Roll Calls and Life’s Calling

For most of our history, the expression “roll call” did not have positive connotations for the Jewish people. Daily roll call during the Holocaust, for example, meant standing still, possibly for hours, and wearing a thin uniform, often in freezing conditions. Today, there are two annual roll calls that I try to listen to and they both literally give me goose bumps as they exhibit just how far our people have come.

AIPAC’s annual Policy Conference attracts thousands of pro-Israel activists. Attending a conference for a few days with such diverse people united by their passion for a strong US-Israel relationship is nothing short of exhilarating. By far, the peak of the annual experience is the roll call at the gala event on the final evening of the conference. The names of all Senators, Congressmen, Ambassadors, and members of the Administration in attendance are proclaimed loudly as those gathered cheer on these dignitaries’ support of Israel. It is said that AIPAC’s policy conference is the largest gathering of members of Congress each year, other than the State of the Union.

The magnitude of support reflects the tireless work of AIPAC advocates and our capacity to truly influence policy towards Israel. That influence may be more necessary now than ever. As the international community seems poised to strike a deal with Iran that would ease sanctions, Iranian State Television took the opportunity to broadcast a simulated strike against Israel. Prime Minister Netanyahu is emphatic that this is a historically bad deal with potentially catastrophic consequences. Now is when loyal Israel activists will need to use all of our influence to encourage Congress not to accept a sanctions reduction, but instead to turn up the pressure in an effort to persuade Iran to cease its path to nuclear weapons.

The second roll call may be even more impressive than the first. Every year Chabad Shluchim (emissaries) gather from around the world for a conference. It, too, culminates with a banquet and a Shluchim roll call welcoming the emissaries from all corners of the globe. While I have not yet had the privilege of attending this dinner in person, I make an effort to watch it online each year and to listen to the often far and exotic locations where the 4,500 Chabad Shluchim faithfully serve.

I was incredibly inspired and moved this week by a meeting with Rabbi Yisroel Hahn. Rabbi Hahn not only has close connections to our community, but also has become a dear friend and colleague. A few years ago, he and his family moved to Spokane, Washington, to create the Chabad of Spokane. I remember asking him then why he chose Spokane and being blown away by his reply. He explained that there is a waiting list to go out and open a new Chabad house. One jumps at the first opportunity given to him without hesitating or asking questions.

Rabbi Hahn shared with me the incredible progress he has made in the short time that he is there, including creating a Shul with a beautiful Adult Education Program, starting a small pre-school and building a Mikvah, since the closest one otherwise would be hours and hours away. Hearing of the remarkable accomplishments, I asked him, how many Jews are there in Spokane? His response was shocking. There are 1,000–1,200 Jews. Not 1,000 families, but 1,000 Jews. I was flabbergasted and asked, why in the world would he be exerting such effort and making such extraordinary personal sacrifices to be in a place with a whopping total of 1,000 Jews?

His answer touched me in a way that I will not soon forget. He explained that when the opportunity came up to go to Spokane, he recognized it as his mission in life. Life is not about serving our happiness, our pleasure or ourselves. Life, he quoted the Rebbe as teaching, is about identifying our mission and our purpose and pursuing them with everything we’ve got.

To be clear, taking one’s observant family to Spokane Washington for a few years is a tremendous act of mesirus nefesh, selflessness. Moving there permanently is an act of literal self-sacrifice, sacrificing one’s pursuit of his lowly self in order to perform a mission and actualize a higher self. You see, when a Chabad emissary accepts a shelichus, a mission, they buy a one-way ticket to their new destination because they are there for good. It makes no difference that there is no Kosher food available, or that their children have to be home-schooled to get a Jewish education, or that there is often no mikvah, no eruv, and only a handful of other shomer Shabbos people. It doesn’t deter them that there is no endowment, or consistent membership dues, and that if they are going to keep the lights on it is up to them to raise the funds to do so.

The Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of blessed memory, had a vision that has changed the Jewish world. Go almost anywhere in the world on business, vacation, or to live and you will find a Chabad house welcoming you and providing for your Jewish needs. He created an army that works together across the world to spread the light of Torah and to extend a loving hand to Jews no matter where they are found.

Rabbi Hahn explained to me that the Rebbe believed in sending a shliach to any place that has even one Jewish resident. At first I thought this to be inefficient, but after further consideration I realized, would we not go anywhere in the world to show love and concern for even one of our children no matter where he or she may be found? To the Rebbe and to his loyal Chabad shluchim, every Jew is a precious child deserving of mesirus nefesh, selfless dedication and devotion.

After trying to absorb some of Rabbi Hahn’s excitement, enthusiasm, and fervor I asked him – where do you think you got this commitment from? Who imbued you with the willingness to negate your self-interests in order to pursue a sense of mission? He thought for a moment and while he couldn’t identify a particular person, it was clear, he said, that it is the result of the culture and philosophy of Chabad, communicated through word and example, and celebrated at every opportunity.

As I sat across from Rabbi Hahn, he, the leader of a community with a maximum potential of 1,000 people and me, the Rabbi of a Shul with over 700 families and 1,000 children alone, I felt terribly small and insignificant. Rabbinic greatness is not measured by the size of one’s membership list, the expanse of one’s campus, or the scale of one’s budget. It is defined by the calling towards selfless dedication and the noble devotion to serve God’s children faithfully, wherever they may be.

To me, producing generations of followers, eager to suffer mesirus nefesh in order to answer a divine calling, is the Rebbe’s greatest achievement and legacy. Such devotion is unparalleled in Rabbinic circles among any other denomination or any other segment of orthodoxy. The 4,500 Chabad shluchim are the unsung heroes of our people: manning positions and strongholds in places we may visit, but we would unlikely ever be willing to live. They sacrifice greatly in order to show love and be a resource for Jews, no matter where they may be.

As our ancestors stood at the roll calls of their oppressors, they never could have imagined what roll calls mean to us today. The roll calls at AIPAC and the Shluchim Conference, display strength and influence in the physical and spiritual realms alike. Let’s not take either for granted, and instead let’s continue to show steadfast support to both so that we can benefit from their impact on Am Yisroel and Eretz Yisroel, values that matter so much to us all.

Kosher Competition

Can a community ever have too many Kosher restaurants? Is there a point in which the market is saturated and the addition of another establishment will hurt the viability of the existing ones? Should the local Kosher supervising agency legislate issues of competition, or should they allow a free market in which the consumer determines which establishments survive?

These are some of the most difficult questions that often confront any Va’ad Ha’Kashrus (Kosher Supervising Agency). Among my many responsibilities, I have the privilege of serving as co-chair of the ORB Kashrus, the Orthodox Rabbinical Board of Broward and Palm Beach Counties, one of the largest community-based, non-profit kosher va’ads in the country, providing supervision to over 100 restaurants and caterers.

On the one hand, we feel a tremendous loyalty and responsibility to the owners and proprietors of the establishments we supervise. As a non-profit enterprise, we seek to minimize the expense of keeping Kosher by providing Mashgichim in the most affordable and efficient way we can. Our goal is to support our establishments in any way possible, including providing useful feedback and helping promote them. The restaurant and catering businesses are among the hardest and most demanding in general, but being Kosher adds an additional degree of difficulty and overhead. We should all express our gratitude and appreciation to them for their risk and hard work in providing us wonderful Kosher options in our community.

However, on the other hand, we feel a tremendous loyalty and responsibility to the Kosher consumers, for ultimately we represent them and serve their interests. Most of the time, the interests of the owners and consumers are aligned, but there are times in which they come in conflict. Owners want the fewest competitors while consumers value having many options and choices.

South Florida has seen an incredible amount of turnover in Kosher establishments. Every few months we hear of new places opening and existing places that are closing their doors. Proprietors argue that there are simply too many options and the market is so diluted that nobody can do well. Many forget that when they opened for business, there was an existing establishment advancing the exact same argument against our allowing them to open. We are regularly encouraged to call a moratorium and not provide supervision to any new restaurants. What should we do? Is there merit to their argument?

Jewish law recognizes hasagas gvul, literally, infringement of boundary, as an unethical, predatory business practice that is forbidden. The Talmud (Bava Basra 21b) cites the example of a person who sets up his fishing net adjacent to someone else’s net such that he catches all the fish that were headed to the first person’s net. While it is considered halachikly wrong and actionable to directly “steal” income, the Talmud and later authorities are less clear if a person introduces competition to the marketplace that doesn’t directly take or appropriate costumers, but simply provides the consumer with an alternative.

The application of the laws of hasagas gvul are very complicated and complex. Rav Moshe Feinstein (Igros Moshe, Choshen Mishpat 1:38) quotes the Chassam Sofer and agrees that one may not open a business if it will destroy someone else’s livelihood, defined as removing his ability to put food on his table. This ruling is not limited to kosher restaurants, but is directed at all businesses, thereby restricting someone from opening a car leasing business, graphic design, a legal practice, or a cell phone accessory store if it will destroy the parnasah of a fellow Jew in the same neighborhood. Rabbi Soloveitchik had a much more liberal view of hasagas gvul and, for reasons that are not entirely clear, ruled that in America there are no restrictions on competition and no application of the laws of hasagas gvul, in kashrus or any other business.

Even if one adopts the position that hasagas gvul applies in contemporary circumstances, there are a few cases in which all authorities agree it is not judicable. For example, the Rama, Rav Moshe Isserles, the authority for Ashkenazim rules (Chosen Mishpat 156:7) that if the new competitor will provide the consumer with a better price or better quality product, there are no restrictions to his opening.

I am very sympathetic to the owners’ position and am committed to do whatever I can to help them. That said, however, my personal view is that the ORB should not legislate competition. Our mandate is limited primarily to supervising the kashrus integrity of the food. Of course we are involved in the appropriateness of the environment (For example, we wouldn’t supervise a night club even if all food was technically kosher) as well as the proper treatment of all staff, health guidelines, etc.

I believe we should leave the question of hasagas gvul to the jurisdiction of Beis Din, the Rabbinical court. If a particular owner feels that a new competitor is “stealing” his livelihood, I would encourage him to take the competitor to a din Torah, just like I would encourage a person in any other business that feels threatened by the unethical business practice of a competitor.

Just because we happen to supervise the kashrus, why should the Kosher business be more protected or guarded from competition than any other. Just as other businesses operate in a free-market environment forcing them to provide the best service and the best product at the best price, so too the Kashrus industry is best served with a healthy portion of competition. If the competition grows unfair or unjust, in my opinion the address to protest is Beis Din, not the ORB.

As I said earlier, the ORB is a non-profit organization and my co-chair Rabbi Davis and I do not receive one penny for the time, energy, and aggravation we expend on its behalf. One of the benefits of being non-profit and community-based is that we don’t personally stand to gain whatsoever by having more supervisions and we don’t forfeit any money by losing an establishment. All of our decisions are guided by the consideration of what is best for the consumers and communities whom we represent while at the same time seeking to support the wonderful owners who tirelessly work to provide kosher establishments for all of us. I pray that our decisions and policies are appropriate and correct.

The Kaddish Club & The Gift of Mourning

Two weeks ago, Adrian Peterson, a professional football player, suffered an unimaginable tragedy when his two-year-old son died as a result of child abuse. Forty-eight hours later, he played football saying, “Football is something I will always fall back on.” Whether you view it as playing a game or returning to work, Peterson’s reaction, while seemingly extreme, is not in fact unusual.

In an article in Sports Illustrated, Jon Wertheim provides examples of other athletes who responded to tragedy by returning to business as usual. In September of 2012, 19-year-old Tevin Chris Jones was killed in a motorcycle accident. Tevin’s brother, Torrey Smith, a wide receiver for the Ravens, played in a game just 24 hours later and delivered one of his best performances, catching six passes for 127 yards and scoring two touchdowns. In 2003, famed quarterback Brett Favre played one day after losing his father and turned in one of his most legendary and spectacular performances in a nationally televised Monday night game. In 1990, weeks after his mother’s death, Buster Douglas knocked out the previously undefeated Mike Tyson.

The capacity to display tremendous resilience and return to life so soon after suffering loss seems extraordinary. However, Wertheim argues, it is in fact quite ordinary. He references George Bonanno, a professor of clinical psychology at Columbia University in a study entitled, “Loss, Trauma and Human Resilience: Have We Underestimated the Human Capacity to Thrive After Extremely Aversive Events?” Bonanno found that there is little evidence that grief is incapacitating. “Resilience is the norm,” he said, “Not the exception.”

Wertheim argues that rather than urging taking time off for bereavement, we should encourage people to recognize that they have the resilience of Adrian Peterson and that they could get back to their work immediately. As I read the article, I couldn’t help but think, they could, but should they? Just because people may have greater capacity for resilience than they know, does that mean they should deny themselves the opportunity to grieve and mourn and display the resolve to move on? Is moving on really the best response to death?

The members of BRS’s new Kaddish Club definitely don’t think so. Last week, our Shul inaugurated a new club that we only wish had no members. The Kaddish Club meets once a month and is comprised of those within their year of mourning for the loss of a loved one. I am grateful to my colleague and friend, Rabbi Shaul Robinson of Lincoln Square Synagogue, who gave me the idea for this fantastic initiative.

Our first meeting was attended by close to 20 of our members and brought together a diverse group, many of whom might otherwise not have met or spent time together. We studied the origins of the Kaddish prayer and why it is so closely associated with mourning, considering that it doesn’t include any reference to death or loss at all. The conversation that flowed was intense, powerful and, I hope and believe, therapeutic.

While the loss of a parent is not the same as that of a child, and the loss of a sibling is not the same as the passing of a spouse, the group bonded over a shared feeling of intense grieving and the pain of transitioning to life without their loved ones. They shared their reactions to the Jewish way of mourning such as the difficulties in trying to never miss a Kaddish, having to schedule vacations near shuls and schedule dinner around davening. While limiting how many families you can share a meal with, missing simchas, refraining from listening to live music and growing a beard for thirty days can be difficult or uncomfortable, the consensus of the group was that the Jewish laws of mourning are a tremendous gift, and they couldn’t imagine confronting death without them.

Just imagine going back to work a day or two after the funeral as if everything is normal when it isn’t. Shiva and its rules provide an ingenious cathartic system that centers the focus on the departed and offers a perfect setting for others to share comforting stories, anecdotes and memories without the mourner being distracted by feeling pressured to go back to work, return to the gym or cook dinner. Shiva makes space to mourn and grieve. During shiva, instead of pulling the bereaved out of their pain and away from their sadness towards us, we join them in their sadness and attempt to extend comfort and consolation.

Sheloshim, the thirty-day period, allows the mourner to begin to transition back to everyday life while still forcing the world to remain cognizant that something for them is different. For the loss of a parent, the year becomes the final period of mourning. Not being allowed to attend a simcha, be part of a large social gathering, or take in a concert for 12 months, is a relief to most mourners who are grateful not to need to find an excuse or justify their absence when the truth is they really don’t feel like celebrating or being joyful while their wound is still open and raw.

While the pain from loss of a sibling, spouse or child is usually acknowledged, many downplay the loss of a parent as it is part of the natural cycle of life. Many don’t realize that losing a parent at any age is devastating, despite our knowledge that the day will come. Rabbi Marc Angel wrote a book over twenty-five years ago called, “The Orphaned Adult: Confronting the Death of a Parent” in which he addresses the impact of becoming an orphan, even at an advanced age. The pain and anguish of becoming an orphan doesn’t disappear in a day or two and doesn’t get resolved by simply going back to work. It deserves to be addressed, validated, and provided an opportunity to express itself in grief and sorrow, just like the loss of other immediate relatives.

So, can we show the resilience to return to work after suffering a loss – perhaps yes. Could we perform at our best, and maybe even better, so soon after losing a loved one? The science suggests we can. But should we – I definitely don’t think so. People deserve an opportunity to grieve, mourn and to focus on their pain without guilt or distraction, and to receive solace and comfort from those who care about them. We are so blessed and fortunate to have a tradition that provides a framework for doing so.

The BRS Civility Statement – Why Now? Why Ever?

(Adapted from a Derasha delivered on Parshas Vayeira 5774)

A little over a month ago, BRS emailed our members our newly adopted Civility Statement that reads as follows:

In the spirit of our mission “Valuing Diversity and Celebrating Unity,” we believe that a community is built on the collective engagement of individuals representing differing perspectives, whether religious, political, or social. As Boca Raton Synagogue is an environment where all of its members and visitors need to feel valued and welcomed, members are required to comport themselves in a manner which reflects mutual respect and a sense of inclusiveness.

In our Synagogue, we value debate about pressing issues. This is consistent with the American democratic tradition. Our sages saw the value of arguments conducted l”shem shamayim” for the sake of heaven,” believing that great minds who engage in respectful debate, will arrive at better solutions. They valued and welcomed alternate views, as do we.

“Derech Eretz,” good and proper conduct, and mutually respectful dialogue are core values of the Synagogue community. These create a “safe place” for inspiration and spiritual growth, the central purpose of the Synagogue. It is a violation of Jewish law and ethics to use harsh language (vitriol) to demonize or to marginalize people with whom one may disagree. Uncivil expression reflects negatively on our Synagogue as well as on the individuals who engage in such behavior.

Boca Raton Synagogue expects its members to act and to speak with kindness and sensitivity to others. It is only in this fashion that a strong, vibrant, and harmonious community can be created and maintained. Adherence to this policy is a requirement for membership in good standing at the Boca Raton Synagogue.

The statement was authored by a diverse group of our members under the leadership of Jeff Klein. Their task was simply to articulate a statement capturing something that we all already know and hopefully live, namely, the basic principle and value of civility or, put differently, derech eretz. The statement was approved by the executive board of the Shul and then by the board of directors. They agreed, almost unanimously, that though our community has no specific or particular struggle in this regard, there is a general deterioration in society of civility and derech eretz and our community, therefore, would be expressing leadership by making a statement of what membership in BRS means.

The board approved the committee’s suggestions including placing the statement in all of our literature such as the Weekly, in sharing it with guest speakers and scholars in residence as a guide for the tone of their talks, and lastly, in what seemed like a good idea at the time, to have every member sign the statement as an affirmation that this is something real and meaningful for our community to work on collectively.

To be honest, I thought the Civility Statement was as ordinary as mom and apple pie. Who wouldn’t agree that we need to treat one another civilly and with derech eretz? I expected very little response and anticipated that if people did have something to say it would be positive and appreciative of the effort to take a leadership position on a growing issue broadly.

Indeed, there was much positive response. A handful of my colleagues reached out to say that they thought it was a great idea and saw it as a model for something they could replicate in their communities. Individuals from our Shul wrote or mentioned that they appreciated the effort to create a warm and open environment for diverse views and positions, and that they greatly valued this effort.

However, I was shocked to have received some strong negative pushback as well. Much of the opposition to the civility statement stemmed from the feeling that being civil and having derech eretz is “obvious” and need not be said. Remarkably, some of those who thought the statement was completely unnecessary expressed their feelings in what I would consider uncivil ways. One person actually took the statement, crossed it out, wrote a note to me on the bottom, saying: “my civility guide is the Torah!! We don’t need another. What hubris!”

Another person cynically wrote:

“How about adherence to

a – not beating your wife or kids….

b – not cheating the government, your fellow Jew…etc.

c – giving Tzedaka in proportion to our means…

d – not speaking “lashon hara “

e – not acting promiscuously

f – not using HaShem’s name in vain

g – etc. etc.

Where are these principles also included in this statement which would be critical to being a member of the Shul??” The email’s author concluded sarcastically, “Of course, minor things such as Chillul Shabbat and Kashruth cannot be included.”

Others, very concerned that they had missed some exciting drama, maybe something a little juicy, emailed me wondering what precipitated the statement. What happened? Who did what to whom? Clearly something happened for the Shul to go to all this trouble. “C’mon, fill me in” was the message I received from many.

As you can see, the Civility Statement elicited strong feelings and reactions in many directions, so I thought it would be worthwhile to share with you how it came to be and why I think it is important now more than ever.

The Beis HaLevi, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, the first of the Brisker dynasty, felt uncomfortable wearing his Rabbinic uniform when traveling. Once, he set out on a journey from Brisk to Baranovitch and didn’t want to be recognized, so he dressed in plain clothing, rather than the traditional Rabbinic uniform. It was a freezing cold Lithuanian winter and the Beis HaLevi was traveling by horse and buggy. The wind was strong enough to go right through to your bones and made being outside unbearable. The driver recognized that they would not reach their destination before nightfall and, together with Rav Soloveitchik, decided to stop at a Jewish inn on the side of the road.

They knocked on the door only to be greeted by a grumpy innkeeper who unsympathetically asked what did they want. They explained that they wouldn’t reach their destination that evening and needed lodging for one night, but the innkeeper was emphatic that he had no room because he was expecting a delegation of important guests. The Beis HaLevi insisted that they would freeze and ultimately the inn keeper relented and told them they could enter so long as they agreed to sleep on the floor at the end of the hallway and pay an exorbitant sum of a ruble for the night. Having no other choice, they agreed.

Not long after they settled in for the night, an entourage of Chassidim arrived, led by their Rebbe, the illustrious Reb Aharon of Koidenov. The innkeeper and his wife rushed to greet the important guests whose arrival they were waiting for. They provided red-carpet treatment, greeted them with big smiles, lit a warm fire, and prepared hot tea.

After warming themselves, the Rebbe, Reb Aharon realized they had not yet davened ma’ariv and went to wash his hands before beginning the evening prayer. He made his way down the hallway when he noticed two Jews sleeping like homeless people on the hallway floor. One of them looked remarkably familiar and upon a closer look Reb Aharon realized that yes indeed, it was none other than the great Talmid Chacham, one of the leaders of the generation, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, the Beis HaLevi. He let out a scream as he rushed to ask the Rav of Brisk, what are you doing lying on the floor?

The Chassidic entourage and the innkeeper rushed to see what the commotion was about. Imagine his surprise when he learned that one of the gedolei ha’dor was in the same inn but sleeping on the hallway floor. The innkeeper was humiliated: how could he have treated such a distinguished guest so casually and cavalierly as if he were an average person? In front of everyone, he immediately turned to the Rav of Brisk and begged forgiveness. “I am very sorry for how I behaved. I didn’t realize that you were the Beis HaLevi.” Without missing a beat, the Beis HaLevi bluntly responded, “I don’t forgive you.” The innkeeper was stunned but he asked again, “I didn’t realize it was you, please forgive me.” Again, the Beis HaLevi said, “I don’t forgive you.” Now, the innkeeper was beside himself. He couldn’t think of anything else he could do other than ask one last time, “please, I implore you Rebbe, forgive me for I didn’t recognize you.”

The Beis HaLevi relented on one condition. “I will forgive you as long as you let me tell you a dvar Torah,” he said.

“In Parshas Vayeira we are taught about two individuals who seem to equally excel at the same mitzvah, hachnasas orchim, gracious hospitality. Avraham Avinu was 99 years old, on the third and most painful day after giving himself a bris milah, a circumcision. Despite the blazing sun, Avraham sits outside his tent desperate to welcome guests. When Hashem finally sends him three angels, Avraham rolls out the red carpet. Without regard for having just had surgery, he runs back and forth and recruits his wife and son Yishmael to take good care of his guests. Though they are angels, Avraham thinks they are anonymous, insignificant Arabs and treats them like royalty. Understandably, the Torah lavishes great praise upon Avraham for his behavior.

Later in our parsha, we find Avraham’s nephew, Lot, seemingly showing the same wonderful behavior as his uncle. When he encounters three angels, he invites them to his home and refuses to take no for an answer. When they acquiesce, Lot prepares a lavish meal for them and, like his uncle, treats his guests like royalty. Soon after, when the wicked residents of Sedom learn of Lot’s guests and demand they be handed over, Lot protects them, risking his life.

One would fully expect Lot to receive great recognition and reward for his excelling at this wonderful mitzvah. Yet, when Lot was rescued from the destruction of Sedom, Rashi goes out of his way to tell us that it is only in the merit of his uncle Avraham and not in his own.” The Beis HaLevi turned to the innkeeper and said, “Why would Lot not have the same merit? Didn’t he exhibit the same behavior? Why did he need to rely on the merit of his uncle?”

The Beis HaLevi explained: “When Avraham hosted the angels, he thought they were regular men, nobody special. Nevertheless, Avraham troubled himself right after surgery to care for their needs with enthusiasm, zeal and devotion. Avraham treated the Arab wanderer as though he were an angel.

Lot, in great contrast, knew from the start he was dealing with angels, emissaries of Hashem. He treated them like royalty, but who wouldn’t take such good care of angels? Lot only lavished such hospitality when it served his needs and advanced his personal agenda. Avraham treated everyone the exact same way and displayed the same honor to a seemingly insignificant stranger as he would to an angel.” The Beis Halevi looked squarely at the innkeeper and said, “It is no excuse to say that you did not recognize me and therefore treated me so harshly. It makes no difference who I was, you should have welcomed me respectfully and graciously, as you should all your guests no matter who they are.”

Avraham, our patriarch and forefather, who remains a model for us until this very day, treated every single person the same way. It is easy to be civil, kind and giving to those who think the same way as you, believe in the same beliefs as you, and vote the same way as you. But that is not when it counts and that is not when it matters. Displaying derech eretz, civility and graciousness to someone who is different is where effort is required and it is when our real worth as descendants of Avraham is measured.

The Netziv writes that the book of Bereishis is called Sefer Ha’Yashar because Avraham and his descendants were yesharim, they were straight, honest, had integrity and treated all people properly. Says the Netziv: “The greatness of the Patriarchs in addition to the fact that they were righteous, pious and lovers of God as much as possible, is that they were straight and honest. Namely, they interacted with the nations of the world, even repulsive, disgusting idolators, with love and an effort to improve their lives since they too are part of God’s creation.”

Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov lived before the Torah was given. We learn about their lives in depth because we are to emulate their interpersonal behavior. Derech eretz kadma la’Torah. Proper conduct, common courtesy, living with civility, come before the Torah and is a prerequisite to Torah. Avraham was called ivri because he was me’eiver, on the other side of every issue from the rest of the world. He disagreed vehemently and passionately with his contemporaries but nevertheless he did so with civility, derech eretz, and graciousness.

So what precipitated the Civility Statement? Why now and why ever? Last year, a woman met with me to explain why she would be resigning her membership to the Shul and not coming anymore. Of course I took a great interest not because of the money or membership but because there was clearly something going on that was bothering her and her family enough to leave the Shul.

Our meeting came closely after the 2012 presidential election and she explained that her personal views on politics were perhaps not the same as the supposed majority. She described that even though she didn’t share her views publicly, didn’t lobby, campaign or proselytize, it wasn’t a secret that she identified with a particular candidate. As a result, she explained, she was treated with animosity, hostility, loathing, criticism, and even name-calling. She went on to explain that she didn’t grow up in an observant community and was relatively new to observance. “I come to shul to find a peaceful, safe space,” she explained. “I come to be with people who want to connect with community and with God. I don’t come to experience negativity and so I will no longer be coming.”

I was stunned. While not rampant or widespread, there is no question that some people who feel very passionately about their positions often don’t communicate them appropriately and respectfully. As I listened to her perspective and experience, I realized how right she was and how responsible I, together with the lay leadership of the Shul, am to help create and maintain a safe, warm and welcoming environment for a wide and diverse array of people.

Around the same time, a member of our Shul forwarded me an email she had received from another member. The recipient was a single woman who posted on the community message board about a singles event she was organizing. A married woman in the community responded to her post by writing: “If you’d stop supporting the TOXIC CANCER you might find someone normal in the crowd where we are right now!” Imagine how you would feel if you were trying to do a noble task of organizing a singles gathering and you receive a hostile email like that.

To be clear, a lack of civility and basic derech eretz is not just about politics. Talking during davening and preventing others from connecting to Hashem is grossly uncivil. One person wrote to me last week, “I was in the main minyan and a woman was talking loudly and incessantly to her two friends during Torah reading. When I asked her if she could kindly not talk so that other people could hear the Torah, she said so nastily: ‘This is MY Shul. If you don’t like it, you can go elsewhere.’ This was so venomous that I just said to her: ‘It’s my shul as well.’”

Walking right past people who are different from you as if they are invisible and aren’t worthy of a good Shabbos, is uncivil. Not holding the door, or cutting the line at a Kiddush, is uncivil. Reading a book while someone is giving a sermon or blocking the view of the speaker from others while you are catching up on davening is insensitive and lacks derech eretz.

A lack of derech eretz and civility is not a local issue. In Israel, we are all familiar with the horrific behavior in Beit Shemesh a few summers ago. Shuls across the country are struggling with how people treat one another and talk to and about one another. Schools are grappling with replacing bullying with derech eretz and common courtesy.

In Congress, just these past few weeks we witnessed perhaps an unprecedented level of bi-partisan incivility. Grown men and women who are supposedly our leaders called one another every name in the book including anarchists, terrorists, jihadists and more. They pointed fingers at one another, called each other names, refused to talk or negotiate and put on display for our children a perfect performance in how not to resolve your differences.

Again, to be clear, the Torah, BRS and the Civility Statement are not seeking uniformity. Diversity is part of our motto and the dignity of difference is fundamental to our community’s mission. We can disagree vehemently, see things in polar opposite ways, behave differently, vote differently, daven differently, and root for different sports teams. What we cannot do is turn differences into divisiveness, or respectful debate and dialogue into bullying, vitriol and demeaning language.

We cannot call names and speak dismissively of others. It is horrible how comfortable we have gotten with referring to public figures with name-calling. “He is such a moron, she is a total idiot, and they are absolute imbeciles.” Instead of debating issues and putting forth compelling positions, we have resorted to calling names, thereby reflecting so terribly on ourselves and putting forth such a negative example for our children.

Yes, there will be times that we must take strong positions, make decisions that will have real consequences and implications, but we must do so with respect, dignity and civility.

I must tell you that not only is it inappropriate, incorrect and unacceptable to speak harshly, it is also not effective. Nobody ever changed an opinion or observance because they were yelled at, called a name or dismissed. Shlomo Ha’Melech teaches us in Kohelles: Divrei Chachamim b’nachas nishma’im. The more gentle, refined and respectful we communicate, the better the chance that our position will be heard and perhaps even embraced. It is not a coincidence that the same Avraham who was the ivri, on the other side of every debate, also succeeded in winning over thousands of followers. His methodology of respectful debate and the power of persuasion proved incredibly effective.

So why did we have to release the Civility statement, doesn’t everybody know that derech eretz kadma la’Torah? Why must we state or sign onto the obvious, I was asked numerous times? The Arizal writes that before davening each and every day all of us should recite, hineni muchan u’mezuman l’kayeim mitzvas v’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha. Why does the Arizal ask us to say it each and every day, doesn’t everybody know to love neighbors as themselves? Isn’t it the klal gadol ba’Torah, it is obvious? And why specifically before davening and not at some other time?

Firstly, you see that just because something should be obvious it doesn’t mean that it need not be said, and said, and said over and over again, every single day. For the Arizal, we are about to come to Shul, daven with the community, interact with a diverse range of people, and we must remind ourselves that our talk with God is only welcome after we have committed to talk properly with people. V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha. “Love my children, even the ones you disagree with, and then – and only then – you can claim to love me,” says God. “Talk nicely to everyone, even those who you differ from greatly, and then you can talk to me.”

Asking people to sign on to the statement is simply a way of creating a campaign and movement to be mindful of how we talk to one another. If you don’t want to sign in, by all means, don’t sign it, but I beg you, I implore us all, to do better at living it. Once again, the BRS Civility Statement did not come about because our community has a particular or acute problem. All communities and society as a whole seem to have a growing problem and with this statement, BRS was simply trying to tackle it head on, rather than ignore or be indifferent to it.

Why not a statement about not beating your wife, not cheating the government, keeping Shabbos, as I was asked with righteous indignation? Because our tradition says derech eretz kadma la’Torah, it doesn’t say not beating your wife kadma la’Torah. Derech eretz is one of the four things that the Talmud tells us constantly need chizuk, not Shabbos or kashrus.

Rather than read an agenda or ulterior motive into the civility statement, I invite you to partner and help us be the safest, most welcoming, and warmest Shul campus in the country. Let’s continue to disagree, but agreeably. Let’s continue vigorous debate, but respectfully, not divisively. Let’s truly be the progeny of Avraham Avinu and treat every human being with dignity and honor and thereby, please God, ourselves be worthy of being called yesharim.

Our Generation’s Sacrifice

There is no question that it takes great mesirus nefesh, personal sacrifice, to be Jewish. For too much of Jewish history, our people have been asked to make the ultimate sacrifice – giving up their lives for clinging to their Jewish identity. In stark contrast, we are privileged and blessed to live in a time in which, for the most part, practicing Judaism doesn’t put our lives at risk or in danger. It is arguably easier and safer to be an observant Jew today than at any other time in our history. So what is the mesirus nefesh, the personal sacrifices, being asked of our generation?

I have heard some suggest that the cost of Jewish education is our test of mesiras nefesh. There is no doubt that it takes great sacrifice for the average family to provide a Jewish education for their children. As difficult and painful as it is to forgo material needs and financial security in order to afford tuition, it seems to me that there is an even greater test of mesirus nefesh that we, the Jewish community of the 21^st century confront, though we probably do not perceive it in those terms or view it in that way.

Most of us are seeking to balance living in two worlds simultaneously. We are Torah-observant Jews, guided and informed by timeless Torah values and principles. At the same time, we are also modern, westernized thinkers, influenced by the social, cultural, political, and philosophical thinking of our time. For the most part, we are able to reconcile these dual identities and resolve disparities without compromising our principles or beliefs.

However, there are times when the two value systems come in direct conflict and clash in a way that creates an incredible tension and forces us to make a choice that could very well expose who we really are and where our values truly lie, when push comes to shove. What do we do when a modern idea, notion, or value is simply incompatible with our religious beliefs? Do we abandon that particular religious belief? Do we creatively reinterpret it or even distort it in order resolve the conflict? Or are we willing to maintain our commitment to the religious position, even if it means living with the discomfort and uneasiness of being on the wrong side of what contemporary society tells us about that issue?

Take, for example, gay marriage. The faithful reader of the Torah and the loyal student of Jewish law simply cannot justify or defend homosexual behavior as being halachikly acceptable. The Torah is unequivocally opposed to the practice of homosexuality, and by extension does not recognize homosexuality as a mode of identity or a romantic relationship between two people eligible to be sanctioned, much less consecrated, through a marriage union. (Perhaps there is room for civil unions as a mechanism to qualify for benefits and rights, but that issue is beyond the scope of this discussion.)

Yet, the issue of homosexual marriage is presented today as a matter of basic civil rights and equality, foundational principles of Western, modern man. Who would ever want to argue against providing civil rights, or be seen as denying equality to any segment of the population? Homosexual marriage, therefore, seems to me a very powerful example of the outright clash between our Torah identity and our modern, Western identity. When we are asked to form an opinion or take a position on this issue, which identity and perspective will emerge dominant? Which belief will we be willing to abandon or compromise in order to resolve the outright contradiction this issue presents to us? (I am referring to the specific question of recognizing marriage, not of how the community relates to those drawn to homosexuality. Of course we need sensitivity, nuance and empathy balanced with a fidelity to halacha and Jewish morals, when addressing this issue.)

Make no mistake, it takes tremendous mesirus nefesh, incredible sacrifice, to be willing to subjugate our contemporary values, and even possibly our personal views, to standards established by the Torah and halacha and to defend and maintain the Torah position, even when it is unpopular and denigrated. Perhaps surrender and submission are our test, our generation’s trial.

Rabbi Soloveitchik saw the story of Akeidas Yitzchak, the binding of Isaac in our Parsha as the quintessential example of what religious life demands of us:

“I recoil from all talk that goes round and round a single topic: that the observance of mitzvot is beneficial for digestion, for sound sleep, for family harmony, and for social position.

The religious act is fundamentally an experience of suffering. When man meets God, God demands self-sacrifice, which expresses itself in struggle with his primitive passions, in breaking his will, in accepting a transcendental “burden,” in giving up exaggerated carnal desire, in occasional withdrawal from the sweet and pleasant, in dedication to the strangely bitter, in clash with secular rule, and in his yearning for a paradoxical world that is incomprehensible to others. Offer your sacrifice! This is the fundamental command given to the man of religion. The chosen of the nation, from the moment that they revealed God, occupied themselves in a continual act of sacrifice.

God says to Avraham: “Take now your son, your only one, whom you love, Isaac, etc.” That is to say, I demand of you the greatest sacrifice. I want your son who is your only son, and also the one whom you love. Do not fool yourself to think that after you obey Me and bring your son up for a burnt-offering, I will give you another son in place of Yitzchak. When Yitzchak will be slaughtered on the altar – you will remain alone and childless. You will not have another child. You will live your life in incomparable solitude. I want your only son who is irreplaceable. Neither should you think that you will succeed to forget Yitzchak and remove him from your mind. All your life you will think about him. I am interested in your son whom you love and whom you will love forever. You will spend your nights awake, picking at your emotional wounds. Out of your sleep you will call for Yitzchak, and when you wake up you will find your tent desolate and forsaken. Your life will turn into a long chain of emotional suffering. And nevertheless, I demand this sacrifice.

Clearly the experience, which was rooted in dread and suffering, ended in ceaseless joy. When Avraham removed his son from the altar at the angel’s command, his suffering turned into everlasting gladness, his dread into perpetual happiness. The religious act begins with the sacrifice of one’s self, and ends with the finding of that self. But man cannot find himself without sacrificing himself prior to the finding.” (Divrei Hashkafa, pp. 254-255)

Avraham had revolutionized the world with the introduction of ethical monotheism. He spent his life preaching loving-kindness and compassion. These beliefs were fundamental to who he was and how he engaged the world. And now, God asks him to violate all that he believes and perform the cruelest act imaginable. Leave aside for the moment the many challenges in understanding this story. The bottom line, says the Rav, is clear. Avraham is confronted with the test of abandoning everything he had come to believe in order to accept God’s will. Avraham was asked to set aside his understanding and to embrace God’s in its place, as incomprehensible and incompatible as it was to his very core beliefs. Doing so would be not only uncomfortable and feel hypocritical, but it would require a supreme sacrifice.

Avraham passed his test with flying colors. Thank God, none of us have been asked to literally do what Avraham was tasked with. However, we too, are regularly asked to set aside our limited, finite understanding and perspective on a given issue and to accept the Divine will as expressed by the Torah and our rabbis. (I recognize that identifying the Divine will on any given issue is often not a simple matter.) As American culture and thinking continues to grow more “progressive” and “enlightened,” many of our traditional Torah values and positions will be increasingly portrayed as archaic and obsolete, perhaps even barbaric or cruel. Our generations test may be – do we have the strength of character and the deep faith to hold true to them nonetheless?

Why would God ever want someone to suffer as an Agunah; can’t we simply declare her unmarried? Why would He prevent a Kohen who falls in love with a divorcee or convert from marrying her? Why would God instill in some of His children a possibly genetic predisposition to homosexuality, thereby sentencing them to a life of loneliness and longing? I, for one, don’t have answers to any of these questions. But what we propose in reaction to these impossible situations in great measure reveals our true allegiance. Is it to God’s will requiring the tremendous mesirus nefesh of submission, or is it to our will and comprehension, requiring the abandonment of God’s word?

And so perhaps the mesirus nefesh question for our generation is – do we manipulate and bend Torah to fit our beliefs, or do we fashion our beliefs to conform to the Torah?

Avraham was prepared to sacrifice his son. Our ancestors were prepared to sacrifice their lives. Are we prepared to sacrifice our need to make everything modern compatible with Torah? I hope and pray that we, like those before us, are up to our challenge.

Are You Essential or Non-Essential?

The dictionary definition of “non-essential” is “not completely necessary.” Synonyms include “dispensable, gratuitous, inessential, needless, and unnecessary.” So imagine the impact on your self-esteem and self-worth when your employer tells you that you should stay home from work without pay for the foreseeable future because you are considered to be “non-essential.” That is exactly what over a million federal workers were told when the government shut down over a week ago. In fact, because the label made so many feel uncomfortable, they have changed the official descriptions to “exempt” and “non-exempt.”

Essential and non-essential. Perhaps when it comes to work these labels can be measured and defined, but when it comes to life is anyone actually non-essential? The Mishna (Sanhedrin 4:5) teaches us, “kol echad chayav lomar bishvili nivra ha’olam, every one of us is obligated to say ‘the world was created for me.’” How do we balance this statement with the declaration of Avraham Avinu, “anochi afar v’eifer” (Bereishis 18:27) “I am but dust and ash?”

Rav Noach Weinberg z”l, the founder and Rosh Yeshiva of Aish HaTorah, used to explain: We are not supposed to say the world was created for me in a self-centered, self-absorbed, hedonistic way. Rather, “the world was created for me” means it falls to me to take care of the world. He would continue to challenge: if you knew you personally could solve the world’s problems, would you not feel the incredible privilege and responsibility to act? Would you not immediately take the necessary action to transform the world for the better? Why don’t we? Because most of us don’t believe we can and we don’t want to exert the energy and expend the resources necessary to try, so we give up before we even start.

The truth is, every single one of us is a unique expression of God in this world and each of us is uniquely positioned to contribute positively to the world in a way that nobody before us or after us possibly can. Being created b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of God, means that we are all essential personnel and each has a mission to accomplish. We simply need to believe that we are worthy and capable and we must be willing to try.

I am reading a fascinating new book by the great historian Martin Gilbert entitled “In Ishmael’s House: A History of Jews in Muslim Lands.” Early in the book, Gilbert describes the origins of Islam. In the year 610, Muhammad came to the conclusion that Arabs were the descendants of Yishmael, Avraham’s older son born in this week’s parsha, and he began preaching new beliefs and visions.

I was very surprised to learn that initially, Muhammad had very few followers. In fact, after three full years he had only 40 disciples. But he didn’t give up and tenaciously continued to spread his teaching and attract converts. By the year 630 he had amassed an army of 10,000 soldiers and conquered Mecca, turning it into a center of Islam. When he died just two years later at the age of 62, only 22 years after he had begun, almost all of the Arabian Peninsula had been conquered for Islam.

Today, Islam boasts 1.6 billion adherents, comprising 23% of the world population. One man, who three years into his endeavor could only convince 40 people he was right, didn’t give up and I don’t need to tell you his religion’s impact on the world today.

There are many examples of individuals who single-handedly transformed the world sometimes for the better, and too often, for the worse. Christopher Columbus led Europe to the Western Hemisphere, Adolf Hitler orchestrated the world’s worst genocide, Eddie Jacobson convinced Truman to support the birth of the modern State of Israel, and the list could go on and on.

In this week’s parsha, Lech Lecha, we read about the man who spiritually revolutionized the world and his teachings transformed half of our planet from pagans to monotheists. Avraham Avinu didn’t have a Facebook account or a pulpit; he didn’t publish any books or upload Youtube videos, and he didn’t have his own radio show. Yet he taught the world to believe in one God and to stand for justice, charity, selflessness and righteousness.

Every single one of us is essential and can make the biggest difference in the world if we just believe in ourselves. In last week’s parsha, the Torah describes how Noach didn’t enter the ark until it began to rain. Rashi comments, Noach mi’katnei emunah haya, normally translated as Noach lacked faith in the Almighty, and therefore only entered the ark when he felt the rain actually begin to fall. The great chassidishe Rebbe, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev,, explains that indeed Noach lacked faith, but not in the Almighty. Mi’katnei emunah haya means he lacked faith in himself. He didn’t grasp that he could save the world if he would only inspire those around him and, as Avraham would later, advocate on the world’s behalf. Noach failed to be a transformational leader and therefore witnessed the destruction of the world, all because he simply didn’t believe in himself or his ability to make a difference.

As we continue to analyze the results of the Pew survey, it is clear that we may be witnessing the demise of the world of American Jewry, as over 70% are intermarrying and fully assimilating. While none of us may be a contemporary Avraham Avinu, each of us is obligated to follow his model and to consider how we can contribute to the essential mission of working to positively shape the world. Like some of the individuals I mentioned before, even one person with tenacity, resolve and belief in himself or herself can stem the tide of assimilation and transform American Jewry into a strong, vibrant and deeply committed community. Will it be you?

When it comes to the continuity of our people and our Torah values, nobody is exempt. Every single one of us is essential, so let’s get to work.

American Jewry’s Existential Threat

Earlier this week, Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu delivered an impassioned speech to the United Nations and addressed what he describes as nothing short of an existential threat to the State of Israel: Iran. The same day, the results of a Pew Research Center survey of American Jews were published, revealing nothing short of an existential threat facing American Jewry: assimilation. While the solution to the threat posed by a nuclear Iran is neither simple nor easy, it is attainable, either preferably through diplomacy, or if not, through military action.

However, one can neither negotiate with, nor drop a bomb on, the devastating statistics and distressing portrait painted by the recent survey. More creative, coordinated, and systemic solutions will be needed if we are going to reverse the clear trends that are emerging regarding the state of American Jewry and our future.

Alarmingly, the survey found that among the non-orthodox, the intermarriage rate is currently at seventy-one percent. More than one in five American Jews describe themselves as having no religion, less than a third have Synagogue membership, and sixty-two percent said being Jewish is primarily a matter of ancestry and culture. More than a third of American Jews responded that believing in Jesus as Messiah is compatible with Judaism. Forty-two percent said that they believe having a good sense of humor is part of what it means to be Jewish.

Much of the analysis and many of the articles covering the survey have addressed the revelations regarding the different Jewish denominations. The survey found that “One third (35%) of all U.S. Jews identify with the Reform movement, while 18% identify with Conservative Judaism, 10% with Orthodox Judaism and 6% with a variety of smaller groups, such as the Reconstructionist and Jewish Renewal movements. About three in ten American Jews say they do not identify with any particular Jewish denomination.”

The survey points to the struggles of the liberal movements that are hemorrhaging members and perhaps relevance rapidly. It is easy for the orthodox community to read the survey and react with a sense of triumphalism, but that would be a gross error and a horrible mistake, for several reasons.

Firstly, it is abundantly clear that the struggle of the other streams of Judaism is not an indication of a migration to orthodoxy. The fact is that the reality is quite the opposite; those who have left those denominations are leaving Judaism altogether and, for the most part, they are not becoming more observant.

I cannot articulate it better than Rav Aharon Lichtenstein who, in the 1982 spring edition of Tradition, wrote:

“Nor do I share the glee some feel over the prospective demise of the competition. Surely, we have many sharp differences with Conservative and Reform movements, and these should not be sloughed or blurred. However, we also share many values with them – and this, too, should not be obscured. Their disappearance might strengthen us in some respects, but would unquestionably weaken us in others. And of course, if we transcend our own interests and think of the people currently served by these movements – many of them, both presently and potentially, well beyond our reach or ken – how would they, or Klal Yisrael as a whole, be affected by such a change? Can anyone responsibly state that it is better for a marginal Jew in Dallas or in Dubuque to lose his religious identity altogether, rather than drive to his temple?”

Secondly, if the undeniable trend of American Jewry is a move towards secularism and assimilation, the burden on the traditional community to preserve and sustain authentic Judaism is perhaps greater than ever. We cannot afford to feel triumphant or content when we have a sacred mission and a holy mandate to fulfill.

Lastly and most importantly, if you read the survey you will see that it provides much for the Orthodox community to reflect on ourselves. It found that many who were raised orthodox no longer affiliate with Orthodoxy. Frankly, we didn’t need the survey to notice that orthodox communities are struggling mightily to raise inspired Jewish teens and young people. Many orthodox youth, including those currently enrolled in orthodox schools, unabashedly admit to eating out non-kosher, texting on Shabbos, not putting tefillin on, and more. Their attitude is, “if doings these things doesn’t ‘do anything’ for me – and they don’t – why should I observe them?” We must articulate a compelling answer to that question and many of their others if we are going to inspire our young people to proudly carry the torch of Orthodox Judaism forward.

If nothing else, this survey indicates that the Jewish world is changing rapidly and not for the better. America has been a better host and country to the Jewish people than any other in our history. The freedoms it provides and the rights it grants us make this the most blessed land for a Jew to live (outside of Israel) ever. But clearly freedom, liberty, and autonomy also come with great costs such as the seductive urge and possibility to assimilate into the greater culture and lifestyle around us.

In a few weeks we will read about Avraham Avinu, the founder of ethical monotheism and the father of our people, who, when purchasing a grave for his wife, described himself as “ger v’toshav anochi imachem, I am a stranger and a resident together with you.”

The Rav explains that in this introduction, Avraham captured the tension that every Jew is destined to live with forever. On the one hand, we are toshavim, residents and inhabitants of the great countries in which we live. We function as active citizens participating in the fullness of the society around us. And yet, at the same time we must remain geirim, strangers: different, apart, distinct, and dissimilar. Ger v’toshav – we are to simultaneously be part of, and apart from, the general world around us. Striking the proper balance and equilibrium between our dual identities and roles is the mission of the Jew in every place and at every time that he or she has ever lived.

There have been periods in our history in which we didn’t need to work hard to remember that we were different. Through their anti-Semitism, persecution and oppression, our hosts have often reminded us that we were geirim, we were not the same. As badly as we tried to blend in, as hard as we tried to assimilate and much as we sought to merge with those around us, we were denied the opportunity to be toshavim, equal residents and citizens. Indeed, the imbalance towards being geirim, towards being different, was our default status for the bulk of our history, particularly in exile.

And yet, in 2013, blessed to live in this great country, a truly exceptional place that has afforded us extraordinary opportunity, once again our balance is off, our equilibrium between ger v’toshav, stranger and resident is out of alignment, this time in the opposite direction.

This survey is a sobering wake up call, a harsh and stark reminder that if we succumb to the allure of finally being toshavim, finally being fully accepted and integrated residents, we stand to lose our identity as geirim, as Jews, and we will find ourselves fully assimilated, thinking that having a sense of humor is a meaningful part of what it means to be Jewish.

The truth is, the trend towards secularism and universalism is not uniquely Jewish. While elsewhere in the world sectarian groups are at war to protect what makes them different and distinct, the movement in America seems to be to delete and erase boundaries and differences altogether. The implicit message communicated in pop culture and often taught on college campuses across this country is that we are all the same and there are no differences between us. Indeed, it would be a defect in our moral character to even think to make distinctions among people based on their race, religion, nationality, or culture. The force of universalism is pervasive in this country, and the results of this survey make it clear that they have penetrated into all segments of the Jewish community including the Orthodox. Exploring the topics of Jewish exceptionalism, what it means to be a Jew and why being a ger, being different matters is clearly a necessary component of the solution to this existential threat.

So, should we like Noach retreat to insular arks and protect ourselves and our families? Should we create isolationist comminutes shielded from the foreign influences of the secular world? Or, perhaps we should we spread our wings further and deeper into the general American culture and try to bring our ancient and timely wisdom to the world around us?

Remarkably, the survey has generated some diametrically opposed reactions.

Noah Feldman, a law professor at Harvard University wrote regarding the Lakewood community and its flagship Yeshiva, Beis Midrash Govoha:

“Graduates of institutions such as BMG won’t solve the demographic challenges to American Jewry highlighted by the Pew study. Moreover, the American Jewish community will not be fundamentally transformed by an Orthodox population that hovers near 10 percent. But BMG matters. It matters for the future of Jews in America precisely because it matters for the future of Judaism in America. By privileging ideas and thought over identity, it proudly stakes out a position of genuine durability.”

In great contrast, Rabbi Shmuley Boteach wrote:

“Stop creating a divide between the Jewish and non-Jewish worlds…We need Jewish organizations that invite Jews in to classes, religious services, lectures, social events, and debates. But far more effective is not forcing the choice on them in the first place. Bring Judaism instead to where they are at. On campus, do colossal events that bring Jewish values, teachings, and wisdom to all students so that young men and women are not forced to choose.”

Profesor Jeffrey Woolf of Bar Ilan University drew a different conclusion:

“I am, at the same time, thunderstruck by the stark contrast between the Pew Study, and the most recent Guttman/IDI Study of Israeli Jewry. The findings are almost symmetrical opposites. Israeli Jews believe in God (over 80%). There is a Jewish Renaissance (in Study, Culture, and Observance) in Israel that literally boggles the imagination (even as it confounds the usual definitions of Religious and Secular). And, while individualism and individual expression are certainly not absent, the sense of national cohesion, what we call bayachad, is movingly strong.”

So is the answer to create more communities like Lakewood, to blur the divide between the Jewish and non-Jewish worlds, or for all American Jews to pick up and move to Israel? I am not so presumptuous to assume I know for sure. What I do know is that as members of the Orthodox community, our work is cut out for us and none of us is exempt. We must focus our efforts on retention by revisiting how we interact with, educate and inspire our youth and teens. We must re-focus our energies on outreach recognizing that it is up to us to plug the hole that has turned from a slow leak into a full-fledged flood of intermarriage and assimilation.

Let us pray that with our renewed efforts and siyata dishmaya, Divine assistance, the Pew results in a decade from now will indicate a thriving, flourishing Jewish people steeped in Jewish values and Torah.

Placing Yesterday’s Sacrifices Next to Today’s: Remembering the Man from Vilna

(Adapted from a Yizkor Derasha delivered on Shmini Atzeres 5774.)

Many years ago, two bachurim, students, came to the yeshivah of the Chasam Sofer, Rav Moshe Schreiber (1763-1839) in Pressburg, Hungary to take a farher, an entrance exam, to determine whether or not the boys qualified for admission as talmidim in his prestigious yeshivah.

It was right after Sukkos, just a few days before the new zman, the semester was to begin, and the bachurim were anxious to become part of the world-renowned yeshivah. One of the boys had the reputation of being an iluy, a genius, whose understanding and perception of sugyos was outstanding. The second boy also had the reputation of being an exemplary student for his age, but he was not known to possess as sharp a mind that the first boy had.

Both boys took the farher and afterwards the Chasam Sofer announced that he would be accepting only one of them: the second boy, the one with the fine reputation but not the outstanding iluy. Staff members who had observed and overheard the boys being tested were surprised.

Both had done well, and the iluy certainly had done better. “Why,” they asked the Chasam Sofer, “are you taking only the second bachur?” The Chasam Sofer peered at those who questioned him and answered sternly, “I was sitting near the window and noticed the two bachurim as they made their way from the street into this building. There was some schach on the sidewalk from one of the sukkos that had just been taken down after the yom tov. The first bachur did not make it a point to avoid the schach, but nonchalantly stepped on it as he was walking.

“The second boy, however, walked around the schach. I maintain,” continued the Chasam Sofer, “that a bachur who can step on schach just two days after Sukkos does not have the proper sensitivity to kedushas hamitzvos. He will find someplace else to learn.” (R. Paysach Krohn, Footsteps of Maggid, pg. 135)

The Gemara in Megilla 26b says explicitly that unlike a Sefer Torah, tefillin or mezuza, items used for the performance of a mitzvah don’t contain intrinsic sanctity and can be thrown out. Come Sunday, weather permitting, we will all be taking down our sukkos and if we used palm fronds as schach, we will place them at the curb to be picked up by the sanitation department.

So why did the Chassam Sofer not admit this young man to his yeshiva? What did he do wrong? The answer can be found in the Gemara Shabbos 22a which tells us that while technically tashmishei mitzvah, items used for the performance of a mitzvah, can be discarded when the mitzvah is completed, nevertheless, we cannot treat them in an undignified or demeaning manner, lest we commit what is called tashmish shel bizayon.

For example, we are permitted to place our lulav and esrog in the garbage, but we first wrap it in its own garbage bag, and then place that in the garbage so as to continue to show deference to these objects that were recently used for mitzvos.

And so the Chassam Sofer understood that while the mind of this student might be very sharp, his memory was in fact impaired if the experience of sitting in the sukkah could be so easily forgotten and dismissed just a few days later evidenced by his trampling on the schach.

Yesterday’s experiences cannot so easily be discarded and cast off. We don’t step on and trample the memories and experiences, but instead we embrace them, carry them with us and continue to draw from them.

This is perhaps best expressed in an incredible insight and comment of Rav Sampson Raphael Hirsch on the mitzvah of terumas ha’deshen. At the beginning of parshas Tzav, the Torah instructs the Kohanim – “v’lavash ha’kohen mido vad u’michnesei vad yilbash al besaro v’heirim es ha’deshen ashar tochal ha’eish es ha’olah al ha’mizbeiach, v’samo eitzel ha’mizbai’ach.” The Kohen does something unusual. He gets dressed up to take out the garbage… literally! The Kohen who cleans the altar from the burnt ash of yesterday’s korbanos puts on his two of the four priestly garments and instead of taking the garbage all the way to the curb, outside the Temple, for some reason he places them down on the floor of the courtyard, east of the ramp that leads to the top of the Altar.

Why does he get dressed up and why does he leave yesterday’s garbage next to today’s sacrifices? Rav Hirsch writes:

“The terumas ha’deshen is an avodah itself and may only be done by a kosher kohen in priestly vestments…He takes a handful of the ash and he places it deliberately, not scattered on the mizrach, the east side next to the altar… The ash has been laid down as a remembrance of the devotion represented by the sacrifices of the past day to God and to His holy Torah… It would give the idea as the introduction to the service of the day, that today brings no new mission, it has only to carry out, ever afresh, the mission that yesterday too was to accomplish. The very last Jewish grandchild stands there, before God, with the same mission of life that his first ancestors bore, and every day adds to all its solution of the task given to all generations of the House of Israel.”

In other words, according to Rav Hirsch, the message is clear – before sacrifices can be made today, you must acknowledge and recognize the sacrifices of yesterday. We don’t trample on palm fronds that just yesterday served as our schach and we don’t discard yesterday’s ash and move on to today’s service. We place the memory of yesterday’s sacrifice next to today’s sacrifice and thereby celebrate the contiguity and continuity of the Jewish experience.

Rabbi Moskowitz and I spent some time with someone at the VA hospital in West Palm Beach this week. There is a sign outside the veteran’s hospital that puts so much in perspective. As you drive in, the sign appears: “The price of freedom is visible here.” You simply cannot enter that facility without recognizing that if we have freedom today it is only due to the sacrifices that others made for us yesterday.

We complete six incredible weeks that began with Elul and end tonight and tomorrow with Simchas Torah. We cannot conclude this experience without saying Yizkor and remembering all that led to and empowered it.

In 2003, Abe Foxman, the longtime National Director of the Anti-Defamation League, wrote a book called “Never Again?” In it, he recounts the experience of being hidden by a Catholic nanny for four years during the Holocaust, separated from his parents. He tells an incredible story that happened to him involving a Russian soldier in the fall of 1945 after liberation as a five-year-old boy.

Also in 2003, Jewish music songwriter Abie Rotenberg was on a flight sitting next to an old Jewish man, Rabbi Leo Goldman from Detroit, and the two struck up a conversation. The old man told him a story from after the war involving a young boy that Abie Rotenberg says, “changed my view of life.” He was so moved that he wrote lyrics to a song called “The Man from Vilna” telling over the story.

In 2010, a researcher from Yad Vashem heard Foxman tell his story and was moved to try to find the Russian soldier. He came across Abie Rotenberg’s song and put two and two together. It wasn’t long after that Abe Foxman took a flight to Oak Park, Michigan, and Rabbi Goldman and he were reunited 65 years after their incredible story occurred. They hugged and cried and prayed together. Goldman’s children describe that their father told this story every single year and Foxman too often recounted the experience that shaped his life. Now they have all met one another and corroborated the story from both perspectives, giving the story even greater meaning and emotion. So, what is their incredible story?

The Catholic nanny saved Abe Foxman’s life but she also taught him to spit on the ground when a Jew walked by. In the middle of 1945, he was reunited with his parents who had miraculously survived. His father didn’t know what to do with his little boy who now had negative feelings for Judaism. He waited four months to take him to Shul until it would be the holiday of Simchas Torah since it is associated with fun and joy. Foxman remembers walking to Shul that evening and when passing a Church making the sign of the cross on himself, as he had been taught to do by the nanny.

Leo Goldman had lost his parents and many relatives to the Nazis before being enlisted to serve in the Russian army. By the fall of 1945, the concentration camps had been liberated and those who survived were reuniting with family across Europe. He had gone back to Vilna, of which only 3,000 of the 100,000 Jews survived.

Let me tell you the rest of the story from Leo Goldman’s perspective with Abie Rotenberg’s lyrics from his incredible song, the Man from Vilna, that you must listen to:

The Man from Vilna

I remember liberation, joy and fear both intertwined.

Where to go, and what to do, and how to leave the pain behind.

My heart said “Go to Vilna”, dare I pray yet once again,

For the chance to find a loved one, or perhaps a childhood friend?

It took many months to get there, from the late spring to the fall

And as I, many others, close to four hundred in all.

And slowly there was healing, darkened souls now mixed with light

When someone proudly cried out, Simchas Torah is tonight.

We danced round and round in circles as if the world had done no wrong.

From evening until morning, filling up with song.

Though we had no sifrei torah to clutch close to our hearts.

In their place, we held the future, of a past so torn apart.

We ran as one towards the shul, our spirits in a trance.

We tore apart the barricade, in defiance we would dance.

But the scene before our eyes shook us to the core.

Scraps of siddur, bullet holes, and bloodstains on the floor.

Turning to the eastern wall, we looked on in despair

There’d be no scrolls to dance with, the Holy Ark was bare.

Then we heard two children crying, a boy and girl who no one knew.

We realized no children were among us but those two.

We danced round and round in circles as if the world had done no wrong.

From evening until morning, filling up the shul with song.

Though we had no Sifrei Torah to gather in our arms.

In their place, we held those children.

The Jewish people would live on.

We danced round and round in circles as if the world had done no wrong.

From evening until morning, filling up the shul with song.

Though we had no sifrei torah to clutch and hold up high.

In their place, we held those children. Am Yisrael Chai.

Goldman described that he hadn’t seen a Jewish child in over a year. When he heard the voice of a little boy he bent down and asked if he was Jewish. When Foxman said yes, he couldn’t help but lift him and dance with him as the living Sefer Torah they longed for.

Foxman describes the soldier, a stranger, had embraced him in public, in a synagogue. He had carried him like a trophy around the Shul. Foxman said, “That was for me the first time anyone took pride in me. As a hidden child I didn’t know who or what I was. [After that simchas Torah] I came home and told my father that I wanted to be Jewish. It was the beginning of my life as a Jewish person.” Abe Foxman, as you know, went on to live a richly Jewish life filled with Jewish leadership, fighting anti-Semitism, and defending the future of the Jewish people.

(Read the complete story)

We are so blessed to have Sifrei Torah, and a beautiful shul, youth department, adult education, chesed program, etc. If we enjoy and benefit from it, it is only because of those who came before us who not only survived, but thrived. They sacrificed for today, and as we say Yizkor we remember them and all that they did yesterday to enable today. Like the terumas ha’deshen, their sacrifices sit right next to our service and perpetually remind us that we are simply the continuity of what they began.

Home Depot or House Depot?

House & Home – what is the difference between the two? We say home sick and not house sick, but we say house sitting not home sitting. We say hometown and not house town, but we say house rich and not home rich. We say home field not house field, yet we say house coat not home coat. So, what exactly is the difference between a house and a home?

The Torah links our sitting in sukkos with remembering, knowing and identifying with specific aspects of life in the desert on our way from Egypt to Israel. Rabbi Akiva maintains that the verse obligating us to sit in sukkos refers to sukkos mamesh, obligating us to reenact the actual huts in which we dwelled during those years of travel.

The Malbim, Aruch Hashulchan and a host of other commentators are all bothered by the same question. Who cares that we lived in huts during that time? Why do we choose that of all things to remember and commemorate? The Jewish People also all wore sandals when they left Egypt; why not require us to wear sandals? Or, we all had tattered clothing, why not demand we wear ripped and worn clothing. Why should we dwell in flimsy, impermanent huts, just because historically we did during the exodus? Why commemorate sukkos mamesh, when it is mamesh much more comfortable inside my real house?

It is interesting to note, that the Torah’s account of yetzias mitzrayim, the exodus repeatedly refers to the concept of bayis, the home. The very name of the festival, Pesach, derives from Hashem passing over the battim, the homes of Bnei Yisroel. The Torah contrasts Hashem’s striking the Egyptians with His saving the Jewish battim. Even the pascal lamb is designated as se l’veis avos, se laboyis, a lamb for each father’s bayis, a lamb for the entire bayis. What is a bayis and why does it play such a central role?

The Tolner Rebbe explained that a bayis is a home, not a house. What is the difference between a house and a home? A house is the physical structure within which I live. It is the bricks, mortar, wood and cement that form that within which I dwell and that which protects me from the elements.

The home, on the other hand is not physical at all. It is comprised of the people with whom I live, from whom I receive emotional and spiritual protection and about whom I can rely on and count on with consistency.

The gemora tells us that Rebbe Yosi never referred to his wife as ishti, my wife, but rather as beisi, my home. The Chizkuni explains that battim, or bayis refers to children. A Jewish home is never a matter of four walls, a roof, and furniture. Bayis consists of the family within, and the dedication of that family to follow Hashem as the Jews did as they gathered with their families to eat the Pesach sacrifice on that night.

It is therefore, not coincidental that Bnei Yisroel left Mitzrayim and specifically lived in sukkos, temporary, flimsy, impermanent houses. By living in such provisional and makeshift houses, the people would learn to identify with their home and not their house. This is the model that we emulate each year on sukkos. According to Rabbi Akiva, we seek to remember sukkos mamesh, the actual huts they resided in. Though we are blessed to have beautiful comfortable houses, we go out to a diras arei, a temporary dwelling to focus on our home, rather than on our house.

Many of us prepared for sukkos by going to Home Depot. In truth, it should be called House Depot. Sukkos reminds us to spend time doing true ‘home improvement,’ not only house improvement. Society is constantly pressuring us to redesign, refurnish and update our houses and fill them with the latest gadgets and appliances. Sukkos reminds us that the true ingredients of a bayis ne’eman b’yisroel, a faithful home is not square footage and property size, but the loyalty of the inhabitants towards one another and their combined loyalty to Hashem.

Spiritual Insomnia

The Jewish holidays are often associated, for many of us with family, particularly grandparents. As each holiday comes around, I can still hear my Bobe and Zada, Grandma and Grampa sharing their aphorisms and adages with me as if they were here. Each year at this time they would remind me, as I am sure your grandparents reminded you, that you must not sleep on Rosh Hashana day because you will then have a sleepy year.

While it may sound like a bubba ma’aseh, this practice actually has a source in our halacha. The Rama, Rav Moshe Isserles, in his gloss on Shulchan Aruch quotes the Yerushalmi that “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.”

Indeed, it isn’t only on Rosh Hashana that we try to refrain from excessive sleep. The great men of the Mussar movement taught their disciples to limit sleep, as there would be plenty of time for rest in the grave. For most of his life, The Gaon of Vilna, Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer, slept only two out of twenty four hours and even then only in four thirty-minute intervals. The Talmud records that this was also the sleep pattern of King David, whose magic harp awoke him at midnight to continue his efforts to serve Hashem and Israel. Scientists today recognize this as an alternative sleep method. It is called polyphasic sleep, also known as “Da Vinci sleep” or “Uberman sleep.”

In any case, chutzpadik child that I was, I would often turn to my Bobe and respond “and what would be so bad if I slept the whole year?” Perhaps a little older and I hope less chutzpadik, I still wonder, why is sleep fundamentally bad or negative that we discourage an excessive amount of it? Didn’t I earn my nap on Rosh Hashana afternoon by sitting in shul and davening all morning?

Just as in physical sleep we lack consciousness, awareness and alertness, and instead enter a shutdown mode, similarly one can be in a state of spiritual sleep, lacking spiritual consciousness and awareness in a state of spiritual shutdown. While physical sleep is necessary to rejuvenate the body, spiritual sleep poses a great risk to the soul, as it is deprived of the very thing that nourishes it, namely awareness.

The Rambam writes that the entire essence and goal of the shofar is to wake us from our spiritual sleep and lack of self-awareness. The shofar screams out at us, he says, “wake you sleepers from your slumber and begin to spiritually live.” Gratuitous sleep is viewed negatively on Rosh Hashana because it is a day to wake up, to rouse ourselves to a higher consciousness, not to seek to enjoy a few more minutes of unconsciousness.

Henry David Thoreau once wrote, “I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.” For Thoreau, the essence of life is conscious endeavor, to be awake and alert.

The Shelah ha’kadosh gives the most amazing reason for the custom of Tashlich. He explains that we go to the water to see the fish. Why? Because fish never close their eyes; they don’t sleep. They are in a constant state of awareness and alertness. Rosh Hashana reminds us that, like fish, we need to remain spiritually awake.

Too many of us are simply sleepwalking through life. Rosh Hashana demands that we wake up, not get extra sleep. May we not only remain physically awake this Rosh Hashana, but more importantly may we experience a spiritual awakening and consciousness that lasts the whole year long.

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