Show Parents & Grandparents of IDF Soldiers That You Care

For many in Israel, on the surface, life is going on as normal. Children are in camp, coffee shops and malls are full, families are taking vacations, some within Israel and others abroad. And yet, beneath the surface, as the war continues to rage in the South and the threat of war erupting in the North looms, nothing is truly normal.

That is true for all who live in our homeland, but it is most true for those with family members serving in the IDF. At the beginning of the war, several people commented that when asked if they have relatives in Israel they answered, yes, seven million. If you are part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, then you must be Im Yisrael, connected to our brothers and sister and caring about them. That makes every soldier our son or daughter, our brother or sister.

And yet, while we must have concern and unease for all of our family, we cannot begin to compare to actual parents and grandparents of soldiers, many of whom haven’t exhaled or slept in nine months.

This past week, we hosted a dessert reception for parents and grandparents of IDF soldiers in our BRS community to gather, shmooze, enjoy delectables and, most importantly, give chizuk, strength, to one another. I listened intently to the reflections, thoughts, stories, fears,, worries and tremendous faith of this wonderful group as they went around introducing themselves and describing who they have in Israel and what they are doing in the IDF.

It hurt to hear how many described their children or grandchildren losing commanders, fellow soldiers in their units, and living with the loss while continuing to fight. Many described incidents in which their child or grandchild survived situations in combat that could have cost them their lives.

All talked about trying to live ordinary lives and go about their business while in the background of their minds there is the constant worry and fear, concern for their child or grandchild. They wake up several times a night, they incessantly check the news. Each time the phone rings or buzzes their heart skips a beat. Every Shabbos they are anxious for Havdallah and to be in touch with what is happening and to confirm their loved ones are ok. Parents described worrying not only about their child in the IDF but about their own parents and how they were dealing with it. Grandparents shared how concerned they are not only for their grandchild serving but for their children and how worried they are.

I was asked to wrap up the evening with a thought and to give some chizuk. Despite feeling utterly unqualified, I shared the following: I told these parents and grandparents how much I am in awe of them and their families. That they all clearly did something incredibly right and righteous in producing progeny who would voluntarily move to Israel or who courageously serve as lone soldiers in the IDF and who are putting the safety, well-being, and future of Am Yisrael on their shoulders. They should be overflowing with pride and satisfaction.

I mentioned that for 2,000 years Jews gathered to give chizuk to one another as we were helpless and passive victims of persecution and oppression, of being exiled and surviving extermination. The gathering this night is to strengthen each other as children and grandchildren have the honor to don the uniform of the Jewish army that is not waiting for others to determine our fate but who are courageously and bravely fighting, eliminating enemies, purging the world of evil.

I mentioned that Rav Shlomo Aviner, Rosh Yeshiva of Ateret Kohanim and Rav of Beit-El, was asked about soldiers reciting a beracha of Shehechiyanu when receiving their weapon. He provides a long Halachic explanation and defense of why he feels a Shehechiyanu is warranted while conceding the need to own a gun is sad and unfortunate. His closes his argument by saying:

The fact that 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.

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.”

I told these parents and grandparents their children are holy people engaged in the holy endeavor of protecting the Jewish people and as the ones who produced such holiness they should be filled with pride.

Most of the observations they shared that night were understandable and even predictable. But there was one more theme that emerged from many of the participants that evening that I hadn’t fully appreciated until then and it is something we can all make an effort to do better on.

While here in Boca Raton, though these parents and grandparents look like they are living normally, nothing in their lives feels normal right now. It is hard enough to live with constant worry and fear, but it makes it much worse to do so feeling alone or that others don’t acknowledge or care.

Several described that when they interact with friends in shul or elsewhere in the community, and aren’t even asked how are their children and grandchildren in Israel, what is the latest they’ve heard from their child or grandchild serving in the IDF, it is hurtful and leaves them feeling alone. Loneliness compounds the tension and pain of navigating these difficult times. Some mentioned foolish and even hurtful questions or comments that are made, worse than not saying anything at all.

The Mishna in Pirkei Avos (6:6) tells us that one of the 48 ways that Torah is acquired is nosei b’ol im chaveiro, carry the burden with your friend. When someone we know and love is struggling, our mandate is to lessen their burden, to carry it with them and ensure they don’t feel they bear it alone. When we demonstrate that we care, when we are mindful to acknowledge difficulty, we are nosei, we lift the burden which makes it just a bit lighter for the one who has to carry it with them constantly.

In our Weekly, we have a list of children and grandchildren of members of our community currently serving and fighting in the IDF. Take the time to read it. Daven for them. When you see their parent or grandparent, say something, ask how they are doing, and show that you care. It is the least we can do to lift the burden and make it just a bit lighter.

This beautiful group of special people will continue to gather to give and receive chizuk. May the next gathering be a seudas hoda’ah to celebrate the victory over our enemies, the return of the hostages, and all of our soldiers being safe and secure.

Don’t Let Them Suffer in Silence: PTSD and the IDF

Visits to Israel used to be highlighted by sitting at the Kotel, going on tiyulim up north, shopping in the shuk, and eating shwarma throughout the country. For my past five visits since Simchas Torah, however, they have included something I had never done before: spending time at Tel HaShomer hospital visiting injured soldiers. Each time, we came to give chizuk, the bring good and positive energy, gifts, love, support, and boundless gratitude. Each time we left having in fact received the chizuk, in awe of young men missing limbs, battling wounds, forming what will be everlasting scars.

On my trip to Israel this week I visited Tel HaShomer again, but this time to a unit I hadn’t been to previously and to visit soldiers with injuries that while certainly severe, are altogether different from what I had previously seen. Indeed, they are not visible at all.

In addition to IDF soldiers in my family and our community, I have developed a relationship with several heroic soldiers over our visits the last nine months. A reservist who was full of life, energy, love, tenacity and faith when I met him, someone I have sung and danced with on his base, called me to say he is suffering and struggling. For the last couple of months, he has been crying and sobbing uncontrollably, having panic attacks, and feels filled with uncharacteristic anger and rage. He hasn’t slept or eaten properly. He is struggling at work and in his personal life. At the bris of his son, as he held the baby, he was suddenly transported back to his duties at the very beginning of the war and was shaken by the feeling that he was holding a dead body rather than his living newborn son.

I visited him at Tel HaShomer where he had been admitted to the psychiatric ward with a diagnosis of PTSD. Once known as Shell Shock, Soldier’s Heart or Battle Fatigue, the condition we now know as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) affects countless veterans of war. When I saw him, he was a shell of himself, a shadow of the person I first met. He was in pain from his condition, but he was also suffering from deep shame and embarrassment. He hadn’t shared with others, including those with whom he is very close, where he was or why. The unit he is in is filled with soldiers suffering with PTSD, most of whom battle it with shame and embarrassment. Many have turned to alcohol or drugs to numb them from the pain and emptiness. PTSD impacts not only the one diagnosed with it but their spouse, children, and entire family.

I asked him, if you God forbid had an injury to a limb or organ, if in this war you were shot, or physically wounded, would you keep it to yourself? Would there be any shame or disgrace associated with your hospitalization or recovery? You would be a gibor, a hero of our people, deserving of endless support and boundless gratitude.

Why should it be any different just because your wounds are invisible to the naked eye? They are no more your fault, no more a source of shame, no less deserving of love, support, care, and recognition. Don’t feel obligated to share or tell others, I told him, but if you would benefit from love and support and the only reason you are keeping it to yourself is fear of stigma, I beg you to reconsider. He told me that unfortunately, it is simply not the way others see it for now and so he feels has no choice but to do it this way.

I called his wife, whom we have come to know as well. She is home caring for their young children by herself. I begged, let me arrange with your community to provide meals, to help with childcare, to be a source of support during his recovery from an injury sustained while fighting in the Jewish people’s war. Isn’t that exactly what we would do if a heroic soldier was physically injured, recuperating in the hospital and the family needed help? She appreciated the concern but said that sadly, that isn’t the way others see it and so she has no choice but to deal with this privately.

My heart broke not only from what they are going through in dealing with his trauma, injury, and wounds but how their pain and agony is compounded by the loneliness with which they are experiencing it.

My young friends are far from alone. In the two months following October 7, an alarming 8,000 soldiers reported experiencing trauma. Recently, researchers from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Columbia University, Shalvata Mental Health Center in Hod Hasharon, and the Effective Altruism organization, published a study that predicts that 520,000 — or 5.3 percent of the Israeli population — could develop PTSD as a result of October 7 and Israel’s ongoing war.

Prof. Yair Bar-Haim, head of the National Center for Traumatic Stress and Resilience at Tel Aviv University, believes a more realistic number is 30,000 new cases of PTSD among Israelis as a result of the October 7 terror attacks and the war.

Historically, Israeli soldiers have much lower rates of PTSD than other countries. According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, 30 percent of Vietnam veterans have had PTSD at some point in their lifetime. As much as 20 percent of veterans who served in Operations Iraqi Freedom or Enduring Freedom have PTSD. A variety of reasons have been suggested such as Israel having a civilian army, the whole country being exposed to terror, the visibility of soldiers in society regularly, and more.

Whatever the true number of PTSD cases in Israel as a result of October 7 and the war, it is startling and is going to need tremendous treatment and support. The Jewish community responded swiftly and generously to help our heroic soldiers with equipment and supplies when the war began. But what will be needed next can’t get packed in a duffle bag and doesn’t get served at a barbecue.

In Israel and abroad we must recognize that invisible injuries are just as real as physical ones. We must work to eliminate the stigma of mental and emotional illness and to create a culture and condition in which there is no shame or embarrassment and in which the community responds with love and support.

My friend in Tel HaShomer shared with me: “A person like me suffering from PTSD doesn’t want people to look at them and treat them with pity and doesn’t want them asking all the time how I am and why I look upset or why I am not smiling. Just understand that they are going through a hard time and be there if they need.”

Paid leave must be granted from work for those recovering from PTSD or mental illness, just as they would for those physically injured. Meals, childcare, financial help must be given for those with invisible wounds, just like they would for the family of a physically wounded soldier. Massive contributions must be collected to provide treatment and support for those recovering from PTSD. The names of soldiers and civilians struggling with PTSD or mental illness should without shame or stigma be included on Tehillim lists and added to MiShebeirachs. And people must be sensitive to this very real condition, and not minimize it by using the term to describe what it feels like when they were stuck in traffic or when Starbucks messed up their order.

As Israel is still fighting the longest war in its history, the risk of fatigue setting in is real and concerning. When it comes to the mental health and wellness of our soldiers and brothers and sisters, we may just be at the beginning. May my dear friend whom I truly love, together with all those needing physical, mental and emotional refuah shleimas, have a speedy, painless and complete recovery.

They Bageled, I Blew It

I was speaking with a nurse in a doctor’s office last Friday when mid-conversation, responding to something I said, she used the word “bashert.” The word made no sense in context and it was clear as she said it that her excitement to use the word in conversation with me far surpassed her understanding of what it meant.

My appointment concluded and I took the elevator down to exit the building. As it reached the ground floor, I turned to the other man in the elevator and wished him a good day. He responded, “you too,” and quickly added, “You are probably running to be home before sundown.” I checked the time, and it was 11:00 in the morning. I smiled and said, “Yup, need to head out,” wished him a great weekend, and went to my car.

As I drove back to Shul, I was reflecting on what happened and became riddled with guilt and shame. Two Jews had just “bageled” me, they used lingo or references to signal to me they are members of the tribe and what did I do? Nothing. I wasn’t rude, but I also didn’t jump on the opportunity, I didn’t follow through, create a connection, or plug them in.

The Gemara (Nidda 30b) teaches that throughout our gestation in the womb, we are studying Torah with a designated angel. When we are born, we are tapped on the lip and caused to forget what we learned. The Beis HaLevi explains that Torah can’t be spoon-fed to us, it can’t be casually downloaded into our brain or come easy. We have to work hard, toil, and earn our Torah knowledge. And so we are caused to forget and start from scratch when we are born.

But why be taught Torah in the womb to begin with if we are only going to be caused to forget? Rav Soloveitchik explains that while we forget the specifics of what we learned, the Torah that every Jew studied leaves an imprint and impression on the Jewish soul. It plants a pintele yid, a Torah spark, a Jewish identity inside us. When we are later exposed to Torah, it feels familiar, it seems like something we have studied before.

Without being overly dramatic, as I reflected on the interactions, I realized that two yiddishe neshamos, their holy Jewish souls, were screaming out, seeking a connection, and because of my reaction (or lack thereof), they came up empty.

These interactions were not isolated, they have been happening more and I don’t believe it is a coincidence. The events of October 7, and Israel’s ongoing war since, has awakened many Jews. The hearts of even the most secular Jews were broken. The pain all Jews share and the concern for the hostages and soldiers we have in common have made us feel connected not only with our Jewish and brothers in Israel and around us, but with the Jewish soul inside us. As antisemitism has exploded and Jew hatred has proliferated, some are asking themselves, what does it mean to be a Jew.

In concerning ways, the Jewish people are in crisis, but every crisis also creates an opportunity. We have a window now, but we don’t know how long it will stay open. We can and we should engage our fellow Jews, our brothers and sisters who are equally targeted with hate, to lean into their Judaism, learn more, explore more, practice more, live with more Jewish pride. Our enemies have created a Jewish awakening, and we must leverage it and take advantage of it.

The time is ripe for a campaign and coordinated effort to challenge our fellow Jews: If they hate us for being Jewish, find out more about what it means to be Jewish, why it matters, and what Jewish values and a Jewish life looks like.

The pintele yid, the beautiful, holy Jewish souls around us are waking up, feeling physically threatened but also spiritually dehydrated and malnourished. Our Jewish brothers and sisters are thirsty and hungry. They are increasingly “bageling” us. Their neshamas are screaming out to us. The question is are we ready, what will we respond, will we take advantage of the opportunity, and rise to the moment?

What could I have done when the nurse and man in the elevator were so interested in conveying to me that they are Jewish? I could have spoken to them about their Jewish identity and background and learned more about their upbringing and education. I could have engaged them on Israel and antisemitism. I should have connected them with our BRS Outreach Rabbi. I regret not inviting them to our Friday Night Live, to our Partners in Jewish Life, or to my home for a Shabbos meal.

If we don’t have a plan, if we don’t know what we would do or who we would connect someone with, when we are pitched by a fellow Jew we are going to strike out. Be thoughtful and plan. If you don’t have the vocabulary to engage a fellow Jew who is not affiliated or practicing, learn it. The number one reason our fellow Jews haven’t experienced a Shabbos meal is because they were never asked. Don’t wait to be bageled. Think of a co-worker, neighbor, family member and invite them. Gain greater understanding of what we do at our Shabbos tables so you can confidently host and answer the natural questions that will arise about why we say kiddush, wash before bread, and why we aren’t on our phones.

How can we say Avinu Malkeinu, address Hashem as our Father, and not feel his pain that the overwhelming majority of His children are estranged from Him. We must feel the pain of the Shechina, we must feel our pain that our people are not whole, and we should feel the pain of our fellow Jews who don’t even know they are in pain.

As threatening and dangerous as antisemitism has become, it pales in comparison to the negative and destructive impact of assimilation and intermarriage. Israel, antisemitism, and the Jewish people are in the headlines daily. We have an opportunity to do something about it. Next time you are “bageled,” what will you do?

Do They See Our Sounds?

Every year, about 11 million children in the United States participate in school-level spelling bees. The most prestigious competition is the annual Scripps National Bee that has been held since 1925. The words have gotten progressively more difficult over the decades as the competition has stiffened. In 1940, the winning word was “therapy,” whereas last year’s was “psammophile.” (It means a plant or animal that prefers or thrives in sandy areas, in case you were not aware.)

Indian Americans comprise about 1% of the U.S. population, yet for the last 20 years, they have dominated the Scripps Spelling Bee. Two weeks ago, a 12-year-old Floridian named Bruhat Soma became the 29^th (of 35) Indian American champion since 1999. What can explain this phenomenon? Are they on spelling steroids? Are Indian American’s brains wired to spell better than anyone else?

וְכל־הָעָם֩ רֹאִ֨ים אֶת־הַקּוֹלֹ֜ת וְאֶת־הַלַּפִּידִ֗ם וְאֵת֙ ק֣וֹל הַשֹּׁפָ֔ר וְאֶת־הָהָ֖ר עָשֵׁ֑ן וַיַּ֤רְא הָעָם֙ וַיָּנֻ֔עוּ וַיַּֽעַמְד֖וּ מֵֽרָחֹֽק׃ “All the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the blare of the horn and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they fell back and stood at a distance.”

Matan Torah remains the most seminal event, not only in Jewish history, but in all of history. The Creator and Master of the Universe shared His blueprint for creation, handed over His manual for meaningful living, opened up His personal diary that is the description of His essence, and the world has never been the same since. Empowered and inspired with the tools of Torah, the Jewish people have transformed the world in so many ways.

That event, that moment, was uniquely momentous; yet, of all the miracles and special moments, the Torah doesn’t mandate that we commemorate it. Hashem took us out of Egypt, and we have Pesach and a mitzvah to tell the story, and to do so over matzah and marror. He took us through the desert, and we have a Yom Tov of Sukkos where we sit in Sukkahs and remember the booths our ancestors sat in, exposed to the elements, under the Divine protection. On Chanukah we light the Chanukah candles, and on Purim we listen to the Megillah. And yet, this greatest moment in our history has no mitzvah, no ritual or ceremony, no commemoration? Yes, the Torah does command us to celebrate a Yom Tov 50 days after the second day of Pesach, but nowhere does it mention that this holiday commemorates the revelation at Har Sinai,

In his Mishnas Rav Aharon, Rav Aharon Kotler explains that the miracles of yetzias mitzrayim were one-time events, parts of history that need to be remembered, recalled and commemorated so that we can come as close as possible to imagining what it looked like because it was so long ago. The same is true for Sukkos, Chanukah, etc. However, the revelation of Har Sinai doesn’t need remembering or commemoration because it is ongoing, it is still happening every day.

All over the world, every time a Jew opens a sefer, attends a shiur, sits down with a chavrusa, plays a Torah podcast, or engages with Torah in any form—the conversation continues, Hashem is still speaking to us. And that is why 40 years after the Torah was given, in Moshe’s soliloquy to the Jewish people, reflecting back on their short history to that point, he describes Matan Torah as קול גדול ולא יסף. Kol gadol means a great sound, but what does “lo yasaf” mean? Says Unkelus, לא פסק, a great voice that hasn’t stopped. He is still speaking, the conversation never ended. Are we listening, are we participating?

When Rav Meir Shapiro zt”l, the founder of the Daf Yomi, was seven years old, he found his mother crying and he asked her why. She explained that she was terribly sad because his melamed was scheduled to come that day but didn’t show up. The young boy didn’t understand why that moved her to tears. She explained, “You don’t understand Meir’l because you are too young, but my son, I want you to always remember, if you miss a day of learning, it cannot be replaced, it cannot be made up.”

Rav Meir Shapiro’s mother understood something so fundamental, so basic and so core to our people – כי הם חיינו ואורך ימינו, Torah is not information, it is not a set of facts, laws, it isn’t part of or commemorating history. Torah learning is not just a way of life, it is what provides life, sustains life and nourishes life. Without it we simply cannot live.

Rav Meir Shapiro’s mother’s tears left an indelible impression and when the opportunity presented itself, he introduced a system and initiative which would ensure we would never miss a day of learning in our lives. It is estimated that today there are more than 300,000 people around the world who learn the Daf Yomi daily. Rav Meir Shapiro and his wife didn’t have biological children, but make no mistake, each blatt of Gemara learned daily by Jews everywhere is his continuity and legacy, each of the devotees of the Daf his progeny.

Our Judaism must not be commemorative, our commitment to Torah must not be a casual connection because of a past. It must be vibrant, dynamic, alive, passionate in the present.

The Midrash tells us that when Hashem gave the Torah, כפה עליהם הר כגגית, He held it over our heads and said accept it or שם תהא קבורתכם, there you will be buried. Many ask, shouldn’t it say פה, here, not שם, there? If Hashem is going to threaten us, shouldn’t He get it right?

I believe, and we are sadly seeing empirically all around us, that if you don’t feel the weight of Torah over your head, the responsibility of a deep, profound and passionate commitment to it personally, you may not spiritually die in that moment. Perhaps you can go a generation or two. But שם, down the line, a few generations in, it will catch up. If we negotiate with our Yiddishkeit, if we pick and choose, if we are casual about it, down the road it will come crashing down on our head.

Do you know why Indian Americans children dominate the Spelling Bee? As explained in one of many articles exploring the phenomenon, it is because Indian American parents value and celebrate spelling well.

וְכל־הָעָם֩ רֹאִ֨ים אֶת־הַקּוֹלֹ֜ת – At Har Sinai we saw the sounds, we didn’t just hear instructions, we saw a vibrant image of a passionate inspired life. Indian American children don’t just hear their parents talk about spelling, they see the value of spelling, they see themselves as spelling champions and then they become that. For them it is more than just a competition, it is a true and genuine mission.

What do our children see? What are we celebrating for our children, for our family, for ourselves? Are we celebrating the things and accomplishments that we truly value? Here is why that question is critical: Because whatever you celebrate, that’s what you’ll value and that is what you children will value and sacrifice for.

Indian Americans celebrate spelling and they have therefore dominated the Spelling Bee. L’havdil, Rav Meir Shapiro’s mother celebrated Torah learning every day and she had a son who introduced the world to the most popular program of daily Torah learning in history. What do you celebrate, what does your family hear you talk about, see you care about, watch you invested in?

Israel’s war against her enemies and the rise of antisemitism have posed formidable challenges but they also bring an opportunity. How we react, what we are doing about it, how focused we are on the fate of our people, can and will leave an indelible and enduring impression on our children and grandchildren.

If we want our families to be passionate, practicing, and proud Jews, living and learning Torah and loving Israel when they are שם, down the road, they need to רֹאִ֨ים אֶת־הַקּוֹלֹ֜ת, not only hear, but see our voices in action now.

When is Your Next Trip to Israel?

Not everyone can travel this summer. For some, it is difficult to take time off, for others the high cost is a barrier, and for others, there are physical or health challenges that make it impossible.

However, there are many people who will take advantage of children being off from school, of life slowing down, and of accumulated vacation days to travel. The question is: to where?

When a person is blessed to have living parents, he does not use each vacation to visit them at the exclusion of everywhere else. When one’s parents are healthy and well, it is perfectly appropriate to balance seeing and visiting parents with travelling to other places and gaining new experiences. But if a person’s parent was sick, convalescing and recuperating, it would be inappropriate, insensitive, and unthinkable to travel elsewhere or go on a vacation without having at least visited the sick parent at the first available opportunity.

Israel is our mother. For the last eight months she has been recovering from a significant trauma and she isn’t out of the woods yet. It is incumbent on us to visit her if we haven’t already.

The 5^th bracha of the Sheva Berachos we recite under a chupa is “Sos tasis v’sageil ha’akara b’kibutz baneha l’socha b’simcha. Baruch atah Hashem, m’sameach Tzion b’vaneha – May the barren one rejoice and be glad as her children are joyfully gathered to her. Blessed are You, Hashem, Who gladdens Zion with her children.”

What is the connection between the Chosson and Kallah and Yerushalayim? Former Chief Sefardi Rabbi of Israel Rav Eliyahu Bakshi-Doron writes (Binyan Av) that the source of this Beracha is the pasuk in Yeshayahu (54), “rani akara lo yalada, shout baren one who has not born a child.” Yerushalayim in its state of destruction is likened to a woman who has not given birth but whose happiness will come when she welcomes children into her midst.

At that milestone moment, as two individuals enter a covenant binding them together, they are to have an awareness not only of their biological parents, of their physical origins, but of their spiritual mother, Yerushalayim, and their metaphysical origins. Just as the bond with parents is permanent and can’t be broken, so too our connection with our spiritual mother, Yerushalayim, is eternal.

The gemara (Kesubos 75a) teaches:

״וּלְצִיּוֹן יֵאָמַר אִישׁ וְאִישׁ יוּלַּד בָּהּ וְהוּא יְכוֹנְנֶהָ עֶלְיוֹן״. אָמַר רַבִּי מְיָישָׁא בַּר בְּרֵיהּ דְּרַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בֶּן לֵוִי: אֶחָד הַנּוֹלָד בָּהּ, וְאֶחָד הַמְצַפֶּה לִרְאוֹתָה.

The pasuk states: “And of Zion it shall be said, this man and this man were born in her, and the Most High shall establish her” (Psalms 87:5). Rabbi Meyasha, son of the son of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, said: Both the man who was actually born in Zion and the one who looks forward to seeing her are equally considered sons of Zion.

Rav Bakshi-Doron writes: “It is not the geographical place where one is born that determines if someone is a ben Yerushalayim, but it is the existential spiritual identity. Therefore, whoever longs to see her, it is as if they were born to her.”

As families of soldiers tragically continue to sit shiva, as hostages remain in enemy hands, as thousands remains displaced from their homes and as countless soldiers are still recuperating in hospitals and rehab facilities, the question for those who don’t live in Israel is, are you a מְצַפֶּה לִרְאוֹתָה, do you long to see her, to visit her, to be with her?

Some have had the chance to be in Israel since October 7^th, others have longed to go but haven’t been able to pull it off yet, but all of us should be thinking about and planning for when we can go next. Not “if” we will go but when and what it will take to make it happen.

I received the follow note from someone I went to Israel with in March:

Just wanted to start by saying thank you. Thank you for putting this together and getting me involved.

As you know it’s been some time since I’ve been to Israel – 25 years. It was a real struggle to decide if I would come on this trip. Was this how I wanted my first time in Israel in a quarter of a century to be? Without my family? For such a short visit? Wartime tourism? It seemed macabre and voyeuristic. It’s not what I imagined it would be for my return to the holy land. But thankfully my wife pushed me and I relented.

You asked how some would respond to a drasha about telling people to come here, and I’ll tell you this: there are many legitimate reasons why a person cannot travel to Israel. For 20 years I could never take time off from work, using every vacation day for Yom Tov. Also financially it’s a huge expense for so many. But there is another reason that people have – I know I did – in the back of their minds: I want my Israel trip to be perfect. When the weather is good, when the crowds are small, when flights are cheap, when the kids are off, etc. and with that in mind it took an extra 4 years for me to just come home.

This is what was running through my mind on the flight up. I felt like it was a mistake, I shouldn’t come to gawk at the soldiers or the displaced families like going to a museum or sideshow. I should come when I can be with my entire family and do all the things that people do: Kotel, Masada, tunnel tours, Ein Gedi, Eilat, etc.

But I was wrong. This experience was something that I will never forget. Not only because of the incredible access, the people we met, or the places we went, but because we were able to be with Israel instead of just going to Israel.

Being here, with the people, in the land, helping and bringing smiles, was all the experience I really ever needed. Driving through didn’t feel like the endless orange groves on the way to Disney because everywhere you turn, the land comes alive. Efes Damim, Kiryat Yereim, Har Hacarmel. These are real places that carry significant value to us. Coming here, even now, is truly meaningful. Even if I can’t splash around in Ein Gedi with my kids.

But not just for me, the trip was meaningful for those we visited and met. We sat in the van with our guide, Eli, when everyone had left and we talked to him about us visiting and being here. How did he view this kind of “tourism”? He got a little emotional and told us we had no idea what it means to him, his family, and everyday Israelis. Forget that it gives him parnasah, he said that after spending a few days with us, that he now knows that we CARE. And not just about soldiers and memorials, and the horrors, but about Am Yisrael, be’eretz Yisrael, al pi torat yisrael. That it’s not like going to the zoo to see, but we are checking in on something we love, on our brothers, on our people. He talked about our group every night with his wife and she said to him that she loves us for what we gave him. She pointed out that after 5 months of being unable to express himself he was finally opening up and talking. He felt like he was spending the days with family. The cynical part of everyone wants to believe this trip is selfish, and I did too. But it’s not true. It really is a give and take.

I know you wanted to know through my eyes how this would feel. But to be honest, I don’t recognize anything. Literally everything is different. But I knew it would be. Time and change don’t wait for anyone, even me.

And that’s my takeaway. If you can afford to go, don’t put it off. Don’t put your trip to Israel on a pedestal that it needs to be perfect or you won’t go. Because before you know it, 25 years will go by, and you’ll wonder what could have been.

When you mother needs a visit, you don’t wait for everything to be perfect, you figure out a way to show up. It isn’t easy for everyone. Many don’t have family, a place to stay, a way to get around, connections to volunteer or the finances to go. Those are not small things and shouldn’t be minimized. But if there is a will, there will be a way, maybe not tomorrow or next month but a plan for somewhere down the line, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.

If you can, go because our mother needs us. But much more importantly, go because we need our mother.

Turn Your Rage into Outrage

The internet has become a very angry place and “rage bait” influencers are in large part to blame. More clicks means more money and the more enraged you can make people, the more they will click. If you’re not familiar, “rage-baiting” is described as posting “a video specifically designed to make you mad so that you interact more with the video.” Social media platforms design algorithms that prey on the temptation towards rage and then draw people into rage loops that continuously present anger-inducing material (and keep users engaged with their platforms). Research shows that people are far more likely to share or echo angry sentiments than content that elicits any other emotion, including joy. Some suggest our generation is addicted to rage manifesting itself on our roads, in our relationships, and in our mental and physical health.

Since October 7, if you love Israel and the Jewish people, you don’t need an internet connection or access to social media to be filled with rage. It isn’t manufactured or manipulated or ‘baited”; it is quite merited. Indeed, over the last seven months, there have been so many rage-inducing comments, people, events, and things it is hard to know which is worst.

For example, consider the last ten days alone:

· The UN held a moment of silence for the Butcher of Tehran.

· The US Senate Chaplain offered prayers for Iran for the same loss.

· The US State Department also sent condolences to Tehran.

· The ICC equated evil Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar with Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu.

· Germany, the country that perpetrated a genocide and the greatest atrocity in history, said they would issue an arrest warrant for Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu.

· The IJC ordered Israel to stop its Rafah operation.

· Nobel laureate Maria Ressa delivered Harvard’s commencement speech filled with vile, explicit antisemitic tropes.

· New, horrific video was released of female IDF soldiers being taken by Hamas on Oct. 7.

· Bodies of hostages who were killed on October 7th were recovered.

· Israel continues to be accused of causing a famine in Gaza despite a new study that found food supply to Gaza is more than sufficient for the population’s needs and only 54 percent of the pallets transferred into Gaza were dispatched by UN and humanitarian agencies operating in Gaza.

· Ireland, Spain and Norway said they will recognize a Palestinian state.

· Israel was falsely accused of intentionally targeting civilians in a refugee camp in Rafah even though they struck two senior Hamas in the Tel Sultan area of western Rafah which is outside of the “humanitarian zone.” Moreover, the IDF released an intercepted phone call between two Gaza residents in which they suggest that shrapnel from an Israeli airstrike caused the detonation of Hamas munitions hidden inside or near the refugee camp.

Sadly, there is no shortage of things to be enraged over. But here is the thing – rage isn’t productive, rage is never the solution. Rage is forwarding videos and ranting at the Shabbos table. It may make you feel better (it likely won’t), but it surely won’t actually change anything.

Don’t feel rage. Instead, get outraged. What is the difference? Rage destroys, it consumes, it obliterates. Outrage is constructive, it produces, it repairs. Rage is a lower brain reaction, it is a pure emotion with no intellectual or cognitive driver. Outrage is a healthy reaction to an outrageous event or outrageous behavior that calls for a response, for action. Rage demolishes and outrage builds. Rage is part of the problem. Outrage leads to the solution.

Don’t indulge the emotion of rage. Channel your outrage into taking action, into being part of the response. You don’t need to pick up a weapon and enter Gaza or walk through a Hamas homeless shelter at Harvard to be doing something. For example, write letters. This matters. We recently hosted Congressman Ritchie Torres on Behind the Bima and he shared how important writing, even to our friends and allies, is:

Look, members of Congress are human. You know, we have morale and we need motivation. You know, we’re flooded with hateful calls because of our support for Israel. And so I feel like those of us in the pro-Israel community have to be as visibly and vocally pro-Israel as the other side is anti-Israel.

We have to match the intensity of the other side because in politics, intensity is often destiny. And so I would encourage people to engage with their members of congress. Lobby their members of congress and attempt to persuade them if they’re wavering or if they’re on the wrong side of the issue and then provide moral support to to your allies.

You know were it not for the moral support that I’ve gotten from the Jewish community, this moment would be an emotional struggle for me because I paid a heavy political and personal price.

There is a wonderful WhatsApp group called Letters and Emails that posts sample texts, links or email addresses of whom we should thank each day for standing with the Jewish community and Israel and whom we should protest. You can shoot off letters and emails while waiting at carpool, over your lunch break, on the checkout line at the supermarket. It is easy and organized and there is no excuse not to be part of the movement that is making a real difference. Join it here.

Two examples just from the last week:

Ms. Rachel, a popular YouTuber and social media personality with 10 million subscribers, put out a video last week announcing she would be sending money to help the poor children of Gaza without any mention of Israel, Oct 7, or the hostages. She was bombarded with letters and a few days later put out a new video praying for all children and innocent people, including in Israel and including the hostages.

The Mayor of Doral, Christi Fraga, proposed a resolution calling for a ceasefire in Gaza. She got a deluge of letters and online attention, much of it organized by a BRS member. Soon after she held a press conference to correct the resolution and now stands with Israel. Her turnaround earned headlines like, “Florida mayor praised for ‘courage, character’ after apology for supporting permanent ceasefire.” These are but a few examples of how channeling outrage into advocacy and outspokenness can make a difference.

In the introduction to Chovos HaTalmidim, the Piascentzner Rebbe, Hy”d writes to parents and educators about how qualities and characteristics aren’t inherently good or bad but rather need to be directed positively. He pleads with them not to extinguish or eliminate the fire inside young people but to channel it productively:

Are the principal and teacher able to imagine the great benefit they can bring out from the bad temper of the angry child when they delve inside him and draw him near, so that his heart and soul burn with self-sacrifice for God? His anger will turn into holy fire – every act of service will burn like glowing coals; all of his words spoken for God, in Torah study and prayer, will be with a voice that thunders and draws out fiery flames. And see the explanation of the Alter Rebbe, R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi in his Siddur on Kegavna – and these are his words: The passion of anger that spins off from the passion in the heart, and any man that is angry by nature, are prone to be enthused with the glowing fire of fervor for God’s service.

No matter what is happening in the world, no matter who or what tries to bait you, always remember, rage is not all the rage. Take that fire in your belly and instead of indulging the feeling of rage, channel it into outrage and action. Be enthused with the glowing fire of fervor to fight for the Jewish people, to stand with Israel and to proudly practice and promote Hashem and His Torah.

Write letters, make phone calls, donate money. If we refuse to be indifferent or apathetic, if we find our voices and our influence, if we are on fire, we can dispel much of the darkness and light up the world together.

Keep the Fire Burning

I was once talking to a mother in our community who has several significant challenges in her family. I asked her an innocuous question, something like, how are you doing or how is your day. Her response has stayed with me ever since. She said, “Rabbi, any day which ends with the same head count in my home as it began is a good day, no matter what else is going on.”

We can sometimes be so caught up in insignificant and even significant things going on, we forget to be grateful for the simple fact of ending the day with the same head count in our home as when it began. Tragically, October 7 and the last seven months have taught us, that isn’t a given.

This week we will celebrate Lag B’Omer, the 33^rd day of the Omer. Each day of the Omer is characterized by another kabbalistic attribute. Lag B’Omer is Hod sh’b’hod, the glory of glory, reflecting our appreciation of God’s greatness and glory. The Hebrew word hod can be understood as coming from the same word as hodu, or modeh, meaning thanks. Lag B’Omer is a day characterized as “thankfulness within thankfulness,” or a day to celebrate gratitude.

The Chassam Sofer, Rav Moshe Sofer says that the miraculous mann that fell from Heaven began to descend on Lag B’Omer. On the first day, the mann was undoubtedly greeted with great enthusiasm and appreciation, but as time went on and there was an increasing expectation the heavenly bread would descend, it became much easier to take it for granted and to forget to be appreciative for it at all.

Therefore, Lag B’Omer is a time that we identify and say thank you for all of the blessings that regularly descend into our lives, but unfortunately, like the manna, that we take for granted.

It is so easy to fall into a sense of entitlement and to forget to be grateful. Why should I thank my children’s teachers? They’re just doing their job. Why should I be so appreciative to the waiter, or the custodian, or the flight attendant? Isn’t that what they are supposed to do? When was the last time we said thank you to the person who cleans our dirty laundry? Do we express gratitude regularly to our spouse who shops, cooks dinner, or who worked all day to pay for dinner, or in some cases did both?

As we celebrate Lag B’Omer, let’s remember to say thank you to the people who do extraordinary things in our lives. But even more importantly, let’s especially express gratitude to the people and to Hashem for the ordinary things that make our lives so filled with blessing, like having the same head count in our home at the end of the day.

There is another theme of Lag B’Omer that is particularly relevant this year. The Pri Chadash in his commentary on Shulchan Aruch asks, why do we celebrate it as a happy day? Most would answer, because on that day the students of Rebbe Akiva stopped dying. But who makes a party because people stopped dying? And moreover, they only stopped dying because there were none left. Why would we celebrate it as a joyous and festive day?

He answers, we don’t celebrate because the dying ended, we are marking what came next. Rather than be defeatist or despondent, rather than give up or give in, despite all the loss, Rebbe Akiva didn’t walk away or close up shop. When the funerals were over and the shivas concluded, Rebbe Akiva identified five new students and he began again. He remained optimistic, positive and resolute in forging forward with the future of the Jewish people. He took the time to mourn and grieve and then he began to build again. Lag B’Omer celebrates our commitment and resolve to continue to light up the world, to dispel the darkness, to be true to our mission and our purpose, even after horrific loss and tragedy.

October 7 was the most tragic day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust. In the months that followed we have buried too many of our heroic soldiers who paid the ultimate price to defend our people. But like Rebbe Akiva, rather than cower or fold, rather than flee or give up, the people of Israel and the Jewish people as a whole are tenacious and determined, fully committed to continue to light up the world.

Like all of the holidays since Simchas Torah, each community and individual needs to navigate how to observe and experience Lag B’Omer while a war rages in our homeland. But this year, whether Lag B’Omer for you means only omitting tachanun or means a bonfire or a tisch, pause to be grateful for what we too often take for granted and further consider what you can contribute to keep the fire of our people burning stronger than ever.

Stay Humble or Be Humbled

Of the many lessons we have been taught over the last seven months, one critical one is humility. I will leave for those in Israel to explore at a later date how the horrific and unexpected events of October 7 should humble elected leaders, the military and intelligence establishments, and all of us. Instead, I want to focus on how these last months in America have humbled me.

Earlier this year, the great behavioral economist, best-selling author Daniel Kahneman, passed away. He taught at Princeton, UC Berkeley and the University of British Columbia, and in 2002, he won a Nobel Prize in Economics. He was the nephew of Ponevezh Rosh Yeshiva Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman and was considered one of the greatest thinkers of the 20^th century.

Kahneman once said: “We’re blind to our blindness. We have very little idea of how little we know. We’re not designed to know how little we know.” Indeed, when asked what he would eliminate in the world if he had a magic wand, Kahneman answered with one word: overconfidence.

It is instructive that one of the brightest minds of our time thought overconfidence was even more dangerous than ignorance. Indeed, overconfidence is to blame for the sinking of the Titanic, the nuclear accident at Chernobyl, the loss of Space Shuttles Challenger and Columbia, the subprime mortgage crisis of 2008, the Great Recession that followed, and the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, among countless other things. Overconfidence has brought personal financial disaster, imploded relationships, and ruined lives.

Overconfidence comes from hubris, from a feeling of arrogance that we see the whole picture, know all the relevant facts, can draw the proper conclusions, and have a monopoly on the truth. One would think the recent pandemic that brought us to our knees would have softened our confidence, tempered the strength of our views, made us admit the limits of our knowledge and understanding.

And yet, when it comes to politics (and other areas of life), we have remained as convinced, as confident, and strident as ever. We know exactly whom we are aligned with, whom we should support and vote for, which party is the future of Israel and will always stand up for the Jews. Many speak in absolutes, with generalizations and overconfidence about politicians, parties, and the political landscape.

And yet, not surprisingly, they were wrong again. Reading, watching and following who has stood with us and who hasn’t over these last seven months should humble us, cause us to reconsider entrenched positions, and to be more open, interested, curious, and persuadable going forward.

On October 6, we thought we understood the political landscape, which party was exclusively the future of the US-Israel relationship, and who would stand with the Jewish people if they were under attack. For example, many were cynical at best about Senator John Fetterman, with criticisms of his progressive policy ideas, his bizarre and inappropriate wardrobe, and even his physical and mental fitness to serve while recovering from a stroke. Little did we know or appreciate that he would emerge as one of the most passionate, eloquent, and outspoken advocates for Israel and of the Jewish community, that he would courageously confront our enemies and haters without backing down or cowering for a moment. We could not have predicted he would speak up and speak out against his own party and even the president when it came to defending Israel. On October 6, I think only a tiny minority of members of our greater community would have contributed to Fetterman’s campaign. Today, I don’t know a shul that wouldn’t embrace the opportunity to honor him at their dinner.

Previously, we may have thought a congressman who describes himself as a liberal progressive may not be aligned with us, our values, or interests. But we would be terribly mistaken to reduce him to those labels or components of who he is or what he believes in. Most important for us, Rep. Ritchie Torres has paid a heavy price for being among our greatest friends in Congress, standing up, posting, advocating and passing legislation for Israel and to protect the Jewish community when it isn’t easy or popular in segments of his party or his base.

When our new congressman, Rep. Jared Moskowitz, was campaigning and ultimately elected, were we only distracted by policies or positions we disagreed about, or did we bother to focus on the fact that on what matters most to us, he would become a true champion of our cause, a relentless fighter of our people?

Last week we interviewed an extraordinary young man named Shabbos Kestenbaum on Behind the Bima. He has been on the front lines of defending the Jewish people at Harvard, including contending with a death threat from a faculty member of the university that resulted in a need for private security and the filing of a lawsuit against what was long considered the most prestigious university in the country, maybe the world. Shabbos (yes that is his name) is a student of Chassidus, loves the Kotzker Rebbe, considers Rav Aharon Leib Steinman one of his heroes, and has defiantly remained not only fully and publicly observant on a campus filled with hate and genuine threats, he has emerged a heroic spokesperson of our people, testifying before Congress proudly wearing his yarmulka and clinging to Torah.

But if terrorist sympathizers and supporters hadn’t essentially taken over Harvard, would we ever come to know that about Shabbos, would we have learned about what we have in common and how much admire him, or would we have remained focused on other passions of his, like his rallying for progressive causes and policies?

There are many more examples in every direction, but the bottom line is that we must not be overconfident or arrogant in assuming we can reduce people to their political party or one component of who they are. Doing so not only deprives us of friendships and relationships we can gain from but alienates those who could and would be our friends.

There are many issues, policies, and positions we care about but they are not all equal and we must not get confused about how we prioritize them and which matter most. If we didn’t know it already, the last seven months have taught us that for us, the top three issues that should influence or vote and political giving are Israel, antisemitism and Israel. This does not mean being overconfident, or screaming from the rooftops that we are certain the person we are voting for is going to be the best candidate for any issue, including Israel. It does mean, however, that we have the responsibility to make the best decision with what we know at any given moment, with the humility and understanding that we may be wrong.

There are many others who can focus on the other issues, but as of 2023, we are only 0.2% of the 8 billion worldwide population and by some estimates 2.2% of the population in the United States. Nobody is going to fight for, prioritize, and care about Israel and antisemtisim like we do. Does that mean we may find ourselves contributing to and voting for people whose other policies, or whose character is alien to us or repulsive? Or that we may find ourselves voting for someone in a party we feel no affinity for but believe the person on the ballot will be loyal to our interests?

It might, but when you are in a burning building and the fireman comes to save you or you are being chased by an armed madman and a policeman comes to save you, you don’t have the luxury of making sure you are in alignment in your beliefs and lifestyle, or you approve of their character and behavior. You embrace their sacrifice and efforts towards your safety and security with gratitude and appreciation. Maybe in a perfect world you’d prefer another policeman or fireman to intervene who better aligns with your values and general worldview, but in a crisis, you don’t get that choice, and we are in a state of perpetual crisis.

There are many lessons that we have learned, and still are learning, from this painful and difficult period for our people. Let one of them be humility. Let’s never be overconfident, let’s not put our faith in ourselves or overly in anyone else. It was just this past week’s Pirkei Avos in which Rabban Gamliel cautions us to be careful with and not put too much faith in government. Let’s remember that Hashem is in control and in charge, and that as our rabbis say, harbei sheluchum la’makom, Hashem has many agents and emissaries He can act through. Let’s do our best to identify them not by the party they belong to or the ways they are different than us, but by us prioritizing what matters most and making sure we share that in common.

Chosen, But for What?

We just finished celebrating a Yom Tov during which we said in davening and Kiddush, over and over again, Asher bachar banu mi’kol am, You have chosen us from all the nations. We may have said it, but it sure doesn’t feel like it.

If you consider the current condition of the Jews in the world, you can easily fall into despair. Israel’s ongoing war against Hamas, the continued captivity of our precious hostages, and the unrelenting threat of Iran, are exhausting first and foremost for our brothers and sisters in Israel, but also, in a smaller but significant way, for all who care desperately about our homeland and our people. The metastasizing antisemitic cancer rapidly spreading throughout college campuses, the systemic hate of the Jew even among professors and administrators of institutes of “higher” learning, the distortions and lies of the media, the bias and discrimination of Jews by members of Congress, can easily breed a sense of hopelessness. When “friends” and “allies” use the right words and issue eloquent statements but fail to take meaningful action, you can’t help but wonder, how will this end?

The post-October 7 energy of being part a united, tenacious people, determined to defeat our enemies, restore security and fight for peace for all decent people feels like it is dissipating and giving way to the cruel reality of what feels like an endless existential loneliness and isolation. The adrenaline that powered our soldiers and their families in Israel, that energized protests and advocacy in America, and that inspired contributions and donations from all over, is draining, potentially leaving in its place fatigue, fear, and despondency.

One expects the UN to unfairly condemn Israel, and it would be upsetting but certainly not surprising if the International Criminal Court (ICC) issues an arrest warrant for Prime Minister Netanyahu, but when America withholds a weapons shipment to Israel while the IDF is bearing the burden and paying the human price of fighting a shared savage enemy, it leaves Jews and those who love Israel wondering if we have anyone to turn to or count on.

If this is what being the chosen people feels like, maybe we can be less chosen and more safe and secure.

As we were marking Yom HaShoah, the day designated to remember the six million Kedoshim, the martyrs of the Holocaust, and to honor the survivors on whose shoulders we stand, the IDF began a long-awaited invasion of Rafah to battle our current enemy and to rid the world of the modern continuation of the ideology of the Nazis.

Reflecting on the confluence of these two events, I thought about the Jewish condition in the world 80 years ago, what it is today, and how one may be able to educate us about the other.

The Klausenberger Rebbe, Rav Yekusial Yehuda Halberstam (1905-1994), was taken to Auschwitz, where his wife and 11 children perished. He survived the war and came to America, where he remarried, had more children, and built a grand Chassidic movement. He moved to Israel where he built a thriving community in Netanya and established the Laniado hospital. He was a truly extraordinary individual and a brand new Artscroll biography tells his remarkable life story.

I have seen different versions of the following story, but the way it is told by Rav YY Jacobson, in the concentration camp, the SS guards began taunting and teasing the Klausenberger Rebbe, pulling his beard and pushing him around. The vile soldiers trained their guns on him as the commander began to speak. “Tell us, Rabbi,” sneered the officer, “do you really believe that you are the Chosen People?”

The soldiers guarding the crowd howled in laughter. But the Rebbe did not. In a serene voice, he answered loud and clear, “Most certainly.” The officer became enraged. He lifted his rifle above his head and sent it crashing on the head of the Rebbe. The Rebbe fell to the ground. There was a rage in the officer’s voice. “Do you still think you are the Chosen People?” he yelled.

Once again, the Rebbe nodded his head and said, “Yes, we are.” The officer became infuriated. He kicked the rebbe in the chin and repeated. “You stupid Jew, you lie here on the ground, beaten and humiliated, in a puddle of blood. What makes you think that you are the Chosen People?”

With his mouth gushing blood, the Rebbe replied, “As long as we are not the ones kicking, beating, and murdering innocent people, we are the chosen people.”

Before our precious soldiers entered Rafah, they did several things that no other army in the world does. American leaders and the media told us that it would take weeks to evacuate the refugees from Rafah, but within three hours, over 100,000 refugees from East Rafah were safely relocated. They said it would take weeks for the IDF to enter Rafah from the moment the evacuation began but the IDF, in a staggered operation, entered Rafah within a few hours with no civilian casualties.

The IDF did this by not only announcing they were coming, they not only notified civilians to relocate, but helped them. The IDF dropped leaflets, sent text messages, and made phone calls. A recording of one of those calls was released and it reflects the contrast of our peoples:

IDF: We must do everything within our means to prevent any fatalities.

Gazan: We want to die and our children also must die.

IDF: No, God forbid.

Gazan: We love death the way you love life.

As long as we love life, even while they celebrate death, we are the chosen people. As long as we have the most moral and ethical army in history and are fighting the most moral war ever, despite opposing vicious, savage, immoral monsters, we are the chosen people.

Before the soldiers entered, they gathered to do what the Torah instructs Jews to do before going out to battle: they prayed, asking Hashem for victory and for peace. As long as while our enemies pray for war, we pray for peace, we are the chosen people.

We don’t rely on the media, America, the international community, or the UN to know or feel that we are the chosen people. It is up to our rising to the moment, to be proud, practicing, moral, ethical, Torah Jews, to demonstrate we are indeed the chosen people.

The Klausenberger Rebbe suffered devastating loss. He was knocked down, but far from out. He never lost his faith in Hashem, his resolve, or his mission. Yes, he suffered and he grieved, but then he put one foot in front of the other and he not only survived, but he thrived. He did it by never doubting for a moment that he was a member of the people chosen by Hashem. We grieve as well now, we have suffered, but as members of that same people, that same Father, with that same mission, we too will thrive, no matter who stands with us, supports us, or understands us.

Surviving Auschwitz With Constant Prayers on Her Lips (Guest Post: Rebbetzin Yocheved Goldberg)

A tribute to Chaya Esther Bruckstein, a Holocaust survivor, in honor of Yom Hashoah

Sitting on my shelf is a precious treasure. While its pages are starting to brown and its letters starting to fade, its words still jump off the pages and fill my heart every time it catches my eye. Because it’s more than just an old, used book. It’s a time machine.

My Babi, Chaya Esther Bruckstein, was born on August 15, 1913. She grew up in a beautiful, spacious and ornate home in Bustina, Hungary (now Ukraine). Later in her life she would wistfully tell us, “Ve vere so very vealthy.” Her family was prestigious and prosperous and Babi’s childhood was filled with plenty—the most beautiful dishes and décor, servants who took care of everything, even a separate guest house on their large estate. It was a hospitable and warm home too, rich with Torah values and gemilus chassadim, attracting all different types of guests. Some were recuperating from illness while others were visiting Rabbis from all over Europe. Her family, including 6 siblings and over 60 first cousins, was loving and close-knit, a robust, beautiful family steeped in Yiddishkeit. It was during those early days, and then later in 1938 when she and her husband had their first child, that she would open up her Tehillim and recite the words of Hallel and Hoda’ah for all the good she was given and for the brachos in her life: Hodu lashem ki tov ki le’olam chasdo.

Like so many others, one day her warm, pleasant life was shattered. She, her husband and their 5-year-old daughter were rounded up together with her extended family and community, and taken to Auschwitz. As she was standing on the platform, waiting to be told in which line she should stand, an unfamiliar man in prison garb came up to her and instructed her, “give your child to the old lady next to you right now.” My Babi, disoriented from the long and arduous train ride, followed his orders and handed over her child to her mother-in-law, never to be seen again. As the days went on, starved and exhausted, Babi would find inner reservoirs of strength that she never knew she had. It was there, in Auschwitz, that she would see her father for the very last time, across a fence in the men’s camp, and not know who he was, until he called out to her in a weak voice, saying, “Don’t you recognize me Hajnal? It’s me, your Opu.” And a little while later, while in Ravensbruck, her sister and cousin would task her each day with dividing up the measly rations they would get, because she was the oldest and wisest and had deep compassion and integrity. It was there that her younger sister felt helpless and hopeless and shared her plan to throw herself against the electrocuted barbed wire to end her agony. My Babi was the one who, despite being just as beaten down and tired, pleaded with her sister, encouraging hope, faith and will to survive. It was there that she cried out to Hashem, from the depths of her suffering, quoting the same Tehilim from her parched lips that she once sang from a full heart: Mima’amakim kirasicha HaShem

After being liberated and reuniting with the few scattered members of her family, her realization of how many people were lost was daunting. Among the living was her first cousin, a wonderful man she had her eye on earlier in her life and had wanted to marry, but her parents had not allowed it at the time. They both found themselves at a mutual cousin’s home in Romania and they decided to get married. It was there that she had to do chalitza before her wedding, after testimony that her child was killed before her first husband. In the aftermath of the war that broke their bodies and souls, they were able to locate her brother-in-law, find a Rabbi, and make it a priority to complete this obscure and complicated mitzvah so they could finally be able to unite under their chuppah. Together they grieved the life they once had, he too having lost a wife and son in Auschwitz. It is there that they committed to put one foot in front of the other and look towards the future. There was nothing left for them in their hometowns and it was time to move on. They had a baby, my father, secured visas, and came to America to start a new life, but the hardships continued. They arrived in Ellis Island with battle scars, empty pockets and an unfamiliar language. They were able to get jobs in a garment factory, sewing clothing. My grandfather had no idea what he was doing. He was a brilliant man but his talents and skills were not in the sewing and fabrics trade. He would slowly and painstakingly try to do his work, but struggled to finish his pile. My grandmother would not let him get fired. She would spend those days working quickly and tirelessly to do his workload in addition to hers, in order for him to save his job and his self-respect. It was here, replanted in a new world, with nothing but hope for the future, that she called out with those same tefilos that had accompanied her this far, Dovid Hamelech’s Tehilim: Ezri me’im HaShem.

As the years went on, Babi slowly rebuilt her life. She raised her son and supported her husband with care and selflessness. She was machshiv Torah at a time when it wasn’t so common to care about daily limud Torah. In the cold, winter months she would wake up early to warm their clothes on the heater so “her men” could learn together each morning in comfort, before going off to work and Yeshiva. With kindness and grace she devoted herself to her sister Gizi, who was never zoche to have her own children, including her in every part of her life so she had a family to call her own. It was in their Washington Heights apartment that she had to tell her precious 13-year-old son that he did not need to fast as a bechor before Pesach, because there was another child who came before him. And it was here that she reunited with the man who took that child from her arms in Auschwitz and, now realizing that he had saved her life, stayed in touch with him and invited him to partake in all of her family simchas. Despite trying to move forward, she was never able to fully let go of her past. Where else to turn but her Tehilim to find the right words that can capture her desire to transition to a life of goodness and no more sadness: Hafachta mispidi l’machol li.

In her later years she imparted life lessons to us, her grandchildren, who she never imagined she’d see, in her everyday attitude and actions. We knew that every crumb was precious, never to be wasted. Every grandchild and great-grandchild was a miracle, never to be taken for granted. And every milestone was a momentous occasion to participate in and celebrate. There was not one graduation, Visiting Day or Chumash party that she missed. Each time her heart filled with nachas and joy as she experienced the rebirth of her family. She reveled in her husband’s Torah learning and scholarship, in her son’s success in medicine and in the beautiful home he built with his wonderful eishes chayil, her precious daughter-in-law. She felt her life, in her tiny apartment in Rego Park, Queens, without the servants and fancy serving pieces, was complete. She would thank HaShem for all the bracha and riches she had, and with her beloved Tehilim in her hand she would sing: Kos yeshuos esa uv’sheim HaShem ekra.

In 1993 I went off to seminary and, upon my return trip for Pesach I wanted to buy something for my Babi. I knew that her old Tehilim was battered and ripped and that it was time for a new one. I got her name engraved on the cover and when I presented it to her, the smile on her face and joy in her eyes convinced me that it was the right gift. At that moment she knew that I understood what was most important to her and the legacy she was passing on. I have such vivid memories of my Babi reading from that Tehilim, day and night, well into her 90’s. Her connection with HaShem was unflinching, her love for HaShem palpable: Lehagid Baboker Chasdecha, Ve’emunascha Balaylos

And so, sitting on my shelf for the past 18 years since her petirah, is my Babi’s precious Tehillim, the one that I gifted to her 30 years ago. It’s a symbol of her tenacity, courage, strength, perseverance, profound faith and deep love. And now, since its pages are starting to brown and its letters starting to fade, I keep it in a frame on my shelf to preserve it for longer and safeguard it for many more years. Whenever I walk by the shelf and see it from the corner of my eye, it serves as an inspiration to me. It reminds me that while Baruch Hashem, my own highs and lows can’t begin to compare with what my Babi endured, I too, like everyone, have good days and more challenging ones. And that no matter what is going on in my life and the lives of those I love, I can find expression like she did, in the book of Tehillim. Sometimes singing Hodu laShem ki tov and at other moments, Mimamakim kerasicha Hashem.

Now that I am blessed to have grandchildren who call me their Babi, I look at that time machine on my shelf and feel responsible to not only transmit the physical sefer to my children and grandchildren, but all the lessons, tefillos and tears it has absorbed as well. I try my best to give over the values and messages I was privileged to gain from previous generations, and to be the next link in the unbreakable chain: Dor l’dor yishabach ma’asecha.

Reprinted from Mishpacha Magazine, Pesach 2023

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