The Incredible Story of BRS’s New 600-Year-Old Torah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Throwing Our Esrogim at the Shabbos App

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asking Mechila on Group Email, Mass Texts or Facebook is Inauthentic

Please forgive me if I don’t send a mass email or group text message or Facebook post asking everyone for mechila. Also forgive me if I see you in the next few days and don’t shoot a “I am mocheil you, I hope you are mocheil me” your way. I will not be doing so, not because I don’t value my relationships, but rather because I value them greatly.

On Yom Kippur we read the story of the asarah harugei malchus, the ten heroic and courageous scholars who were murdered by the Romans. We read their story as part of selichos, the portion of davening in which we are seeking forgiveness and reflecting on what we have done wrong, suggesting that these great scholars died for something we need to think about and improve. Why did they meet their demise in such a horrific way? What did they do wrong?

The Midrash Eileh Ezkera tells us that a Roman emperor came across the story of how Yosef’s brothers sold him into slavery, a crime punishable by death. Noting that the brothers were never put to death as punishment, the emperor decided to execute the rabbis in their place.

Something about the story doesn’t add up. If you go back to the Torah you will remember that after their heartfelt reunion, Yosef reassures his brothers that he bears them no ill will and wishes them no harm. So how is it possible that generations later, ten great Torah scholars could be punished, seemingly with the consent of the Almighty, for something the victim himself seems to have forgiven?

The great 14^th century Spanish commentator Rabbeinu Bachya makes an incredible comment and shares a critical insight about the Yosef story. He notes that though the text says that Yosef reassured his brothers, he never actually forgave them. They never achieved genuine mechila because their request for it was superficial and shallow.

The brothers didn’t seek forgiveness in a sincere effort to repair a relationship; they pursued forgiveness as a strategy to avoid consequences and move forward. Saying sorry as a strategy, rather than as a genuine, personal desire to heal and make amends, is counterfeit and falls short.

Sorry is not a policy or protocol. The purpose of an apology is not to achieve a pardon relieving us of accountability or retribution. The most genuine apology comes with an understanding that saying “I’m sorry” may bring with it consequences. Too many are only willing to express regret if you assure them that it won’t hurt and that nothing bad will happen as a result. But that isn’t a real sorry. True apologies come with remorse, regret, and acceptance of responsibility and accountability.

We live in a litigious society in which saying sorry and admitting guilt can be risky. Organizations, institutions, universities, doctors and even yeshivas and rabbis are counseled: ”When an allegation of wrongdoing or malpractice is made, don’t apologize. An apology can be viewed as an admission of guilt and potentially bring great liability.”

But isn’t accepting the liability exactly what saying sorry and apologizing are all about? Is sorry without liability really an expression of responsibility, remorse, or regret? Like it or not, saying sorry is an admission, and sometimes admissions require making meaningful amends and even providing restitution to right a wrong. In some cases, the restitution can be financial, but it can also include repairing a reputation or compensating the victim in other ways.

Saying “You were wronged and hurt, but my lawyers have counseled me that I can’t say more,” is not an apology and doesn’t repair the damage that was done.

A true apology is therapeutic and healing to the recipient specifically because it validates their feelings of hurt and tells him or her that you acknowledge their pain, accept accountability for what you have done and are fully prepared to make things right. The brothers’ apology to Yosef fell short because it was only a strategy and not genuine, and therefore Yosef never truly forgave them or granted real mechila, resulting in the asara harugei malchus.

In his Alei Shor, Rav Wolbe, the great Mashgiach of Yerushalayim, tells an incredible story: Rav Eliyahu Lopian was a great Rosh Yeshiva in Yerushalayim. A man once came up to him and asked mechila. Rav Lopian insisted on knowing what the mechila was for, what did the man say about him. The man repeated the lashon ha’rah he had told about Rav Lopian. Listen to what Rav Lopian told him: “That is a very harsh thing you said; I don’t know if I can forgive you. Come back to me in two weeks. I will study lots of mussar and work to accept your apology with a full heart.” The man came back in two weeks and Rav Lopian greeted him with a huge smile and said, “I have learned a lot and thought hard and I have been able to forgive you fully and with a whole heart.”

Rav Wolbe concludes that true mechila is an avodah; it is hard work and requires great effort. True forgiveness is not superficial, shallow or pretend. It is demanding, difficult, painful and, most importantly, genuine.

We live in a culture of superficial apologies. “So sorry, please forgive me.” “Are you mocheil me? I am mocheil you.” “Please forgive me if I said or did anything that bothered you.” “If I said or did anything?” If? Does that sound like acknowledgment, accountability, remorse and an attempt to repair?

Mass text messages or group emails or Facebook posts that say “I know I probably hurt some of you and I hope you are mocheil me because I am mocheil you” don’t acknowledge anything, don’t demonstrate accountability, don’t express remorse and don’t repair anything. They may make us feel good or sometimes make us look good, but they don’t accomplish the goal of truly asking for forgiveness and don’t meet the requirements of teshuva on Yom Kippur. It’s not I expressing this view; it is the Chafetz Chaim. In his Mishna Berura (606:3), he writes “Whoever asks mechila from the masses does not fulfill anything if he knows he has hurt any specific individual.”

Flippant, mass requests for mechila are not just insincere; they can be hurtful and damaging. The Shelah Ha’Kadosh, Rav Yeshaya Horowitz, writes that one should not ask mechila generically or at all unless they know that they have done something specific to hurt someone and are ready to take responsibility. For if we just turn to one another and casually say “are you mocheil me,” he says, someone may go home and think, why did he or she ask if I am mocheil them. I wonder what they said about me, or did to me.

In other words, says the Shelah, casually and superficially throwing around “are you mocheil me, do you forgive me” is a selfish act that makes the person saying it feel better, but could easily have the unintended consequence of hurting another person. Hurting others is not what saying sorry is all about.

To be clear, when it comes to our pain and hurt, we are encouraged to be forgiving. Indeed, every night when we go to sleep, as part of the bedtime Shema we recite a formula that grants mechila to all those who have hurt us. We should be eager and quick to forgive, for, if not, we are the ones weighed down and we suffer by carrying that grudge which only grows heavier with every passing moment.

However, when it comes to the hurt we have caused others, we shouldn’t be quick, generic or formulaic. We must be sincere, direct, specific and genuine.

The likelihood is, whether intentionally or unintentionally, in the last year we have hurt people with our words, in writing or in person, with our actions or even with our inactions. We owe them a real apology, not a Facebook post or a bcc in a mass email. Make some time, seek them out and look to make sincere amends, regardless of the consequences such an admission may generate.

Not only will their heart be lighter heading into Yom Kippur, but yours will be as well.

Using Subtlety in our Rosh Hashana Greetings

Among the truly sweet things about the New Year are the heartwarming greetings and salutations being exchanged everywhere. It is heartening to have our mailboxes filled with Rosh Hashana cards, our inboxes filled with Rosh Hashana emails, and our Facebook timelines filled with Rosh Hashana wishes and blessings, even if they are not as personal and direct as when offered face to face.

The typical greeting includes a prayer that the year ahead be better than the previous one and that, in the words of our Rabbis, tichle ha’shana v’kileloseha, may the past year and its misfortune be behind us.

Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach zt”l makes a critically important point. While there are aspects and events of the past year for each of us that we wish didn’t happen, it is simply ungrateful and unappreciative to the Almighty to suggest in the slightest that there was nothing good about the previous year. Instead, he suggests, we should be careful in our greeting to specifically thank Hashem for the blessings of the past year and only then pray that the year ahead be even better.

Rav Shlomo Zalman’s insight is subtle, but yet so important in reminding us that while Rosh Hashana is a time to identify what went wrong the previous year and look ahead to a wonderful year to come, it is also a time to recognize the goodness and kindness Hashem has shown us and express our endless gratitude for it.

With that in mind, I want to thank the Ribono Shel Olam for all the kindness He has shown us this past year and wish all of us a year ahead of even greater heath, happiness, prosperity, personal growth, and peace in our homes, Israel and around the world.

Kesiva v’chasima tova!!

It’s Time for a Spiritual Growth Spurt

While Human Growth Hormone is considered performing enhancing and has been banned by most professional sports, it is becoming increasingly necessary and popular with a different group. Pediatric endocrinologists will tell you that as a result of all of the hormones in our food, milk and even shampoo, many children’s growth is being highly affected. Some children are maturing too slowly while others are developing way too quickly. There is therefore a great proliferation today in the amount of children taking growth hormone to stimulate and control their development.

How do doctors know how much of the hormone to give them? Fascinatingly, Doctors do a bone age study by x-raying a child’s left wrist. They can examine the growth plates and predict with a very high accuracy how much time the child has left to grow. They may find there are eight months or twelve months or even two years left for this child to reach the height that they will live at the rest of their lives. Doctors then prescribe a dose based on the finding to maximize the child’s height in the time that he or she has left to grow.

We have a finite window of time to grow physically. Indeed, most of those reading this are done growing. You may want to be 7 feet tall or dream of dunking a basketball. However, you can take all the growth hormone in the world, if you are done growing, it is simply too late. You are as tall as you are going to get.

However, what is true for our bodies is not at all true for our souls. Remarkably, when it comes to personal character growth, there is no window that closes. We have the potential and capacity to grow spiritually and emotionally at any point in our lives. It is never too late. A person can be ninety five years old, on their death bed, and experience an incredible growth spurt if they simply decide to be different, to become better, to look at something a different way or to change a belief they have held for many years.

Beginning this Saturday night through Neilah of Yom Kippur we are going to recite the phrase “al tashlicheinu l’eis zikna, kichlos kocheinu al ta’azveinu.” It is normally translated as, “Do not cast us away in old age; when our strength gives out, do not forsake us.” But if that is the meaning, shouldn’t it say b’eis zikna, don’t cast us away during the time of old age. Why does it say l’eis, to old age instead?

The Tzitz Eliezer, Rav Eliezer Waldenburg offers an explanation that will change the way you say this sentence not only this year, but every year gong forward. He explains that our impression is that young people are filled with energy, vitality and aspiration. They have their whole life ahead of them to grow, mature, develop and change. Older people, we tend to think, are set in their ways, fixed in their behavior and unlikely to change.

We ask Hashem, “al tashlicheinu l’eis zikna,” don’t cast me away or give up on me as if I can’t change, as if I am old, and set in my ways. Don’t forsake me when I don’t believe I have the strength to change. Help me recognize, Hashem, whether I am young or old, healthy or infirm, that I have the capacity to change, that I can be different, that I am not stuck in my ways and that it is me to become better.

We are just a few days away from Rosh Hashana. Now is the time for a spiritual growth spurt. Judaism teaches “ein davar ha’omeid bifnei ha’ratzon, nothing stands in the face of our will.” The Ohr Gedalyahu, Rav Gedalya Schorr explains that our actions and reach are limited. Our speech is finite as there is only so much we can say. But our will, our desire, our ability to dream about who we can become and what we want to accomplish is limitless and therefore nothing stands in its way.

Let’s fulfill our dreams together through recognizing our spiritual vitality, youthfulness and ability to grow, no matter what our age.

How to Pay a Proper Shiva Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Private Information Has Been Hacked

A terribly disturbing scandal occurred this week that generated varying reactions. A number of celebrities who saved highly personal pictures in a storage cloud were hacked and their revealing pictures were leaked online. When the FBI catches those responsible, they could face hundreds of years in prison for the crimes they committed and the damage they caused the victims.

Some were terribly disturbed by the unavoidable realization that we are all so vulnerable. This egregious crime occurred to high-profile celebrities, but one cannot help but recognize that when any of us embraces technology and implement it in our personal lives, we assume the great risk of intruders, thieves, and hackers violating our finances, our relationships, our privacy and our most personal pictures and information. It is terribly disheartening and even frightening to accept that once we upload something about us anywhere on the Internet, no matter how many passwords or firewalls are in place, we have potentially just shared it with the public.

This scandal provoked a fascinating debate with some commentators pointing fingers not only at the perpetrators, but also at the victims for uploading such private and intimate pictures in the first place. How foolhardy and reckless to take unnecessary risks, some argue, like walking alone at night in an unsafe neighborhood, or leaving valuables visible in your car essentially tempting criminals to harm you. Certainly the perpetrator bears the sole responsibility for the crime and must be held accountable, but the victim is not entirely free from criticism when he or she takes unnecessary risks with known dangers. Why would celebrities, male or female, or anyone for that matter, upload photos of themselves exposed, thereby also exposing themselves to the high risk of being hacked?

With all the reactions and discussions that have ensued, one of the important conversations that I believe must take place is about the boundaries and limits of how we use technology. As a community that is committed to the values of appropriateness and modesty, is it ever acceptable to take a racy selfie, even if it is never uploaded anywhere?

Don’t get me wrong; Judaism is not a prudish or puritan religion. The pursuit of pleasure in intimacy in the appropriate context is not only tolerated, but is a mitzvah and indeed a marital obligation.

However, intimacy is achieved, according to our Torah, by experiencing something privately, confidentially, in a reserved and modest way that is inaccessible and unshared with others. While taking an immodest picture with no intent to share it widely might seem innocuous and benign, I would argue that in fact it is harmful, for it devalues and cheapens one of our greatest commodities we have, our self-respect. Intimacy quickly becomes indecency when it is recorded or captured.

Our parsha, Ki Seitzei, teaches “V’haya machanecha kadosh, and your encampment should be holy.” While the verse regulates conduct on an army base, our Rabbis expansively interpret the pasuk to be a directive for every Jewish home and community, challenging us to live with modesty and sanctity.

Please God, we will never be hacked and our private information will never be shared. But if we were, are we proud of what the public would learn about us? I am not referring to our financial data, but rather to our online viewing history, our pictures, the sentiments and language in our email and text message conversations and the record of how we truly used our time.

If the thought of someone seeing those things makes us blush, squirm, be filled with regret, anxiety or fear,* then realize that without being hacked, someone already does have access to all of our private information, both in the online cloud and down here on earth.

“Histakeil b’shelosha devarim v’ein atah bah liydei aveira: dah mah l’maaleh mimecha, ayin ro’eh, v’ozen shoma’as, v’chol ma’asecha b’sefer nichtavin.” In Pirkei Avos our Rabbis teach: “Look at three things and you will avoid misbehaviors – know who is above you, an eye is watching, an ear is listening and all of your actions are being recorded.”

During the beginning of the twentieth century, as the world was experiencing a technological revolution, the Chafetz Chaim wrote in his Shem Olam that we can learn valuable lessons from all the new inventions. Concerning the camera, he wrote that it enables us to palpably see that the Mishna’s warning of “ayin ro’eh, an eye is watching,” is not just a metaphor, but a tangible reality.

Learning that some celebrities were hacked and their personal pictures shared, many were filled with regret for things that they had uploaded or looked at and wished that they could somehow erase the history or take the information down. Sadly, the reality of technology is such that once something has entered the online world, it can never be fully removed or erased.

The same is not true when it comes to the eye our Rabbis described that watches from above and records all of our actions. With His boundless mercy, the Ribono Shelo Olam, the Master of the Universe, enabled and empowered every one of us to spiritually edit our online and offline histories by simply engaging in the sincere process of teshuva. Recognizing our mistakes, regretting them, and genuinely committing not to repeat them purges the indiscretions from our past and deletes them from our record permanently.

Rosh Hashana is rapidly approaching and the three books will be open before the Almighty. We have less than three weeks to get busy editing our personal history from this past year so that when it gets revealed before the Heavenly court we can be proud of all that it contains.

*For those struggling with looking at inappropriate material on the Internet, https://guardyoureyes.com/index.php is an excellent resource for help and support.

Are They Humoring Us or Do Our Solidarity Visits Matter? Reflections on 2 Days in Israel this Week

I have been longing to go to Israel all summer. Each day while following the news and connecting closely with the unfolding of events I have felt drawn to walk the land of our forefathers, to be one with our brothers and sisters and to experience the destiny of our people not as a spectator on the sideline, but on the big stage itself. While some have experienced Israel fatigue, growing tired of the rallies, sermons and articles focused almost exclusively on Israel, I have felt the opposite – an increasing appetite and craving for more.

All summer long we have watched and read about the incredible displays of unity, the remarkable acts of chesed, the courage and bravery of a people forced to endure the kidnapping and murder of three of their children, the incessant fall of rockets, the danger of sending their boys into battle and the challenge of living normal lives in utterly abnormal circumstances. The people of Israel have more than risen to the challenges; they have been brave, filled with faith, and resolute in their unwavering commitment to our land, our people and our values. Like an uncomfortable itch that is gnawing to be scratched, each and every day of this summer I have been uncomfortably itching to show solidarity and to be part of our people’s experience in Israel directly, not simply watching from the side.

And so, when the opportunity presented itself to join nine of my rabbinic colleagues on a very brief solidarity visit to Israel organized by the Orthodox Union, I jumped at and I remain deeply grateful to my wife and our BRS President for giving their consent, support and encouragement.

What could one really accomplish in two days? How much could one see, do, and experience? The answer, I learned, is an enormous amount.

Our group made a shiva visit to the Turgemans, whose four-year-old son was murdered by a mortar. We visited an iron dome installation and a tank unit still gathered on the Gaza border. We met the people of Sderot, shopped in their stores, visited their Hesder Yeshiva and met with its Rosh Yeshiva. We met with an incredible youth program in Sderot and participated in a siyum by one of their madrichim (youth leaders) who studied most of the mesechta (tractate) during his time fighting in Gaza. We toured a Kibbutz two miles from Gaza that was hit 19 times by rockets in the last three months alone. We spent significant time with the Shaer family whose son Gil-ad was kidnapped and murdered. We met with the Chief Rabbi of the IDF as well as with Col. Bentzi Gruber, an expert on war ethics who is responsible for directing 20,000 soldiers. We visited Soroka hospital and spent time with injured soldiers and their families.

The real question is did our visit matter, not only to us who got to scratch our itch to be in Israel, but to the people of Israel itself? I must share with you that as I read our itinerary on the plane over, I was somewhat skeptical and even cynical. All summer we have seen pictures and read testimony of American rabbis and lay people who went to Israel to show solidarity. But while the trips made those who took them feel connected, inspired and motivated, what impact did they truly have on those whom they came to support?

Were the soldiers on the army base, the injured ones in the hospital and even the Sha’er family just going to humor us? Were the people in the south and dignitaries we met going to be courteous and kind on the surface, but in their hearts feel like props in a photo op? Our visit would certainly make us feel good, but would it really matter to the people we came to see?

Among the powerful messages of this short trip is not only did our visits matter, but we were blown away by how much they seemed to matter. I want to share with you a few of the reactions to our visit, not as an expression of self-congratulations, but to communicate and hopefully inspire you to coordinate a visit of your own as soon as possible with the recognition that it truly matters.

A few of us took a cab to daven at the Kotel early our first morning. The driver described that in the last 50 days he has barely had any business. He averaged 70 shekels of income a day while his fuel costs exceeded 100 shekel a day. He asked us to encourage visits to Israel as soon as possible to help the damaged tour industry recover and thanked us for being in Israel and supporting the economy.

We stopped in Sderot on our way to an army base in order to buy cold drinks, food and treats. The owners of the stores we entered described how challenging it has been to make a living this summer with so few people leaving their homes as the sirens sounded regularly and rockets fell incessantly. While of course we thanked them for the resilience and courage in not allowing our enemies to drive them from their homes, remarkably they overflowed with gratitude to our group for visiting and showing support. The woman who owns the Judaica store described how she was born in Sderot, got married in Sderot and will not be driven from Sderot. We hit a remarkable impasse when we tried to support her by shopping broadly while she insisted on giving us discounts in appreciation for our visit.

When we arrived at the army base on a steaming hot day, I knew the soldiers would appreciate the goodies, but I didn’t realize how much they would welcome our warm sentiments and love. Rabbis Topp and Posey bought cards written by the children of their community in LA. I watched as they handed out the cards to the soldiers and wondered if they would even read them after we left or just toss them aside. As we were gathering to get on the bus, I was amazed as a soldier rushed up to R’ Topp and asked him, “can I please have one too.” Our well wishes and messages of support clearly matter.

Our visit with Ofir and Bata Galim Shaer was transformative. They are beyond exceptional people who have emerged role models and teachers to us all. Their response to the kidnapping and murder of their son Gil-ad is nothing short of heroic. As we pulled into their home in Talmon, I wondered if they really wanted to meet with us. After all, shiva and sheloshim were completed and I imagined that they must be trying their hardest to return to some sense of normalcy. Not only did they greet us warmly and host us graciously, they were tremendously expressive of their gratitude for our visit and for demonstrating that we have not forgotten their ordeal. We went around and all shared the rallies, tehillim gatherings and sheloshim ceremonies held in our communities. We told them about how you, my beloved friends, felt their pain personally without even knowing them. They told us how our visit closed a circle for them as they heard about the support from American Jewry, but meeting us in person and by extension feeling the love of the communities we represent, gives them great comfort. Ofir hugged each one of us and gave us his email and cell phone number asking us to keep in touch.

There are, thank God, only three soldiers remaining in Seroka hospital ailing from their injuries due to the war. The first, Dan, who has undergone 12 surgeries in the last month, was not feeling well enough to receive us, but we spent time with his family. The second, Yehudah, sustained a direct injury to his head and has been in a coma for the last few weeks. He will please God wake up to find out that his wife has given birth to their son. The bris took place outside of his hospital room shortly before our visit and we were invited by the family to eat from the seudas mitzvah and share in the simcha, as bittersweet as it was. The third soldier, Roi, has undergone three surgeries in the last month and still needs more. We visited with him and his parents and frankly they all seemed tired from the attention and eager to just go home. They were lukewarm in our conversation until we shared with them how in all of our Shuls, every single day following davening we say tehillim on his behalf and for all of his comrades injured in battle. Roi and his parent’s eyes literally opened wide as they had no idea and couldn’t believe that people in our communities from the East Coast to the West Coast of America think about and care deeply about them literally every day. Their shyness to our visit turned to expressive appreciation as we invited Roi to visit our communities and enjoy a vacation to America on us.

Not everybody can go to Israel on short notice for a very brief trip. However, we can all continue to do more to show our appreciation, support and love to those who are sacrificing so much, some economically, some through trauma, some sustaining injuries and some paying the highest price for our people and our land.

If you can plan a trip to Israel in the short future, don’t hesitate, do it now. If you can’t, you can continue to contribute to causes that provide for our soldiers, you can send cards and messages to those who have experienced loss from this war and you can continue to daven for the recovery of the injured and the well-being of the IDF.

We learned so much from this trip, but most of all we learned that our expressions of support and love truly matter, so please don’t stop sharing them.

Confronting Mortality

It is remarkable how precious and cherished personal items can become “stuff” for someone else to get rid of literally overnight. After a BRS member recently passed away, I was visiting with a member of her family in her home when he shared that he had set aside items that are meaningful to him and proceeded to kindly offer me to take whatever I like for myself or for the Shul.

I looked around the room at the china cabinet, the bookcase and the paintings on the wall and was overwhelmed with the realization that just a week before, these were the precious possessions of this wonderful person and only a week later, they are now stuff, junk, things that need to be donated, given away, or even trashed.

It is said, you never see a U-Haul attached to the back of a hearse. Our Rabbis teach that while you cannot take any of your possessions with you, you can take your acts of kindness and good deeds. Contact with the finality of death naturally elicits a sense of our own mortality and provokes thinking about what is truly important in life and how we should take advantage of every single day.

“Re’eh anochi nosein lifnechem hayom beracha u’kelalah.” Our parsha begins by telling us, “behold I have placed before you today blessing and curse.” This verse is traditionally viewed as expressing the concept of free will, of our ability to recognize that set before us are options of good or evil, right and wrong and that the choice is ours to make. However, I would like to suggest an alternative punctuation and meaning.

Re’eh anochi nosein lifnechem…hayom. Behold, I have placed before you…today, the concept of mortality. I have set before you a feeling of transience and impermanence. That feeling can be channeled in a number of ways, the pasuk continues. It can result in beracha, blessing, or it can result in kelala, in curse.

If we allow our feeling of vulnerability, of hayom, to bring us to a state of despair and of depression then it is kelala. If the recognition of our mortality makes us complacent, stagnant or content, it is a curse.

However, if our sense of being fragile and unstable, of hayom, causes us to take advantage of the moment for it may be fleeting, than we have turned it into beracha, for it has been the catalyst for change.

Indeed, Chazal, our Rabbis, have contrasted these two perspectives of hayom. On the one hand, they discourage us from approaching life with the attitude of echol, v’shaso, ki machar namus, eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die. This attitude and interpretation of hayom leads to a hedonistic lifestyle. Recognition of our own mortality has for some become a license to be self-serving and pleasure seekers. With this outlook, hayom, our vulnerability, is a curse.

But Chazal encourage us to say rather im lo achshav aimasai, if not now, when? Judaism teaches us to take our feelings of fragility and vulnerability and use them as springboards to grow, change and make a difference. A sense of mortality should encourage us to take advantage of every moment and to cherish every opportunity. Indeed, the Torah subscribes to an attitude of carpe diem, seize the day to contribute to society, positively affect other people and become a better spouse, parent or grandparent.

An awareness of just how unpredictable and volatile our lives can be must motivate us to stop procrastinating and take advantage of hayom, of right now. As we prepare to welcome in the month of Elul, let’s make a commitment to stop saying I will get to it later. This can truly be our best year ever, if we only say ha’yom, I am going to make it happen today.

Battling Under the Mask

Like many others, I was terribly upset to learn of the untimely passing of Robin Williams, who took his own life this week after apparently battling psychiatric illness, depression and addiction for many years. The man who made so many others so happy was in fact himself so incredibly sad.

There are many lessons to learn from his tragic death. Discovering the depth of Williams’ depression and the devastating, irreversible impact it ultimately had on his life has provoked an interest from the public in learning more about mental illness and its treatment. Some have been espousing the mistaken, ignorant and even cruel notion that a clinically depressed person’s suicide could have been avoided if he only tried harder, cared more, or recognized how much it would hurt the surviving family.

But clinical depression is not a mood that one can snap out of, it is not a feeling that one can adjust, and it is not an emotion that one can regulate. It is a chemical condition and requires treatment, support, empathy, and patience like any other ailment or illness. Halacha itself acknowledges that the mentally unhealthy person is struggling not only with their mood depressed, but also with their free will to an extent suppressed. Though technically a person who commits suicide is forbidden from being buried in a Jewish cemetery, practically we allow it by explaining the suicide as the result of mental pain, anguish and disturbance, rather than an objective choice made in good health.

We certainly need to do more in our communities to learn about depression, addiction and mental illness and to create a stigma-free environment where those struggling can reach out for help and support without fear of the consequences for their reputation or that of their family.

There is another powerful lesson that strikes me as I reflect on feeling surprised and unexpectedly deeply sad in learning of Robin Williams’ death. We live and operate in a culture that invites and promotes being overly invested in the lives and personalities of celebrities, athletes, politicians, and public figures. We think we know them and even identify with some of them. But the truth is, we neither know nor identify with them as much as the idea of them, the roles they play and the limited part of their lives we are allowed into.

I thought I “knew” Robin Williams because when I was a teenager he made me laugh and as a young adult some of the characters he played and scripts he performed touched me and provoked meaningful thought and conversations. I appreciated his self-bestowed honorary Jewish status, respected his kind personality and saw him as a mensch.

But we now know that we never really knew Robin Williams. We admired his talents, treasured his artistic contributions, and liked what we were allowed to see of him. But we didn’t actually know him and we don’t truly know any of the actors, athletes or public personalities whose lives we follow too closely and whose opinions on things they have no expertise about, like Israel, we care way too much about.

Robin Williams’ death is an awakening to the fact that all we know is the persona (Latin word for mask) public personalities don, but we don’t know the real them, and never will. We should save our being invested in, and caring about, people we truly know and with whom we build actual and personal relationships.

The truth is, even some of those we appropriately are invested in wear costumes each day. Many of those around us including co-workers, acquaintances, and neighbors, and even loved ones and dear friends wear the mask of happiness, and seem put-together and functional on the outside while they are battling loneliness, sadness, or perhaps addiction or depression on the inside.

Pirkei Avos (2:4) quotes Hillel who said: “Do not judge another until you have stood in his place.” Since it is impossible to stand in another person’s place, to be them, to have their baggage or to live their struggles, we can never judge another. Instead, we should be kind, sensitive, supportive and understanding of everyone around us.

Ian Maclaren, a 19^th century Scottish author and Theologian said it well: “Be Kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Robin Williams’ death is indeed terribly sad. Let us at least use it to be motivated to recognize that we often don’t know what is happening under the mask, and therefore we must always be as supportive, kind, and understanding as we can be to all with whom we come in contact.

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