the conversation with the mourner focused on their loved one. If you knew them, share stories, anecdotes, memories or the impression they left on you. If you didn’t know the deceased, ask questions like: Where was your mother or father born? How many siblings did they have? What kind of education did they receive?   What did they do professionally? What is your favorite memory of them? How would they want to be remembered?

 

• Do not ask details about the deceased’s illness. Don’t say things like, “At least he or she had a long life.” Or, “At least they are not suffering any more.” These are things the mourners can say if they feel them, but they are inappropriate comments from visitors.

 

• Don’t tell the mourners about your loss, illness in your family or the challenges you are experiencing unless it directly relates to providing comfort and support to them.

 

• Don’t take out your cell phone while paying a shiva call. Answering a call or even looking at text messages is rude and distracting.

 

• Shiva visits should never be unduly prolonged. Don’t create a burden on the mourners who feel obligated to play host.

 

 

May God indeed comfort those in mourning among the mourners of Tziyon and Yerushalayim and may we merit to see the day in which, “Bila hamaves la’netzach,” (Yeshaya 25:8) death is no longer part of our experience.

 

It is hard to believe that a week has already passed since we first heard the shocking news that three teenage Israeli boys had been kidnapped by terrorists.   There is a collective pain and agony we all feel, Jews around the world united by our worry, fear and concern. It is truly tragic that it takes a crisis to breed the unity that countless calls and efforts failed to achieve. If only we could capture the sense of togetherness, shared destiny and peoplehood pervasive across the Jewish globe right now so that we could strengthen it and expand upon it, long after our boys are please God home, safe and secure.

 

The excruciating pain we feel not only for the boys, but also for the Frankel, Shaar and Yifrach families, is compounded by the sense of helplessness and powerlessness to impact the situation. The brave and courageous members of the IDF are conducting a house-to-house manhunt. Undoubtedly diplomacy is being pursued behind the scenes. What is left for us to do? How can we possibly impact the situation positively? What can we do to help these three families whose pain we cannot even imagine?

 

I once asked Dr. David Pelcovitz, a noted Psychologist, a difficult question and he responded by sharing with me a study he had just read. The study showed that when a person stands at the base of a mountain that they are about to climb, if they are alone, the slope seems much steeper than if they are going to climb it with others. He described that he didn’t have a solution to the question I posed, but that I should know that he is happy to climb the mountain together so at least it won’t seem as steep.

 

We don’t know how or when these boys will come home. Their families, their friends and their communities have a steep hill to climb. The absolute least we can do is make it clear to them that we are here to climb with them and hopefully, in some way, make the climb a little less steep. In the last chapter of Pirkei Avos, our Rabbis included feeling empathy in the forty-eight ways that the Torah is acquired. A prerequisite to living a life of Torah is having the capacity to be nosei b’ol im chaveiro, carry our friend’s burden, feel their pain and climb the mountain with them.

 

There is a fundamental difference between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is felt by a spectator, an observer to someone else’s predicament. Sympathy is genuinely feeling bad for another, but only as an outsider. Empathy is felt by someone who identifies with the one suffering to the extent that he himself is suffering as well. If someone is in a dark and deep hole, sympathy means stopping to look down the hole and feel bad for the plight of another. Empathy means climbing down to be in the hole and suffer together with them.

 

The least we can do for the three families whose sons are being held hostage is to be nosei b’ol, carry their burden, share their pain, and climb the hill with them. Feeling empathy means waking up in the middle of the night to check our phones to see if there is any news or any updates. Empathy means to have these boys on our minds and in our thoughts throughout the day.   Empathy means feeling the ache, the acute pain, and the hole in our hearts as we contemplate what these boys are going through.

 

Nosei b’ol means to daven from the depths of our hearts and from the deepest parts of our souls and to plead with the Almighty to intervene. The gemara (Berachos 12b) quotes Rav who teaches that anybody who has the ability to pray for someone who is suffering and chooses not to, is called a chotei, a sinner.

 

Empathy also means one more thing.

 

I have been stunned and deeply disturbed by a series of articles that have emerged while yet in the heart of this crisis, all by authors who say they feel the pain of these families. One article provocatively proclaimed “Prayer Won’t #BringBackOurBoys.” Another article partially places responsibility for the kidnapping on the boy’s school and brazenly tells its leaders “Faith can’t substitute safe transport for their children.” Lastly, while yet prayer rallies were taking place everywhere, one blogger couldn’t help himself from divisively pointing a finger at a segment of the Jewish community he falsely accused of not caring enough about this tragic situation.

 

Genuine empathy means we follow the lead of the parents as they live through this ordeal. These parents have displayed extraordinary faith, courage and resolve. They have not called for revenge, they have not criticized segments of the Jewish community they think should be doing more, and they have not held their son’s yeshiva responsible for their policy on hitchhiking.

 

All that they have done consistently is proclaim tremendous gratitude to members of the IDF, profess great thanks to the Israeli government and most emphatically encourage us all to keep praying.

 

When this is all over, there will be plenty of time for analysis, accountability, criticism and evaluation. When the boys come home, everyone can share their insights with the world. If we truly feel empathy, if we are really sick to our stomachs over what happened, now is the time to show restraint and only write articles and post messages that will promote unity, faith and prayer, the values these incredible parents keep spreading in the most remarkable ways.

 

We should follow their lead and example and that’s all. Support the IDF in their efforts to find the boys. Express gratitude and encouragement to the Israeli government to take whatever measures necessary. And, keep praying. Pray when you are all alone, pray in communal prayer and pray at special prayer rallies.

 

We cannot directly assist in bringing our boys home, but we can be nosei b’ol im chaveirenu, we can seek to share in the pain of these families and displaying empathy with them, make their unimaginable climb, a little less steep.

 

I was recently having a conversation with someone I know that is an active member of a mega-Church with tens of thousands of members and multiple satellite locations. Curious about how they support the tremendous infrastructure, I asked him how much dues cost. He responded that there are no dues because the Church budget is more than supported through people’s tithing.

“C’mon,” I asked, “people really tithe? They really give ten percent of their income away every paycheck they get?” I pressed him. “You really give the first ten percent to the Church, no questions asked?” “Yes,” he answered. “And what percentage of the members at your Church do you think tithe?” I asked. He looked at me bewildered and said, “at least ninety eight percent.”   He must have seen the look of shock on my face and he continued, “Rabbi, why are you surprised? It says in the Bible you have to tithe, it’s not like it is negotiable.”

 

The truth is, while the Torah does mandate giving tzedaka, there is a great debate regarding the source of the obligation to tithe. Some say it is Biblical, others Rabbinic and others as a binding custom that the community has accepted. Regardless, the virtuous practice of giving ma’aser, tithing ones income, began with our religion and remains part of the expectation of a practicing Jew today.

 

Observing the laws of ma’aser is complicated and includes such questions as how does one calculate ma’aser – gross or net income? Can one make deductions from ma’aser such as the cost associated with earning the money? What can ma’aser legitimately be spent on? Is tuition or at least a portion of it considered ma’aser? Should those receiving financial help from the community still be tithing?

 

While the answers to these questions are beyond the scope of this article, I raise the subject of ma’aser to challenge us to picture a Jewish community that functions financially like my friend’s Church. Imagine if everyone gives ten percent of their net income back to the community, no questions asked, no creative accounting, no excuses and no confused priorities. Imagine if almost every member of the Jewish community saw the giving of ma’aser as non-negotiable and an obvious and expected part of their lives?

 

Yet, for some reason so many people who generally accept Torah, mitzvos and halacha as binding and obligatory, see giving meaningful tzedaka as a practice they can simply choose to pass on. But helping others, contributing to indigent people, worthy organizations and meaningful causes is no less incumbent on us and expected of us than keeping kosher, observing Shabbos, wearing tefillin or lighting Shabbos candles.

 

The Rambam points out that tzedaka is a peculiar name to describe a person giving their hard earned money that belongs to them to someone else who did nothing for it. Shouldn’t such a deed be called chesed, kindness instead of tzedaka meaning just? What is just about mandating that I give what is mine to someone else? He explains that in truth tzedaka is completely just when you recognize that not all that you have is really yours. God assigns us as stewards of what is truthfully His money and while He generously allows us to keep ninety percent of that which we worked hard for, He fully expects us to allocate the remaining ten percent to help care for His other children. When we use that money properly, it is not a benevolent act of kindness, but rather it is an act of justice and righteousness.

 

Many hesitate to give tzedaka appropriately because they feel their own lives are so incredibly expensive that they simply cannot afford to be generous with others. There is legitimacy to such a claim as the Rama (y.d. 251:3) writes, “providing for one’s livelihood takes priority over all others and one is not obligated to give charity until one’s own livelihood is secured.”   But that is only part of the story. R’ Yechiel Michel Epstein in his Aruch Ha’Shulchan, qualifies the ruling of the Rama:

 

Thus it seems clear to me…that one’s own livelihood takes priority, is limited to an individual who earns only sparing bread and scarce water…However, it is obvious that a person who earns a prosperous living, like an important household who eats bread, meat and other cooked items as befits him and clothes and cloaks himself appropriately is obligated to disburse 10 or 20 percent of his income to charity…This formulation must be correct, otherwise there would be no limit on one saying that one’s own livelihood takes priority and everyone would claim that they need all of their income for their livelihood, for there is no limit to expenses as we know. Rather, it must be as I have presented that this rule applies only to one who has but a small amount of food to sustain his own life and the lives of his wife and young sons and daughters.

 

For the Aruch Ha’Shulchan, the financial priorities of our lives should look like this – First, I cover my necessities, then I give my ma’aser, and only then can I indulge in luxuries.  Imagine what we could accomplish if giving ma’aser took priority over lavish simchas, fancy vacations, gratuitous Starbuck stops, latest gadgets, a new car every 3 years, etc.

 

While it should be natural to give tzedaka, the reality of the world is that too often people need to be solicited and then recognized in order to give. But while recognition and honor are effective strategies, we shouldn’t have to celebrate the fulfillment of this mitzvah more than we do any other. We don’t list all of those who do business honestly, do chesed regularly or put on tefillin consistently. Moreover, those that give large amounts may in fact be giving a smaller percentage of their income than those that give less. It would be most appropriate for us to acknowledge and honor those that give the highest percentage of their income, rather than those that give the largest amounts.

 

But alas, our organizations and underprivileged are in need and so the reality is that we must do all that we can to raise the greatest sum, including honoring specifically those that give the largest donations, particularly because it encourages others to give similarly.   Halachik authorities allow and some even encourage using one’s name when pledging or naming in order to encourage others to give as well.

 

With that said, the Rambam in his famous hierarchy of giving lists among the greatest forms of tzedaka one who gives anonymously. In a remarkable effort to fulfill this high level of giving, a trio of philanthropists took great pains to conceal their giving until sadly, a Businessweek article last month entitled “The $13 Billion Mystery Angels” decided to expose them.

 

The article tells how for more than two decades, the partners at little known hedge fund TGS Management gave more than $13 billion to charity through lawyers who helped them hide their identities. From 1999 to 2005, the law firm established more than a dozen anonymous private foundations with names like Shekel Funding and Matan B’Seter Foundation, anonymous gift in Hebrew. Between 2001 and 2012, $137.6 million was given to at least 26 Jewish charities.

 

The three men exposed by the article cherish their privacy and value modesty and therefore simply don’t talk about their wealth or extraordinary philanthropy. When Businessweek’sreporter introduced himself to one of them at a Jewish conference on philanthropy, he refused to talk and walked away. Another member of this incredible trio reluctantly granted an interview with the Los Angeles Times in 2004 and said, “I don’t think that if you have a lot of money and you give away a lot of money, you should get a lot of recognition. You shouldn’t be able to buy that,” he said. “Most wealthy people spend their lives trying to make more and more money rather than give it away. They wait too long. They are depriving themselves of a lot of joy.”

 

Businessweek may have sold magazines with this fantastic expose, but in my opinion they did something terribly unethical and inappropriate by violating the wishes of these philanthropists to remain anonymous and by bringing their acts of giving down a few levels on the Rambam’s hierarchy by revealing the recipients and donors of more than $13 billion worth of giving.

 

The trio may not be able to go back into hiding, but we can draw tremendous inspiration from their story. Even if we can’t give away the enormous amounts that they did, we can follow in their footsteps and make sure not to deprive ourselves of the joy of giving without having to be asked or expecting to be honored.

 

Just imagine what the Jewish community would look like if ninety eight percent of us tithed, no solicitation or pressure necessary.

 

LONDON – DECEMBER 9: Auschwitz survivor Mr. Leon Greenman, prison number 98288, displays his number tattoo on December 9, 2004 at the Jewish Museum in London, England. Mr. Greenman O.B.E age 93 and a British citizen, spent three years of his life in six different concentration camps during World War II and since 1946 he has tirelessly recounted his life through his personal exhibition at the museum where he conducts educational events to all age groups. January 2005 will be the 60th anniversary of the liberation of the extermination and concentration camps, when survivors and victims who suffered as a result of the Holocaust will commemorated across the world. (Photo by Ian Waldie/Getty Images)

How many people do you know who fast on the 20th of Sivan?  The likely answer is zero.  It is not one of the minor fast days, and obviously not Tisha B’av or Yom Kippur, so why would we fast?

 

 

The debate about immigration reform heated up again this week with the President and Republican leadership publicly sparring over who is to blame for a lack of progress in an area that all agree is critically important to the future of our country. Immigration is as controversial and emotionally driven a topic as any, with passionate views held on all sides of the issues.

 

Are our borders secure enough, and if not, what more should be done? Are our quotas too strict or too lenient? What should happen with illegal immigrants, their children and sometimes grandchildren who are already fully entrenched in this country?

 

For better or worse, I have not yet personally formed an opinion on immigration reform. Clearly there are merits for, and compelling arguments to support, multiple positions. I raise this issue here and specifically now during Pesach, not to provide a solution or definitive opinion, but to suggest that among the many variables we consider when weighing this significant issue is the Torah’s emphatic directive that one of the foremost lessons of the Exodus is to be kind and welcoming to strangers for we were once immigrants and foreigners ourselves:

 

Do not say cruel things to a stranger and do not oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Shemos 22:20)

 

Do not pressure the stranger. You know the feelings of a stranger for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Shemos 23:9)

 

Do not turn in a slave to his master when he flees to you from his master. Let him live with you in your midst, in the place he chooses in one of your gates as suits him; don’t oppress him. (Devarim 23:16)

 

Indeed, this mitzvah is mentioned no less than thirty-six times in the Torah.   While the halachik application of this injunction may refer specifically to converts to Judaism, the simple understanding of the text as our commentators interpret it, is to be kind to non-Jewish immigrants to Israel who come from other lands and pledge to observe the seven Noahide laws as expected of them.

 

Why does the Torah always connect our obligation to feel for the stranger to our experience of leaving Egypt? Had we not experienced discrimination in Egypt, would we be permitted to be harsh or cold to the stranger?

 

Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik zt”l explained (Reflections of the Rav, pp. 190-191):

 

Whenever the Torah wants to impress upon us the Mitzva of having compassion and sympathy for the oppressed in society, it reminds us of our similar helplessness and lowly status during our bondage in Egypt. The most defenseless elements in society are usually the slaves, strangers (proselytes), widows, and orphans, and we are repeatedly enjoined by the Torah to be sensitive to their plight: ‘You shall not pervert the justice due a stranger or to the fatherless; nor take a widow’s garment in pawn. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt’…

 

The Egyptian experience may therefore be regarded as the fountainhead and moral inspiration for the teaching of compassion which is so pervasive in Jewish Law. It sharpened the Jew’s ethical sensitivity and moral awareness. The Midrash has R. Nehemiah say this explicitly: ‘the Egyptian bondage was of great value for us, since it served to implant within us the quality of kindness and mercy.’ Ours is a singularly ethical culture, which expresses itself through a heightened regard for human rights and dignity.

 

Compassion is a distinguishing characteristic of the Jewish people, but yet it is a natural expression of man’s being created in the Divine image, tzelem Elokim, an endowment which all mankind possesses in common.

 

Tzelem Elokim signifies only a capacity to love, not the necessity of loving. This capacity, which all people possess, can be and is frequently superseded, but when it becomes a necessity, it cannot be suppressed. It flows naturally and is indigenous to one’s character. The Egyptian experience sought to transform the Jews into a people to whom compassion would be a necessity, not merely capacity.

 

As we seek to identify with the stranger and foreigner today, we need not look all the way back to our experience of being slaves in Egypt. Sadly, we can draw from the feeling of otherness and being outsiders that remains yet today.

 

Though exactly who distributed the leaflets is unclear, just this week, notices were sent around the Eastern Ukrainian city of Donetsk, demanding that “all citizens of Jewish descent, over 16 years of age and residing within the republic’s territory are required to report to the Commissioner for Nationalities in the Donetsk Regional Administration building and register.” The notices further demand that Jews pay a $50 registration fee.

 

Secretary of State Kerry addressed the leaflets saying, “Just in the last couple of days, notices were sent to Jews in one city indicating that they have to identify themselves as Jews. In the year 2014, after all of the miles traveled and all of the journey of history, this is not just intolerable — it’s grotesque. It is beyond unacceptable.”

 

That the Jew is still viewed as a stranger and foreigner in the Ukraine in 2014 is sadly not terribly surprising. However, what is both surprising and extremely disturbing is just how much of a stranger Jews remain, even here in the United States, the most welcoming and kind home we have ever known.

 

Following the shooting in Kansas City of the eve of Pesach, an article on anti-Semitism in America shared: “The Federal Bureau of Investigation keeps statistics, the most recent of which are for 2012. In the United States that year there were 6,573 hate-crime incidents reported to the bureau… Of the religion-prompted hate crimes, 65 percent were aimed at Jews, a share relatively unchanged from five years earlier (69 percent) and another five before that (65 percent). In contrast, 11 percent of religious-bias crimes in 2012 were against Muslims.”

 

It is not just the white supremacist that opened fire in the Jewish Community Center who holds outrageous positions about our people.   His feelings are apparently more widespread, as no less than the mayor of the shooter’s hometown in Marionville, Missouri, essentially agrees with him. “There’s some things going on in this country that’s destroying us. We’ve got a false economy. And it’s some of those corporations, are run by Jews, cause the names are there.” He previously wrote, “The Jew-run medical industry has succeeded in destroying the United States work force. That is why our factories left.” He added that the medical industry “made a few Jews rich by killin’ us off.”

 

To be clear, I do not know what immigration reforms would best serve America and I am certainly not advocating for any in particular. Immigration is a difficult, complex, and critically important topic that deserves great attention, thought and analysis. Legislation needs to be just, fair, and importantly, promote security and safety.

 

What I do know is that among all of our logical and factual considerations and variables in forming an opinion, the Torah demands that we turn our memory of leaving Egypt into empathy and compassion for strangers and their plight.

 

Last week, I had the privilege of joining 30 lay and professional leaders from South Florida on the Jewish Leadership Coalition’s 2^nd annual mission to Tallahassee. Florida law allows corporations to receive a dollar for dollar tax credit when they donate funds to the Step Up For Students scholarship program, which provides scholarships to children from low-income families.  The scholarship is awarded to the child, not the school, enabling the family to choose the school that is best for their child, be it public or private school.

 

This academic year, Jewish day schools in South Florida are receiving $4.8 million from the Step Up For Students scholarship program, but the potential exists to receive much more.  Currently, there is a cap to the scholarship fund limiting how many dollars can be donated while getting a tax credit.  Moreover, the current law has a narrow definition of low income that restricts the candidates who qualify for receiving aid.

 

Our broad and diverse group spent the day lobbying on behalf of proposed legislation currently in the Florida House and Senate that would raise the cap and raise the income level for eligibility.  This proposal specifically, and the goal of school choice in general, has strong bipartisan support in the Florida government including the Governor, CFO, Senate President, and the Speaker of the House.

 

Our meetings were productive and positive and our message was mostly greeted warmly and enthusiastically.  Irv Slosberg, who represents the 91^st District, which includes Montoya Circle,  was non-committal when asked if he would vote in favor of the proposed legislation expanding Step Up For Students.  I urge you to contact his office at (561) 496-5940, communicate how important this issue is to you, and ask him to vote favorably on the pending legislation.

 

I am deeply grateful to the leadership of Step Up for Students and the Jewish Leadership Coalition for their efforts on behalf of the Jewish day school tuition crisis.  Over the last few years, I have participated in countless conversations, conventions, and conference calls hosted by a number of organizations, all in search of relief for parents suffocating from the burden of high tuitions.  I believe the efforts of the Jewish Leadership Coalition have not only been the most effective to date, but also have the greatest promise in creating at least a partial solution to this problem.

 

On the plane back from Tallahassee, it occurred to me that while so much time, energy, and money have been invested in addressing the tuition crisis, not nearly the same resources have been poured into addressing a parallel crisis in our Jewish educational system, a crisis that is affecting schools from every segment of the Jewish people.   For all of the sacrifice and money we invest in our children’s Jewish education, are we producing inspired, informed, and passionate Jewish young people?

 

Many teens, including those currently enrolled in orthodox schools, unabashedly admit to laxity in observance and a general disaffection with the observant lifestyle and its rigorous demands.  Many express a sentiment of, “if these practices don’t ‘do anything’ for me  – and they don’t – why should I observe them?”

 

For a long time, the term “at-risk teens” referred to young people leaving the traditional Jewish educational system and getting involved with dangerous substances like alcohol or drugs.  Today, “at-risk” can more broadly be used to describe children who are remaining in the system, attending our schools and Shuls and growing up in our homes, but forsaking observance privately, and even publicly.

 

What can we do to address this crisis, one that is growing?

 

Two weeks ago, BRS was privileged to host world-renowned “happiness expert,” Dr. Tal Ben-Shahar.  In his seminar, he described how half a century ago, traditional psychology tried to address the at-risk population in inner cities and dangerous areas.  The question they asked was why do so many in these communities fail?  Why do they resort to drugs, why is crime high, etc.?  They came to conclusions and designed programs around attempting to address why so many fail.  In the year 2000, UNESCO did a study of 32 countries to assess the impact of these programs over 50 years.  They concluded that after millions of dollars, countless hours of manpower, and tremendous resources, the net impact of the programs on the at-risk population was ZERO.

 

In the 1980s, the field of Positive Psychology began and it radically changed the question.  Instead of asking why are so many failing, researchers began to ask, why do some succeed?  What makes some thrive despite their unfavorable conditions and environment?  Dr. Ben-Shahar described that researchers identified the presence of several attributes and practices that were common to those who flourished — including optimism, resilience, volunteerism, identifiable role models, physical activity, and well as others.  They then designed programs for the at-risk population based on teaching and modeling these character traits.  In a very short time, they were able to measure fantastic results and significant impact on the at-risk population.

 

Dr. Ben-Shahar quoted management expert Peter Drucker who said, “The most serious mistakes are not being made as a result of wrong answers.  The truly dangerous thing is asking the wrong question.”

 

Drawing from his presentation, it is worth considering that perhaps we are asking the wrong question when it comes to our children.  Instead of examining why some of our children are disenchanted and disillusioned with observant Judaism, let’s identify our Jewishly enthusiastic young people and ask, what’s working, why are they inspired?  I suspect we will find many of the same answers Dr. Ben-Shahar spoke about, but the exercise may reveal other variables that we can incorporate into our Jewish educational institutions and into our homes and Shuls.

 

Dr. Ben-Shahar described that in the search for happiness we tend to focus on what isn’t working and try to fix it.  We spend too little time examining what is working in our lives and improving and enhancing it.  He encouraged us to ask ourselves — what are we good at? What energizes us?  What are our strengths?  What gives us strength?

 

Like the tuition crisis, the inspiration crisis won’t be solved overnight.  Unlike the tuition crisis, legislation and the influx of greater financial assistance will not bring a solution.  We must continue to work on communicating the relevance, meaning, and timeless values of Torah to our children and model passion, enthusiasm and devotion.  What I learned from Dr. Ben-Shahar is that in addressing the challenges that we face, instead of focusing on what’s broken alone, we need to focus on what is working and on our strengths, and then leverage the answers to those questions into a brighter future.