Making Our Shuls the Happiest Places on Earth

Disney World’s slogan is “The Happiest Place on Earth,” and this week, many families enjoying their Yeshiva week vacation in one of Disney’s many parks or programs would likely agree. Perhaps the greatest part about the Magic of Disney is not the souvenirs, the rides, the characters, or even the memories. To me, the most magical part of Disney is simply how nice everyone is to one another and how happy everyone seems.

It is hard to think of another place where such a large quantity of people all seem so courteous, kind, pleasant, and polite. Generally speaking, one doesn’t find pushing or shoving, short tempers, a culture of criticism, or impolite and impatient people at Disney, despite having to wait on lines, pay large fees, endure the hot sun, and spend hours on one’s feet.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if our Shuls and Jewish communities could be more like Disney? Wouldn’t it simply be incredible if Orthodox synagogues and communities were known as the happiest places on Earth, and that guests to our buildings couldn’t wait to come back and to visit as often as they could?

How does Disney do it and what could we learn for creating a culture of happiness? A few years ago, I had the privilege of participating in a behind-the-scenes tour of Disney arranged by Yeshiva University. The design and layouts of the parks, the placement of vendors, and the timing of the shows are all meticulously and brilliantly strategized and arranged. But what struck me most was the employee culture and how the attitude of the Disney’s tens of thousands of workers impacts each and every one of their guests.

In every employee only area, there are signs listing the Disney credo. It includes: “I project a positive image and energy. I am courteous and respectful to all guests including children. I go above and beyond.” Disney understands a fundamental psychological principle supported by extensive research – happiness is contagious. Just as if one person yawns others will follow suit, so too, if a person smiles, others around him will start smiling as well. A happy disposition, a positive spirit, and a pleasant countenance are simply contagious.

Whose responsibility is it to spread the smiles? Whose job is it to maintain the happiness effect? There are roughly 60,000 employees at Disney World in Orlando. All members of the staff, from custodial and maintenance, to the ride operators and people who wear the Mickey costumes, are referred to as “cast members.” How many of the 60,000 cast members do you think are responsible for picking up the garbage? The answer is all 60,000. How many are responsible for helping someone find directions or return a lost child to their parents? 60,000. How many are required to smile and spread the happiness? That’s right, all 60,000. At Disney, the cast members know that they each have different tasks, but they are taught that they all have the same purpose: spreading happiness.

Disney has a regular contest among the employees to identify and reward “great service fanatics.” These individuals are nominated by their peers and are celebrated for going above and beyond in being kind, helpful, and spreading happiness.

In this week’s parsha, it doesn’t take long for the Jewish people to climb out the other side of the miraculously split sea before they begin to complain. “What are we going to drink? What are we going to eat? Why did you take us into the desert to die?” Despite the unprecedented and unparalleled miracles they personally had experienced, the people nevertheless struggled to find happiness and began a pattern of complaining.

The Torah describes that lo yuchlu lishtos mayim mi’marah ki marim heim, they weren’t able to drink the water from marah because they were marim, they were bitter. The Kotzker Rebbe says, what or who was bitter? We traditionally translate that the water was bitter and that is what precluded the people from drinking it. However, the Kotzker says no – marim heim is describing the people. They were bitter, disgruntled, critical, judgmental, dismissive, and dissatisfied. The problem wasn’t in the water; it was in the people who had a predisposition for seeing the bitterness instead of looking for the sweetness.

How do we go from a culture of complaining to creating the happiest place on Earth? The answer, I humbly submit, is to tap into Disney’s magic and to promote a mandate in which every single Jew is a member of ‘the cast.’ If we want to be a place that attracts and inspires non-observant and disaffected Jews, we ALL need to be leaders in making happiness contagious in our environs.

In our Shul and community, like in every other one, we all have different tasks. Some are Jewish communal professionals;others are lay leaders. Some are working and some are retired. Some are professionals, while others own businesses, and others are stay at home Moms and Dads. But, while we all have different tasks, we need to see ourselves as sharing the same purpose if we are going to change a culture.

Like Disney we must reward and celebrate those that provide service with a smile and go above and beyond. It isn’t enough to highlight and commend those that excel in learning or in piety. We must reward the “great service fanatics,” among our adults and children who excel at being nice, kind, and thoughtful, and who smile contagiously.

Let’s taste the sweetness of life, make an effort to always have a smile, and be active members of the Jewish people’s cast, thereby converting our Shuls and communities to the happiest places on Earth.

Vacationing on Steroids

As it turns out, Lance Armstrong’s true story is not one of courage, tenacity and heroism, but of lies, cheating, and cowardice instead. This week, Armstrong confessed to using illegal substances in an effort to gain a competitive advantage. He has already been stripped of his titles and his endorsements, and now he has lost whatever was left of his reputation. His behavior was deplorable, reprehensible, and indefensible. There is much to learn in watching his monumental downfall from admired hero to disdained villain. It is remarkable to see how easily someone could lose their moral compass when they are driven to succeed at all costs.

In thinking about Armstrong’s confession this week, one thing struck me that perhaps we can learn from in a counter intuitive way. Lance Armstrong threw away his career, his legacy, his titles, and likely his foundation, all because he wanted to gain time on his fellow competitors. In competitive racing, every single minute and indeed, every second, counts. Lance Armstrong was willing to risk it all just to gain a moment of time.

What is the value of time to us and what are we willing to do to take advantage of every moment of it? Of course his means of making up time were disgraceful, but perhaps his drive to value every millisecond is something to be admired. After all, as I have written before, time is the most precious commodity we have, and too many people throw it away as if it means nothing at all.

In truth, valuing time is what differentiates us as free people. In this week’s parsha, Hashem tells Moshe and Aharon – “Ha’chodesh ha’zeh lachem rosh chodoshim, rishon hu lachem l’chadshei ha’shanah. This month shall be for you the beginning of the months; it shall be for you the first of the months of the year.” At first glance, this gift doesn’t seem like much. After all, you can get free calendars from Publix, Jewish funeral homes, or even the Shul. But of course, the gift is indeed precious and of inestimable value. With this pasuk, Hashem gave man the power to control time and to determine the Jewish calendar.

The real question is why now, why here? The Jewish people have been enslaved and persecuted for more than two centuries. They have just witnessed and paid homage to a series of plagues, a sequence of extraordinary miracles transcending nature. They are poised to be liberated, and out of nowhere they are given this mitzvah, this gift of creating the calendar. If I am Moshe, I am thinking – God, can’t we discuss this when we get out of Egypt? Really, we appreciate the gesture, but can’t this wait? Why now, on the brink of the tenth plague, on the cusp of tasting freedom?

The great 16th century commentator from Rome, R’ Ovadia Seforno, offers an insightful suggestion. A great transition and transformation is about to occur. The people are going to go from slavery to freedom. Slavery is not limited to the physical dimension with physical oppression. Freedom is not expressed solely by the ability to move about and go where you please. Slavery and freedom exist most prominently in the dimension of time. Says the Seforno, the commandment is given right now because it is the greatest expression of freedom from bondage. A slave has no clear notion of time since it is not his to schedule, make use of, or dispose of. Only one who owns his time and controls it is free to fill it with significant matters that sanctify it. Freedom and time are intertwined.

Time is a precious commodity, arguably the most valuable we have. No matter what we do, we cannot expand it or increase it. We cannot make it go slower or last longer. Our relationship with it is finite and undetermined and can cease at any moment. And with all that, we are free only when we own our time and are not owned by it.

My favorite number is 168. There are 168 hours in each and every week. Subtract 50 hours, which is probably an average weekly amount of sleep, leaving 118. Now assume you use another 21 hours a week for basic things like davening, eating, showering, and using the bathroom, and that leaves 97. If you work an 8-hour workday, there goes another 40, leaving 57. You get the idea. The amount of discretionary time we have in a week is actually very small, perhaps no more than fifty hours.

Knowing there are only fifty discretionary hours in a week, now ask yourself – how do you want to spend them? How many hours are you willing to allocate to watching TV or to surfing the web? How many of those do we want to dedicate to our spouses, our children, the pursuit of our own learning and knowledge, helping others, exercising, etc.?

There are so many variables competing for our time, but only we are in control of it. Ultimately, how we use it will determine if we are indeed free or enslaved.

This week many of us our going on vacation as Yeshiva Day Schools take their winter break. Vacation comes from the word vacate reflecting the geographical change to a different place or location. It’s worth noting that vacation references a change of place, but not of a change of pace. Yes, on vacation we slow down, we are much less hectic, busy, and burdened. But I suggest to you that vacation is not a dispensation to waste time; it is a gift to reallocate our time for a short period. Vacation presents an opportunity to spend more time with our family, to expand our mind by reading a book or dedicating more time to learning Torah. It provides the chance to explore, discover, sightsee, and tour. Vacation invites us to reenergize, revitalize, rejuvenate and reinvigorate. But one thing vacation does not mean is a license to kill time, waste time or let time slip away.

Steroids, juicing, and doping are never legitimate means. But taking advantage of every moment of time should be the goal and aspiration of every human being. Wishing you a healthy, safe and prosperous vacation!

Bringing Back an Increasingly Lost Art

I am at a terrible disadvantage in writing this column. Whatever I say will be dismissed outright by many for being self-serving. I ask you to hear me out anyway, because what I want to say is not about me at all, but is about you, it’s about all of us and it is about setting a tone in a community.

This past week, Yocheved and I had the honor of participating in the Bar Mitzvah of a fantastic young man, the son of one of our newest members. When I walked in to the simcha, the father came over to me and said, “What is the Rabbi’s schedule, when does the Rabbi need to leave and when should we have the Rabbi speak?”

To be honest, I had no clue what he was talking about or to whom he was addressing his questions. Which Rabbi, I thought to myself. I don’t know his schedule, ask him. And then I realized that he was talking about me, but was doing so in third person. I was taken aback and frankly was terribly uncomfortable being addressed in that fashion. Third person should be reserved for brilliant Torah scholars, truly righteous individuals, famous Roshei Yeshiva and Roshei Kollel, I thought to myself.

It was greatly tempting to correct him and to instruct him not to refer to me in that manner any further, but instead to speak to me directly in a casual and comfortable way. I stopped myself from correcting him, not because I enjoy the honor, but because I recognized that he was trying to practice and teach his children an important principle, kavod ha’Rav, honoring Rabbis, and who am I to deny him that opportunity.

Believe it or not, that conversation wasn’t the greatest display of kavod ha’Rav that I saw this week. On Wednesday, Rabbi Moskowitz and I had a meeting with someone from the community. Midway through the meeting, I noticed that he was wearing a suit and tie and I didn’t remember ever seeing him in such formal attire before. I asked him about it and his response blew me away. He said in anticipation of meeting with the Rabbis, he bought a suit and he is now excited because he will have it for Shabbos as well.

Deference, respect and honor for authority figures in general, and for Rabbis in particular, seems to be an increasingly lost art. I can already hear the responses: Rabbis need to earn respect and act in a way that deserves it. Today’s Rabbi is more like a friend than a Rabbi and that is why people are so casual with him. Why are Rabbis so egocentric and narcissistic that they need people’s honor?

Perhaps there is merit to all of these responses. To be clear, I love feeling close to the members of our community and feel no lack of kavod ha’Rav. As a Rabbi, I personally try to take what I do seriously, but never take myself too seriously. I share these reflections not because of anything my colleagues or I need, but because of something our children desperately need.

Imagine the difference between a child who observes his or her parent talk to the Rabbi in third person and one who hears their parent talk about the Rabbi in disparaging terms. Consider the impact on a child of watching their parent gravitate towards Rabbinic or Torah personalities instead of away from them.

One of the worst messages a parent can send is to learn from a sefer while a Rabbi is speaking, answer text messages during a dvar Torah, or walk out altogether because the Rabbis words are so useless that schmoozing in the lobby is a more valuable use of time.

In contrast, a great gift a parent can give a child, in my opinion, is the tradition of going to say good Shabbos to the Rabbi, a teacher from school or the principal at the end of davening on every Friday night. Model for and train children to stand when a Torah scholar, male or female, walks in the room. Never speak negatively about Rabbis and Jewish educators and indeed, always seek to defend their honor. Don’t casually call Rabbis and Jewish educators by their first names in front of them or in their absence. No matter how they may introduce themselves to you, always use their title and thereby honor what it stands for and represents.

Our community is blessed to have some incredible Torah personalities and role models. Some of them are in education, others in outreach, some work with youth, some teach, some write, and some are retired. Let’s bring back the art of kavod ha’Rav, honor, respect and deference for those associated with Torah learning and teaching. Let’s not do it for them. Let’s do it for the impact it will have on us, on our children and on our community.

Making Good on a Promise

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to make good on an important promise, and in so doing, to follow in the footsteps of our forefathers. When Yaakov Avinu anticipated that he would soon leave this world, he summoned his beloved son Yosef, and asked him to make a promise:

“Vayikra livno l’Yosef vayomer lo im na matzasi chein b’einecha sim nah yadecha tachas yereichi, v’asisa imadi chesed v’emes, v’al nah sikbereini b’Mitzrayim. V’Shachavti im avosai u’nesasani mi’Mitzrayim, u’kevartani b’kevurasam, va’yomer anochi e’eseh kidvarecha.

He (Yaakov) called to his son, to Yosef, and he said to him, ‘If I find favor in your eyes, place your hand under my thigh and act with me in kindness and truth – please do not bury me in Egypt. Rather, let me lie with my forefathers and carry me forth from Egypt to bury me among their graves,’ and he (Yosef) said, I will do what you asked.”

Yaakov asks Yosef to carry him up from Egypt and to insure his burial in the Land of Israel. The parsha ends in a similar manner to the way it began. This time it is Yosef who asks his brothers to make a promise, the very same promise that he himself made to his father.

“Vayomer Yosef el echav, anochi meis veiLokim pakod yifkod eschem v’heelah eschem min ha’aretz ha’zos el ha’aretz asher nishbah l’Avraham l’Yitzchak u’leYaakov. And Yosef said to his brothers, I am going to die, please swear that you will carry up my bones from this land (Egypt) to the land that God promised to Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov.”

Yosef, like his father Yaakov, did not want to be buried in Mitzrayim, a land of exile. Both of them make those with whom they are close promise to bring them to a permanent burial in the land of our forefathers, in Israel.

Last Friday, our community suffered a great loss in the passing of our beloved and esteemed member, friend, and teacher – Rabbi Gene Klein. Rabbi Klein led a life filled with challenges, suffering, tragedy, and disappointment and yet, he was one of the most optimistic, positive, and upbeat people any of us has ever met. Rav Yaakov Chaim, like his namesake Yaakov Avinu, did not want to be buried in exile, and instead insisted on being interred in the land of our forefathers, together with his cherished Rebbetzin, Elka. A few years ago, Rabbi Klein asked me to make him a promise. He asked that we escort him to burial in the land of Israel. Earlier this week, on behalf of our community, I made good on that promise, much sooner than any of us had hoped to.

Though it was already dark and cold, close to 60 people attended Rabbi Klein’s burial in the Eretz Ha’Chaim Cemetery in Beit Shemesh on Monday night. Many of our teenagers studying in Israel for the year attended. Former BRS members came from all throughout Israel to pay their respects. Rabbi Klein’s cousin whom he spoke about often, Rabbi Slezinger, the Rav of Gilo, spoke eloquently about his cousin. A great, great nephew of Rabbi Klein was there as well, and he, too, shared great memories of many beautiful yomim tovim with the rabbi.

I recognized everyone in attendance, with the exception of three people. I had never seen them before, and even while I was looking out while delivering my eulogy, I wondered who they were and why they came. My curiosity was compounded when I noticed them growing emotional as the funeral and burial went on until they each had tears streaming down their cheeks.

After the Kaddish was recited and the burial came to a close, the three mysterious individuals and I had an opportunity to meet. It turns out that these two brothers and a sister had grown up in Rabbi Klein’s Shul in Englishtown, NJ. They described that their family had no Jewish background at all and they grew up in a totally non-observant environment.

My new friends exclaimed proudly that they are religious today only because of the love, care, concern, and inspiration of one man: Rabbi Klein. They reflected nostalgically on what it was like to grow up as one of Rabbi Klein’s children. He met with each of them a minimum of 12 times before for their Bat and Bar Mitzvahs. They learned to daven, to love Torah, to keep Kosher, and to value Judaism from this extraordinary man whom they had come to say goodbye to, all of these years later.

Their stories of being inspired by the behavior and modeling of one man sat in great contrast to what I had witnessed just a few hours earlier. As I’m sure many of you can attest to, airplane travel seems to bring out the worst of some people. True, there are many who exhibit virtuous conduct by giving up a superior seat to help a married couple sit together, or get up to help someone load his suitcase into the overhead space, or hold a baby so that her mother traveling alone can go to the restroom.

However, the kindness of some at times seems to be outweighed and muted by the gross inappropriateness and offensiveness of others, often with a yarmulke on top of their head. Somehow there is a moment on every flight to Israel when I cringe and recoil watching and listening to a visibly observant passenger carry on in a manner that can only be described as an egregious Chillul Hashem. During those episodes, the look on the faces of those not yet observant says it all – “I want nothing to do with Torah and Mitzvos if this is the kind of behavior those who are observant could exhibit.”

As I flew home, I sat in my seat reflecting on the contrast between Rabbi Klein’s love, affection, derech eretz, and fine middos, with the crassness, obnoxiousness, and insensitivity of some others. This journey served as a reminder that our very behavior and conduct is pregnant with the potential to leave transformational impressions on others that will either draw them closer to our tradition, or God forbid drive them far away.

Rabbi Klein’s greatest legacy is the thousands of families who were beneficiaries of his kindness and who were inspired by his actions, even more than his words, to live richly Jewish lives. The greatest honor we can show his memory is to remember our responsibility and obligation to always act with righteousness towards others, and to seek to create a Kiddush Hashem with everyone we come across.

“Mr. President, my daughter has something she would like to say to you”

Last week, my daughter Rachelli and I had the privilege of going with Rabbi and Rebbetzin Pilichowski to the White House Chanukah party. Being together with Jewish leaders from around the country including two Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress, prominent Rabbis, and accomplished Jewish academics was an amazing and memorable experience.

The entire White House kitchen was koshered and elegant signs hung that said, “Meat is Glatt Kosher, Baked Goods are Pas Yisroel, all Wine is Mevushal. All foods have been prepared Lemihadrin with a Mashgiach Temidi.” Every effort was extended to make Jews of all backgrounds and levels of observance feel welcome and included.

The 90 year old Menorah that was used came from Temple Israel in Long Beach, N.Y., a Synagogue that had been severely damaged by Hurricane Sandy. It was lit by Rabbi Larry Bazer, the Joint Forces Chaplain for the Massachusetts National Guard. Rabbi Bazer was invited to the party last year, but was unable to attend, as he was four months into his deployment in Afghanistan where he spent every night of Chanukah with a different group of soldiers.

As we stood there watching the Menorah illuminate the main hall of the East Wing of the White House, I couldn’t help but marvel at how remarkable a time we are living in and the blessings of living in this incredible country. Chanukah is the story of triumph over those that sought our spiritual annihilation through systematic assimilation and worked to cause us to lose our identity. Thousands of years later, here we were standing in the most powerful building in the world with the most powerful man in the world celebrating proudly our Jewish identity and the perseverance of the Jewish people.

After the President made his remarks he greeted a few people and began heading back to the residence. When he passed by where we were standing I called out “Mr. President.” He turned, shook my hand and wished me a Happy Chanukah. I introduced him to Rachelli and said, “Mr. President, my daughter has something she would like to say to you.” To be honest, I was a little nervous that Rachelli would freeze, be intimidated or star struck and forget to deliver the message that she had planned on sharing if given the opportunity. But my Rachelli didn’t miss a beat and delivered her important message flawlessly.

“Mr. President,” she said, “I have many first cousins that live in Israel. I want to thank you for what you have done to help them and keep them safe.” “Your welcome,” said President Obama, “it is my honor.” Rachelli boldly continued, “Mr. President, please do everything you can in the future to stand with Israel and to make sure my cousins are safe and secure.” “I will do my best,” said the President, and with that he moved on. At that point the First Lady offered an amazing compliment to my daughter, but that is for another time.

In anticipation of seeing the President we had given thought to what we would say, how we would say it, what message we wanted to communicate, what we wanted to accomplish, and what was the best use of our limited time with the leader of the free world. In this week’s parsha, Vayigash, Yosef similarly prepares his brothers for their audience with Pharaoh, helping them formulate their message and craft their request to be settled in the land of Goshen. It is only natural and appropriate to be particularly thoughtful and planned before speaking with someone of extraordinary influence and power.

The next day, Rachelli and I realized something upsetting. We all have the privilege of an audience with someone even more powerful than the President on a daily basis and yet, we couldn’t recall the last time we measured our words, gave thought in anticipation of that meeting or planned what we were going to say. True, davening doesn’t offer the same pomp and circumstance or grandeur of the White House. But, if you think about it, we have access to the Almighty, the King of Kings, the Master of the Universe who brings His providence to governing the world and our lives. We consistently are provided an opportunity to ask God for whatever we want, to issue a request, to communicate a message of great import and yet we just walk in and wing it at best or thoughtlessly cruise through it at worst.

There are two more elements to our experience that evening that I believe can inspire us to greater reverence in our relationship with the Almighty and the formal time we spend together with Him in His house, the Shul. At the conclusion of the evening, we were given permission to daven Ma’ariv in the Red Room. Not only were we welcomed to hold our Minyan, a number of White House Ushers stood guard outside the room to protect the decorum and to insure that we wouldn’t be distracted by unnecessary interruptions or noise. If the White House Ushers are sensitive enough to intuit their mandate to protect decorum during prayer, shouldn’t we be more sensitive to usher in quiet and reverence during our davening services?

Lastly, there was a person walking around the event dressed somewhat casually. I know that seeing him caught me off guard and disturbed at least a few other people as well. How could someone walk around the White House in the presence of the President in such an informal, casual fashion we wondered? Doesn’t the dignity of this special space demand the honor of more formal attire? Later, it occurred to me that perhaps we should be equally bothered by the casual attitude which is brought by many to their dress and appearance in God’s House and in His presence.

The Talmud records and the Shulchan Aruch codifies a special blessing upon meeting a King. Halachic authorities debate if a modern day President meets the criterion to say the blessing today with most suggesting it be said without reciting Hashem’s name. The text of that blessing is most instructive. When in the presence of great power we acknowledge that God shares His honor with mere mortal man – “Shenasan michvodo l’basar v’dam.”

Being karov l’malchus, in proximity of the President, is supposed to illicit an awe, reverence and veneration that we can translate back onto our relationship with Hashem. Rachelli and I, as well as the Pilichowskis, will not soon forget the feeling of being in the White House with the President and First Lady. I hope and pray that similarly we don’t soon forget the lessons we learned that night – to measure our words carefully before speaking to God, to be Ushers and guardians of decorum in His house and to have our dress be formal and bestow honor to Him.

Holy Candles and Holy Guns

When a convert stands in the Mikvah about to immerse and undergo an existential transformation, we ask him or her a series of questions. One of the most poignant and yet seemingly irrelevant is the following: “You know that Jews have been subject to persecution, anti Semitism, and attempted extermination throughout the millennia. If you become a Jew, you will join this hated, targeted people. Are you prepared to share in the destiny of the Jewish people for good and for bad?” At every single conversion with which I have been involved, the candidates all responded in the affirmative. Invariably, I think to myself – of course they answered yes. We live in a free, tolerant and pluralistic society that allows us to practice religion freely. What are the chances that they will suffer for becoming a Jew?

My entire perspective changed this week when I read an incredible article (http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/building-in-a-state-of-hope/) by a righteous convert who subsequently made aliyah and indeed has linked his safety, security and destiny with that of the Jewish people. In reflecting on the experience of living through his first siren and the sound of the explosion that followed just as he was welcoming Shabbos in Gush Etzion, he referenced the conversation at the Shabbos table that night, and the question of his host’s young son.

“Why do they want to hurt us?” It was the kind of question only a young child could ask, simultaneously piercing and innocent. As we sat talking later in the evening, trying to make sense of what felt like a new, heavier reality, my friend Judah explained that he could have answered any other question that his son had asked. Just not that one. He felt helpless looking into his own son’s eyes.”

Throughout our people’s history Jewish parents have struggled to answer that most difficult and painful question. While many reasons and explanations for anti Semitism have been offered, none remove the ache or dispel the agony of feeling hated, loathed and despised. While there is no completely satisfying answer to the question that young boy asked his father, there is a response that Jewish parents can provide today, that they could not in good faith articulate for the last two thousands years.

Rav Shlomo Aviner, Rosh Yeshiva of Ateret Cohanim and Rav of the community of Beit El was asked a question that I have not received in Boca Raton and I doubt my colleagues in North America have been asked either. In his responsa, She’eilat Shlomo 4:87, he address the question – Is it proper to recite the beracha of shehechiyanu on purchasing a new gun? Rav Aviner provides a long halachic explanation and defense of why he feels a shehechiyanu is warranted, even though the need to own a gun is sad and unfortunate. His closing argument touched me deeply and I share them with you:

“That which we have guns shouldn’t elicit sadness that we still have wars and conflicts. Indeed, the opposite is true, it should elicit happiness that we have merited to be an am chofshi b’artzeinu (free nation in our homeland), that we have an established Jewish government, we have an army and a police force, that we are no longer the punching bag of the wicked nations, but rather we have the capacity to protect ourselves. Would it even occur to you that when the War of Independence began and we had weapons in our hands to defend ourselves after 2,000 years of Jewish blood being spilled freely, that one shouldn’t recite shehechiyanu with joy and gladness?! That joy continues to carry us and protect us from then until now. And for that reason, a shehechiyanu should be recited when an Israeli soldier puts on his or her IDF uniform for the first time.”

We cannot explain to our children why they want to hurt us, but finally, after 2,000 years we can reassure them that we won’t allow our enemies to hurt our people without doing everything that we can to provide protection and security. No longer will Jews go like sheep to the slaughter as they have been accused of throughout the centuries. No, today we have the technology, the resources and the autonomy to shape our own destiny and to defend our own people. But there is something else that we have which truly distinguishes our soldiers and gives them, and us, an edge over our enemies.

A few weeks ago, BRS partnered with Temple Beth El in showing the Yoni Netanyahu story. When he was in high school, Yoni’s father received an academic appointment in Philadelphia and so the family moved there for a few years. Yoni grew restless to return to Israel. He wrote in a letter, “I yearn for a place that is narrow, hot, rotten, filthy — a place that’s more than 60 percent desert…The only things people talk about are cars and girls. Freud would have found very fertile soil here.” Yoni was a prolific writer who sent letters to family and friends regularly. Upon his death the letters were collected into a book. A theme that pervades throughout was his nationalism and willingness to die for his homeland.

Yoni Netanyahu was an exceptional soldier and leader in many ways, but his courage, selflessness and willingness to sacrifice for his people and homeland are the norm of most soldiers in the IDF. This past Shabbos, Sergeant Benjamin Anthony spoke at BRS and moved most of the room to tears with his passionate commitment to serve in the IDF with all that it entails. He described the disappointment of many of the reserve soldiers who were poised to enter Gaza to eliminate Hamas terrorists in being sent home. They are not violent or in search of war, he said, they are simply committed and ready to defend their people and their land, even if it means paying the ultimate personal cost. Yes, the Iron Dome had an 85% success rate, noted Sgt. Anthony, but the reservists of the IDF showed up at a higher rate of 100%.

Chanukah is the celebration of our military victory in the land of Israel against enemies that sought our destruction and elimination. Then, like now, we were the few against the many. Ha’neiros ha’lalu kodesh heim, we say after lighting the candles each night. These candles are holy and sacred as they commemorate the miracle of re-consecrating our holy Temple and the military triumph against all odds.

Rav Aviner ends his responsa by quoting his Rebbe, Rav Tzvi Yehudah Kook zt”l who wrote:

“Fighting to protect our homeland is a mitzvah, the mitzvah of all Klal Yisroel. Therefore, everything connected with it, every gun and every weapon that is our response to our enemies, everything associated with establishing and protecting malchus Yisroel (Jewish sovereignty), it is all kodesh (holy).”

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein related that once when he returned to America and was visiting with his father in law, Rav Soloveitchik, he posed a series of questions from students who were serving in the IDF. One student worked in the tanks division and his job was cleaning out and maintaining the tanks. Often his uniform got covered in oil and grime and he wanted to know if he needed to change before davening Mincha, something that would be terribly inconvenient and difficult. The Rav looked at Rav Lichtenstein and wondered out loud, “why would he need to change, he is wearing bigdei Kodesh (holy clothing)?”

The candles of Chanukah are holy for what they represent, and our precious soldiers who risk their lives to protect our people are instruments of holiness for what they represent. No, we cannot fully answer the question my nephew asked my brother at the Shabbos table that Friday night. But we are incredibly blessed to be able to tell our children that the Jewish people have the greatest, most passionate, loyal, courageous and HOLY army in the world.

The Fame and Infamy of November 29th

There is only one street that I know of named for a date on the calendar. Rechov Chaf Tet B’November, November 29th Street, runs through the Katamon neighborhood of Yerushalayim. Why would a street in our Holy City be named for a date on the Gregorian calendar?

Just a short time after the darkest period in Jewish History and the annihilation of 6 million Jews, on that fateful date, the first light of redemption broke through. On November 29, 1947 the United Nations General Assembly voted in favor of a resolution, which adopted the plan for the partition of Palestine and restored Jewish sovereignty to at least a portion of the Land of Israel. Thirty-three states voted in favor of the resolution, thirteen voted against it and ten states abstained.

If you wonder for even a moment if we live in miraculous times and if we are experiencing the flowering of redemption, I challenge you to consider the following: If the United Nations were to take that vote today, just 65 years later, is there even a possibility that it would pass? In our wildest dreams could we picture today’s UN awarding the Jewish people a state in the Middle East?

Yes indeed, November 29, 1947 is a miraculous day on the Jewish calendar in which the international community went against their ordinary behavior and attitude of hatred, anti Semitism, persecution and passed an extraordinary resolution that would usher in a new era for our people.

To understand just how extraordinary the vote that day was, contrast it with a vote that took place on the very same date, November 29th of this year. This week, the United Nations passed a resolution declaring Palestine a non-member observer state. Prior to the vote, Israel and the United States publicly condemned the initiative and placed immense pressure on President Mahmoud Abbas not to pursue that path. Members of Congress suggested that if the Palestinians violate the will of the US on this issue, they and the UN should lose US funding.

Pursuing recognition of statehood at the United Nations while circumventing direct negotiations is a direct violation of international agreements including the Oslo Accords. The move constitutes a direct rebuff to President Obama’s personal request to return to direct negotiations and abandon the pursuit of this vote. Moreover, Abbas asked for recognition of a state, half of which he doesn’t control or influence. Hamas has ruled Gaza since 2006 and Abbas hasn’t even visited once since then. Declaring Gaza a state gives credibility and authority to a terrorist group who just a few days ago shot over 1,000 rockets at Israel.

The arguments against voting for this resolution are obvious, compelling and overwhelming. Yet, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that 138 states voted in favor of the measure, only nine against and 41 abstained. Once again the United Nations proved that their interest is not to bring peace to the region as much as it is to see the State of Israel in pieces.

The Secretary of State, US Ambassador to the UN and members of Congress were quick to point out that this vote represents a step away from peace and hurts the ability to make progress towards that goal. I would go even further and suggest that pursuing this path resurrects ideology and strategy of the past that proved utterly unsuccessful and caused great damage, destruction and loss of life.

Indeed, the founder of Fatah, former leader of the PLO and orchestrator of terrorism against Israel, Yasser Arafat, was himself literally dug up, just this week. Arafat’s body was exhumed to examine the cause of his death. His wife, Suha Arafat had this to say: “It was as if his soul was resurrecting. It’s as if he was saying, `I am still alive and with you,’” she told the Associated Press before the UN vote.

Perhaps the most painful part of this week’s vote was the recognition of just how alone and isolated Israel is in the international community. It is as if 65 years ago, the world felt bad for the Jews in the aftermath of the Holocaust and awarded us our homeland as a global apology for standing by while we were slaughtered. In 65 short years, sympathy has turned to enmity and the Jewish people are right back were we have been for a large part of our history.

Bilam already described us so many years ago – “Hein am levadad yishkon, u’vagoyim lo yischashav, they are a people that will dwell alone, and they will not be considered among the nations.” The realization of his prophecy and feelings of loneliness and isolation are painful and hurtful, but we will persevere.

We read this week of how Yaakov wrestled with the Angel of Esav. Though he ultimately triumphed, he didn’t walk away unscathed. Yaakov received a blow to his hip that injured his sciatic nerve. As a result we refrain from eating the Gid Ha’Nasheh, the sciatic nerve until today. The Sefer Ha’Chinuch describes Yaakov’s experience as being forbearing of the Jewish journey. Like Yaakov, the Jewish People have confronted many enemies. Like Yaakov, we too sustain injuries, blows, and wounds. But the pasuk describes, “vayizrach lo ha’shemesh, the next morning the sun rose for him.” Like Yaakov, we have limped through our history, but our sun will rise as well and we will experience a redemptive era.

The UN vote of November 29, 2012 can now be added to the long list of blows our people have sustained. We have been triumphant and proudly walked away from the others albeit sometimes with a limp, and we will walk forward triumphantly from this one as well.

Kindness and Goodness in the Darkest Moments

A pediatrician from the area shared a remarkable story with me this week. In 2005, when Hurricane Wilma struck, many people and businesses lost power for an extended period of time, including this doctor. She was unable to practice or care for her patients. Out of nowhere, she received a call from our very own Dr. Aaron Kaweblum, who offered her space to operate in his pediatric office until she was able to return to her own building.

Now, almost eight years later, she shared, her father has paid it forward. Her father is a dermatologist in Long Island. He was blessed to still have power this week, despite the horrific storm the area sustained. Remembering the kindness bestowed upon his daughter, he made an unsolicited call to a colleague who had lost power to see if he needed a place to host his practice until the power was turned back on.

Sometimes, the most extraordinary acts of kindness and goodness are born in the darkest moments. During those times, we get a glimpse into man’s capacity to act selflessly and to truly care about others. Two weeks ago, a young child in our community, 13 month old Coby, became gravely ill. He was airlifted to Miami Children’s Hospital moments before Shabbos. There was little we could do but pray, and pray we did. I will never forget the intensity, sincerity, and unity contained in the prayers that Friday evening on Coby’s behalf.

For the next week, our community came together in an incredible way. People who had never met Coby or his parents took upon themselves to do better and to be better in his merit. Tehillim gatherings were held in the Shul, in people’s homes, and in schools across the community. A woman from the community emailed me that she was stuck in NY due to the storm, but was following Coby’s story closely. At one point during the storm, the power went out. Not sure what to do, she enlisted eight of her friends who sat the entire evening and said the complete book of Tehillim for Coby.

Coby has thank God turned the corner and is expected to miraculously make a full recovery. Neither his parents nor we will ever understand why their little boy had to go through this traumatic episode. But what we do know is that in his merit, some people opened a book of Tehillim for the first time. Others, who had given up on prayer, prayed more passionately and authentically than they ever had before. Still others did the mitzvah of taking challah for the first time, or recommitted to working on lashon ha’rah, or to learning more Torah.

Sadly, for too many, it takes tragedy, crisis, or human suffering to be willing to stop thinking about ourselves and to think of others. Hurricane Sandy, like so many natural disasters before her, elicits many theological questions that haunt us. Did God bring about the storm, or was it the result of nature? Why would God allow thousands, if not millions of people to suffer and to experience such devastating damage and loss?

As badly as we may want answers, and as much as we may seek to understand, part of believing in God’s existence is the concession that there are things about His world and the way He runs it that we simply cannot comprehend. What we can grasp, however, if we pause to notice it, is the extraordinary way that His children come together in the face of disaster.

Stories abound from around the NY area of people and families who selflessly thought of others and sought to relieve their suffering in small but meaningful ways. One person who had power used an extension cord and two power strips to invite anyone who needed to plug in to charge their phones. Others brought supplies, shared food, and even offered hospitality and the ability to do laundry. A Jewish community outside of NY sent busses to Long Island and New Jersey last Erev Shabbos to pick up strangers and bring them back for a Shabbos with lights, heat, warm food, and warm friendship.

Indeed, one leader of the Jewish community in the Five Towns described the situation as follows: “So the FEMA people are now going door-to-door asking people what issues they have. The guy said to me – how many people are staying here. I said we had 11 on Friday night. He said the FEMA people are just amazed that everyone in Lawrence who got their power back has families staying with them, some they don’t even know. He said the entire team is mesmerized at how the Jewish community is taking care of their downtrodden.”

Rabbi Adlerstein shared a humorous anecdote from this horrific episode. “Some community centers, shuls, and families in areas that had power and heat invited people from Far Rock away, Long Beach, and those areas to stay there for Shabbat, and they arranged transportation to pick them up. Someone who stayed behind asked a policeman if the people had been picked up yet. He told her “Yeah, the Hizbollah people came with buses and took everyone away.” She said, “umm…do you mean…the Hatzalah people?” He said, “I guess so, I’m not from this neighborhood ma’am.”

Twice in Bereishis, Avraham Avinu is confronted with the test of Lech Lecha. The first time it is to leave his homeland and his family – “Lech lecha mei’artzecha.” The second time it is to bring his beloved son to sacrifice him – “Lech lecha el Har Ha’Moriah.” The Midrash contemplates which Lech Lecha was a greater test and naturally concludes it was the commandment to Avraham to slaughter his own son. How could the Midrash have even contemplated this question? Can one compare the test of leaving one’s homeland with the promise of achieving fame and fortune with the test of killing one’s own offspring? Of course not. But perhaps the Midrash was wondering a different question: Which is greater – rising to the one-time occasion to perform an extraordinary act, or persevering daily to consistently live a life of values? This indeed, is a question worth contemplating.

From Coby’s illness and Hurricane Sandy we have learned much about ourselves and about others. We have seen the greatness, kindness, and generosity inherent within all of us. For now on, let’s work on ourselves to think of others daily and not wait for a crisis or emergency to put them first.

His Name Is Matzah Ball?

It is rare that we go anywhere with all six of our girls together. When we do, we usually turn heads and draw all kinds of unsolicited comments, observations, and advice. Perhaps nowhere does the image of six sisters ages 3 to 14 walking down a hallway together get more attention than in the maternity ward when they are on their way to visit their new brother. At one point when visiting the hospital earlier this week, I let the girls stand outside the nursery and look through the glass while I talked with Yocheved in her room.

When I came out to check on them, an African American security guard was standing outside the nursery. She inquired whether she could ask me a personal question. “Sure,” I said, “I am a community Rabbi, I am used to people asking all kinds of personal questions about my life that they would never ask anyone else.”

However, she really caught me off guard when she asked me whether his new name has religious significance. Having not given him a name yet nor even hinting to his sisters what names we are considering, I was very taken aback by the question. I asked her, “What do you think his name is?” She responded, “Your daughter told me his name is Matzah Ball and I am just curious, I thought Matzah Ball was a kind of food and I didn’t realize it was a religious Jewish name.” I looked over at one of my daughters flashing a big smile. She proudly said, “What, Abba? I want his name to be Matzah Ball.”

In Judaism, names matter and carry with them great significance. More than simply an arbitrary word in order to best identify someone, we believe that a name is a description and has an impact on the very essence, identity and destiny of a person. In last week’s Parsha, Bereishis, we read about how God thought it would not be good for Adom to be alone. The next pasuk (2:19) tells us: “And the Lord God formed out of the earth all the wild beasts and all the birds of the sky, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that would be its name.”

Rabbeinu Bachya explains that when Adom gives a name to each animal, he is describing their essence and their traits and he therefore understands that none qualify to be his mate. For example, in describing the donkey he writes, “He recognized in his wisdom that it is the most simple, foolish, and stubborn of all creatures, drawn after its desires, and this is why he called it chamor,” from the root chomer, meaning “material.”

Names are not only descriptive, but they can be proscriptive as well. The Talmud says that parents receive a portion of prophecy when they chose a name for their child. Some name after a loved one hoping the child will develop the same positive attributes. Others name after a Biblical or Historic personality with the prayer that the child will emerge to be similar to the giant for whom he or she is named. And yet others chose a name whose translation means something special and describes their joy in welcoming their newborn into the world.

What does our name say about us? Have we lived up to the person for whom we were named? Does our name accurately describe who we have become or who we strive to be? There is one more question we must ask about our names, and it is the most important question of all – Do we have a good name, a sheim tov? Shlomo HaMelech, King Solomon, the wisest of all men taught us that a sheim tov, a good name is finer than shemen tov, fragrant oil. Moreover, a sheim tov, a good name says the Mishna in Avos, is oleh al gabeihen, stands above everything else.

We can’t control the name we were given, but we can decide to earn a good name through our behavior, actions and character. Our reputations will take us much farther in life than any other aspect of our names.

My son will be given his name on Monday, please God. Until then I can only hope and pray that my Matzah Ball, together with all of our children, will lead a life of distinction, and that they will each earn a sheim tov, a good name and reputation, that will carry them far in life.

Prayer, Not Politics

This past Sunday, BRS hosted Ambassador John Bolton, former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations and consultant to the Romney campaign. As a non-profit organization, BRS does not endorse any candidate or political party nor do we contribute to any campaign. As I have written previously – what we strongly endorse is being informed and educated on the issues of the day, particularly those that matter to us as a passionate, pro-Israel community. We have always invited and hosted candidates or theirsurrogates from both parties and we will continue to do so. Indeed, an invitation has been extended to the Obama campaign and we will be honored to host the President or his surrogate should he accept.

While I do believe politics has a place in a Synagogue, it is a narrow and carefully defined place. Programs should be held in a place and at a time that people can choose whether or not to attend. Steps must be taken to ensure that both the speaker and the audience will speak respectfully, civilly, and with the dignity appropriate to their forum, particularly in a Sanctuary.

Dialogue and debate, whether in an official forum or at the Shabbos table, must be about issues and policies, never ad hominem attacks, name calling, or derisive comments. As we are all acutely aware, there is currently no shortage of critical issues facing us as Americans and confronting our beloved Israel. The safety and security of our brothers and sisters in Israel, the status of Jerusalem as Israel’s undivided and eternal capital, the question of drawing a red line for Iran, the horrible murder of the US Ambassador to Libya, and more, should be on all of our minds and part of our conversations.

As a private citizen, I have very strong feelings on all of the above and I am happy to share them with you personally. In my opinion, this is a defining moment for our generation and an urgent time to advocate, lobby, and persuade our fellow voters and elected officials.

If our goal is to influence policy or sway a voter in either direction, I assure you we will have no impact whatsoever if we are bombastic, disrespectful, and dismissive. As our mothers taught us when we were children, onlythose who are not intelligent or articulate enough to express an idea or position resort to calling people names. It may make the name caller feel better, but there will be no meaningful impact on the issue he or she claims to care about.

There is no better time than Rosh Hashana to revisit how we communicate with others. Contrary to what many believe, Rosh Hashana does not mark the date of the creation of the world. Rather, Rosh Hashana, the first of Tishrei, celebrates the anniversary of the creation of man. What makes us different from that which was created before us? Onkelus and others explain it is the power of speech and the depth of our thoughts that differentiate us from the animal world. When we articulate thoughts with dignity, we affirm our very humanity. When we express ourselves inappropriately, harshly, aggressively, and disrespectfully, we forfeit our humanity and resemble the animal creatures that preceded us.

Affirming our humanity includes recognizing that no two of us look or think exactly alike. The gemara comments that just as our appearances are not identical, so too our personalities, perspectives, and priorities differ. To impose your opinion on others, and have no regard for them if they disagree, is to deny their basic humanity. People are entitled to their opinions.

I recently heard from someone who is identified with a particular political orientation that he was confronted in Shul during davening and told he is aself-hating Jew. Such cruel accusations are intolerable and unacceptable anywhere, but especially in Shul. The Synagogue must remain a safe space; it must be neutral territory for people of all political opinions and ideas to connect to Torah, to the Jewish people, and most of all to Hashem. As I mentioned, everyone can choose to attend an event at his or her discretion. But when we come together to daven, study or learn, politics has no place. Nobody should have to fear that his conversation with the Almighty will be interrupted by someone seeking to condemn or belittle him.

I would even go one step further. The gemara in Rosh Hashana (17b) describes the Chazzan as being nis’ateif, standing with the Tallis over his head. The Maharal of Prague makes an incredible comment:

ומה שאמר שנתעטף כש”ץ, מפני כי העטוף של ש”ץ הוא שלא יהי’ לו נטיה ימין ושמאל לשום צד כלל וזהו העטוף, ואז הקריאה בכוונה לגמרי מתוך עומק הלב ואמתתו, ולא כך כאשר אינו מעוטף שאז אפשר כי הוא פונה לדברים אחרים ואין הקריאה מאמתתו ודבר זה מבואר. אמנם אין הדבר תולה בעטוף הטלית, רק כאשר הקריאה מאמתתו בכונה, דבר זה נקרא עטוף בעבור שהוא מסולק משאר דבר ואין לו נטיה ימין ושמאל, וזהו מהות העטוף לא זולת זה. ולפיכך נאמר בכתוב לשון זה כאשר הוא קורא אל ה’ מאמתות מחשבתו שכך כתיב (תהלים ק”ב) תפלה לעני כי יעטוף ולפני ה’ ישפוך שיחו

“The wrapping or covering of the Chazzan is so that he is not drawn to the right or the left or to any side. Only then can he lead the davening from the depth of his heart.” When the Chazzan wears a tallis over his head, he cannot see anything around him, and he focuses exclusively on what is before and above him, namely Hashem.

While the Maharal is speaking of physical stimuli that may distract us, I would like to homiletically apply his words to the “right” and “left” that characterize our conversations. When we are not davening, we can think about and argue about political issues and the merits of those who seek to lead our government. However, when we are in Shul, our hope, faith and trust should not be in any politician or any party. We must be focused exclusively and solely on Hashem with the recognition that it is His policies and His judgment that will determine our fate and that of the United States, Israel and the world.

As we prepare to enter the holiest period of the year, coinciding with this time of great uncertainty, let’s remember the old adage – “Work as if everything depends on you, but pray as if everything depends on God.”

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