Bringing Stolen Torahs Back Home

Hungarian Torahs

We often mistranslate teshuva as repentance, but that is not exactly accurate. The Alter Rebbe, R’ Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains that teshuva is not reserved for sinners. The root of the word teshuva is lashuv, to return. Teshuva is about returning our souls to the pure, pristine state in which we receieved them. Even the righteous need to go back to their roots and return home.

This Sunday, the seventh of the Ten Days of Teshuva, BRS will have the incredible privelege of returning precious stolen items to their roots, bringing them home to the Jewish people, and beginning the process of restoring them to their pure and pristine state.

Under the Nazi regime, thousands of Jewish communities and synagogues were ransacked and their valuables stolen. Sifrei Torah, Judaica, candelabras, kiddush cups, artwork, gold, and other valuables that were transported from the communities from which they were seized were collected in storage depots in Germany. In 1944, as the war was winding down, the Nazis expedited their deportation of the Hungarian Jewish community to death camps and simultaneosly stole their Judaica and treasures.

By early 1945, the Americans, British, and Russians were all advancing on Berlin. As depicted in the film “The Monuments Men” the U.S. and British Forces had special units that searched for stolen assets and sought to return them. The Russians, however, had what were referred to as “Trophy Units” that would seek out, seize and return to Mother Russia whatever valuables they could find.

Towards the end of the war, the Nazis were moving the stolen items from the Hungarian Jews on transports that were headed to Berlin. However, in the face of the advancing Russian troops they fled and left the train. Russian generals captured the train and took it from Germany to Russia.

Once in Russia, the train was taken to Nizhny Novgorod – which was then called Gorky – and which is 258 miles east of Moscow. Why there? Nizhny Novgorod was a “closed city” – meaing it was a military city and was carefully guarded (no one got into or out of the city without express permission). Once in Nizhny Novgorod, the train was unloaded. Over 1,000 Impressonist masterpieces were offloaded and stored in the Art Museum warehouses. Torahs were stored in the Library warehouse. There they sat for more than 40 years.

For decades after the War, Jewish communities in Eastern Europe living in countries that were part of the Soviet Union or satellite countries, such as Hungary and Czech Republic, tried without success to recover items that were stolen by the Nazis and taken to Russia. The stories of the Jewish treasures stored in Nizhny Novgorod were known but no one was ever permitted to get into Nizhny Novgorod’s Art Museum or Library to see what was really there.

In 2012, our own congregants Bob a”h Silver and his wife Sibyl first heard of the possibility of stolen Torahs in Russia. They were intrigued by the story, did research, and decided to dedicate themselves to retreive these Torahs and bring them back to the Jewish people.

They proceeded to inquire of Holocaust experts and made contact with rabbis in Hungary, Czech Republic, Austria, Germany, Belgium, Russia, and Cyprus to learn more. In the fall of 2012, on a visit to Prague, they learned more about the Torahs from the Chabad Rabbi in Prague who put them in touch with a young Chabad Rabbi in Hungary.

A year later, that rabbi, working together with the Chabad rabbi of Nizhny Novgorod, received permission to enter the Library in Nizhny Novgorod where he found the Torahs. He lovingly embraced them, examined, them and confirmed the rumors of their existence.

After Bob’s passing, Sibyl remained determined to rescue the Torahs. Earlier this year, Sibyl led a group to Russia in an attempt to get some of the Torahs back into synagogue use. She met with officials in Moscow and Nizhny Novgorod. Through her tenacity, perseverance, and passion for this project, Sibyl was able to get two Torahs into the Aron of the Chabad Synagogue in Moscow and eight Torahs into the Chabad Synagogue in Nizhny Novgorod where they are being repaired.

Not only have these Torahs not been in use for over seventy-five years, they haven’t been in the possesion of the Jewish people. These story of these Torahs is the story of the Jewish people. Like the many of the members of the communities from which they were taken, these Torahs were ripped from the hands of those who loved them, they were held hostage, put into captivity with no hope of being released or returned. And yet, like other members of the Jewish community from Eastern Europe, they have not only survived, but are being returned to their glory.

There were a total of 118 Torahs in the library warehouse. Ten are in the hands of the Jewish communities in Russia and Hungary, and this Sunday at 10:00 am we will welcome three of them into the Aron Kodesh at Boca Raton Syangogue. This will be their first time back in an Aron in over seventy-five years. Following the celebratory welcome back to the Jewish people at our shul, these Torahs will be restored and will ultimately find a permanent home and return to full use.

Hungarian Torahs

I had the privelege of examining these Torahs and it sent a current through my spine. When you come in contact with these sacred scrolls, you are in contact with the the souls of the 6 million martyrs and with the story of our people.

Join us this Sunday morning at 10:00 am and let these Torahs speak to you.

Make Resolutions, Not Wishes

(Adapted from a drasha delivered at Boca Raton Synagogue on Rosh Hashana 5776/2015)

It was an ordinary day in Judge Mindy Glazer’s Miami-Dade courtroom when forty-nine-year-old Arthur Booth appeared before her for his bond hearing. He had been arrested the previous day for breaking into a home, stealing a car, and running from police. He caused two accidents before crashing the stolen car and being arrested.

What happened next was incredible. My description cannot even do it justice; I encourage you after Yom Tov to see it for yourself. As she shuffled papers on her desk, Judge Glazer turned to Booth and said, “I have a question for you — did you go to Nautilus (middle school)?” Booth looked up at her, recognized her, then covered his face with both hands and, overwhelmed with emotion, cried “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” seven times.

The judge then said to him, “I’m sorry to see you here. I always wondered what happened to you.“ She turned to the court and continued, “This was the nicest kid in middle school. He was the best kid. I used to play football with him, all the kids, and look what has happened.” Glazer set his bond at $43,000 and closed the hearing by saying, “Good luck to you sir,” she said. “I hope you are able to come out of this okay and just lead a lawful life.”

Booth’s cousin was interviewed by the news right after the hearing and was asked why she thought he was so emotional. She answered, “He probably was thinking, ‘Wow, I had those opportunities and those abilities. That should have been me up there… He was overwhelmed with emotion because he was filled with remorse and the thoughts of what could have been.”

“Ha’yom haras olam, ha’yom ya’amid ba’mishpat kol yetzurei olamim… Today is the birthday of the world. Today all creatures of the world stand in judgment.” This morning, like Booth, we appear before the Judge who recognizes us, who knows us since our childhood and beyond. Like Booth, as we appear before the Judge of Judges, we are overwhelmed with a sense of what could have been. This morning, as we confront the reality of the many mistakes we have made, the poor judgment we have shown, the self-destructive behavior we have engaged in, the opportunities we have wasted and the potential we have not realized, we are filled with a profound sense of remorse, an intense regret, and an acute awareness of who we could be.

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 just don’t know how.

Rabbi Yehudah Ha’Levi 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.

We are familiar with the first part of the pasuk in Tehillim (81) that is part of our prayers and our Kiddush today: “tiku b’chodesh shofar, b’keseh l’yom chageinu, ki chok k’yisroel hu, mishpat lei’lokei Yaakov.” But it continues, eidus bi’hoseif samo, b’tzeiso al eretz mitzrayim, it is a testimony for Yosef when he went out over the land of Egypt.

Our rabbis teach us (Rosh Hashana 10b) that today, Rosh Hashana, is the anniversary of the day Yosef was released from prison in Egypt. According to Chazal, Yosef’s release from prison specifically on this day is not a mere coincidence, but it is a reflection of the power and potential for becoming free on this day. Chazal understood that when we blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana it is “a testimony for Yosef,” as it commemorates his leaving prison on that very day.

As we listen to the sound of the shofar this morning, as we celebrate Yosef’s release from prison, it is time to recognize that today, Rosh Hashana, it is time for us to break out of our prisons, today is the day to finally attain freedom from that which restricts and restrains us.

In one of his letters, the Rambam draws an analogy between teshuva, the exodus from our previous selves, and the exodus from Egypt. On Pesach, we tell the story of our national exodus from Egypt. On Rosh Hashana, we write the story of our personal exodus from that which holds us back and enslaves us.

A fundamental analysis often offered in Brisker lomdus is the distinction between the cheftza and gavra, the object and the person. In an incredible teshuva derasha from 1974 the Rav applied cheftza and gavra to describe two components of the mitzvah of tekias shofar. We don’t have time to review his entire thesis now but I want to share the Rav’s application to the impact shofar is designed to have on us.

Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that human beings have the potential to be objects or subjects. When our lives are on autopilot, when we become creatures of habit, we have allowed ourselves to essentially become objects. When we are mindful and spiritually conscious, when we are driving our lives instead of being driven by them, we are subjects.

It is not a coincidence that when the Jewish people fail, make mistakes and come up short, such as with the cheit of chava, the cheit ha’egel, Shimshon and others, the Torah describes them with the word “falling.” An object is affected by gravity. It descends and falls. Similarly, when we allow our lives to be objects, we fall. In contrast, when the Torah wants to describe someone who is growing, changing, or doing teshuva, as the Torah uses the language of ascending, going up. When we choose to be subjects rather than objects, when we are disciplined and in control of our lives, we can overcome the force of gravity and lift ourselves up.

The Rambam famously writes, “Although the shofar blowing of Rosh Hashana is a Torah law, there is an allusion in it, as if the shofar were saying ‘Awake, sleepers from your sleep! Arise, slumberers from your slumber! Scrutinize your deeds…Remember your Creator.”

When we are sleeping, we are objects. We are just unconscious bodies. When we wake up, we become subjects again, animated, thoughtful people making choices. Many of us are sleeping even while awake. We are living life as objects. The shofar is the alarm that screams wake up! Be a subject not an object, ascend don’t descend; set yourself free from the prison of your life.

The Rama, Rav Moshe Isserles, in his gloss on Shulchan Aruch quotes the Yerushalmi:“nohagin she’lo lishon b’yom Rosh Hashana u’minhag nachon hu. We have the practice not to nap or sleep on Rosh Hashana day and this is a worthy custom.”

Rosh Hashana is not a time to be an object; it is the day to be subjects, to wake up and finally make the lasting changes to become the people we know and the Judge knows we were meant to be. But how?

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 ha’rah, 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.

I was recently talking to Daniel Gibber, Rabbi Gibber’s brother, who lives in Teaneck. He is spiritually on fire and sounds more like a young man who just got back from his second year of studying in Israel than a middle-aged father far removed from yeshiva. Just talking to him and hearing his energy, passion, and excitement for Torah and learning is contagious. He told me about how he is waking up early every morning, going to daf yomi shiur, and staying for minyan. He listens to inspiring classes on the way to and from work and has arranged a weekly shiur in his neighborhood on emunah. Naturally, I asked him how it happened.

He shared the following: He had been a disaffected, typical day school graduate living life, working hard, paying the bills, and though he was doing his best to be a good husband, father, and person, he was totally disconnected from anything spiritual. His life was the grind of family life, coaching basketball, and professional ambition; he had drifted so far he wasn’t davening at all let alone attending minyan.

On August 1, 2012, everything changed. He attended the 12^th Siyum HaShas at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey along with 90,000 other people. He hadn’t learned daf yomi and was mostly there out of pride for his grandfathers who had learned the daf numerous times. There were many speakers that evening in Yiddish, Hebrew, and English.

Deep into the night, Rabbi Yissocher Frand took the podium and delivered an impassioned 22-minute speech that electrified the stadium. He spoke about the Bas Kol, the heavenly voice that asks each one of us why we aren’t doing more to learn and to strengthen our relationships with Hashem. Rabbi Frand was adamant in suggesting that in response to the proverbial Bas Kol, “every one of us must leave here with a plan.” He challenged the attendees to “learn a Daf a day. If you can’t learn a Daf a day then make it an Amud a day, or a Daf of Mishna Berurah a day or a Mishna a day.”

He then yelled out – “But SOMETHING a day!” For some reason, at that moment, those words pierced Daniel Gibber’s soul and touched him in a way nothing else ever had. “Something a day.” Why not do something a day. Surely he is capable of doing something a day.

The next day he started learning daf yomi, but soon after he missed a day here and there. He realized that he needed a plan, it couldn’t just be a good intention, and so he joined a daf yomi shiur every morning at 5:30 a.m. Once he was going to shul that early, he realized he might as well stay for Shacharis. A few months later he realized that it is silly that he goes to shul for Shacharis every day but doesn’t even daven Mincha so he started davening Mincha and Ma’ariv and a few months later, thought to himself, why not go back to shul for Mincha and Ma’ariv each evening.

It all started with a plan. He made it a priority to go to the early daf, which turned into staying for minyan, which turned into a love of Torah learning, which resulted in a deepening of emunah and a life on fire. It all began with a plan, it all began with a resolution to do something each day.

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.

An indispensible part of the Rambam’s formulation of teshuva is kaballah al ha’asid. A personal kabbalah is not a wish, it is a resolution, it is a pledge to keep to a plan.

Last summer, Yocheved and I were both very inspired from some of the people we met and conversations we had. When we returned to Boca we decided to each make a list of kabalos, things we were taking upon ourselves to do differently. We each made our list and then met for lunch one day to exchange lists and talk about how we can in a loving way hold one another accountable so that the kabalos last and stick. I am proud to say that they are still going well and I credit it to the fact that on our way back to Boca, we didn’t talk about wishes – I wish I was more like him, or I wish our home were more like that. We made real resolutions, not just a wish list.

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.

Share your kabbalah, your resolution, and plan with your spouse, a family member, or a trusted friend. Ask them to help you formulate a plan and hold you accountable to your commitment.

Leadership expert Robin Sharma once said, “Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.” Let’s not sit Rosh Hashana after Rosh Hashana and fill our hearts and minds with wishes that will dissipate as quickly as the sound of shofar. Let’s not sit before the Judge who knew us since we are born and knows what we are capable of, crying because of the missed opportunities and what we could have been. Today, right now, like Yosef, let’s walk out of prison and set ourselves free to become the people we know we can be.

This year, when people ask you how was your Rosh Hashana – tell them, I am not sure yet, I will let you know in six months after I implement my plan.

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To get started on making real and lasting changes in your life, use the Resolution Worksheet

Torn on the Apology – Is Everything Forgivable?

“No matter how many times I attempt to apologize, it will never be enough. There are simply no words available to sufficiently assuage the hurt that I caused among conversion candidates, congregants, students, family, friends, and rabbinic and academic colleagues. I am sorry, beyond measure, for my heinous behavior and perverse mindset that provoked my actions.”

These words were penned this week in a public letter of apology by a disgraced rabbi who pleaded guilty to secretly videotaping fifty-two women and was sentenced to six and a half years in prison. One of his victims said she is “torn on the apology… I don’t think we would be seeing this had he not been caught. It’s hard to take it seriously when he’s making the apology after the fact.”

Who could blame or judge this victim or any other for struggling with granting forgiveness to a perpetrator who caused them immeasurable and unimaginable pain? It takes time to heal from the trauma of being violated and similarly it takes time to find the capacity for forgiveness, if it can be found at all.

In his bestselling book “The Sunflower,” Simon Wiesenthal recounts his work camp experience of being brought to a dying Nazi soldier’s bedside. The man turned to Wiesenthal and confessed his crimes and horrific wrongdoings against the Jewish people. He then asked Wiesenthal to serve as a representative of all his victims and begged forgiveness. Wiesenthal describes that he could not grant the soldier his wish because some things are simply too heinous and atrocious to forgive. Wiesenthal describes that the rest of his life, he remained tortured by that request and by his reaction to it.

Are there indeed things that are unforgivable? Or, does every sincere, genuine, remorseful appeal for forgiveness deserve to be granted? Victims of unthinkable heinous acts undoubtedly struggle with this question for the rest of their lives. Those that have never walked in their shoes cannot and should not judge the conclusion they reach.

For survivors of the Holocaust or victims of enormous abuse like being physically violated as a child or adult, or videotaped in a Mikvah, granting forgiveness is tremendously complicated. However, when it comes to the everyday slights, snubs, insults and offenses, granting forgiveness is even more valuable and important for us than it is for the one requesting it.

Our rabbis teach: “Kol ha’maavir al midosav, ma’avirin lo kol p’shaav – who is forgiving, God is forgiving of them.” (Rosh Hashana 17a) Too many of us are accountants, not by training or trade, but in practice. We are constantly balancing the books of our relationships with others. “We invited them 3 times and they only invited us once,” or “they didn’t give my son a bar mitzvah gift even though they attended, so I am not giving their child a gift either.” “I am always calling him or asking to go to lunch, he never initiates so I am done with this friendship.” “Would you believe he walked right by me in Shul and shook hands with someone else without even acknowledging my presence. Forget him, our friendship is over.”

With family, the accounting is often more detailed – “I always call her on her birthday, she didn’t call me this year so I am not talking to her.” “I can’t believe they sat me at the table with those cousins and not with the people I wanted to sit with.” “Three years ago, we didn’t get a card for our anniversary so we are no longer sending them cards.”

“Kol ha’maavir al midosav, ma’avirin lo kol p’shaav.” With this statement the Talmud provides the formula for receiving forgiveness from the Heavenly court. God, say our rabbis, approaches us with the same attitude and philosophy we approach the people in our lives. He judges us with a mirror. If we are exacting, accounting and unforgiving to those around us, He is exacting, accounting and unforgiving of us. If we instead choose to dismiss, minimize and ignore the slights, snubs and slurs that people have perpetrated against us, then Hashem chooses to dismiss and ignore our slights and snubs of Him.

I don’t believe that the Talmud is referring to Wiesenthal’s conundrum, which is of a different magnitude and order. Perhaps there are violations that the Ribonno Shel Olam Himself cannot expect the victims to forgive and certainly not forget. However, when it comes to the petty affronts and offensives that are committed against us sometimes as often as daily or weekly, it is in our own self-interest to find a way to grant forgiveness when it is sincerely sought and sometimes, even when it isn’t.

When we walk around with the accounting books and keep track of everything everyone around us has done that is hurtful both intentionally and unintentionally, the one who suffers the most is ourselves. Authentic forgiveness is not only about the perpetrator of the act and absolving him or her of their misdeed. Forgiveness is for the victim, the one who has been hurt or harmed. It is exhausting, burdensome, even paralyzing to carry and harbor negative feelings and negative memories.

This is the season to let go. A professor once held up a beaker filled with water before a class and asked how much they think it weighs. One student said two ounces, another though six ounces, another two pounds. The professor looked at the class and said they are all right. How could they all be right, asked the students, aren’t they saying different things? The professor answered, they are all right, it just depends how long I hold onto it.

When our grudge is formed, it seems somewhat light, small, and insignificant so it is easy enough to carry around with us. The longer we hold onto it, however, the heavier it becomes and the greater the energy, effort, and focus necessary to carry it forward. It is time to let go, to be willing to forgive and forego, even that which is due to us.

Indeed, it is only when we have the capacity to let go, to move on, to not absorb the negativity and toxicity of a strained relationship, to be a forgiving person, that we have the capacity for greatness. The Rambam identifies as one of the defining characteristics of a Talmid Chacham that one must be a mevateir, a forgoer, one who is forgiving and does not hold a grudge.

As we enter Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, now is the time to decide to be a mevaitair, to transform ourselves into the kind of people who let things go. I can tell you with certainty the Almighty loves a mevateir. Don’t be concerned with rights, honors, privileges, and entitlements. Don’t focus on what we are due and what the people who hurt us deserve. Put down the heavy baggage, let go and forgive, and you will live life so much lighter.

Learning to Love Even Those We Dislike

Rosh Hashana is approaching in a few days and I am truly frightened. My fear stems not just from God’s impending annual judgment, but from the current status of our people and how we will appear before Him.

Next week we will gather in synagogues around the world and beseech the Almighty – “v’yeiasu kulam aguda achas, bring us together with unity and togetherness in Your service.” At this moment, for too many, that prayer will be utterly disingenuous, as they have no interest or even tolerance to be together or unified with many of their fellow Jews.

Recently, my Facebook page played host to a heated exchange in the comments section. An individual was respectfully but rigorously defending his support of the Iran deal. Someone who saw his position contacted me and actually suggested that I unfriend or block him for espousing such vile and dangerous positions.

My fear is that we have reached a point that friends who have opposite opinions on the Iran deal and other contentious issues are unfriending each other online and in real life, incapable and unwilling to maintain a relationship with those that have come to different conclusions than they have on any range of issues.

I have been an outspoken opponent of the Iran deal. I have written about and spoken about why I feel this deal is devastatingly dangerous and an enormous mistake with the gravest consequences. I have attended rallies, I have met with members of Congress, I have been to Washington to lobby and I am going back again this week. Nobody can doubt where I stand on, or how strongly I feel about, this issue.

And yet, I am fully aware and I recognize that not everybody, including many of my fellow Jews, feels as I do. They don’t love Israel less than I and they are not less concerned about our national security here in America than I am. They simply come at this issue from a different vantage point, trust different experts, defer to the opinion of different leaders in America and Israel, and have come to a different conclusion. I am not happy with their conclusion. Frankly, I find it difficult to even comprehend their conclusion. But nevertheless, I accept their right to have arrived at a different conclusion and I am committed to love them as fellow Jews despite their different conclusion.

The Jerusalem Talmud (Berachos 9:1) tells us “Just as no two physical appearances are the same, similarly, no two opinions are the same.” Nobody has ever stopped talking to his or her friend because his eyes are a different color or her hair is a different style. Nobody has ever looked at a friend who is a different height or build or has different features and expressed hostility and anger for those differences. Why? Because we all intuitively know and implicitly accept that we are born with DNA that predisposes us towards our appearance. Our Rabbis were teaching us to recognize that similarly, our genetic makeups, our socio-economic statuses, our backgrounds, our experiences, and our lives predispose us to different opinions, perspectives, and conclusions. We recognize the right of others to look differently and we must acknowledge their right to think differently as well.

After all, what choice do we really have? We are one people, one nation, and one covenantal community. Essentially, we are one family. Sometimes there are members of your family whose actions or behavior you disapprove of. There are times that you will disagree passionately with a member of your family and not even be able to comprehend their perspective. We don’t always like every member of our family. But nevertheless, the Torah tells us we need to love them.

V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha, love your neighbor as yourself, is not a commandment to feel a romantic love or even an emotional connection necessarily. It is a mandate to exhibit love and relate with love, even when dealing with someone you don’t like. We don’t have to always approve nor must we always agree, but we must conduct ourselves as a loyal and cohesive family. We are all in this together. We are responsible for one another. We have a shared history and like it or not, we will share one destiny.

Congress’s vote on the Iran deal is going to be taken soon and there will come a day after. As we approach Rosh Hashana, it is time to worry about what our family will look like on that day after if we can’t talk to one another, live with one another, or love one another again. What would our lives look like and how would our people function if we were no longer talking to all of those with whom we disagreed on Oslo and the Gaza withdrawal, or with whom we still disagree on abortion, gun control, same sex marriage, or the Iran deal? The command to love your neighbor doesn’t apply only to your neighbor with whom you agree and who votes like you and practices Judaism like you. It is most challenging and most meaningful when practiced with those with whom we disagree and even of whom we disapprove.

Loving someone doesn’t mean we can’t disagree or debate passionately. It means we must remain respectful throughout our dialogue and that when the dust settles and the debate ends, the things that we disagree about don’t define our relationship. It means when we disagree, even on something as critical and consequential as the Iran deal, we don’t write off or break off from those that have come to a different conclusion on how to best care for America and Israel. Loving fellow Jews means having their backs, being loyal and functioning as a family, regardless of our differences. It means not being dismissive, derogatory or denying others the right to be different and still be part of our family.

Granted, Jewish law acknowledges that there are those who have forfeited the right to be loved by us. The wicked, our rabbis teach, have removed themselves from our family and are deserving of our animosity and dislike. While perhaps members of Neturei Karta who wave the Iranian flag and conspire with Israel’s enemies belong in this category, clearly those who love Israel and seek her security but disagree with us on how to achieve it, are full members of our family, deserving of our love and our loyalty.

When we stand before the Almighty on Rosh Hashana, He will not have an interest in hearing from us if at the same moment we seek to talk to Him, we are not talking to groups of His children. When we recite kedusha in the repetition of the Amidah each day, we bow to our left and to our right. Rav Shlomo Wolbe writes (Alei Shor 2:431) that before we can affirm our love of God and acknowledge His holiness, we first need to look at those on the left of us and those on the right of us and affirm our love and acceptance of them.

On seder night, we perform yachatz and break the middle matzah, and then recite magid, the story of our exodus. Our story can only be told, explains the Bobover Rebbe, if we bring both halves to the table. Our story is still being written and this is a crucial chapter. We can and should continue a rigorous debate and, given the stakes, respectfully lobby as hard as we can for our side. However, we need both halves at our family table. Rosh Hashana is coming and if we want Hashem to find favor with us, we need to find favor with one another.

It is time to heal our family and find a way to love one another even when we vehemently disagree with one another. Only then can we sincerely come before God as one nation, one people, one family, turning to our Father in Heaven for a year of peace and prosperity.

Six Lessons From Being Called to Appear in Court

“Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

Though there wasn’t formal training for this in Rabbinical school, over my career I have appeared in court on behalf of others at least a few dozen times. Often it is to testify on a divorce matter, but I have also served as a character witness on drug issues, financial disputes and even a horrible false accusation.

Remarkably, more often than not, the occasions that I have been asked to come to court have fallen during this time of the year, in the month of Elul. As I think back on those court appearances, it strikes me that there are many comparisons we can draw to the great court dates we will all face just a short time from now on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, and the lessons we can learn:

Fate – The tension, anxiety and uncertainty in a courtroom are palpable. All parties, including highly skilled legal counsel, know that they can advance the most persuasive arguments and provide the most compelling evidence, but ultimately the judge – and the judge alone – will rule in their case as he sees fit. Despite all of their efforts and pleadings, the fate of the litigants is solely in the hands of the judge who will determine their future. There is much we can learn from observing the temperament, behavior and disposition of those appearing before a human judge. As we stand before the Almighty, how can we truly feel and acknowledge that our fate is in His hands?

Decorum – The decorum in a courtroom is impeccable. Given the seriousness of appearing before a Magistrate, the parties all dress formally and show concern for the message their appearance sends. There is an absolute and total intolerance for talking, eating, ringing cell phones, noisy children, or anything else that will either distract from the proceedings or compromise the prestige of the courtroom. How is the decorum in God’s courtroom? Do we create an atmosphere that is equally intolerant of distractions and frivolous conversation? Do our dress and behavior reflect the seriousness and majesty of the forum in which we stand and the reason we are there?

Preparation – No lawyer or client walks into a courtroom without having prepared. The strategy is devised, the witnesses are prepped, and opening and closing arguments are scripted and rehearsed. Many hours are spent in preparation before appearing before the judge in an effort to achieve a favorable result. The gemara in Berachos tells us that the early pious Jews would spend an hour in meditation, preparing to pray. How much preparation do we do? Do we dedicate a few moments to clear our minds and focus our thoughts before making our presentation before the Judge of Judges?

Swearing In – I find it noteworthy that before a witness testifies, the court asks him or her to swear or affirm in God’s name that he or she will tell the truth. Implicitly, the statement acknowledges God’s existence and the consequences of dishonoring His name by lacking fidelity to the truth. The court assumes that the fear of God will prevent any witness from violating his oath to tell only the truth. Jewish law also mandates taking an oath in certain circumstances. The gemara explains that invoking God’s name will automatically elevate the seriousness with which the witness approaches his words. Our words matter, particularly in a courtroom, and using them accurately, appropriately and with integrity speaks to our very credibility as people. Do we always say what we mean and mean what we say? Are we honest, truthful and precise when reporting experiences to others? Does the fear of God lead us to be honest with God -– and ourselves?

Record – Every courtroom has either a stenographer sitting and typing each word that is uttered, or a recording device that captures everything that is said. Lawyers, witnesses and litigants must choose their words carefully, for once they are expressed they enter the record for posterity. The mishna in Avos encourages us to always remember Who is above us and therefore to recognize that an eye is always watching, an ear is always listening, v’chol ma’asecha b’sefer nichtavimv – and all of our deeds are recorded forever. Do we live with a cognizance and consciousness that what we say and do matters and that they enter the record of our lives, even when nobody is around to see it?

Contempt of Court – Part of the proceedings I recently observed included an accusation that one party had been in contempt of court for not following a court order. The judge turned to the accused party and said, “Do you understand that when I issue a ruling, if the other party can supply evidence that you knowingly and willingly disobeyed me, I will find you in contempt of my court and there will be great consequences? I can throw you in jail, and you will remain there until you obey my judgment.” Do we honor and obey the rulings of the Judge of Judges? Do we recognize that our choices have consequences and we are accountable for what we do? Are we in contempt of God’s court?

The comparisons could go on, but it is evident what I am trying to communicate at this solemn season of the Jewish year. Sitting in a courtroom in the month of Elul is, I have found, among the best sources of inspiration and motivation to prepare for the Days of Awe so that they are, indeed, awesome days of prayer, introspection, reflection and growth.

I hope and pray that none of us has to appear in a courtroom as a litigant. But should you find yourself there as a witness or juror or prospective juror, take advantage of the opportunity to observe and learn and find inspiration for your appearance in God’s courtroom in the hope that you will find favor in His eyes and secure a favorable outcome from the Supreme Judge.

When is the Last Time You Had Goosebumps?

Follow your heart. I Love you with all my heart. Have a heart. Wounded heart. Heartache. Heartbroken. Disheartened. It is clear that of all organs in the body, the heart is the accepted symbol of emotion.

But this metaphor is not only employed by our English vernacular. The Torah itself promotes this symbolism. “V’yadata ha’yom v’hashivosa el levavecha, v’ram levavecha,know today and place it in your heart, v’lo sasuru acharei levavchem, do not stray after your hearts.” This month we are saying in the tfilla of L’Dovid – “lo yirah libi, my heart will not fear, chazak v’yametz libecha, strengthen your heart.” Eleventh century Spanish philosopher, Rabbeinu Bachya Ibn Paquda wrote his magnum opus, Chovos Ha’Levavos, Duties of the Heart. He didn’t call it Duties of the Brain or Duties of the Soul, but rather Duties of the Heart.

Why do we associate emotion with the heart? Why not the liver, the lungs, the kidneys or another organ? Why not the brain, the epicenter of our animated lives?

Understandably, the Greeks concluded that the heart was the center of emotion because they observed the heart rate; the pulse is directly affected by the way people feel. When people get excited their hearts race, when they are sad their hearts feel heavy, and when they are scared their hearts pound in their chests.

The truth is, though we have advanced scientifically and now know that emotion is produced in the brain, not the heart, the heart nevertheless is directly correlated with emotion, and emotion has a great impact on the heart. A cardiologist introduced me to the diagnostic term “stress cardiomyopathy.” A patient sometimes presents with the same symptoms of a heart attack in which the heart muscle can’t pump blood to the body strongly enough. They run every test under the sun and there is no indication of a heart attack. In those circumstances, the cause of the problem, one that is real and dangerous and could result in heart disease, is most often trauma, loss, grief or emotional pain. Hence, the other, literal name for stress cardiomyopathy – broken heart syndrome.

“Lo yavo amoni u’moavi bi’kehal Hashem.” We are instructed not to marry an Ammonite or Moabite even if they undergo conversion. Why not? Why specifically these two nations and, if they convert, aren’t they now Jewish, not Ammonite or Moabite? The Torah itself provides the answer. Moav cannot enter because they commissioned Bilam to curse us and therefore displayed great cruelty. Ammon, too, treated us callously and coldheartedly. “Al davar asher lo kidmu eschem ba’lechem u’vamayim ba’derech b’tzeischem mi’mitzrayim, because they did not greet you with bread and water on the road when you were leaving Egypt.”

We were exhausted, spent, and in need. We were hungry and tired and worn down. What was the reaction of the people of Ammon? Nothing. Indifference. They refused to show us compassion and there were unmoved by our plight. The Torah therefore instructs us that we cannot risk absorbing this behavior, this insensitivity, and this cruelty into our nation.

In fact, we, the Jewish people, are to be distinguished for exactly the opposite characteristic. We are to be recognized for having the biggest, most generous, benevolent and kind hearts. The Gemara in Beitza 32b (“leiv” coincidentally) teaches that Jews are “rachamanim b’nei rachamanim, compassionate the children of compassionate.” Kindness, feeling, and heart are genetically programmed into our spiritual DNA. Consider for a moment – It isn’t a coincidence that when there is a human crisis or catastrophe anywhere in the world, it is often the State of Israel that is the first to respond and the earliest to arrive on the scene to help.

We are to be rachamanim b’nei rachamanim and that is the theme of our Parsha. In many mitzvos we see a goal of cultivating kindness, sensitivity, and heart. Our Parsha teaches the law of sending the mother bird away before taking the eggs she was guarding. The mitzvah of Shiluach Ha’Kein is to preserve our heart, to retain our sensitivity and compassion, even to a bird. Elsewhere, our Parsha introduces us to the mitzvah of hashavas aveida, returning a lost object. It ends with the mandate – “lo suchal l’hisaleim, you shall not be capable of ignoring it.” Be sensitive, have a heart, recognize that someone lost something and is likely anxious to get it back.

To have a healthy Jewish heart means to care, to notice, to feel, to be sensitive, to emote. Symptoms of Jewish heart disease are insensitivity, indifference, and callousness. There is a malady we are all vulnerable to and many are suffering from and in fact each one of us will apologize for it in just a short time from now. On Yom Kippur we will close the list of al cheits by saying al cheit she’chatanu l’fanecha b’simhon leivav. Rashi explains that simhon leivav means otem haleiv, the clogging of the heart. Just as cholesterol clogs the physical arteries and contributes to heart disease, so too apathy, indifference, and callousness clog the spiritual arteries and contributes to hardheartedness.

I am truly worried that as life as become increasingly complicated and the demands for our time, energy and resources have increased, we have lost the space and focus necessary to pause and feel. We are suffering from simhon leivav, timtum ha’leiv, our hearts are clogged up. Life is moving so quickly, we are constantly on the move, running, driving, our phone is ringing, our texts are buzzing, our email is beeping, the news is blaring and we don’t have time or the ability to stop and process what we have seen, or read, or watched. We live at warp speed and that means we are increasingly losing the capacity to be moved and to feel.

The information age coupled with the social media age has made us practically numb. In the past, how often were we exposed to emotional articles? Yes, maybe a few times a year someone bothered to cut out an interesting article and send it to you. But today our inboxes are filled with links to articles we must read, videos we must watch, speeches we must hear, all before lunchtime. The overflow of emotional information leaves us numb and emotionless. We click through one article after another. We see images and maye videos of murdered news people while eating breakfast and sipping coffee. We read Facebook posts of someone dying from cancer over lunch and keep chewing. We see pictures of our friend’s newborn baby on Facebook minutes after she is born and we continue to do work or multitask instead of pausing to be excited by the miracle of childbirth. It all happens so fast and disappears so quickly we have become numb, timtum ha’leiv.

When is the last time you felt true sympathy and empathy for another? When did you last feel overwhelmed with joy for a friend? I don’t mean you liked their status update or sent a smiley face text. I mean real joy for another. Are you sensitive to the pain and suffering of others? A pervasive culture of sarcasm and cynicism has led to a sense that nothing impresses me, nothing surprises me, nothing saddens me, nothing excites me, and nothing moves me.

When is the last time you saw or read something so great you got goose bumps? When is the last time you saw or read something that literally moved you to tears?

In his religious diary Tzav V’ziruz, written in the 1930’s, the Piaseczner Rebbe, Rav Kalonymous Kalman Shapira who died in the Warsaw Ghetto wrote so presciently of the importance of maintaining our ability to feel and stimulating our feelings in healthy ways:

The human soul relishes sensation, not only if it is a pleasant feeling but for the very experience of stimulation. Sooner sadness or some deep pain rather than the boredom of non-stimulation. People will watch distressing scenes and listen to heartrending stories just to get stimulation. Such is human nature and a need of the soul just like its other needs and natures. So he who is clever will fill this need with passionate prayer and Torah learning. But the soul whose divine service is without emotion will have to find its stimulation elsewhere. It will be either driven to cheap, even forbidden sensation or will become emotionally ill from a lack of stimulation.

The Piaseczner Rebbe identifies a very real human need – the need to feel, to be stimulated, to have a heart that is beating and pulsating. That is why some ride roller coasters and others watch sappy movies. It’s why we read and listen to people who anger us instead of ignoring them completely. We crave feeling and we have a choice. We can satisfy that craving with healthy, productive, meaningful feelings or we will be tempted to fill the appetite for feeling with dark, self-destructive, dangerous stimulation.

As we spend the month of Elul seeking to improve our spiritual health and to be shalem, let’s unclog our spiritual arteries by making space in our lives for our hearts to beat and pulsate. Let’s let the emotions and feelings run through our spiritual veins. Let’s take some time to work on our hearts. Let’s be moved by the suffering of others. Let’s find the time and space to be in awe of something impressive, to be moved by something that touches us, to get goose bumps from something that excites us, to be happy for good that happens to us and most importantly, to feel for those around us.

Rabbis & Plumbers: Is the Iran Deal Just Politics?

The Jewish community is undeniably split regarding the highly controversial Iran deal. Sadly, rather than focusing on advocating the merits or demerits of the deal, too many on both sides of the issue have resorted to ad-hominem attacks, name calling, questioning of motives and dismissing the positions of others as just politics.

This week’s Torah portion, Shoftim, contains the call of “tzedek tzedek tirdof, righteousness, righteousness shall you pursue.” Bothered by the redundancy, the Midrash suggests reading the verse as tzedek b’tzedek tirdof, pursue righteousness with righteousness. Even in, or especially in the effort to advocate for and advance a righteous cause, one must never act unrighteously or ignobly.

I oppose the Iran deal. I identify with the position of the mainstream political leadership of Israel, from the left to the right, as well as that of the bi-partisan organizations – AIPAC, ADL, AJC and numerous Jewish Federations that see the deal as dangerous and potentially catastrophic for America and Israel.

To be clear, I presume that those who support the deal love Israel as much as I do and are as loyal to America as I am. I believe that those who support the deal are entitled to their position, as I am to mine, and are well within their rights, and perhaps even duty, to advocate loudly for it. I don’t believe they support the deal because they are, God forbid, self-hating or anti-Semitic or are simply demonstrating partisan loyalty. I take for granted that they support the deal because after considering the issues, they genuinely believe it is the best option available to contain Iran and preserve peace.

I expect the same courtesy in return. I am not against the deal because I am a warmonger, because I have dual loyalty, because I am partisan, or because I am uninformed. I am well aware of the formidable challenges that arise from striking down the deal that the Administration has negotiated.

Yet, I oppose the deal because it fails to achieve the goal of preventing a nuclear Iran while at the same time funding terrorist networks and their efforts to murder Americans and Jews around the world with billions of newly released dollars. Moreover, in addition to all the other weakness and consequences of the deal, it shockingly relies on the Iranians, wholly deceitful and untrustworthy actors, to police themselves.

Rabbis have been criticized for using their public platforms to advocate against the deal and for their efforts to rally their congregations to lobby to strike it down. I have been told that politics don’t belong in the pulpit and I could not agree more. Shuls must be non-partisan and provide safe spaces for people with diverse political positions to feel comfortable and welcome and to pursue spiritual inspiration without fear of intimidation, discomfort or exclusion. I am extremely proud that a few years ago, Boca Raton Synagogue adopted our civility statement that appears in our shul literature and on our website and calls on our members to be respectful of others’ views and always speak and act respectfully and civilly.

In my career in the rabbinate, I have never used the pulpit to publicly endorse a candidate or promote a particular political position. And yet, I do not hesitate in these critical days to use every opportunity to encourage our community to lobby our elected officials to vote against the Iran deal because to me, this issue is not one of politics, but one of possible pikuach nefesh (life and death), hatzalas Yisroel (saving the Jewish people) and the preservation of the Jewish state.

I recognize that one can manipulate an issue to have it appear as one of pikuach nefesh. Still, I feel that this issue is truly exceptional, as the stakes include weapons capable of conducting genocide against our people and the possibility of billions of dollars flowing to sworn enemies that surround Israel. These threats transcend politics and demand leadership from the pulpit even if those in the pews have diverse positions.

In reaction to rabbis weighing in on the Iran deal, Shmuel Rosner writes in the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, “One thing is quite certain: Rabbis have no advantage over plumbers when it comes to understanding and assessing the agreement with Iran. They have no better professional qualifications and no more relevant experience.”

Rosner is correct; rabbis are not categorically smarter, necessarily more qualified or more insightful. However, I believe that rabbis, unlike plumbers, do bear an awesome responsibility to be outspoken leaders on issues of historic significance to Israel’s security as well as to the well-being of the free world. Rabbis have been charged with being both students of Torah and of history and applying both our analytical skills and knowledge to try to guide our constituencies in an informed, educated manner.

While the Holocaust raged and millions of Jews were being slaughtered, the American Jewish Committee (AJC) and the American Jewish Congress rigorously debated the best course of action on behalf of the Jewish people. The former feared instigating anti-Semitism and therefore advocated for quiet, behind-the-scenes efforts, while the latter called for protests, rallies, and demonstrations.

The prominent and influential Rabbi Stephen Wise worried that American Jews would be accused of dual loyalty and worked to undermine the vocal efforts of Hillel Kook, who used the pseudonym Peter Bergson. Despite the opposition of the Jewish establishment, Bergson was successful in taking out over 200 newspaper advertisements and even produced a movie shown in cities across the country calling attention to the Nazi atrocities and on America to intervene.

When Bergson (Kook) called on the Jewish community to act, was that politics or pikuach nefesh? When two days before Yom Kippur in 1943, Bergson organized 400 rabbis to march to the White House and demand to meet with the president, was that politics or pikuach nefesh?

I would like to believe that Rabbi Wise and the leadership of AJC loved their fellow Jews in Europe and were staunchly committed to do all they could to put a stop to the genocide and rescue their brethren. They surely thought that the best way to achieve those goals was to work quietly with behind-the-scenes diplomacy that wouldn’t call attention to or raise suspicion of American Jews.

With the benefit of hindsight, would they now agree that they were mistaken in the strategic position they took? We can’t know, but we do know that Elie Wiesel has argued that Jews ought to have chained themselves to the White House until Roosevelt was willing to act.

Nobody would look back and dismiss the debate between Wise and Bergson regarding advocacy during the Holocaust as politics. Nobody would read a sermon of a rabbi from 1943 calling on his members to lobby their elected officials to intervene and say it had no place in the synagogue.

I am not suggesting that the current situation is perfectly analogous to the Holocaust or that those who support the deal are akin to Rabbi Wise and the AJC. I am simply saying that there are momentous points in history when the stakes are so high and the potential consequences so calamitous that they cannot be dismissed as politics. In moments like this, rabbis should not be censored or silenced, but should be supported in fiercely advocating whichever position they feel will best protect the interests of America and the safety of Israel.

340 rabbis garnered significant attention by signing a letter in support of the Iran deal. I admire their advocacy, even while I could not disagree more with their position.

I hope that every rabbi will show leadership on this issue, whichever side of this debate they find themselves on. In that spirit, I personally urge the hundreds or thousands of rabbis who oppose the deal to not remain silent.

Please encourage your rabbi to sign our letter in opposition of the Iran deal (here) today.

A Risk Free Investment Opportunity

I have an investment opportunity for you with a guaranteed return. It will yield dividends for years to come and has absolutely no risk. Are you interested?

Someone once asked Baron Edmond de Rothschild about his net worth. He turned to his personal assistant to come up with a calculation. The assistant returned with a number based on his real estate holdings, investments, cash, etc. Rothschild turned to her and said, “That isn’t my worth. The markets could crash, the assets could be seized, and I could lose it all in an instant.” He then opened his desk drawer, removed his charity ledger and said, “This is my real worth. What I have given to charity nobody could ever take away from me.”

Just imagine if all the money that was lost in Ponzi schemes, crashing markets, upside down real estate holdings and poor investments over the last decade went into charitable causes instead. The owners would have been out the money either way, but if it went to charity, it would now and forever remain part of their true net worth.

Unlike playing the stock market or participating in risky investments, giving tzedaka to a worthy and credible cause carries no risk and guarantees a return to the generous investor. Indeed, the dividends accumulated from funding appropriate causes are felt not only in this world in the form of satisfaction, meaning, and purpose, but they continue to pay generously in the world to come.

We are all well familiar with the tuition crisis and it has been discussed ad nauseam at board meetings, conferences, and Shabbos tables. Important efforts to advocate for school choice are continuing and I encourage you to get involved in any way that you can.

However, until big picture projects are fully developed and achieved, there remains a very real and present need. Since returning to Boca, I have been contacted at least once a day by a family seeking to keep their children in Jewish schools but facing the very real possibility of having to enroll them in public schools. You see, our local Boca Raton Jewish day schools are certainly doing their part. They collectively give out over 6 million dollars of tuition assistance each year.

The schools and those that support them are doing their part. Yet nevertheless, there are families that still cannot meet the generously discounted tuition contract they have been offered and without the assistance of our BRS Scholarship Fund to bridge the remaining gap, their children will simply not be able to attend Jewish school and receive a formal Jewish education. There are legitimate reasons to have to leave a Jewish day school, but money should not be one of them. A Jewish education is a necessity, not a luxury, and every Jewish child deserves a chance at one.

Our BRS Jewish Education Scholarship Fund does not support the operating budget of schools or make donations to their fundraisers. The fund provides money on behalf of specific children in specific circumstances to make sure that they can remain in a Jewish school. Helping the youth of our community is not the job of schools alone or of other parents who happen to have their children in the same school. It is the job, responsibility, and halachic obligation of each and every one of us alike, whether we have young children at home or are empty nesters.

The fund has zero administration or overhead costs. Every single penny that is donated goes directly towards enabling our community’s children to remain in their school. We all receive countless envelopes in the mail, solicitation calls to our homes and knocks on our door asking us to give to causes, organizations, yeshivas and projects around the world. Many of them are worthwhile and deserving of our assistance. However, tzedaka begins at home. Halachily, we are mandated to take care of our local needs before we begin allocating elsewhere.

This fund is not helping anonymous, unfamiliar children in far away places. It is enabling your neighbor’s children, the children who sit next to you in shul or riding their bicycles down your street, to remain in Jewish schools.

Put simply, supporting the fund is an investment opportunity that is guaranteed to pay a return. The dividends are informed, inspired, passionate Jewish children who are committed to Torah, the Jewish people, and the State of Israel. With all of the challenges we are having inspiring our youth, the research and statistics don’t lie. One cannot compare the Jewish identity of a child that attended a Jewish day school with one who didn’t.

While analysts may be suggesting that the economy is coming back, the amount of scholarship our schools are giving out and the amount of desperate people who have been contacting me daily would suggest otherwise. I need your help more than ever.

In a few weeks, we will stand in Shul and emotionally proclaim – “U’Teshuva, u’tefilla u’tzedaka ma’avirin es ro’ah ha’gezeirah, repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil decree.” The Machzor is not suggesting that we bribe God with money in this High Holiday season. It is suggesting that we show that we understand the true definition of net worth with a commitment to generously invest in God’s children.

Don’t be a foolish investor. Please contribute whatever you can to our BRS Jewish Education Scholarship Fund and make an investment sure to give you an excellent and risk-free return.

Go to http://www.brsonline.org/cheseddonations and generously enter an amount.

Please consider one of the following levels:

$1-$1000 – Friend of Jewish Education

$1000 – $1800 – Supporter of Jewish Education (includes entry into the annual Poker/Blackjack tournament)

$1800 – $3600 – Sponsor of Jewish Education

$3600 – $5000 – Pillar of Jewish Education

$5000 and up – Patron of Jewish Education

Extraordinary People Posing as Ordinary, All Around Us

A few years ago, I was leaving Shul after davening Shacharis one morning when an older gentleman in our community stopped me and asked if I had a minute to talk. The truth was, I was running late and barely had time to say hello let alone entertain an entire conversation. But, he seemed so happy to run into me in the parking lot that morning and so I couldn’t say no. He shared with me a most remarkable story that changed not only the way I see him as an individual, but also the way I relate to people in general.

A few days before this chance encounter, we had sat on the floor together with many others reading Kinnos, commemorating the tragic suffering of our people throughout the ages. In my introduction to the Kinah composed by Yirmiyahu Ha’Navi for Yoshiyahu, I shared an insight of Rav Soloveitchik. Why, asked the Rav, do we pause in our mourning for millions of Jewish martyrs throughout the millennia, to focus on the story of a particular individual? He explained that when we reflect on the magnitude of the loss of Jewish lives throughout our history, the sheer number is overwhelming and staggering. Indeed, paradoxically, the greater the quantity of individuals lost, the more challenging the quality of our sense of grief for them. The Rav felt that we dedicate an entire Kinnah to Yoshiyahu, a single individual, to remember that the loss of millions is really the loss of one plus one plus one plus one. Each person is unique and irreplaceable. Each loss equals the loss of an entire world.

I continued by relaying a personal experience from leading March of the Living, a tour for teenagers of Poland and Israel. One of the most powerful points of the trip is the visit to the death camp, Majdanek. From the intact barracks to the enormous pit of human ash, touring Majdanek is simply devastating. One of the most stirring images of the entire trip is a barrack in Majdanek filled with shoes that were confiscated from Jewish prisoners.

Before entering the barrack filled with shoes everywhere, we encouraged the students not look at the overwhelming scene of countless shoes that lay before them. Instead, we told them, pick out one shoe to focus on. Look at it and consider, who was its owner? How did they feel when they bought those shoes and when they slipped them on for the first time? Where did these shoes lead them? Recognize that each shoe was worn by a person who had a mother and father and perhaps a spouse and children. They had a personality, dreams, ambitions, and goals. All of it was tragically cut down and all that is left to commemorate them is the shoe that is before you.

Standing in the parking lot a few mornings later, the elderly man reminded me of my remarks Tisha B’av morning and told me that he must share a story. He proceeded to say that when he was a young child he was taken, together with his family, to Auschwitz. His brothers and father were taken one direction and he was ordered to go a different one. He found himself in a room with other children and elderly people. The Nazi’s instructed them to take off their shoes and undress. There was one older man who was wearing the most magnificent, fancy, expensive shoes. He went up to the guard and said, “I won’t leave my shoes here; they are my prize possession.” The guards laughed and said, “do you think where you are going you are going to need shoes” and commanded him to undress.

Our community member continued by telling me that even as a young child, when he heard the guard’s laugh and his unforgettable words, he thought to himself, dos iz nisht gut, this is not good, and instinctively ran, avoiding all of the guards, until he rejoined his brothers and father. Looking back all these years later, he confessed, he doesn’t know how he made it from one barrack to another without being caught or seen or how he was able to blend in with the grown up men as a young boy. But, he said, the only reason he survived is because of that man’s fancy pair of shoes and the fact that he wouldn’t part with them.

I walked away from the conversation that morning feeling so small, utterly insignificant, and frankly somewhat embarrassed. Until that morning, this man, whom I have always tried to be friendly towards, was nothing more than ordinary to me. True he had an accent and likely had a “story.” But, he modestly blends in and quietly goes about his business as if he has led the most mundane, uneventful life when in truth his life, was anything but.

If you look around you on a regular basis, there are seemingly ordinary people who in fact have led the most extraordinary lives. This shy, humble, quiet man had displayed unfathomable courage, tenacity and strength in his life. His attendance at davening every day of the week is in truth an enormous expression of faith and devotion to the Almighty, despite the hardships, tragedy and loss that he has confronted.

All too often, we only learn the background of a person when it is too late to ask them questions. We walk away from their funeral inspired, impressed, but also curious to learn more. With their loss goes their story as only they could tell it, the answers to our questions and the solutions to that which piques our curiosity.

The Torah (Devorim 32:7) tells us, “Sh’al avicha v’yagedcha z’keinecha v’yomru lach, Ask your fathers and they will tell you, your elders and they will explain to you.” Our fathers and mothers and our elders have so much wisdom, incredible life stories and extraordinary experiences to share with us. We stand to gain enormously by learning from them. However, “sh’al,” we need to first ask and show interest.

That day I learned that a man I had considered an “average Joe,” was indeed a mighty hero. Let’s not wait until it is too late to learn other people’s stories. Be inquisitive, ask questions, and most importantly recognize that behind most ordinary people are extraordinary experiences that we can all learn from, if only we take a moment to ask.

Shabbos Nachamu – Comfort Through Unity

This was supposed to be the week of nechama, of comfort and consolation. We just got up off the ground where we were mourning the tragedies and atrocities of the last 2,000 years and reflecting on the root cause of our suffering, specifically baseless hatred. In the very week in which we were to learn the results and consequences of infighting, intolerance, and conflict among our people, a Jew in the holy city of Jerusalem stabbed six fellow Jews simply because he objects to their lifestyle. Compounding the severity of the chillul Hashem caused by his actions is the fact that the individual identifies as Orthodox and as Torah observant.

The Orthodox community does not deserve to be measured or judged by the repulsive, abhorrent, and detestable actions of a sick and crazy man. We do, however, deserve to be measured and judged by how loudly and clearly we proclaim how intolerable and repugnant such behavior is.

Loyalty and devotion to Torah values and laws are absolutely never license for aggression, abuse, harassment, or violence. Truly observant Jews don’t raise their voice, their pen or their fists aggressively against those with whom they disagree. Authentically observant Jews must pursue God’s path of deracheha darchei noam, inspiring, motivating, and persuading others to embrace Torah values with pleasantness and peacefulness. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims, their families and all traumatized by this horrific event.

How can we in fact find comfort on the Shabbos of comfort in the wake of this latest horrific incident?

“Nachamu nachamu ami, yomar Elokeichem.” This Shabbos we read the first of the seven haftorahs of comfort and consolation that bring us to Rosh Hashana. Yeshayahu seeks to ease our pain by relaying Hashem’s promise of comfort. The question begs itself: What is different this coming Shabbos from this past one? Just one week ago on Shabbos Chazon and continuing into Tisha B’av we cried and lamented the horrific slaughter of our people throughout the ages. We relived the Crusades, the Inquisition, the burning of our Talmud, the Holocaust and the threats Israel faces yet today. Nothing has changed and nothing is any different now, one week later. So where is this comfort the prophet promises?

Perhaps the answer can be found in an ancient and mysterious text called Perek Shira. Many believe that it was written by Dovid HaMelech after he completed the book of Tehillim. Perek Shira is referred to by many of our greatest sages including the Ramban. It lists 84 elements of the natural world including the sky, the earth and all kinds of animals and shows how the natural world sings God’s praises by attributing a Biblical verse to each one. The message of this magnificent work is that the whole world is a symphony and we can learn from what each aspect of the world contributes to God’s song.

Perek Shira states: “Retzifi omeir: nachamu nachamu ami, yomar Elokeichem.” The Retzifi is a certain type of bird and through its life we learn about nachamu nachamu ami. What does this cryptic statement mean? What does the Retzifi do and what did Dovid HaMelech mean to suggest about what we can learn from it?

The Knaf Renanim, written by the great 17^th-century Moroccan Kabbalist Rabbi Avraham Azulai, explains that this bird lives in the North and does not like the cold. Other species of birds fly south for the summer, but the Retzifi stays behind because he does not want to miss the beginning of the spring. So how does this species of bird survive the cold and harsh winter? Rav Azulai explains that they descend into a bottom of a ditch and they form a tight circle there. Each bird puts its head under the feathers of the one next to it. The Retzifi survives the winter and stays warm only by connecting with his fellow birds. Remarkably coordinated, these birds take care of themselves by finding cover and simultaneously provide cover for the one next to them under their wing. It is from this behavior that we learn the meaning of Nachamu Nachamu Ami.

According to this interpretation, Dovid HaMelech was suggesting that if we want to know how to weather the cold, survive the darkness, and endure through the harsh exile we must follow the model of the Retzifi. Survival and comfort are all about practicing achdus – unity and togetherness. If we confront our challenges with empathy, kindness and a desire to draw closer together, we will not only survive, but we will thrive.

True, nothing is different one week later than it was on Tisha B’av. Nothing has changed about our circumstances or our standing in the world. And yet, there is one thing different. Through sitting on the floor together, through crying on one another’s shoulder and through feeling each other’s pain we have become closer, more cohesive and more of a people. That is the comfort that Yeshayahu promised. Nachamu, nachamu ami…if you feel a sense of ami, my united people, if this hardship brings you closer instead of driving you farther apart, then indeed, nachamu nachamu you have found comfort despite the difficulty.

Nachamu nachamu ami. When we come together as a people with a sense of togetherness and unity, when we feel the pain of one another and genuinely empathize with our brothers and sisters no matter what differences we may have, we find nechama. We cannot necessarily control the harshness of the exile, but we can make sure that it never drives a wedge between us.

There are legitimate issues that divide us from one another. We must remain steadfast in our commitment to uphold and defend our immutable Torah and its timeless values. But we must never confuse our efforts to inspire and teach ideas and principles with a justification or excuse to be harsh or cruel to people.

Rav Aryeh Levin, the great tzadik of Yerushalayim, was once walking when he sensed that a boy from his neighborhood was trying to avoid him. Rav Aryeh caught up with the boy and asked about his wellbeing. The boy admitted that he was avoiding the Rabbi because though he was raised religious he had taken off his kippa and was no longer observant. He was embarrassed and afraid to be engaged by the Rabbi so he tried to avoid him. When he heard this, Rav Aryeh turned to the boy and said, you know, I am a short man. I cannot see what is on your head. I can only see what is in your heart.

Iran’s leaders have consistently called for the destruction of Israel and the genocide of the Jews. Like so many of our past enemies, they have never distinguished between religious and secular, between orientation, political affiliation, or denomination. In their desire to bring about our extermination, all Jews are equal and the same. They see us as one, it is time for us to see ourselves as one, united and undivided.

The Talmud states, “ilmalei meshamrim yisroel shtei shabbasos mi’yad hayu nigalin. If only the Jewish people would observe two Shabbosos they would immediately be redeemed.” Why only two Shabbosos and why does Shabbos specifically have the power to reverse the lot of the Jewish people and usher in the era of redemption?

I once saw a beautiful explanation. The Gemara doesn’t mean just any two Shabbosos. Rather, it means if the Jewish people would observe Shabbos Chazon the week before Tisha B’av and Shabbos Nachamu the week after it, Moshiach would come. If we used the week of Chazon to feel the pain, mourn the loss, and acknowledge our shortcomings, and we then observe Shabbos Nachamu to repair ourselves by uniting together as one, redemption would finally arrive.

In the merit of a speedy recovery for the stabbing victims and all of those who are ill, let us all be more cautious and vigilant with our rhetoric towards one another. We don’t have to agree with one another, but we must be kind, respectful and pleasant towards one another if we are to find the strength to endure until Moshiach arrives.