Wear Your Yarmulke – Because You Can & Because it is Good for You

The former CEO of Timberland, Jeffrey Swartz, has made numerous contributions to both his industry in particular and the corporate world generally. In addition to focusing on profits, revenue, and the financial bottom line, Swartz was among the first to emphasize a corporation’s social responsibility and duty. In his first “Corporate Social Responsibility Report,” issued in 2000, he wrote, “It is not enough for Timberland to make the absolute best boots, or shoes, or clothing in the world. We recognize we must also serve. Everything we do, everything we sell has an impact on the communities in which we live and work.”

In a recent article about him, Asher Schechter describes, “Jeffrey Swartz’s appearance is misleading. The former president and CEO of the footwear company Timberland is an affable Jew with a yarmulke, and as far as you can get from the rugged look of the shoes he sold until recently, a brand beloved by rappers and world travelers. Swartz dresses modestly and walks around without an entourage in tow – not what one may have expected from the CEO of a big company who made a $2 billion exit when he sold it less than a year ago.”

“An affable Jew with a yarmulke.” Most of us don’t have the platform or capacity of Jeffrey Swartz and yet we, too, have an opportunity to make a Kiddush Hashem each and every time that we publicly identify as an observant Jew. In the not so distant past, observant Jews in America could not wear their yarmulke to a job or school interview for fear it would handicap them. Many couldn’t wear their yarmulke to work for fear they would be discriminated against or even lose their jobs.

Recently, the head of the Jewish community in Marseille, France, called on Jews in the area to hide their yarmulkes. French President Francois Hollande called such a situation “intolerable.” A couple of French lawmakers even wore yarmulkes to Parliament in a show of solidarity.

In America, for the most part we are blessed to be able to wear our yarmulkes anywhere without giving it a second thought. My understanding is that today, wearing a yarmulke to interviews or to work in most parts of the country is no longer risky nor does it draw negative attention.

So, given the opportunity to wear a yarmulke so freely, why wouldn’t we want to proudly and confidently identify as Torah Jews and welcome the chance to make a Kiddush Hashem through our ordinary day? All around us, people are choosing to wear pins and ribbons that communicate their commitment to, and advocacy on behalf of, the causes that they care deeply about, including different forms of cancer and autism. Members of Congress wear pins and donors to the women’s division of Jewish Federation wear a Lion of Judah.

We also have an accessory that enables us to show our devotion to, and advocacy on behalf of, our cause, namely to fulfill our mandate of nekadeish es simcha ba’olam, to sanctify God’s name in His world.

Wearing a yarmulke or openly identifying as an observant woman doesn’t just serve the mission of sanctifying Hashem’s name, but it helps us be mindful of how we are behaving and the impression that we leave.

In an article entitled “The Trick to Being More Virtuous,” Arthur Brooks tells the story of how a briefcase changed his behavior:

Several years ago, I visited Provo, Utah — in the heart of what its residents call “Happy Valley” — to deliver a lecture at Brigham Young University. My gracious hosts sent me home with a prodigious amount of branded souvenirs: T-shirts, mugs — you name it. The Mormons are serious about product placement.

One particularly nice gift was a briefcase, with the university’s name emblazoned across the front. I needed a new briefcase, but the logo gave me pause because it felt a little like false advertising for a non-Mormon to carry it. Reassured by my wife that this was ridiculous, I loaded it up, and took it out on the road. In airports, I quickly noticed that people would look at my briefcase, and then look up at me. I could only assume that they were thinking, “I’ve never seen an aging hipster Mormon before.”

That gave me minor amusement; but it soon had a major effect on my behavior. I found that I was acting more cheerfully and courteously than I ordinarily would — helping people more with luggage, giving up my place in line, that sort of thing. I was unconsciously trying to live up to the high standards of Mormon kindness, or at least not besmirch that well-earned reputation. I even found myself reluctant to carry my customary venti dark roast, given the well-known Mormon prohibition against coffee.

Almost like magic, the briefcase made me a happier, more helpful person — at least temporarily.

But it wasn’t magic. Psychologists study a phenomenon called “moral elevation,” an emotional state that leads us to act virtuously when exposed to the virtue of others.

Long before psychology identified this phenomenon, a brilliant woman in the Talmud intuited it. “The astrologers once told R’ Nachman bar Yitzchak’s mother, ‘your son will be a thief.’ She therefore never allowed him to uncover his head. She told him, ‘cover your head so that the fear of Heaven should be upon you and pray for God’s mercies that the evil inclination will not dominate you.’” (Shabbos 156b)

Similarly, the Talmud (Kiddushin 31) teaches, “Rav Huna son of Rav Yehoshua did not go four amos with his head uncovered. He said, the Divine Presence is above my head.”

Dressing the part encourages us to live the part. Wearing the uniform makes us mindful to embody the uniform. The Jews were redeemed from Egypt in the merit of maintaining their names, their language, and their dress. Our Jewish dress redeems us and safeguards us from the temptations that surround us.

Jews in parts of the world cannot safely wear a yarmulke in public. We who can, should be especially eager to embrace our Jewish accessories and mode of dress and wear them proudly and with conviction.

Transforming “Jewish Time” into Being Punctual

The Powerball lottery and its record $1.5 billion jackpot has engendered great conversation about what we would do with the money if we won. Indeed, money is a tremendous commodity, a critical resource. And yet, there is an even more precious commodity that we waste all too often.

When it comes to money, if we run low, there are ways in which we can try to replenish. If we work harder maybe we can always earn more and, therefore, have more money to spend. But when it comes to time there is nothing we can do to earn more. No matter who we are, how smart or foolish, young or old, rich or poor, we all are bound by the same 24 hours in a day and 168 hours in a week. There is nothing we can do to expand or accumulate or grow more time. Once it has passed, it cannot be recovered. If it is wasted, it cannot be made up. There is a limited amount of it allocated to each one of us and with every passing second we come closer to emptying our account. As badly as we would like to slow it down sometimes, or speed it up at others, we cannot control time; it moves along at a steady pace entirely beyond our control or manipulation.

And yet, despite its preciousness and irreplaceability, we tend to bring a casual attitude towards it, wasting it, and some even choosing to kill it.

Urban Dictionary, a web site dedicated to cataloging modern phrases and idioms, defines Jewish time as follows:

Not perfectly on time; possibly somewhat late, but no harm is done as a result. The implication is that there is no need to be exactly on time, and starting a little late is acceptable.

The term comes from Jewish culture, which is often relaxed about punctuality.

When an event is schedule to take place at 2:00 Jewish time, it could be at 2:05, 2:12, 2:15, or even 2:35, and everyone is satisfied.

“The wedding will start at 6:00 PM Jewish time.” “We will meet in the lobby at 4:30 Jewish time.”

One can debate why historically or sociologically the phenomenon of “Jewish time” being synonymous with being late developed, but whatever the reason, it is sad and unfortunate. Of all people, we are to have an acute time awareness, time consciousness, and profound appreciation for the value of time. Our Jewish lives are informed and directed by mitzvos, many of which depend on time; by prayers, which must be completed by a certain time; and by holidays that are determined by date and time.

Indeed, the very first mitzvah of the Torah, the first commandment that we received as a people, is to value time. “Ha’chodesh ha’zeh lachem rosh chodoshim, rishon hu lachem l’chadshei ha’shanah. Hashem said to Moshe and Aharon – This month shall be for you the beginning of the months; it shall be for you the first of the months of the year.” With this commandment comes the privilege and responsibility to control the Jewish calendar through testimony of the new moon and the determination of the human court of when the month begins and consequently when our holidays fall.

For two hundred and ten years, as slaves in Egypt, our people had no control over their own time or their own destiny. Our taskmasters and oppressors determined how we spent every single moment. It is specifically at that point, when the Jewish people are on the cusp of attaining freedom, explains the Sforno, that we are given the commandment about time. At the core of freedom is the ability to be the arbiters and determiners of our own time. Freedom and time are intertwined. Rabbi Soloveitchik saw the freedom to control time as the very definition of a human being and the very essence of consciousness. The only creature that can experience time, that feels its passage and senses its movement, is man.

Time awareness is at the core of our humanity and is the responsibility of freedom. Being relaxed about punctuality, running late, and having a casual attitude towards start times, is not Jewish time, it is the antithesis of the Jewish notion of time. Wasting time, bitul z’man, is tantamount to burning money, and killing time murders possibility and potential.

In a fantastic article in Forbes, “5 Minutes Early Is On Time; On Time Is Late; Late Is Unacceptable,” Brent Beshore shows how disrespectful, inefficient, and self-centered it is to run late. He writes:

Disrespectful: Being on time is about respect. It signals that you value and appreciate the other person. If you don’t respect the meeting’s participants, why are you meeting with them in the first place?

Inconsiderate: Unintentionally being late demonstrates an overall lack of consideration for the lives of others. You just don’t care.

Big-Timing: Intentionally being late is about power. It’s showing the other person, or people that you’re a “big deal” and have the upper-hand in the relationship.

Incredible: No, not in the good way. When you miss meeting times or deadlines, your credibility takes the trajectory of a lead balloon. If you can’t be counted on to be on time, how could you possibly have credibility around far tougher tasks?

Unprofitable: Let’s consider a scenario where five people are holding a meeting at 2 p.m. Your sauntering in ten minutes late just wasted 40 minutes of other peoples’ time. Let’s say the organization bills $200/hour. Are you paying the $133 bill? Someone certainly is.

Disorganized: If you can’t keep your calendar, what other parts of your life are teetering on the edge of complete disaster? Being late signals at best that you’re barely hanging on and probably not someone I want to associate with.

Overly-Busy: Everyone likes to equate busyness with importance, but the truly successful know that’s not true. Having a perpetually hectic schedule just signals that you can’t prioritize, or say “no,” neither of which is an endearing trait.

Flaky: Apparently some people just “flake out,” which seems to mean that they arbitrarily decided not to do the thing they committed to at the very last minute. Seriously? That’s ridiculous.

Megalomaniacal: While most grow out of this by the age of eight, some genuinely believe they are the center of the universe. It’s not attractive.

Beshore concludes: “Paying attention to punctuality is not about being “judgy,” or stressed. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. It makes room for the caring, considerate, thoughtful people I want in my life, whether that’s friends or colleagues. Think of how relaxing your life would be if everyone just did what they said they’d do, when they said they’d do it? A good place to start is with yourself and a great motto is something I was taught as a child: ‘5 minutes early is on time. On time is late. Late is unacceptable.’”

Of course being late will happen. We run into emergencies and unexpected, uncontrollable circumstances. The decision we have to make is, for us, is being late an exception or the rule? Are we chronically late, or does it happen on occasion? Do we anticipate we will be late or do we make every effort to be on time? Are we ashamed when we are late and do we apologize and take responsibility, or have we become so habituated to not being on time that we no longer even notice?

Imagine how much time would be saved and how much good could be done if our simchas started and ran on time, if our classes and programs were punctual, and if we were always true to our word when meeting a friend or attending a meeting.

While we can’t expand or slow down time, we can make the most of it and value each moment. By learning to manage this most precious commodity, we will in fact have won much more than the lottery.

Two Dollars for the License to Dream

I have a confession to make – I bought a lottery ticket for the Power Ball. After all, you’ve got to be in it to win it and this Wednesday night, winning it means winning $1.3 billion. True, the lump sum payout comes to only $806,000,000 but I think we can find a way to make do with that amount.

Now, I am not foolish, I know that I am unlikely to win. After all, the odds of winning the lottery is 1 in 292,200,000. There is a greater likelihood of being hit by lightning twice in the same day as there is of winning the lottery. So why play it at all? Moreover, is it halachicly appropriate to play or is it tantamount to throwing out money?

Interestingly, some Rabbis have suggested that there is nothing wrong with playing the lottery, but one should not buy more than one ticket. You see, buying one ticket represents human initiative to have a chance at scoring millions. However, the likelihood of winning only grows at a negligible, statistically insignificant rate when buying more tickets. Therefore, say some Rabbis, if you buy more than one ticket you lack emunah, faith, for if God wants you to win, you can win with the one ticket.

I agree that only one ticket should be purchased, but for an altogether different reason. The hope of winning is only a small fraction of why I bought a ticket. The real reason to play, is because that ticket gives me license to dream, to ask myself important questions and to reflect in a meaningful way. If you are playing the lottery, you cannot avoid asking yourself what you would do if you won. Would you continue to work? Would you move to Israel? Would you give a meaningful amount to charity and if so where would you direct your philanthropic dollars? How would you spend your newfound time? What luxuries, if any, would you indulge in? What would you change about your life?

These questions are not easy to answer and require some serious soul searching. If you won the lottery and you stopped working immediately, what does that say about what you do? Is it a profession or a calling, just for the money or also for the contribution to society? If you won the lottery and remain living outside of Israel, is money the real reason you aren’t making aliyah right now? If winning the lottery meant quitting your job and having more time, how would you spend it – with your family, exercising, learning Torah, volunteering? What really matters to you and if it is truly important, why not find the time to do it now?

Without that ticket in your hand, these questions remain only theoretical and hypothetical. The way I see it, two dollars is a small amount to pay for the license to dream. However, since the likelihood is that the license to dream is all the dollars will get you, buying more tickets won’t expand your license and won’t meaningfully increase your chances and therefore, would be a waste of money.

So go buy a ticket and spend this Shabbos discussing with your family and friends how you would spend the rest of your life and the difference you would make if you won.

Two dollars is an absolute bargain for what you will learn.

How to Behave When Someone You Know is Struggling

Over the last couple of years, a few YouTube videos were made mocking the sometimes stupid and foolish things that people say when visiting the sick or comforting the mourner. Things like, “I know someone who had the same sickness as you. They suffered terribly and died after a short time. I hope that doesn’t happen to you.” Or, “sorry for the loss of your child; at least you have other healthy children that you should be grateful for.”

Clearly, the people who uttered those imprudent and thoughtless expressions meant no harm and indeed would be horrified to learn that they had compounded pain rather than relieved it. Rather than stemming from malice, I suspect that these comments are the result of an earnest desire to be comforting and yet feeling at a loss for the right thing to say.

Susan Silk, a clinical psychologist, wrote an op-ed for the LA Times in which she shared her fantastic “Ring Theory” for helping people in crisis:

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of [my] patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings. When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

The Ring Theory is a brilliant prescription for how best to interact with someone going through a crisis. It captures something we intuitively know yet too often fail to practice. In fact, it probably should be posted on hospital room doors and entrances to shiva homes.

However, for all of its brilliance, the Ring Theory takes something for granted that, unfortunately, is not a given at all. The theory provides guidance for those choosing to engage. But ask anyone who has gone through a crisis and he will tell you, the majority of people in his life didn’t comfort or dump, neither in nor out. They simply disappeared.

Yes, at the moment of crisis, family, friends and community often rise to the occasion. True, funerals and shivas are often well-attended, hospital rooms and ICU’s get lots of visitors, and parties to divorce get invitations the first few weeks following the separation. But what happens when the acute crises passes? How present are we in the lives of those we claim to care deeply about when the urgency subsides and the catastrophe dissipates?

As time goes on, without consciously intending to, many take an “out of sight, out of mind” approach, leaving the afflicted person feeling forgotten, neglected, insignificant and alone. What the “Ring Theory” doesn’t account for is that doing nothing and staying silent towards someone struggling with illness, loss, divorce or unemployment can be more painful than saying or doing the wrong thing. An insensitive comment is hurtful, but at least it communicates an attempt to connect and comfort. Silence and neglect, however, leave a person feeling invisible, that she doesn’t matter, and that friends think that her problems are contagious and transmittable.

Nobody suffered more than Iyov (Job). The response of his friends is very instructive and in fact is codified in Jewish law. The book of Iyov describes that as he suffered profoundly, his friends silently comforted him. Isn’t that an oxymoron? If they remained silent, where was the comfort? The answer is simple: their mere presence communicated much more at a louder decibel level than anything they could have possibly said. In fact, Iyov’s suffering was so inexplicable and incomprehensible that there was nothing meaningful to offer at all. Had they opened their mouths, they likely would have provided great material for a YouTube video. It is for this reason that Jewish law requires us to remain silent until the mourner speaks first. Moreover, even once we speak, the Rambam cautions us not to be talkative or loquacious lest we say the wrong thing or set the wrong tone with our words.

Sadly, there are many in our community suffering from illness, loss and other sources of pain. Simply put – they rely on us, their friends and community to care enough to enter the Ring. Perhaps we will be towards the center of the circle, or maybe we will be in one of the outside concentric rings. But the worst thing we could do is to disappear from the picture all together.

Reach out, visit, send a text, spontaneously drop off flowers or a Challah, invite for a meal, or just let them know that you pray for them, think about them, and empathize with them. Find the important balance between showing up and providing them necessary space. Obviously, we can’t all follow up with everyone we know who has ever been sick or suffered a loss. However, we can all follow up with some.

Let’s do all we can to make sure that these videos have no sequel because we have learned how to comfort IN, dump OUT and that sometimes our silent presence is the greatest comfort of all.

Avoid These Actual Things Said to Couples Struggling with Infertility

BRS Segula Fund and Support Group

The BRS Segula fund was created by Michele and Chayim Dimont with the goal of alleviating the financial burden associated with the prohibitive costs of infertility treatments. Segula offers interest-free loans to couples in our community experiencing this monetary hardship. The loans are paid back only when the family gives birth to a child. Additionally, Segula offers a monthly support group led by our BRS Social Worker, Aliza Blumenthal, as well as confidential private support to infertile couples suffering from the emotional distress and challenges that infertility can bring.

Judaism is highly centered around the family and children. Those who contribute to Segula help BRS couples regain courage and hope in this bleak and discouraging time in their lives. For many, the financial component is the biggest obstacle separating them from their dreams of having children.

Since its inception, the BRS Segula Fund has helped more than 20 couples realize their dream of having a child. Unfortunately, the needs and requests continue. With your help and support, we can help and enable all BRS couples who seek our support. Please make a gift of any size at www.brsonline.org/segula or through a check made out to the BRS Segula Fund.

Members of the BRS Segula (Tikvateinu) support group

provided the following sensitivity tips for us to share:

One out of eight couples suffers from infertility, which can include the inability to get pregnant, secondary infertility, or loss of a pregnancy/stillborn. Many people do not wish to share these private struggles, and passing remarks or comments that others may think are okay can actually cause significant hurt unintentionally. Here are tips on how to be sensitive – what to say and not say to any couple, whether or not you are aware of their particular situation. (The following are actual things that have been said to people in our community suffering from infertility.)

Avoid the question, “How many children do you have?” This is difficult for those trying to conceive who have never gotten pregnant as well as those who have miscarried or those who have lost a child or children. A parent (especially a mother) will always remember how many children she has carried so this comment can be very hurtful to respond to. A child at any stage who has been lost will always “count” to a parent. Not sure how to approach this question? Let others volunteer information about their children if they wish first.

Avoid the questions, “How long have you been married…No children yet?” or “When are you going to have another baby?” Don’t assume you can question or comment on one’s plans to start a family or add to a family as no couple will answer with, “We have been trying for [2, 4, 10] years and don’t have a child yet.”

Don’t assume that a couple who doesn’t have children or has one child is “focused on their careers” and has no time for children or doesn’t want children.

Don’t say, “You guys are so lucky you don’t have children now – you can be free to do whatever you want.” Couples who are struggling with infertility want nothing more than to be tied down with a baby and not be able to “paint the town red.” Making light of the situation and brushing it off with a “you’re so lucky” comment can be extremely hurtful.

Never say, “You’re young, you have time before you have to start trying,” “Don’t try right away,” “Give yourself time to get to know one another,” or, conversely, “You should have a baby before [such and such age].” The choice of when to start having children is never a topic for a friend or family member (including a parent). It is the couple’s choice when to start, and is a private discussion that occurs between husband and wife. This is a sacred and private aspect of a marriage. In addition, if someone has decided to open up to you and share their struggle, it means that they are sharing something extremely private, making them extremely vulnerable and exposed. Many need an ear, not an insensitive “wave it off” comment.

If you know of a couple who has a few children and are trying to conceive, have lost a pregnancy, or have had a stillborn, a hurtful thing to say to them is, “Be glad for the children you have – maybe you were only meant to have [1, 2, 3, etc.]” Such a comment can cause irreparable damage.

Don’t ask another person’s child, “Don’t you want a little sister/brother?” So many people ask young children this question and children are usually unaware of the struggle parents go through. This comment can hurt a child or cause the child to put pressure on the parents who are already trying to do all they can as they deal with their infertility issues.

Difficult as it can be, try not to complain in any way about your children in front of a childless couple. Hearing how annoyed you are that they woke you in the middle of the night, how frustrated you are with your crying baby, how your children drive you crazy, how carpool is “the worst,” how you got no sleep and “miss the days you were free like you guys,” how hard it is to be a parent, etc. is extremely insensitive. Couples struggling with infertility would give anything to hold a crying baby in their arms and have a sleepless night.

If possible, plan a night out with a couple who doesn’t have children. Helping someone challenged by infertility feel like they still “fit in” even though they don’t have children helps them know they have your friendship even though they don’t share the common bond of being a parent. A lot of pain comes from feeling “left out” and not having anything in common with friends who are parents.

If someone you know has told you they are struggling with infertility, check in once in a while and say you are thinking of them and wondering how they are feeling. This is much better than saying, “Thinking of you and your struggle” or “How are your treatments going” or “When is your next fertility treatment”? If someone you really care about is struggling, let them know you are praying for them and that you are there no matter what – they will open up to you if they feel comfortable and ready to share the intimate struggles they are going through.

Some of the most hurtful comments are: “Why don’t you adopt?” or “We know someone who adopted and then got pregnant right after” or “There are so many children who need adopting” or “Maybe this is a sign from Hashem it’s not going to happen for you naturally.” The choice to adopt or expand a family in a variety of ways is deeply personal, and you can trust a couple is weighing all the options without needing such unsolicited advice from others.

Lifestyle suggestions such as what to eat or drink, going organic, putting one’s legs up, catching the next full moon, doing yoga, and avoiding things like trampolines are not helpful. Remember that you are not a fertility doctor. What worked for you or a person you know, or something you read online, is not always going to work for someone else. Many fertility issues need to be corrected with intense medical treatment, and some can never be corrected for various reasons. Your input is only another painful reminder of the struggle they are dealing with. If couples are looking for suggestions, they will ask for advice. Unsolicited advice is usually very unwelcomed and can have the opposite effect than what was intended.

The comment, “Just relax, it will happen,” can be offensive because it comes across as concluding the reason for the infertility being stress. Infertility is a medical issue and especially painful – a lot of stress stems from the pain of not being able to be a parent and less from the medical diagnosis. In addition, the couple will never not stress. Infertility is a daily struggle–everywhere a couple turns they are reminded of children (on Facebook, in shul, commercials, movies, at the mall, etc.). People struggling with fertility cannot escape it and every day these reminders add to their burden.

Religious suggestions such as “Get a bracha from this rabbi,” “Try this segula,” “Say this prayer,” or “God has a plan–stop worrying,” again, are unsolicited and unwelcome pieces of advice. Many people do all of the above for years and still have no child. These suggestions can, in fact, turn couples away from God. When prayers, blessings, or segulas don’t seem to be working, they can easily start to lose faith. Unless they ask, don’t offer your two cents. Instead, give them the honor of being “kvater” at a bris, ask for their Hebrew names so you can daven, say Tehillim, and bake challah with them in mind. If you are in your ninth month of pregnancy and go to the mikvah for the segula of an easy birth, offer the woman the honor of going into the mikvah right after you as a segula for them. These things may not work, but it’s less about trying to find a “magical potion” that gets them pregnant, and more about letting them know that you have their back and support them, are doing all you can to be there for them, and that their struggle is important to you.

If you want more information about Segula’s funds or support group, please don’t hesitate to reach out to the BRS Rabbis or Chayim and Michele Dimont.

Make Real Resolutions, Not Just Wishes

Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian writer, once said, “Everybody wants to change this world; nobody wants to change themselves.” I disagree. I think we do want to change. We want to become the people we were meant to be, the people we are capable of being. Many of us just don’t know how.

Every year, data shows that the biggest spike in gym memberships occurs in the second week of January. With the (Gregorian) New Year comes resolutions and by far the most popular is to get in shape. However, statistics show that by the second week of February, almost 80% of new gym members stop coming.

It isn’t just weight loss or exercise. While 45% of Americans make New Year’s resolutions, only 10% are successful at keeping them and meeting their goals.

Rabbi Yehudah Halevi writes in one of his poems: “The world at large is a prison and every man is a prisoner.” We often feel trapped, confined by the self-imposed limitations we set on ourselves or by the habits, practices and behaviors that we think we cannot break out of or change. According to the Society for Personality and Social Psychology, as many as 40% of our daily activities are driven by habit.

Will we be late or on time, will we get angry or keep our cool, will we eat healthy or let ourselves go, will we be distracted by technology or disconnect, will we make it to minyan or daven at home or not daven at all, will we say a beracha with kavana before we eat or when we come out of the bathroom, say it in a meaningless way, or not say it at all – all of these and many more have been programmed into our daily lives such that we are practically on autopilot. We feel imprisoned and trapped by the habits we have formed and the momentum that carries our lives forward.

Rav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, hy”d, also known as the Piaseczno Rebbe, was a Chassidic Rebbe in Poland who served as the Rabbi of the Warsaw Ghetto and, after surviving the uprising, was later shot dead by the Nazis in the Trawniki labor camp. He had such incredible human insight and advice, you may have thought he was trained as a psychologist or motivational speaker.

In his spiritual diary called Tzav V’Ziruz he has the following entry:

If you want to know if you you’ve progressed on your spiritual path over the years, the way to judge is to look at your resolution – at your inner drive – and not at your wishes. Only the inner drive with which you work to attain your desired goal is called resolution. But if you don’t work but rather just want, this is not called resolution. It is just some wish that you wish for yourself to be blessed with that desired objective. For example, the pauper who works to sustain himself, this is a drive, because he is doing something constructive toward it. But the wish that he’ll find a million dollars is just a wish to be rich and not a resolution. Every Jew would like to be a tzadik, but this is no more than a wish; he’d like to wake up in the morning and suddenly find himself a tzadik. Only the level and state of being that you seriously work toward can truly be called a resolution.

The secret to real change, says the Rebbe, is to be honest with ourselves and to distinguish between our wishes and actually making resolutions. There are countless things we claim to want to change about ourselves. We want to eat more healthy, be more patient, spend more time with our children, find time to volunteer, attend daf yomi, go to minyan more often, learn what the words of the siddur really mean, do chesed, stop speaking lashon hara, and so on.

We claim to want to do them, but the truth is they are just wishes. We wish to wake up one morning, as the Rebbe said, and find ourselves suddenly doing those things or living that way. The real secret to change is to stop wishing and to start making real resolutions. Personal growth is the result of making a plan, spelling it out and holding ourselves accountable to keeping to it.

When you make a resolution, when you formulate a plan, you need to know where the pitfalls lie and what is likely to try to knock you off your course. The pasuk says in Tehillim (119:98) mei’oyvai sechakmeini, from my enemies I became wise. Rav Yankele Galinsky explains mei’oyvai means I need to gain wisdom and strategy from studying my yetzer ha’rah. Only when I identify the obstacles and hazards can I plan to avoid them and circumvent them.

A plan, a resolution, has to be articulated to be serious. We can put it down on paper, set it as a reminder in our phone, or simply repeat it out loud to ourselves over and over but it isn’t real, it is just a wish, not a resolution, unless it is formally verbalized, articulated, or recorded in a way that will make us more likely to follow through.

I recommend an app called Strides that allows you to track your goals and habits in areas from reading, budget, sleep, exercise, or even flossing. You set your goal and the app sends regular alerts and reminders and tracks your progress, holding you accountable by having to confront real data and facts.

Leadership expert Robin Sharma once said, “Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.” Don’t articulate the same wishes year after year and call them resolutions. Make this your year, by articulating and implementing a plan.

Failing to Prepare is Preparing for Your Family to Fail

Death is a highly uncomfortable and awkward subject. As a result, most people do all they can to avoid the subject altogether. While we would prefer to see ourselves as living forever, the Torah instructs us that, in fact, reflecting on our mortality and being mindful of our transience are critical to living an inspired life and making the most of each day. Indeed, it is for this reason that Shlomo HaMelech, the wisest of all men, encouraged us to prefer spending time in a house of mourning to spending time in a house of celebration.

Overcoming the taboo and talking about death are not only important to inspire how we live life, but are actually acts of love and devotion to those whom we will ultimately leave behind. A few years ago, a woman in our community died suddenly. She was never married and had no children, but I remembered that she had a brother. I went to her home and rifled through paperwork in an effort to find his information so that I could inform him of the terrible news. It took a significant amount of time to make contact with him and even longer to ascertain what arrangements she had made.

We usually think about the chesed aspect of death as the loving, attentive care the living show the deceased. However, there is a great chesed the deceased can show the living. The more the deceased has planned, organized, and communicated his or her wishes, the less speculation, conflict, and compounded pain the bereaved will face at their time of loss and grief. Put simply, it is not only negligent, but also unkind, not to have one’s “matters in order,” irrespective of how young or healthy he or she may presently be, or how uncomfortable it may be to think about and prepare for death. None of us would ever intentionally cause or contribute to the pain or anguish of our family members. Yet failing to prepare likely will lead to complicating and, more likely, compounding the pain of our loved ones when we are gone.

The National Association for Chevra Kadisha (NASCK) has dedicated this Shabbos, Parshas Vayechi, to generating awareness and educating the Jewish community about end-of-life decisions. Boca Raton Synagogue is proudly participating along with over 300 Shuls in North America. My class this Shabbos afternoon will be on the topic of “Mausoleums, Cremations & Metal Caskets: What are the Rules of Jewish Burial and Why?” and I hope you will join me.

In the spirit of promoting awareness, mindfulness, and preparation, please consider, for the sake of your family, arranging the following as soon as possible:

ICE – Upon arriving at the scene of an accident or emergency, paramedics are trained to look on the patient’s cell phone for an ICE – an In Case of Emergency entry that lists emergency contacts. Access to the right person and the right information can be the difference between life and death. Add an ICE entry to your cell phone phonebook immediately and consider downloading an ICE app that will allow access to your emergency contact(s) even when your phone is locked.

Life Insurance – Both Rav Moshe Feinstein (Igros Moshe Orach Chaim 2:111) and Rav Ovadiah Yosef (Yechaveh Daat 3:85) were asked if purchasing life insurance reflects a lack of faith and trust in Hashem. They responded that as long as one remembers that it is Hashem who empowered us with the wisdom to create life insurance and enabled us with this tool to protect our families, it is absolutely permitted and appropriate. They extend this endorsement to fire, theft, and car insurance as well. Nobody ever plans to be diagnosed with a terminal illness or to be the victim of a fatal accident. We cannot predict when our end will come, but we can plan so that the pain of our loss will not be compounded by financial instability, hardship and disaster.

Disability Insurance – Life insurance can help provide for one’s family members if one dies, but what would happen if he or she suffered a debilitating injury or an incapacitating illness precluding the ability to work and provide an income? Disability insurance is only a luxury if it is never needed. We pray it will never be a necessity, but we would be foolish not to have it in case.

Halachik Living Will & Health Care Proxy – A myriad of complicated questions can arise in medical treatment, particularly at the end of life. This legal document empowers the patient to determine in advance what choices he or she would prefer within halachikly permitted parameters and who is authorized to communicate those choices to medical professionals if the need arises. Moreover, rather than leaving wishes and desires ambiguous so that others are guessing and speculating, this document spells them out. Additionally, instead of conflict arising over how decisions are reached or which halachik authority should be consulted, the halachik living will documents the decision-making process and sequence. The document can name a specific rabbi (or rabbis) or refer the decision to an organization, such as the Bioethics Committee of the Rabbinical Council of America. This is not a document reserved for the old or infirm. Every adult should have one on record and it should be reviewed and updated every few years and as circumstances demand – and discussed with your spouse, children or relatives, so your wishes are clear.

Will – Don’t leave loved ones guessing or fighting over how you want your assets divided. You work hard for your money and it should be properly distributed among family, friends, and charities in a thoughtful, intentional and halachik manner. You can use your estate to leave not only a legacy for your family, but a legacy gift to the community, Shul or schools that impacted your family. If you still have minor children, identify who will be responsible for them and ask their permission to stipulate such in your will. If you want to designate a specific piece of jewelry, art or memento to a particular person, specify that in your will or other document.

Ethical Will – In this week’s parsha, Yaakov anticipates his demise and calls his family around his death bed in order to give them each blessings and charge them as a family. Throughout the millennia, prominent rabbis and leaders have recorded ethical wills communicating their values, vision, and passions to the next generation. Don’t just leave children and grandchildren financial assets. Leave them your vision for who they could become and the most important values you hope they will pursue.

Burial Arrangements – Where do you want to be buried, including Israel? Do you want a chapel service or a graveside service? Whom would you like to officiate? Does your family know that you want a shomer, tahara, and halachik burial and for them to sit a full shiva and say kaddish? Have you bought a plot and purchased a “pre-need” package with a funeral home which is significantly less expensive that needing to buy it “at need?” Record your burial wishes in detail, including important biographical information that you would hope to be included in your eulogy, such as the major influences in your life and people and milestones that you were most grateful for or proud of. Are there particular relatives or friends or other people whom you would like to be invited to speak at your funeral?

Organized File – Perhaps most importantly, gather all of the above documentation and place it in a clearly designated place (paper and/or electronic) that your loved ones are aware of and have access to. Include your doctors, rabbi, and attorney and their contact information, your bank accounts, cemetery deed, safety deposit box (and location of keys), insurance information, financial advisors and brokers, inventory of assets and real estate, etc., so that nobody will be left guessing and searching for important information when it is needed. If you are one of those pack rats who hides money and jewelry in books or crevices around the house, tell someone where to look, so they do not get discarded with your other belongings or wind up with the next occupant of your house or apartment.

You may be reading this thinking it is excellent advice for someone else, for the elderly or the sick and infirm. But being responsible and planning appropriately are for every adult, every married person and certainly for every parent or grandparent. Don’t only consider making all of these arrangements yourself, but plan to speak to your children and grandchildren about their making such arrangements for themselves as well. Such preparations and arrangements are not taught in school. They rely on you to provide guidance and support in these areas. Not only is communicating these ideas to your children and grandchildren the right thing to do, but it is also in your interest, for their failure to plan, will likely become your emergency.

May we all merit to live full and meaningful lives realizing great longevity. In the meantime, let’s show our loved ones how much we care by making the proper preparations now, so they won’t have to later.

New is Not Necessarily Better

Change is inevitable. Attitudes and social norms are constantly changing, as are career opportunities and artistic tastes. Perhaps the most perceptible arena of constant change is in the evolution of technology. Through the millennia, enormous advancements in science have revolutionized fields ranging from medicine to warfare, and innovative technological discoveries have dramatically altered normative modes of travel and communications. Each advancement introduces new products, new procedures, new ideas, and new opportunities. But never before has “new” occurred at such a frantic and feverish pace, particularly in the arena of technology.

New devices, appliances, and software are constantly being introduced. We are bombarded with advertisements and social pressures, encouraging us to upgrade every aspect of our lives. “Upgrade your cell phone, upgrade your software, upgrade your apps, upgrade your car.” We are made to feel inadequate if we don’t have the latest, the most recent, and the best of everything.

In the second paragraph of kriyas shema, we recite the words “vhaya im shamoa tishmeu,” which translates literally as, “and it will be if you listen, you will listen.” Why the double language? Rashi, quoting the Medrash, explains: “im shamoa beyashan, tishmeu bechadash. If you listen to the old, you will hear it in the new.” What does that mean?

“Old” often has a derogatory connotation. It implies outdated, antiquated, stale, tired and no longer useful. New, by contrast, implies something fresh, exciting, cutting-edge, and superior. Such perceptions dominate today’s technology-driven world, where old is obsolete and discontinued, while new is sought after by everyone (and likely already sold out). Alas, this paradigm is flawed. The new is not necessarily an upgrade. Often, the old is superior.

Perhaps Rashi is teaching that if we pay attention, and indeed hearken, to the messages, principles, ideals and teachings of the old, namely our Torah, then we will develop the sensitivity to actually hear what’s really new; we will know which of the ‘new’ is authentic, acceptable, and worthwhile.

Innovation in technology, medicine, social progress, and even application of Jewish practices all bring much opportunity and blessing. However, much of the new is simply incompatible with our existing, timeless and inviolate values, teachings, and practices. In religious life, ideas and practices that are presented as upgrades and progress are often, in fact, downgrades and regress.

As we develop a technology-induced mindset that innovation is necessarily progress, we must be careful to avoid allowing this attitude to spill over into our views of other spheres of innovation and modernization, particularly when innovation is introduced into Torah hashkafa and Jewish practice. As Torah Jews, it is our mesorah, the old and ancient wisdom passed down from parent to child, which serves as the guide and determinant of which new opportunities we are to embrace and integrate. We turn to our elders, as the guardians of the tradition, and value their guidance as the entrusted authorities to tell us which of the new is an upgrade and which of the new is actually a step backwards.

In a lecture at the Lincoln Square Synagogue on May 28, 1975, Rabbi Soloveitchik described an experience from when he was seven or eight years old living in the town of Khaslavichy and learning in Cheder with a Chabad Rebbe.

We recited, or I should say chanted mechanically, the first verses of Vayigash in a dull monotone. We were simply droning the words in Hebrew and in Yiddish. So we kept on reading mechanically: Then Judah approached him [Joseph]…. My lord has asked his servants, saying: “Have you a father, or a brother?” And we said to my lord: “We have an old father, and a young child of his old age…” Permit me to use the interpretation of the Targum Yerushalmi of the words yeled zekunim (“a young child of his old age”), namely a talented boy, a capable, talented, bright child. “We have an old father, and we also have a talented little child.”

The boy, reading mechanically, finished reciting the question: Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? and the reply: Yesh lanu av zaken ve-yeled zekunim katan, We have an old father, and a young child of his old age. Then something strange happened. The melamed (teacher), who was half-asleep while the boy was droning on the words in Hebrew and Yiddish, rose, jumped to his feet and with a strange, enigmatic gleam in his eyes, motioned to the reader to stop. Then the melamed turned to me and addressed me with the Russian word meaning “assistant to the rabbi,” podrabin. Whenever he was excited he used to address me with this title, “assistant to the rabbi.” There was a tinge of sarcasm and cynicism in his using the term, because this Chabad chassid could never forgive me for having been born into the house of Brisk which represented the elite of the opposition to Chassidism. Although I must say that I cannot accept responsibility for this fact because it was an accident of birth.

Then he said to me: “What kind of question did Joseph ask his brothers, Ha-yesh lachem av? Do you have a father? Of course they had a father, everybody has a father! The only person who had no father was the first man of creation, Adam. But anyone who is born into this world has a father. What kind of a question was it?”

I began, “Joseph . . .” I tried to answer, but he did not let me. Joseph, I finally said, meant to find out whether the father was still alive. “Do you still have a father,” meaning, is he alive, not dead?

If so, the melamed thundered back at me, he should have phrased the question differently: “Is your father still alive?”

To argue with the melamed was useless. He began to speak. He was no longer addressing the boys. The impression he gave was that he was speaking to some mysterious visitor, a guest who had come into the cheder, into that cold room. And he kept on talking. Joseph did not intend to ask his brothers about avot d’isgalyim. I later discovered that this was a Chabad term for parenthood which is open, visible. He was asking them about avot d’iscasin, about the mysterious parenthood, the hidden and invisible parenthood. In modern idiom, I would say he meant to express the idea that Joseph was inquiring about existential parenthood, not biological parenthood. Joseph, the melamed concluded, was anxious to know whether they felt themselves committed to their roots, to their origins. Were they origin conscious? Are you, Joseph asked the brothers, rooted in your father? Do you look upon him the way the branches, or the blossoms, look upon the roots of the tree? Do you look upon your father as the feeder, as the foundation of your existence? Do you look upon him as the provider and sustainer of your existence? Or are you a band of rootless shepherds who forget their origin, and travel and wander from place to place, from pasture to pasture?

Suddenly, he stopped addressing the strange visitor and began to talk to us. Raising his voice, he asked: “Are you modest and humble? Do you admit that the old father represents an old tradition?

“Do you believe that the father is capable of telling you something new, something exciting? Something challenging? Something you did not know before? Or are you insolent, arrogant, and vain, and deny your dependence upon your father, upon your source?”

“Ha-yesh lachem av?! Do you have a father?!” exclaimed the melamed, pointing at my study-mate. I had a study-mate who was considered a child prodigy in the town. He was the prodigy and I had the reputation of being slow. His name was Isaac. The melamed turned to him and said: “Who knows more? Do you know more because you are well versed in the Talmud, or does your father, Jacob the blacksmith, know more even though he can barely read Hebrew? Are you proud of your father? If a Jew admits to the supremacy of his father, then, ipso facto, he admits to the supremacy of the Universal Father, the ancient Creator of the world who is called Atik Yomim (‘He of Ancient Days’).”

That is the experience I had with the melamed. I have never forgotten it.

Debate Fervently, But Love Fiercely

Recently, the United States Holocaust Museum asked my synagogue to host an event of theirs. So this past Wednesday night, we hosted Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic for a conversation about anti-Semitism in Europe and around the world, a topic he has researched extensively and recently written about. Growing anti-Semitism is a universal concern for all Jews. It is a non-controversial topic and one in which we can all find common ground to learn about and to work together to combat.

Nevertheless, because Jeffrey Goldberg has also written articles about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that many find troubling and disagree with, when some people found out he was going to speak at our shul, they shared their displeasure. I am pleased and proud to say that the few members of our shul who emailed me did so respectfully and explained why they thought hosting him was a bad idea. However, non-members who learned about the program and were upset emailed large lists of people, and some of the resulting emails were forwarded to me.

They said things like: “IF THIS IS TRUE, APPARENTLY IT IS – GOLDBERG LOVES OBAMA – WE SHOULD ORGANIZE A PICKET LINE 4 JEFFREY GOLDBERG to teach him to be PRO-ISRAEL.” (I must admit, I had to read the email three times before I realized that I wasn’t the Goldberg they were talking about). Another email called him a “NO GOODNIK OESVARF KAPO SOROS SUPPORTER.” Yet another email called on people to boo him.

Let me be clear: I disagree with Jeffrey Goldberg on many issues. For a good forty minutes following his talk, we had a passionate discussion in my office during which I argued (respectfully) regarding where I think he is dangerously wrong about Israel.

Individuals may have heated, passionate, and significant disagreements with him on Israel. But he is a fellow Jew. He is a fellow human being. Moreover, he risked his life voluntarily serving in the IDF following college, something most of us cannot boast to have done. Can those who disagree with him about Israel say with full confidence that they love Israel more than he does?

Moreover, have we gotten to the point that because we love Israel differently than Jeffrey Goldberg, we cannot learn from him about an entirely separate topic about which we have no disagreement? Is that what the Jewish community has come to?

In the charged atmosphere that currently permeates Jewish communal life, there is a verse from last week’s Torah reading that keeps reverberating in my mind:

“The brothers saw that it was Yosef whom their father loved most of all his brothers, so they hated him” (Bereishis 37:4). It isn’t just that Yosef’s brothers didn’t like him. They hated him. Hate is a very strong word and describes a toxic and destructive emotion.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik points out that the Ramban, Nachmanides, refers to the book of Genesis as Sefer Ha’simanim, the Book of Signs that foretells the future of the Jewish people. Unfortunately, it isn’t just the times of blessing, success, and good fortune that our sacred Torah foretells. It also anticipates the persistent civil strife and conflict between fellow Jews that has unfortunately punctuated our history and still rear its ugly head today.

Yosef’s brothers hated him. The text makes that clear. But what does “v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom,” a phrase mentioned separately, mean? It is a clumsy expression and hard to translate.

The great medieval commentator, R’ Avraham Ibn Ezra explains, “v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom — afilu l’shalom.” It isn’t that they just couldn’t talk about the issues they disagreed about. It isn’t that they didn’t want to be close, loving brothers. And it’s not that they couldn’t debate respectfully. “Afilu l’shalom” — The issue with Yosef and his brothers was they couldn’t even give each other a Shalom Aleichem. The hatred and intolerance had grown so deep that they couldn’t stand to even extend greetings to one another or to be in a room together. For the Ibn Ezra, this expression describes a disgraceful state of affairs. They couldn’t even say “good morning,” “how are you,” or “good Shabbos” to one another.

We tend to read the story of Yosef and his brothers and see them as petty. They fought over jealousy and favoritism. But that is not entirely true. Rav Ahron Soloveichik and others show that their true fight was about ideology and the future of the Jewish people. Each side was convinced that the policies of the other would bring destruction and were categorically not what God wanted. It was a deep ideological battle of issues that were of grave consequence. And yet, the Torah and our rabbis are nonetheless incredibly critical of their strife.

Even in the context of firmly and passionately held views, one can never lose the capacity to say “hello,” “good morning,” or “Shabbat shalom.” We are a family. We must maintain the ability to suspend the conversation about controversial issues and enjoy an exchange about something we agree upon, or to simply engage in small talk.

Rav Yehonasan Eibschitz in his Tiferes Yonasan has an additional insight on the verse in question. Translated literally, “lo yachlu dabro l’shalom” means “they could not speak to him to peace.” What could that mean? Rav Eibshitz suggests that when we disagree with people, we withdraw from them and stop speaking to them. We see them as “the other,” different than us and apart from us. As our communication breaks down, the dividers rise up stronger and stronger.

We can never resolve conflict, or find common ground, or maintain a relationship despite our differences, if we boo, call for pickets, call each other names, and refuse to have civil conversation. Had Yosef and his brothers been talking, he might have communicated how he felt isolated and alone, and they might have explained how his tattle-telling and the favoritism their father displayed toward him were very painful to them. However, “lo yachlu dabro l’shalom.” They weren’t talking, so they couldn’t use speech to achieve peace, or even just civility, between them.

It always amazes me when I speak to someone who is on the far right politically while on the far left religiously (or the opposite), and he or she protests any openness in our community towards anyone to the left of them politically or to the right of them religiously (or vice versa). We demand that everyone be exactly where we are, even if we are complex and nuanced ourselves.

Conversation and communication themselves build a relationship that allows resolution, or at least mutual respect, even when there are differences. We can and we should have strong feelings and passionate opinions. I have mine, and I am happy to share them, though not from the pulpit or in the capacity of a rabbi. We are entitled to and deserve our opinions, but we are not entitled to call names or disrespect.

The consequences and implications of our debates are no greater than that of the ideological battle of Yosef and his brothers. And yet, the Torah is categorically clear that it was the breakdown of their ability to speak, to have a relationship, to make small talk and to find common ground that led to “sin’ah”– to hatred, to the selling of a brother into servitude, and ultimately to slavery for a nation.

What have we come to if we can’t say good Shabbos, or develop friendships, or invite someone for Shabbos meals, unless they vote exactly as we do, love Israel exactly as we do, send their children to the exact same school that we do, and dress as we do?

It is not achdus, unity, to relate to those who are like us. Achdus, meaningful unity and togetherness, is only achieved when we relate to those with whom we have differences or even passionate disagreements.

We can disagree about Israel’s policies, or ordaining women, or educational opportunities in our community, or gun control, or global warming, or a host of different issues. And when we disagree, we can disagree passionately and fervently. For some, these issues are of the highest importance and with great implications for the future of the Jewish people. We can advocate and seek to persuade. But we can’t be nasty; we can’t be negative; we can’t attack personally; we can’t be disrespectful; and, most of all, we can’t lose our capacity and will to, despite it all, say “good Shabbos” or “have a great day.”

In 1966, Rav Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, author of the Sridei Eish, wrote an essay called, “Es echai anochi mevakeish,” “My Brothers I Seek.” He challenged the religious and secular communities to not just be soveil, tolerate one another, but to love one another. Tolerance is something we should do with a bad rash or a traffic jam or a toothache. It is not an attitude towards a fellow Jew. We need to not just tolerate one another, but to find the capacity to connect with one another, to feel unified with one another despite our differences, and even to love one another.

It took a famine and trauma to bring Yosef and his brothers together again. Why must it take tragedy and trauma for us to focus on what we have in common, rather than that which separates us? The terrorists in Israel don’t ask their victims if they are chareidi, chiloni or mizrachi before stabbing them. They don’t ask what school they send their children to, or to which political party they belong to, before ramming them with their car.

Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, standing in Auschwitz-Birkenau at last year’s March of the Living said, “We always knew how to die together. The time has come for us to know also how to live together.”

Light the Candles and Be Inspired to Light Up the World

If Tisha B’av or Yom HaShoah represent days that commemorate dying al Kiddush Hashem, sanctifying God’s name, Chanuka is the holiday that celebrates living al Kiddush Hashem. Overcoming enormous pressure and persecution, the Maccabees refused to abandon their Torah way of life and to assimilate into the culture and religion that surrounded them. While facing persecution and oppression, they not only maintained their values, practice, and identity, but with great courage and resolve, they fought a much greater force both in number and strength, and ultimately triumphed in protecting our right to continue to live al Kiddush Hashem until today.

Each night that we light the menorah and seek to literally and figuratively illuminate the world and dispel the darkness, we follow in the Maccabees’ footsteps in making a Kiddush Hashem. As we gaze at the Chanuka lights, we are to remember that our mission and mandate as a people and as a community is to be a light unto the nations.

Last Shabbos, we had the privilege of celebrating Tani Gross’s bar mitzvah. Tani’s non-Jewish tennis instructor, Eon, was invited to be part of this major milestone in Tani’s life and he gladly accepted. He was nervous about attending a Synagogue and anxious about how he and his wife would feel. This week, he sent me the following letter describing the experience:

I have to be honest and tell you that I was really nervous about going to a place I have heard so much about. But I had no idea what to expect. Will I be treated as an outsider? Will people look at me and know that I don’t belong? Also what do I wear? Where do I sit? What does Jillian do? What if I do something wrong? As you can see I had lots of question and concerns. Luckily I had a few club members and friends help me out.

Once inside Gary [Krasna] showed me where to go, what to read, and was my personal guide. Not once throughout the service did I feel like I didn’t belong. I was out of my element, and a little lost most of the time. But I can honestly say that I was treated like family. Rabbi Goldberg even worked his way over to me before his sermon and wanted to make sure I was okay. And what a fitting sermon it was. The Rabbi talked about Joseph and how his brothers treated him. They hated him and could not speak a kind word to him. Rabbi Goldberg talked about how we treat people. Just because someone thinks different, looks different or in my case believes in something different, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. One day our goal should be to even love that person.

Sunday was the big party and I felt much more comfortable by now. There was dancing and food, and more dancing and more food. Once again as the only two people at the party that were outsiders, you would never know it… So we ate, we danced, we laughed and never felt like anyone was judging us. It was a great night. I am so fortunate and blessed to have been part of Tani’s special day.

As I sit here now reflecting on my busy weekend I can’t help but feel a little sad that it’s all over. What I saw this weekend wasn’t just a Bar Mitzvah but rather a strong and loving community. It was a feeling of belonging to something that I really don’t. It showed me that the Rabbi was right. We may be different but doesn’t mean we can’t get along and can’t build better friendships. As Christians and Jews we believe in the same God; we are all God’s children and should treat each other in such a way. I would like Rabbi Goldberg to know that his congregation really does “value diversity and celebrate unity.”

Rav Wolbe explains that when the Chashmonaim risked their lives to fight a war for the sake of Hashem, they were, in effect, endeavoring to “make His Name great and holy in the world” (Al Hanissim).

Please God, we will never be challenged to have to fight an actual war to make His Name great, but we will face opportunities each day from the way we welcome the “outsider” to shul, to the way we interact at work, the supermarket or the gym.

May the lights of Chanuka inspire us to make His Name great and to light up the world with our actions, each and every day.

Join Our Community