Have a Harp

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

This week, we begin Seder Shemos, the story of redemption. But it opens with a surprising episode.

Try to imagine the scene. Moshe Rabbeinu was tending to his flock in the wilderness, when he saw a bush alight in flames. He paused to consider what was transpiring, as he wondered how it could be that although the fire continued burning, the bush was not being consumed.

Like his ancestor, Avrohom Avinu, who studied the world and concluded that it could not have come into being by itself, as the Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah 39:1) relates, so too, Moshe perceived that the Creator was announcing His Presence. He recognized that this was a defining moment in his life.

While Moshe was standing at the bush, the Ribbono Shel Olam addressed him, stating that he has been selected for a lofty mission, with a mandate to save His people.

Moshe asks for assurance. “What Name shall I tell them?” he says. “Who shall I say sent me on this mission to rescue the Jewish people from decades of slavery?”

Hashem revealed Himself using the name of “Ehkeh asher Ehkeh - I will be with them through this golus and all the subsequent travails and hard times.”

Moshe had now experienced the revelation of the Creator, who had decreed that the children of the avos, Avrohom, Yitzchok and Yaakov, to whom He had previously appeared, would be enslaved in a strange land and eventually freed.

No doubt exultant after his conversation with Hashem and knowing that the painful enslavement would soon end, Moshe went to share the good news with his brethren who had been suffering for as long as anyone could remember. He appeared to them and said the words they had been waiting to hear: “Higia zeman geulaschem - The time of your redemption has arrived.”

Tragically, almost unbelievably, the enslaved heirs of the avos to whom Hashem had previously appeared did not listen.

“Velo shamu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah.”

The Jewish people didn’t listen to him. They couldn’t listen. They were incapable of hearing the words that should have transformed everything for them. They failed to digest the message promising hope for a better tomorrow. It was too much for them.

Like every posuk in the Torah, this posuk is recorded for posterity to instruct and guide us. The words and their lessons remain relevant for eternity. The tale of a people too tired to hear the words they had been awaiting for two hundred years is relevant to us in our day.

We live in a state of anticipation, constantly awaiting the great announcement. Like the Chofetz Chaim, with his special kappota ready for Moshiach’s imminent arrival, we all carry a sense of expectancy, viewing the events around us through eyes that look beyond the occurrences. Our ears listen for the footsteps of a redeemer.

We are equipped with the tools to see beyond the moment, keeping our ears open for the mevaser tov, who will come to tell us that our troubles are over.

The sun shines brightly, though at times its rays are concealed by clouds. We have to possess the ability to see beyond the clouds to the light and warmth of the sun.

Few things are more disturbing than encountering bitter people. Surrounded by opportunity and blessing, they insist on concentrating on the negatives. Such people remain locked in by the inability to see beyond the sadness that envelops them. They are unable to dream of a better day or of working to achieve lasting accomplishments. They can’t acknowledge greatness in others, nor do they possess the self-confidence to achieve anything themselves.

There is so much goodness in our world. There is much to be happy about and proud of, yet too many are consumed by the negative, concentrating on the bad news and failing to see the entire picture. We forget that we are blessed to live in a land of plenty, which provides for the poor and those unable to make ends meet.

Since the Holocaust, which almost decimated our people, we have reestablished ourselves and flourish in cities and towns across the globe. We have more than we ever had and continue to grow and flourish.

The process of learning Torah and avodas hamussar is meant to train us to see the tov. We are to acquire an ayin tovah that allows us to discern the good in what we do have and to appreciate the fortune that abounds, if only we were ready to look a little deeper. In order to be good Jews, we have to be happy with the present and positive about the future. If we aren’t, it is an indication of how much we are lacking in the study of Torah and mussar.

Torah and mussar keep a person who studies them active, optimistic, energetic and positive. It shapes an individual into a mentch, a person who respects others and is worthy of respect himself.

The Ohr Hachaim (6:9) explains that the reason the Jews in Mitzrayim were not able to listen to the words of Moshe was because they were not bnei Torah. Torah broadens a person’s heart, he says. Had they been bnei Torah, they would have been receptive to Moshe’s message. We, who have been granted the gift of Torah, have no excuse for not being open to hearing the words of the Moshe Rabbeinus of our generation and those who seek to improve our lots and help us prepare ourselves for the geulah.

The Boyaner Rebbe would make a siyum during the Nine Days on Maseches Makkos. People thought that he made the siyum on that masechta because of its relatively small size, until the Rebbe explained that there was a deeper reason for his custom.

The final Gemara in Maseches Makkos tells the story of the Tannaim walking alongside Rabi Akiva up to Yerushalayim. When they beheld the makom haMikdosh in ruins, they began to weep, but Rabi Akiva smiled. They asked him why he was smiling, while they cried at the sight of foxes walking out of the place of the Kodesh Hakodoshim. He explained, citing pesukim, that in order for the nevuos of geulah to be fulfilled, the nevuos of churban must be completed first.

Now that the destruction is so complete, he reasoned, we can anticipate the geulah.

“Akiva nichamtanu. Akiva nichamtanu,” they famously replied. “Akiva, you have comforted us.”

The Boyaner Rebbe explained that during the days that commemorate the churban, he wanted to be reminded of this lesson. He wanted to remember that there is no situation that doesn’t carry hints of a better tomorrow.

We have to work, as Rabi Akiva did, to locate those markers, those lights along the side of the road promising good tidings. It would behoove us to keep our ears wide open for good news. We have to look for the sparks of goodness in the Jewish people. We should be thankful for the shuls available to daven in and the yeshivos and botei medrash spreading Torah and kedusha to a thirsting people. We should be thankful for the peace and tranquility we enjoy, and for the homes, the heat, the cars, the gasoline, the electricity, and everything else that we are blessed with in this country.

Reb Aron Pernikoff was an elderly man who spent most of his time at the Montreal Community Kollel. Though he was not blessed with an easy life, he exuded a tranquil joy, a loftiness and a chashivus.

Reb Aron would quote the posuk in Tehillim that tells of the tragic descent of the Bnei Yisroel into golus after the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh: “Al naharos Bavel, shom yoshavnu gam bochinu bezochreinu es Tzion - We sat and wept by the rivers of Bavel when we recalled Yerushalayim. Al aravim besocha talinu kinoroseinu - We hung our harps on the willow trees that grew at the river.”

He would ask where the exiled Jews had harps from. When people go into exile, especially when they are barely escaping with their lives, they take with them only bare necessities. Why would they have harps with them?

He would answer that a believing Jew knows that wherever he is going, no matter how bleak the future appears, there will always be reason to sing. They brought along musical instruments in anticipation of those opportunities.

Torah grows. Shabbos grows. Every week, there are dinners, parlor meetings and receptions for yeshivos, shuls and mosdos of tzedakah and chesed. People come and help each other.

That is heartening, almost therapeutic. These affairs present an opportunity to sing in the darkness of golus, to join together and say, “Look, even thousands of years removed from the days of gilui Shechinah and the fires of korbanos, we can still gather around the holy mekomos haTorah. We can still come yachad shivtei Yisroel and joyously pledge allegiance to the ideals of eitz chaim hee lamachazikim boh.”

The Nazis entered the town of Gubruvah on a Friday afternoon, rounded up all the Jews, and burned their homes and property. The Jews were forced into the shul; everyone of all ages was there. The Nazis informed the people that they were going to burn down the building, with them inside, as they had done in so many Lithuanian towns. They warned that anyone who left the building would be shot on the spot.

The babies and young children wailed loudly, while their frightened parents wept quietly. There was no food or water and very little air. Nobody was able to calm the people or offer words of consolation, much less give the children something to eat or drink to quiet them. It happened so quickly that nobody thought of bringing anything with them as they were herded into the shul to await certain death.

Yoel the baker sat in a corner, rolled up like a ball, reciting Tehillim. As night fell, he rose, bolted out of the room, and ran down the street. Certain that the prognosis had driven him mad, people pitied him, as they waited to hear the inevitable gunshots announcing his murder. Suddenly, he returned with a sack of challahs on his shoulder.

As he chanted that it was Shabbos, he offered as many people as he could to partake in a piece of challah in honor of the holy day.

Shortly after this transpired, the Nazi commander entered the shul and ordered his men to set everyone free and burn down the empty building. Everyone was convinced that their miraculous freedom was earned in the merit of the mesirus nefesh of their neighbor, Yoel, who risked his life to help his fellow Jews.

Thankfully, our travails don’t come close to the suffering our people endured not that long ago. Those who are moser nefesh for members of the community do not have to sacrifice nearly as much as the Gubruvah baker, but it is refreshing to know and see so many people who extend themselves for others. It is in their merit that we have come so far. I spent this past Shabbos in the company of a few hundred good people who dedicate their lives to helping plant and support Torah across this country. Billed the Torah Umesorah Presidents Conference, it provides an opportunity for people who care about our nation to meet, greet and rub shoulders, sharing stories and tips, supporting each other in their individual missions.

People of all types, driven by positive energy, brought along their harps to celebrate past successes and plan new ideas and directions. At a time when many are negative and apathetic, it is worth celebrating the mere fact that so many people are dedicated to achieving greatness for the Jewish people.

As Gary Torgow, who epitomizes all that is good about our people said in his memorable speech there, “You, who are influencing and inspiring the day-to-day efforts of Klal Yisroel in your communities, must visualize and recognize the far-reaching global and eternal implications of what you, your spouse and your families are doing for the nitzchiyus of the Jewish people. Although many days may seem like such a grind, pushing upstream and fighting the inevitable battles, try wherever possible to keep uppermost in your minds the long-term and cosmic ramifications of your efforts.”

Back in Mitzrayim, the people were so beaten that “velo shomu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah,” they could not accept a message of inspiration and hope.

In our day, we cannot allow messages of negativity and strobes of tumah to prevent us from keeping ourselves in shape to be on the lookout for embers of holiness and moments of hope in the morass of our golus lives. Our souls need to sing, as they set our minds to flight and allow our imaginations to breathe life into even stale moments.

Despite the negatives and problems that confound us, we keep our ears tilted to hear the sounds of imminent geulah and open to the besoros tovos that are around us.

Let us not grow despondent about our situation. Let us always see the positive and the good. Let us always be on the lookout for Eliyohu, who will soon announce that the time for national music has begun once again.

Efrayim & Menashe

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Parshas Vayechi marks the end of Sefer Bereishis and the profound lessons of maaseh avos siman lebonim that fill its narratives. The parsha also marks the passing of Yaakov Avinu and contains his words of parting to Yosef, Menashe, Efraim and the rest of the shevotim.

The posuk relates that when Yosef heard that his father was ill, he took his two sons, Menashe and Efraim, and went to visit him. Yaakov tells Yosef that his two sons will be “like Reuvein and Shimon to me” (48:5). He reminds Yosef that when his beloved mother, Rochel, passed away, Yaakov buried her at the side of the road to Efras.

Returning to the subject of Yosef’s sons, he blesses them that his name and the name of his fathers, Avrohom and Yitzchok, should be attached to theirs.

Yaakov places his right hand on Efraim, the younger son, and his left hand on Menashe, the older one. Yosef is upset by this reversal. Shouldn’t Menashe’s seniority as the bechor be acknowledged by Yaakov’s right hand instead of the left? Yaakov tells him that both sons will attain greatness, but the younger one will be greater and his children’s fame will spread among the nations.

Rashi explains that this refers to Yehoshua, a descendant of Efraim, who would lead the Jewish people into Eretz Yisroel. His fame would spread amongst the nations of the world when he causes the sun to stop in Givon - “shemesh b’Givon dom.”

Finally, Yaakov blesses them with the immortal words, “Becha yevoreich Yisroel leimor, yesimcha Elokim k’Efraim v’ch’Menashe.”

To understand the interaction, we have to answer several questions. Why did Yaakov elevate the status of Efraim and Menashe to that of the shevotim? Why is the mention of Rochel Imeinu’s burial place interjected here, in the middle of the narrative about the brachos that Yaakov gave to Yosef’s sons? What is the connection of the burial place of Rochel to the status of Efraim and Menashe?

Why, in fact, do we bless our children that they should be like Efraim and Menashe and not, for example, like Yehudah?

And why is the fact that Yehoshua led the Bnei Yisroel into Eretz Yisroel reason enough to give precedence to Efraim over Menashe?

Lastly, why does the Torah only record Yosef’s bringing of his children to the ailing Yaakov? Can it be that the other brothers knew of Yaakov’s condition and didn’t go to be mevaker choleh?

A hint to the answer to these questions may be found in the first Rashi of the parsha. Parshas Vayechi is unique in that it is setumah, meaning that there is no extra space between it and the preceding parsha, unlike the general rule that a parsha begins on a new line or that it is separated from the previous one by a space of nine letters. In explaining why the parsha is a setumah, Rashi notes that with the passing of Yaakov, the shibud intensified. In other words, the golus of Mitzrayim - particularly the pain and the challenge of being a despised minority in a hostile environment - began to manifest at this point.

When Yaakov realized that his end was near, he decided that it was time to prepare his children and their children and descendants for life in exile

It may very well be that not only Yosef, but all the shevotim, went to visit him and receive his brachos. The Torah only recounts the encounter with Yosef and his sons who had been born in Mitzrayim because that was the only visit that carried a vital lesson for posterity.

Yosef was the son who arrived in golus first and paved the way for the Bnei Yisroel there. Although Yosef lived in golus all alone, he clung to the faith of his father and lived an exemplary life, raising worthy, upright children. Yaakov singled them out for praise and showcased them as an example of how Jews throughout the generations can survive in golus.

While they had no community of fellow observant Jews, they did not succumb to the ever-present temptations surrounding them in decadent Mitzrayim. By singling them out, Yaakov was demonstrating to the brothers and Jews for all time that even in exile, they could still be good Jews who are loyal to their heritage, while also conducting themselves as successful citizens of their host country.

Yaakov turned to Menashe and Efraim and said, “Becha yevoreich Yisroel,” because although they were born in the exile and lived in Egypt prior to the arrival of Yaakov and his sons, they were still as holy and pure as their cousins who had grown up under the direct influence of Yaakov.

Yaakov said that for all time, wherever they find themselves, Jews should study the example of these two scions of greatness and point to them as a model of how they want their own children to develop, despite the tumah and moral bankruptcy around them.

Yosef Hatzaddik showed the way for the Bnei Yisroel to live in golus, also helping prepare them for the geulah, as did his father, Yaakov. Perhaps this is hinted to by Yosef’s words in Parshas Vayigash (45:5), when he revealed himself to his brothers. He told them not to be upset or angry that they sold him into bondage, “ki lemichyah shelochani Elokim lifneichem - for Hashem sent me before you so that you may live.”

Obviously, it was preordained that there be a hunger and that the Jews would go down to exile in Mitzrayim, as Hashem told Avrohom Avinu at the Bris Bein Habesorim (Bereishis 15:13).

Yosef was telling his brothers that since they had to be in golus, it was providential that he was the first to be exiled from Eretz Yisroel, because that way he was able to show those who would follow him that it is possible to live an upright life even in a pagan, immoral environment. Thus, the term “lemichyah” can be understood allegorically to mean “to show you the way to live here in the exile.”

Yosef had a history of knowing how to live in golus and how to battle the forces of evil even before he went down to Mitzrayim. The posuk (Bereishis 30:25) states that as soon as Yosef was born, Yaakov told Lavan that it was time for him go back home. Rashi explains that this was because Yosef had the power to devour Eisov. With his birth, Yaakov knew that he could leave the golus of Lavan, vanquish Eisov, and return to the Promised Land.

Yosef not only shows the way in golus, but also paves the way for geulah. Once Yosef is on the scene, Yaakov is confident that he can leave golus behind him and make it to Eretz Yisroel. The ability of Yosef to give strength and succor in golus and also to help bring about geulah was inherited from his mother, Rochel.

In connection with the posuk in which Yaakov describes the passing of Rochel and her burial at the side of the road to Efras, Rashi quotes the immortal words of Yirmiyohu Hanovi which tell us that when the Jews went into golus at the time of the churban, Rochel stood on her grave on the road they were traveling and cried out to Hashem to have mercy on the Bnei Yisroel. Rochel was the one who pleaded with Hashem to be merciful with the Jews in golus and make sure that they don’t lose their way.

This trait of being mindful of the pitfalls of golus and seeking to help strengthen the Jews who live there was passed on to her son, Yosef.

It is interesting to note that the second half of Yirmiyohu’s prophecy points to the other key characteristic of Yosef, and that is to help bring about the geulah. Hashem answers Rochel, “Mini koleich mibechi…ki yeish sochor lifuloseich veshovu vonim ligvulom.” As a reward for your efforts, your children will return home.

With this, we can understand why Yaakov interjects with the tale of Rochel’s kevurah while he is blessing Yosef and his children, for Yaakov was preparing Klal Yisroel for golus and geulah and telling Yosef that his mother’s kochos hanefesh were passed on to his children. This is the reason that he placed Efraim before Menashe, because Yehoshua, who led the Jews into Eretz Yisroel, was a descendant of Efraim. He was therefore the one who showed the Bnei Yisroel the path to geulah.

Yosef and his children not only demonstrate the way to live and survive in golus, but also lead us to the redemption. To emphasize this point, Yaakov promoted Efraim, grandfather of Yehoshua.

Yosef not only enabled Yaakov to triumph over Eisov, and not only showed how to have a kiyum in golus Mitzrayim and every golus. He also helps lead the Jewish people to geulah, not only in Yaakov’s day by enabling him to leave Lovon and return to Eretz Yisroel, but also at the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim.

There is an allusion to this spiritual force of Yosef in Moshe Rabbeinu’s quest to find the atzmos Yosef, Yosef’s remains, as the posuk (Shemos 13:19) recounts, “Ki hashbei’a hishbi’a es Bnei Yisroel leimor, pakod yifkod Elokim es’chem, veha’alisem es atzmosai mizeh itchem.”

Yosef foretold that, eventually, Hashem would redeem the Jewish people, and when that time comes, they should remove his remains from Mitzrayim. Yosef has a pivotal role to play in both golus and geulah. That is why he was the first to go into golus and why his remains were removed only after all the Jews were ready to depart.

As we go through our lives in the benign golus of America, we would do ourselves a favor to bear in mind that as benevolent as this golus is, it is still golus. We should also remember that Hashem hears our tefillos and, in His great mercy, will send us the redeemer who will liberate us from exile.

Our yeshiva system is currently under threat in New York State. We will overcome those who doubt our dedication to education and the future of our children if we remain strong and honest in the face of wrongful accusations. Like our forebears throughout the many centuries of exile, we respectfully and forthrightly argue for what we deserve. We maintain our dignity as we recognize our situation and intelligently set forth our arguments and preserve our fidelity to Torah and its study.

Too often, we get lost in the daily news and fail to see the bigger picture. When the deluge of negativity and frightening news threatens to overwhelm, it is comforting to note that miracles happen every day, as we say in davening, “V’al nisecha shebechol yom imonu.”

Sometimes we recognize them, but too often we don’t. Let’s be on the lookout for them and appreciate the good that we have. It helps us deal with the challenges of life when we know that we are not alone.

Mussar great Rav Eizik Sher, heir to the derech of Slabodka, arrived in Eretz Yisroel a few steps ahead of the approaching Nazis, who had set their sights on world dominion after decimating Europe. The German Afrika Corps, under the leadership of the vaunted General Erwin Rommel, marched on towards Yerushalayim.

Tzaddikim counseled calm and great men believed that Hashem would save them, but the general mood in the Holy Land was tense. The Nazis were heading to Eretz Yisroel and there was no military means available to stop them.

As people feared for their lives, the Slabodka rosh yeshiva addressed a large gathering. He shared a story about two people who were walking during those fearful times. Suddenly, a group of mosquitoes darkened the air around them, disturbing them. One of them lifted his arm and swatted the flock of pesky insects.

“To Hakadosh Boruch Hu,” the man told his companion, “strong armies are less significant than those mosquitoes.”

The audience was comforted by Rav Sher’s story, as they perceived the truth of the spoken words. In an extraordinary and surprising turn of events, the Nazi army was rendered powerless and retreated to Germany like a pack of mosquitoes.

Those who seek to institute the new laws are not Nazis, nor should they be perceived as such. But the lesson from the story is that we must faithfully continue on our mission to be mekadeish sheim Shomayim in everything we do. We act in ways that are pleasant to man and Hashem, whether it is in the way we drive, shop, walk, talk, deal with others or fight back against people who seek to deter us. Our public and private interaction with others should always leave them with a fine impression, so that when we are portrayed negatively, people will think twice before accepting misrepresentations and negative caricatures.

Our faith in Hakadosh Boruch Hu will be rewarded, and ultimately we will prevail, as we have since we became exiles.

If we rectify our sins and behave properly, our long-awaited arrival will be heralded by the appearance of Moshiach ben Yosef, because, as we have learned from a deeper look at this week’s parsha, Yosef shows the way to geulah. The messianic age and the ultimate geulah will also be ushered in by Yosef and his progeny.

May we merit the Heavenly response to Rochel’s tears and the arrival of Moshiach ben Yosef speedily, in our day. Amein.

Protest!

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

In Parshas Vayigash, we read of the emotional climax of Yosef’s revelation to his brothers. Yehudah’s desperate plea prompted Yosef to drop his disguise and reveal his identity. Before their shocked eyes, the powerful viceroy of Egypt was revealed as their long-lost brother.

Yosef tearfully told them not to fear retribution for selling him into slavery. The Divine plan in his odyssey was now plain for all to see. He asked that they hurriedly return to Yaakov Avinu and inform him that his beloved son Yosef was alive and reigned as a leader in Egypt. He gave them aggalos, wagons, with which to make the trip and loaded them up with all types of goodies.

Yosef admonished them, “Al tirgezu baderech, do not tarry along the way.” A little further on, the posuk relates that when Yaakov saw that Yosef had sent aggalos with which to transport him to Mitzrayim, his spirit was revived.

Why was he revived? The wagons were sent to take him away from Eretz Yisroel into golus. Yaakov should have been upset that he was leaving the Promised Land. Indeed, he was. It was only the assurance of Hakadosh Boruch Hu, who appeared to Yaakov and told him not to fear going down to Mitzrayim, “for I will be going down with you and will bring you back,” that allayed his distress.

The Medrash cited by Rashi explains that the aggalos bore a hidden message from Yosef to his beloved father that he still remembered the sugya of eglah arufah that they had studied together. But why send that message via wagons? Why not send it straightforwardly through one of his brothers?

Perhaps his action also contains an eternal hidden message. Yosef knew that the prospect of going into exile would be difficult for Yaakov and the shevotim. When he said, “Al tirgezu baderech,” don’t become angry on the journey back home, he was referring also to the future golus. He was saying that although the path through golus will be long and painful, do not get angry. Remember that Hashem sent you there as part of a Divine plan. Despite the hardships and sorrows, cling to the path of Torah until your redemption.

The aggalos communicated an important guarantee - that the trip through the exile would be bearable if the Jewish people bear aloft the Torah’s message. If we carry the sugyos of Shas with us, if we do not lose sight of our ultimate goal and destination, we will succeed. The Torah must remain uppermost in our memories and in everything that we do.

Yaakov was upset that he was forced once again to leave the home of his fathers. He knew that he was going down the path of exile, which would only end with the arrival of Moshiach. Yet, when he saw that despite all Yosef had endured in his own private golus, he had kept alive in his heart the sugyos they had studied together, “Vatechi ruach Yaakov avihem,” Yaakov’s spirit regenerated. From this he drew comfort and reassurance that the Jews would persevere in the long and bitter exile. He sent Yehudah ahead of him to Mitzrayim to open a yeshiva to sustain the Jews during their exile there.

Chanukah has ended, but its memory and message must linger long in our hearts. Even after the menorahs are returned to their respective shelves, their flames ought to flicker on in our hearts. The battle that Chanukah commemorates resurges in every age, including our own.

The words we said every day of Chanukah, “ufortzu chomos migdolai,” mirror a new breach, one that many regard apathetically, but one against which those familiar with history and its ramifications will take a vigilant, united stand.

We live in America, a country that has afforded our people unprecedented freedom and opportunity in the exile. Religious Jews have attained high positions in government and industry. There are billionaires and titans of industry who are openly and unapologetically religious.

Religious Jews in New York are well-represented in the halls of academia, in government, and in business, where yarmulkas worn by real estate executives are as prominent as the landmark properties they own.

We have come a long way. We forget that we are in golus. We forget that we are guests of a foreign land.

Every few years, we are served with a reminder.

One such reminder is the current threat facing yeshivos in New York State. The state is asserting authority over all religious schools within its borders. It has conditioned their continued right to exist on a vote of the local school board. It imposed a curriculum that all yeshivos must teach, with a list of required courses for each grade level. It specified how long each class must last. And it directed local school districts to evaluate the faculty teaching at yeshivos.

If that’s not bad enough, these regulations require that yeshiva students in grades 5-8 receive seven hours of secular education every school day.

The educational system that yeshivos in the United States have always used, in which students study religious subjects in the morning and secular subjects in the afternoons, has now effectively been deemed unacceptable.

In announcing the new rules, the state threatened that it will cut off all funding to yeshivos if they do not adopt the new rules. Yeshivos will lose millions of dollars of funding and will be forced to turn to already overtaxed parents to make up the shortfall. Education will suffer, schools will suffer, rabbeim and teachers will suffer, and children will suffer. Most importantly, chinuch as we know it will suffer.

Not only that, but the State Education Commissioner has announced that parents whose children attend non-compliant yeshivos will be given four to six weeks to move their children to another yeshiva. After that, the State threatens to charge yeshiva parents with truancy.

Although this will affect every yeshiva in New York State, so far our community’s response has been apathetic. We seem to think that we are immune from the harms that can emanate from the halls of power in Albany and elsewhere. We think that our politicians actually like us, as opposed to treating us as just another ethnic group that is coddled before elections and otherwise ignored.

We think that the people in charge will recognize the value of the education our yeshivos provide and how well yeshiva students rate on national tests and Regents exams. We think that they will notice and appreciate the value Jewish people have placed on education for millennia. We think that they will notice the successes of yeshiva students in professions or pursuits they seek.

But thinking such thoughts is folly. The State Education Department knew what it was doing when it enacted these new rules. They ignored numerous pleas to work with our community to accommodate our chinuch system.

Leading rabbonim traveled to Albany to meet with the state education commissioner. Instead of understanding, she gave them the cold shoulder. They were spoken to instead of listened to, and their arguments were unceremoniously ignored.

The lights of the neiros are gone, but their flame must continue to illuminate the darkness. We pride ourselves on the amazing accomplishments of Jews throughout political and socio-economic spheres. Many often point to the fact that yeshiva students go on to become doctors, lawyers, accountants, successful business owners, real estate moguls, CEOs, CFOs, and leaders in every form of endeavor. And we think that we are safe here.

To be sure, this country has been the most welcoming host in our long golus history. The United States is a bedrock of democracy, decency, kindness and freedom of all types, especially freedom of religion. 

Regrettably, there are instances even here when we receive the golus treatment. Most recently, we have been forced to battle government leaders over bris milah, despite the falsity of the government’s claims.

This week marks the one-year anniversary of President Donald J. Trump’s commutation of the sentence of Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin, who prominently suffered from injustice. We came together as a people and prayed hard as we worked diligently to advance the cause of truth. Hashem heard our prayers, felt our pain, and allowed our efforts to succeed.

We need to feel the same urgency now.

Throughout the ages, governments have attempted to curtail our study of Torah and portray us as backward and non-functioning citizens when we did not accept their mandates. All throughout history, those attempts have failed, as will this attempt by New York State. But those victories required the sweat and tears of many, and the endless advocacy of our cause, with leading rabbis of the day working together with laymen to fight Maskilim and governments.

Nobody wants a return to that. Nobody wants to be forced to go down the road of engaging in desperate struggles. But Torah is our lifeblood. Torah is what we are all about. We must be able to educate our children in Torah, the bedrock of our faith. Nothing anybody does will deter us from teaching our children as we have been taught, as Jews have been taught ever since Sinai, and before.

We cannot sit by quietly as this battle unfolds. We cannot rely on other people to work this out. They will not be able to accomplish much if we do not respectfully and responsibly, collectively and individually, voice our protest.

When the dictates of bureaucracy begin to govern our spirituality, our religious integrity has been compromised and the walls of our tower have been breached. “Ufortzu chomos migdolai.”

We get so comfortable that we forget the message of the aggalos. We lose sight of our mission and our goal. We forget that we are on a treacherous path in golus that requires constant vigilance, and at times we need to fight for the truth so that we can preserve our way of life.

We need reminders so that our spirits can be lifted and we can return home. Let the image of the flames of the Chanukah menorah burn brightly in our memory, so that we remember that at the end of the day, victory belongs not to those who boast of numbers, status or militarily might, but those who battle for what is right and true.

Just as the Yevonim were defeated despite their determination to separate us from the Torah, so too, in our times, modern-day warriors who engage in this fight for the transmission of Torah and education of our growing community of school-aged children should be rewarded with much nachas and the consecration of the Bais Hamikdosh, speedily and in our day.

The Poetry of Lita With an American Accent: Rav Avrohom Chaim Levin zt”l

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Vashki has lost its last son.

Vashki was a quintessential Litvishe shtetel, where Jews lived for hundreds of years. Vashki, a primarily Jewish town in the heart of Lithuania, near Ponovezh and not far from Telz, has lost its only remaining son and a long glorious chain has been interrupted.

Led for decades by his grandfather, for whom he was named, it was populated by simple, goodhearted people whose lives evolved around avodas Hashem. Steeped in mesorah, driven by emunah and bitachon, engrossed in Torah, the seemingly simple people were not simple at all. With a burning determination to maintain the greatness of Klal Yisroel that they embodied, their simplicity was matched by their holiness.

Rav Avrohom Chaim Levin zt”l was the last serving son of that town and its great traditions. His outward simplicity shielded the depth of commitment and greatness in Torah that he embodied. His refinement was testimony to his solid foundations and upbringing, and a lifetime of constant climbing, ascending the ladder of greatness rung by rung.

I am having a mental block as I try to write about Rav Levin. My mind is numb; my fingers refuse to type.

Klal Yisroel lost a gadol. The United States lost a favorite rosh yeshiva. Chicago lost its Torah leader. Telz lost its crown. I lost my uncle.

He wasn’t just my uncle. He was the surviving member of the family that escaped from Vashki. He was my mother. He was my grandfather.

He was the personification of everything that made Lithuanian Jewry great. He was the person I looked up to. The one I spoke to when there was no one else who would understand. A person to consult with and present many of the issues that cropped up in the Yated over the years. He would read articles and comment, review ads and say yes or no. He was always supportive of me publicly and privately and that meant so much to me. He was a constant in my life. The pride of the family. The one who carried within him the middos and daas of Kelm. Of Radin. Of Vashki. And of course, of Telz.

I never learned in Telz, but whenever I visited my uncle and the Telzer Yeshiva, I knew that I was in the presence of greatness.

Everything in Telz was different than the places I had studied, the Chicago Telz bais medrash shined. There was always a certain seriousness you didn’t sense elsewhere. Everyone in that holy room was earnest and punctilious, with a smile indicating that they wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Even the shtenders are different there, throwbacks to a different era, each one with its own personality and charm.

A large pyramid. And at its crown, the focus of hundreds of pairs of eyes and heads, stood Rav Avrohom Chaim.

He stands no more. I am overwhelmed by a longing I cannot bear. He was the conduit to my heritage, the regal epitome of the Litvishe Torah royalty that once was.

To understand Rav Levin, you had to know his father.

I once asked his father, my grandfather, Rav Leizer Levin, what his rebbi, Rav Doniel of Kelm, was like. He said to me: “Reb Doniel iz geven ah malach.” He didn’t repeat any stories. No tales, no Torahs, no shmuessen. He didn’t look me in the eye, as was his habit when he spoke to someone. We were sitting in his study. He looked down at his well-worn desk. I still remember it like today. “Ehr iz geven ah malach,” he repeated. His rebbi in Kelm, who had a tremendous influence on him, could best be described as a malach.

He didn’t tell me more. He said I wouldn’t understand. It was a different era, a different world.

At the levayah, as Rav Yitzchok Sorotzkin was being maspid, those words came back to me. As I heard Rav Sorotzkin say, “Rav Avrohom Chaim iz geven ah malach,” my mind drifted off and I was back in my zaide’s house, talking to him about Rav Doniel and Kelm. He was telling me, “Ehr iz geven ah malach, ober du kenst dos nit farshtein.” And I was telling him that his son is a malach – “un dos ken ich farshtein.”

At the levayah, the maspid was saying that Rav Avrohom Chaim hid his greatness, but if you knew who he was and watched how he conducted himself, you saw greatness in everything he did. And once again, my mind drifted back to me zaide’s house on George Washington Avenue in Southfield, Michigan.

My zaide learned in the Radin Yeshiva for many years and slept in the Chofetz Chaim’s home for a year and a half. I asked him what the Chofetz Chaim looked like. He responded that the Chofetz Chaim looked like a poshuter Yid. “If you didn’t know who he was, you thought he was a simple person. Az men hut nit gevust, hut men gornit gezen. If you didn’t know, you didn’t see anything. Uber az men hut gevust, hut men altz gezen. But if you knew who he was, then you saw everything.”

And I couldn’t help thinking of my grandfather’s zechus to raise a son blessed with the attributes of his holy rebbi.

While he grew up in a home steeped in the Torah and mussar of Radin and Kelm, growing up as a young boy in Detroit was quite different than back home in Vashki. For one, there were no yeshivos in town. His father was friendly with Rav Eliyohu Meir Bloch in Lita, and when the visiting Telz rosh yeshiva became stuck in America as the war broke out and didn’t know what became of his family, he spent Yom Tov with the Levins in Detroit.

As soon as young Avrohom Chaim became of age to leave home, he was naturally sent to Telz. But sending a son to yeshiva was not the natural thing back then. In a reminiscing mood, my grandfather told me that when he arrived in Detroit, there were 32 rabbonim there. They didn’t want him. They said that there were enough rabbis in town already and he should find someplace else to go. Sadly, he commented that “Fun zei alleh iz gurnit gebliben.” Those rabbis were forgotten, as their families assimilated and no religious children remained.

“Ich hob em avek geshikt. I had one son, and I sent him away to Telz and therefore he remained.”

With an iron will and steel determination, Rav Leizer arrived in this country with nothing but the spiritual strengths and possessions transported in his heart and soul from Lita and transmitted that to his children.

When Rav Avrohom Chaim was sent to Chicago by Rav Mottel Katz to open the Telz Yeshiva, that spiritual heritage was brought to bear. A young man in a strange new city that didn’t want him, Rav Levin, soft with sterling middos, was strong and unbending when it came to ensuring that Torah would be replanted and take root in the capital of the Midwest. His determination was rewarded in ways he probably never imagined on the lonely day he arrived in the Windy City, but today Chicago is an ihr v’eim b’Yisroel, pulsating with Torah and all that flows from it.

He seeded it, shepherded it, fertilized it, pruned it, and presided over it. Thousands of bnei Torah now proudly say, “I come from Chicago. I come from Telz.”

Torah was his lifeblood. Torah is what charged him, what fueled him, and what empowered him. He loved to learn. He loved to learn with talmidim. His face shined as he said shiur, going back and forth with the shakla vetarya of the Gemara, citing Rishonim, Acharonim and his rabbeim, the giants of Telz. He smiled as he saw the young minds absorb the chakirah and follow along as he supported this side and then the other.

Nothing but Torah motivated him. It was never about him. It was always about Torah, Telz and the Ribono Shel Olam. Though he was exceedingly humble, he could not be pressured or swayed. Money meant nothing to him. Blessed with sound judgment and steeped in chochmas haTorah and yiras Shomayim, a loyal talmid to his rabbeim and a loving rebbi to his own talmidim, he was rock solid when it came to securing Torah causes and maintaining his mesorah.

That mesorah traces its way back to the Torah and mussar giant, Rav Yisroel Salanter. Rav Leizer Gordon, known as Rav Leizer Telzer, and the Alter of Kelm studied together under Rav Yisroel. They absorbed his greatness in Torah coupled with a lifelong mission of self-improvement and growth of mussar, motivated by a search for the emes – truth – in everything. Rav Leizer Gordon was rov of Kelm for some nine years. A short time after leaving, he was selected as rov of Telz and took over the small yeshiva there.

After a slow start, the fame of the yeshiva and its rosh yeshiva spread far and wide. When the famed Volozhin Yeshiva was closed, Telz became the largest yeshiva in Lita. Rav Leizer Telzer stood out for his love, his love of Hashem, his love of people, his love of Torah, and his love of his talmidim. As much as he loved his talmidim, that is how much they loved him.

When he entered the bais medrash to deliver shiur, an electricity gripped the talmidim.

That was the mesorah that was handed down by the roshei yeshiva of Telz, the mesorah that Rav Eliyohu Meir Bloch transplanted to America and transmitted to Rav Avrohom Chaim Levin. He loved everyone, and everyone loved him.

Rav Levin was the poetry of Lita with an American accent.

He possessed gadlus in Torah coupled with a strength of purpose. He was dignified, refined and disciplined, reflecting a life spent attaining perfection. He was suffused with love, determination, happiness and an inner satisfaction that was always evident no matter the circumstances. His face shined as his eyebrows came together and he took charge of a situation, clearly sizing it up, doing what had to be done, and saying what needed to be said.

He measured his words carefully, never speaking out of place, never saying the wrong thing, and many times, especially in his later years, preferring the mode of silence over speech.

A posuk (Bereishis 38:26) in the parsha of the week in which Rav Levin was niftar states, “Vayaker Yehudah vayomer tzodkoh mimeni.” Rashi (ad loc.) quotes the Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah 99:8) which states that Hashem said to Yehudah, “You admitted – hodisu – to the incident with Tamar, your brothers will praise you - yoducha - to be their king.”

Rav Levin’s rebbi muvhak, Rav Eliyohu Meir, writes that usually, when we think about a king, we think of a person with many ministers who jump at his command and an army to defend his country and police it. Upon deeper thought, however, you realize that such a king is not empowered by himself, but rather by his minions who keep him in power. His kingdom depends upon his finding favor in the eyes of his countrymen. The monarch doesn’t control his own destiny. His followers do.

The Torah teaches that a person worthy of the title king is someone whose positive attributes place him on a higher plane than everyone else. A real king is one who controls himself and doesn’t let others control him. Before ruling over others, he rules over himself.

Therefore, Chazal say that Yehudah merited serving as king because he had the strength of character and purpose not to fear the embarrassment he would suffer from admitting the truth. He could have easily preserved his dignity and hidden what really happened, yet he stuck to the truth, even though that meant degrading himself.

That is malchus. That is the malchus the avos longed for and the Torah praises. A person who is loyal to the truth at all costs has the attributes of a powerful king, for he rules over himself.

Rav Avrohom Chaim ruled over Telz, Chicago, the Midwest and national Agudah and Torah Umesorah, but he was a melech because he ruled over himself. 

He was steeped in mussar and self-control, the mussar of Telz, of Rav Eliyohu Meir, of Kelm, of his father, and of his wife’s grandfather, Rav Yechezkel Levenstein. 

The Gemara in Eiruvin (13b) states that Hashem raises people who are humble and puts down those who are conceited. High positions elude those who chase after them, but pursues those who run from them.

Rav Avrohom Chaim never sought to be anything more than a loyal talmid to his rebbi, and no matter what he accomplished, he always viewed himself humbly in that vein.  

Chazal say (Tana Devei Eliyohu 25) that every person is obligated to ask, “When will my actions reach those of my forefathers, Avrohom, Yitzchok and Yaakov?”

We are obligated to ask, “When will I have their dedication to the emes, their strength of purpose, their perseverance despite many obstacles and people who mocked them and didn’t appreciate their mission?”

Rav Avrohom Chaim Levin viewed himself as a talmid on a mission, but every day he asked those questions and every day he got closer to matching up.

He eschewed honor and attained malchus.

The Vilna Gaon writes in Even Sheleimah that the parsha of the week in which Rav Levin passed away, Vayeishev, is the parsha of ikvesa deMeshicha, hinting to the period in which we live, prior to the coming of Moshiach.

Rabi Elazar taught (Sanhedrin 98b) that the way to be spared from chevlei Moshiach, the terrible pains that will precede Moshiach’s arrival, is to study Torah and engage in acts of kindness.

Rav Elchonon Wasserman explained that the relationship of Yosef with his brothers is akin to the relationship of the Bnei Yisroel with the nations of the world. Gemillus chassodim involves people acting peacefully with each other.

He cites the Gemara (Sotah 49b) that says that chevlei Moshiach primarily involve hatred between people. Therefore, husband and wife should seek to maintain harmony between themselves and their children. The most important factor in raising children is that the home be one of peace and happiness. That way, the children will also be happy and content. However, if they experience tension in the home, they will be tense, sad and angry.edetween us. The posuk states that when Yaakov Avinu arrived in Eretz Yisroel, “Vayei’oveik ish imo,” the Soton, the representative of Eisov, did battle with him to hold him back from entering the Holy Land.

The Soton causes Jews to quarrel with one another, preventing the geulah. Increasing peace and brotherhood among the Jewish people weakens the power of the Soton and brings us closer to the redemption.

In our day, as we daven for Moshiach and dance around the candles, which represent purity and Torah, we should seek to increase peace and brotherhood among our people so that Moshiach can arrive with a minimum amount of pain.

Rav Levin aspired his whole life for peace between brothers, for greatness in Torah and avodah, for middos tovos and seriousness in tefillah. Let us emulate him.

Tehei nishmaso tzerurah betzror hachaim.