Lighting the Flame

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

As we study Parshas Terumah, we learn of the keruvim (Shemos 25:20), images of angelic young children with cherubic faces that stood on top of the Aron in the holiest place in the world. The posuk states that they faced each other, “ufneihem ish el ochiv.”

However, when referring to the keruvim in the time of Shlomo Hamelech, the posuk (Divrei Hayomim 2-3:13) states that “p’neihem el hakir,” they faced the heichol. The Gemara in Bava Basra (99a) points out the contradiction and explains that when the Jewish people are behaving properly - “b’zeman she’osim retzono shel Makom” - the keruvim face each other, but when the Jewish people didn’t act properly and sinned, the keruvim turned around and faced the wall.

Rav Yitzchok Elchonon Spector, who served as the rov of Kovno but was the rashkebehag to whom all of Klal Yisroel directed their questions of Torah, halacha and askonus, offered a novel explanation of the Gemara. He said that what the Gemara is stating is that the Jewish people are doing what Hashem desires them to do when they are facing each other and caring for each other and helping each other. When a person only cares about himself and his family, and faces the wall rather than face other people, becoming encumbered with their problems and issues, he is not acting the way Hashem wants him to.

Part of being good Jews is caring for each other, not only being concerned about ourselves and our needs.

Last week we read Parshas Mishpotim, dealing with the halachos involving living with other people. This week’s parsha deals with the construction of the Mishkon, the dwelling place of the Shechinah in this world. Introducing the description of this holy place and its construction, the posuk (Shemos 25:2) states, “Veyikchu li terumah – And they should take donations for Me” to build the Mishkon.

The Vilna Gaon explains that the Shechinah was in the hearts of the Bnei Yisroel, but the people needed a place where they could gather together. This was accomplished by “all the hearts,” all the people who had the Shechinah beating in their hearts, making heartfelt donations, “asher yidvenu libo.”

When people demonstrate that they appreciate what Hashem has given them, they show that there is holiness in their soul. Kedusha seeks to expand and strengthen. When they give of themselves and their possessions, they are able to build a place where kedusha can take hold, gather other sparks of holiness, and create a place of holiness.

I’ve written previously that to understand this, we can imagine a single person striking a match on a dark winter night. The match lights for a few seconds and then withers away. Suppose two people are together and each one lights a match. The flame is larger, brighter and warmer than when a single match is struck, though it is still quite feeble. The more matches struck together, the more warmth and light there will be.

Every Jew has an individual spark of kedusha, but by itself and when it is cold and dark, the spark can’t accomplish much. When Jews join together, each one with his spark, a torch of kedusha erupts and the Shechinah has a place it can visit.

This is the explanation of the Mishnah in Pirkei Avos which states that when two Jews join to study Torah, the Shechinah is among them. This is because they have combined their sparks to light the world for Torah. In such a place, the Shechinah feels comfortable and joins.

When the entirety of Klal Yisroel joins in contributing “bechol levovom” for a place of kedusha, the Shechinah has found a dwelling place among us in this world.

With this, we can understand a statement of Rabi Akiva: “Ish v’isha zochu Shechinah beineihem - If a man and woman merit, the Shechinah is with them” (Sotah 17a). When a man and a woman marry, if each one is filled with hopes of building a proper Jewish home and has strengthened themselves with good middos and fidelity to Torah and kedusha, they have fostered a place where the Shechinah can feel comfortable.

We no longer have the Mikdosh, but we do have within ourselves sparks of holiness, and if we properly observe halacha, study Torah, and help other people, we can fashion within our hearts and homes a place for the Shechinah.

At the foundation of Yiddishkeit – necessary to excel in Torah – are middos which guide a person’s personal conduct and how he deals with others. Just being alone and concerned only about ourselves leaves us with tiny sparks, but in order to flame up into something bigger and better, we have to deal, learn and work with other people.

Hashem told Moshe to accept donations for the Mishkon only from people “asher yidvenu libo,” those who want to give. Nobody should be forced to contribute to the construction of the Mishkon.

The Alter of Kelm asks that considering that the call for the construction of the Mishkon came in the desert after being freed from Mitzrayim and receiving the Torah, who of the Jewish people wouldn’t want to contribute to a building for the Shechinah to dwell among them?

How are we to understand that people in their situation would not want to part with a few shekels to help construct a Bais Hashem?

The question is strengthened by the fact that nobody among them had worked hard for the wealth with which they had been blessed. Everything they had was obviously obtained through chesed Hashem, fulfilling the promise made to Avrohom of “V’acharei chein yeitz’u b’rechush gadol” (Bereishis 15:14).

Since none of the Jews of the Dor Hamidbor worked hard for what they had and none of them could convince themselves that their money was a product of “kochi ve’otzem yodi,” why would they not willingly give some of it back to the One who enriched them?

Apparently, conceit and selfishness are a part of the human makeup, and anyone who has not benefitted from studying Torah and mussar and developing his middos is unable to part with his possessions to benefit others.

We look back at the people who were enriched by looting the Mitzriyim and wonder how they could not appreciate the source of their wealth. Yet, others from different generations can view us similarly. They can easily say, “Look at the wealth Hashem gave the Jewish people at this time of history. Look at how Hashem removed so many of the impediments to Jewish people being accepted among the general populace and accumulating great wealth.” They may wonder about us, “How can it be that everyone didn’t realize that Hashem had blessed them? Why didn’t they share more of it? Why did they think that they were entitled to ignore the cries of the poor and needy?”

Sure, there are many generous people among us, and it is thanks to them that Torah is built and maintained. It is to their credit that there are so many charitable organizations that help people deal with every conceivable need. Who knows if charity was ever distributed on the level it is now? The amount of tzedakah that is given out in our day has virtually no parallel in any time of history.

When you look at the buildings that have been erected for yeshivos, shuls and other mosdos, think about the people who paid for them. Think about the Holocaust survivors who came here empty-handed and what they accomplished. Think about how they brought up their children and grandchildren to give and build and care about other Jews. And then think about what your role is in the rebirth and rebuilding of Yiddishkeit. Consider what you can do for others. You’ll be benefitting yourself, your family, and the entire Torah world.

If you want to merit a share in the Bais Hashem in your area, if you want to merit a Mishkon and a Mikdosh, you have to be a person of nedivus halev, thoughtful generosity. That comes by recognizing that all that we have is a gift and acknowledging that the Torah is made of halachos pertaining to bein adam lachaveiro, not only bein adam laMakom. We have to care about others. We have to seek to benefit fellow Yidden.

A story is told about the Chofetz Chaim, who called an urgent meeting of communal leaders to discuss and solve a pressing matter. Although the Chazon Ish was very young and virtually unknown at the time, he was invited and participated in the gathering. The Chofetz Chaim noticed that the Chazon Ish did not seem like he wanted to be there and was anxiously awaiting the meeting’s culmination so he could return to his Gemara.

The Chofetz Chaim turned to the Chazon Ish and said, “You should know that I am aware that were I to lock myself away and only study Torah, I would grow to much greater heights in Torah and avodas Hashem, but our task in this world is not to think only about ourselves. Man wasn’t created for himself, but rather to bring satisfaction to Hashem, who desires that we help others. This is compounded when dealing with matters that affect the community.”

This is the way tzaddikim and good people conduct themselves.

Many years later, the Chazon Ish, already living in Bnei Brak, was raising money for an important cause. He asked a certain rov to visit a wealthy man in Tel Aviv to solicit a donation from him. The rov didn’t want to go and said, “An adam gadol is needed to explain the importance of this cause to him.”

The Chazon Ish wasn’t impressed with the excuse. He said to the rov, “How does a person become an adam gadol? When he succeeds in a mission such as this one.”

When we care about others and give of ourselves to help people, we grow.

An adam gadol is one who understands priorities and acts upon them. MK Shlomo Lorencz was leaving on one of his many fundraising trips abroad and went to the Chazon Ish to bid farewell and ask if there was anything he needed done before he left. The Chazon Ish told him that there was a small yeshiva that was experiencing a specific problem. He asked Rabbi Lorencz to ensure that the issue was resolved before leaving.

Rabbi Lorencz asked what was so important about helping this small yeshiva. He wanted to know if it was something really important that had to be taken care of before he was to leave. Helping some tiny yeshiva he never even heard of didn’t seem to fit the bill.

The Chazon Ish told him, “Yeshivos are of utmost importance. What happens outside of yeshivos is of secondary consideration. Our main focus is on yeshivos, and not only large, famous ones, but every yeshiva, even the smallest ones, even those that are taking their first baby steps, such as this one, which you never heard of. They are paramount, and it is worth devoting time and working to ensure that the issues are cleared up and the talmidim can enter their building and begin learning.”

Yeshivos, botei medrash and shuls are what we have today in place of the Mishkon and Mikdosh. We have to appreciate them and seek to spend time there engaged in Torah, tefillah and seeking to become closer to Hashem. We enter them with our small sparks of kedusha and the Shechinah, and we team up with the other people there and their sparks, together lighting a torch of kedusha that brings light to our lives and to the world.

And just as the Mikdosh, in its time, served as a location from where holiness spread out to Klal Yisroel, so too, great tzaddikim are able to accept Hashem’s influence, and from them it spreads to those who have properly prepared themselves to accept it.

As we study Parshas Terumah, let us dig beneath the surface and learn its lessons. As we learn the halachos pertaining to the construction of the Mishkon, let us feel its absence and strive to improve the way we conduct ourselves with each other. Let us seek to keep our sparks alive and work to be proper hosts for the Shechinah. Let us contribute to the mikdoshei me’at we have been blessed with and appreciate that they are hosts for the Shechinah.

Let us care about others and do what we can to help other people and the matzav in general. By doing so, we will bring joy to others and to ourselves, and we will bring the world closer to the day when the Bais Hamikdosh will be rebuilt with the coming of Moshiach very soon.

 

Rav Shea Fishman zt”l

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Some people come into your life and never really leave. They make a mark on you, influencing, inspiring and teaching. Such a person was Rav Yehoshua Zvi Fishman zt”l, who passed away last week following a lingering illness.

It was some thirty-five years ago that we met…well, sort of. I had heard his name, but never had the pleasure of meeting him. One year, he was the guest speaker at the dinner of Bais Medrash Govoah of Lakewood. I listened to his speech and he took my breath away. He was so full of Torah and machshovah and conviction and heart. I had never heard anyone speak like that. Upon hearing the speech, I decided that I wanted to go work for him. And I did.

He was everything that came through in that speech and a whole lot more. He was my boss essentially, but he never held that over me. He was like a father to me, and a rebbi and a dear friend. We would speak for hours about everything. He was always engaging and on target. He understood people and understood life. He knew what makes people tick. He could tell the good from the not-so-good and would do his best to cleave to and empower the good.

He would often repeat short witty sayings from his mother, filled with the eternal wisdom of the Jewish people, relating to all aspects of life. With them, he would educate, inspire and guide those with whom he came in contact.

He taught and led by example, inspiring with words and with deeds. He was unfailingly kind and patient, even with people nobody else had patience for and even to people who never appreciated the kindness he extended to them.

He could speak and relate to anyone. He would call me at home almost every day and my young children would answer the phone. He would strike up conversations with them and become their telephone friend. One Sunday, he came to my house. He knocked on the door and the kids shouted, “Who’s there?” The voice from the other side of the door said, “Rabbi Fishman.”

They were excited to finally meet their telephone friend. But when they opened the door, they said, “You’re not Rabbi Fishman. You are so old! Rabbi Fishman is very young and he is our friend.”

It took some time for him to convince them that he was the same Rabbi Fishman who was their friend. He was likewise the friend of many other people, some of whom had many friends and some who had none. He could speak and connect to anyone, young and old, learned or not, great scholars and simple laymen.

He was a study of opposites in a certain way. He was very serious, but had a hysterically funny side to him. He was intensely polite and courteous, but to protect a Torah principle, or to protect a child or a rebbi, he was fearlessly stubborn.

He didn’t care about kavod for himself, only for others. He never sought honor and never learned how to handle it. What he cared about was Torah, kavod haTorah, people, and primarily chinuch.

When he would speak of his rebbi, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, he would shed a tear, always, every time. And when he would speak of Jewish children not receiving a Torah education, he would also get choked up.

He was full of emotion for everything holy, because his essence was holiness. And he cared. He really cared. He worked hard, day and night. He didn’t give that impression, because he didn’t do it to impress anybody. He did it because he cared. He cared about every Jewish child, every morah, every teacher, every rebbi and every menahel, and he worked on their behalf.

He was seemingly always on the phone, working with rabbeim and helping them when there were local problems. He worked with menahalim to improve their schools and smooth things out with baalei batim to get everyone on the same page. If something wasn’t going right in a school, any school, and it came to his attention, he got to work to improve the situation.

He cared. He really cared. Every rebbi and every morah, menahel and menaheles was his business and he made time for them, listening, guiding, training, answering questions, and doing whatever he could for them.

When a rebbi or anyone involved in chinuch was retiring and there was an issue with a pension, he dropped everything to make sure that the person who dedicated their life to the highest calling would have what to live on in their senior years. He would do whatever was necessary, cajoling, squeezing, convincing, and, when all else failed, convening a din Torah on behalf of the mechaneich. He didn’t just pay lip service and provide a shoulder to cry on. He rolled up his sleeves and did what had to be done.

When a school was functioning well and growing, he would have the most nachas. His face would light up when he spoke about successful schools out of town and the great people involved in running them. He would travel, often across the country, and was as familiar and involved with Jewish communities where there were day schools and community kollelim as far and as varied as Portland, Savannah, South Bend, Houston, Los Angeles, Toronto and Chicago as he was with his native Williamsburg.

He cared about Jewish children and did what he could to make sure that there was a good school available for them. His rebbi was Rav Hutner, but his boss was Rav Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz, who founded Torah Umesorah, and he went to work every day to please his boss and carry out his mission.

He would often recount a conversation that took place between Rav Shraga Feivel and his contemporaries in Williamsburg who were mocking his efforts on behalf of Jewish public school children across America.

With tears streaming down his face, Rav Shea would often recount Mr. Mendlowitz’s response: “Un vos art eich oib noch fiftzik toizend kinder velen zogen Shema Yisroel? And what does it bother you if another 50,000 Jewish children will recite Shema Yisroel?”

That became Rabbi Fishman’s mantra, and also the mantra of the people who worked for him. He indoctrinated us to do whatever we could to realize that dream of continuing to expand the world of Torah and mitzvos. That mantra still guides those who were privileged enough to fall under his wing. Every once in a while, when we are together, we recite those holy words with the intonation of Reb Shea and get recharged. We chant, “Un vos art eich oib noch fiftzik toizend kinder velen zogen Shema Yisroel?”

When he spoke at the Torah Umesorah convention on Shabbos in a large room filled with over one thousand mechanchim, everything was suspended, as all eyes were glued to the angelic figure standing on a raised area in the center. He stood there in his kapota, swaying back and forth, turning this way and that, his hands waving, his voice rising. Nobody missed a word.

As he spoke, you could feel his neshomah soaring to the heavens, as lofty, holy words flowed from his mouth. He spoke with an abundance of passion, the crowd hanging on to every word. He soared and everyone soared along with him. He would say a story like nobody else could, telling the most beautiful and uplifting tales that touched you to the core. He had a subtle understanding of Polish and Chabad chassidishe Torah, which he would sprinkle in. His divrei Torah lifted the crowd, holding them there in his palms, inspiring Hashem’s soldiers to return to their posts feeling pumped about themselves and their chosen path in life.

When he was done, he was done, wiped out, drenched in sweat, holy sweat, from a job done well, the job of furthering the dream of more and more children across the fruited plain reciting Shema Yisroel.

I would travel with Rabbi Fishman to raise money for Torah Umesorah. Our mission once took us to Detroit. Raising money is a very difficult, grueling and thankless task, but without it, you can’t accomplish much.

Our trip was before the days of cell phones. I remember sitting with him in the car as he was driving. We came to a 7-11 store on Ten Mile Road, in the heart of the Jewish neighborhood. He pulled up to the edge of the parking lot and parked. He rolled down his window and took out a bag of change. I said to him, “What are you doing? Why did you stop the car here and what do you plan on doing with that bag of quarters?” He responded, “Welcome to the Detroit office of Torah Umesorah. You see that pay phone out my window? That is our office!”

Indeed, we spent much time at that spot during our stay there, as he popped in quarters and called people, seeking to set up appointments for solicitations. We didn’t make much money. The weather was cold and snowy, and most often, we were freezing as we sat in the car with the open window trying to interest people enough in our cause to let us in.

Two visits there stand out in my memory. One was to the legendary Marvin Berlin, who made our trip financially worthwhile - a story for a different time. The other was a visit to my grandfather, Rav Leizer Levin, the decades-long rov of Detroit. That visit made the trip worthwhile on a spiritual level.

We were invited to eat supper in his home. We were sitting at his small kitchen table, with a bowl of soup in front of us, and Rabbi Fishman asked Rav Levin how it was that he succeeded in the rabbonus for so many years.

Rav Levin was a giant in many ways, and he and Rabbi Fishman saw greatness in each other. When Rabbi Fishman asked him the question, he gave much thought to the answer.

Rav Levin had studied in the yeshiva of the Chofetz Chaim as a bochur for seven years. During that time, he lived in the home of the Chofetz Chaim for more than one year. He rarely spoke about himself, but that night he did.

He said that when he left Radin to go learn in Kelm, the Chofetz Chaim said to him, “Leizer, gei redd mit Yidden. Go speak with Jews.”

He said those words with so much heart, love and conviction that he lit a fire in our hearts. What happened the rest of the trip didn’t really matter. We would plunk those quarters into our office phone on Ten Mile Road and we would say to each other, “Mir gei’in redden mit Yidden. We are going to speak with Jews.” And whether we got a big check or a small one, it didn’t make a difference. We got our feet in the door and we spoke to a Yid about Torah, about Yiddishkeit, and about committing future generations to Torah.

When we arrived back in New York, Rabbi Fishman’s parting words to me were, “Now, you aren’t to repeat that story until after the convention. You will have to wait until I use it in my speech.” And a few months later, at the convention in the Friar Tuck Inn, in his masterful speech, he repeated that story, exhorted the mechanchim “redd mit di talmidim.”

You could hear a pin drop as he spoke, one thousand pairs of eyes and ears trained on his passionate words, which emanated from a heart that cared, and bounced off the walls and the low ceiling of that cavernous room into the hearts of the listeners.

The holy words of the Chofetz Chaim expressed the ambition of every rov, rebbi, morah and teacher to connect with their students, understanding what they are about and tapping into their latent enthusiasm for learning.

The crowd was so mesmerized by the message that each attendee went home with an extra bounce in their step and repeated that story again and again. It has since become a classic, because the man who cared most about rabbeim and placed them on a pedestal told it with so much life and emotion that anyone who heard it will never forget it.

Rabbi Fishman was handed the helm of the organization when it was at a low, with few baalei batim and no money. He rebuilt it, painstakingly, finding good people to add to the barebones staff. He came up with new projects. He was full of ideas and wore himself down seeing them through. He brought together a new board, won friends for the organization, and raised the money to keep it going.

To be honest, he was never really able to raise enough to realize his dreams, and never earned much money for himself. Some princely baalei batim such as Reb Sheldon Beren, Reb Dovid Singer and Reb Yankel Rajchenbach rallied to his side, and with their arrival and support, Reb Shea was able to grow the organization in a phenomenal way.

He hired capable bnei Torah in whom he saw talent and a future. He guided and inspired them, helping them to develop into stars as they followed his example of dedicating their lives to committing generations to Torah.

We cannot close without noting that he was a dear and loyal friend to this newspaper from the very lonely beginning and took great pride in its growth and accomplishments.

He would often end his speeches at the conventions with the words “Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu,” blessed and worthy of admiration are those who toil in the vineyard of Hashem, spreading, teaching and supporting Torah. He said it in a way that everyone felt it.

And we say: Ashrei! Blessed and worthy of praise are all those who were educated by a mechanech who benefitted from Rabbi Fishman and the organization he headed and set on the path to greatness.

Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu umah yofah yerushoseinu.

Tehei nishmaso tzerurah betzror hachaim.

On Reading the News

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

The Alter of Kelm had a stone fence put up around the yeshiva building he headed in Kelm. The fence had a gate with a lock and key. The key was hung on a hook on the inside of the fence in a way that it was possible to reach from the outside as well. Everyone who entered and exited was obligated to take the key, unlock the gate, go in or out, and then return the key to its proper place. At the end of the learning day, a certain bochur was tasked with ensuring that the gate was locked and then taking the key with him for the night. In the morning, he would come, reopen the gate, and replace the key.

There were no exceptions. Each morning, everyone had to wait for the person in charge to arrive with the key and open the gate. If people came early and the person in charge of the key had not yet arrived, they would stand there and wait for him. Even the Alter would wait.

One day, the fellow was delayed and a large crowd began to form at the gate, awaiting his arrival. One of the bochurim became agitated and could wait no longer. He shouted that it was “bittul Torah to continue waiting.” He jumped over the fence and walked to the bais medrash.

Upon seeing what happened, the Alter fainted. When he was revived, he promptly fainted again. A commotion ensued and the talmidim began asking the Alter what happened that caused him to faint.

He responded, “Did you not see how that fellow jumped over the fence! The same way he breached that fence, it is likely that he breached many others,” he said, referring to the various “fences” that Chazal placed around aveiros to prevent people from sinning.

The talmidim wondered what the big deal was. Besides, he seemed like a fine fellow and nobody had previously suspected him of doing anything wrong.

A few days later, something happened and the jumper was exposed as a thoroughly rotten, evil person.

When the scandal broke, talmidim were standing around discussing what happened, declaring that the Alter must have “ruach hakodesh” to be able to discern from a small act that the talmid had fallen under bad influences.

But the Alter would have none of it. He reminded them that everyone was calmly awaiting the arrival of the talmid with the key to unlock the gate. This fellow was the only one who shouted that it was bittul Torah to wait and jumped over the fence.

He observed, “That fellow was not an especially great masmid, so it wasn’t his urge to study Torah that prompted him to do what he did. I saw that the fence was not a barrier to him and he coolly jumped over it. Someone who is not held back by a fence and has no problem leaping over it, is a person who is close to sin.”

This week, we learn the parsha of Kabbolas HaTorah, when Hashem transmitted the Torah to the Jewish people, giving them their mission in life and their list of obligations and instructions. Prior to the deliverance of the Torah on Har Sinai, Hashem instructed that the mountain be circled by a fence, and that anyone who crosses over it and touches the mountain will be punished by death.

And the question is: Why is the prerequisite to Kabbolas HaTorah encircling the mountain? And why such a severe punishment for someone who feels compelled to get closer to the mountain and contact the holy site?

The answer is that in order to follow the Torah, a person has to be able to observe its halachos and instructions without cutting corners, and without proclaiming that the laws that are meant to prevent a person from approaching sin are not applicable to him. For once you jump the fence and go where you don’t belong, you come too close to sin and to transgressing Hashem’s commandments.

In order to be a shomer Torah umitzvos, a person must also observe the gedorim – the fences – that are placed around the halachos. It is not sufficient for a person to say that he will keep the major laws but not the minor ones. If someone says that he will keep the mitzvos that are in the Torah but not those that Chazal developed, chances are that he will eventually leave the path of Torah.

If a person says that he keeps kosher, that he would never eat meat in a non-kosher restaurant, because he wouldn’t eat meat that wasn’t properly shechted and wasn’t checked for treifos. But what’s the big deal about eating fish there? “Fish doesn’t require shechitah,” he says, “so I can eat it anywhere.” He can’t be occupied with the laws of cooking fish in the same oven as treif and using non-kosher utensils to prepare and eat it. Those, to him, are mere trivialities. Such a person will likely end up eating outright treif as well.

It has become accepted to only consume meat that is glatt kosher. A person could say, “Oh, that’s only a chumrah. Why bother spending the extra money when non-glatt meat is also theoretically kosher?” Or, if he is traveling and he passes a food store that is open on Shabbos and has a dubious hechsher, he’ll buy there anyway. Such a person may end up eating food without a hechsher if it is “kosher style,” or looks kosher, or his friend tells him that he thinks it’s kosher.

Thus, there was a fence around Har Sinai, signifying that the Torah and its observance are not subject to adjustment by man. Nobody has the ability to minimize the importance of any of the mitzvos or halachos. They are untouchable.

Our conduct in all areas is based upon the Torah. From the Torah we learn how to behave, how to think, and how to live. A person who studies the Torah is refined in all areas, because the Torah does that to a person. Someone who is conceited will not become a talmid chochom, because he won’t do what must be done to allow the Torah to train and adapt his being.

The Vilna Gaon writes in Even Sheleimah that there are different types of Jews. As we move further from Matan Torah and the kedusha of the Bais Hamikdosh, the group referred to as the “Eirev Rav” increases. In order to curtail their growth and protect others from joining them, the chachomim of each generation have to enact gezeiros, erecting fences around the mitzvos and halachos and containing the breaches.

Who are the Eirev Rav of which he writes who breach the walls of the Torah? The Gaon lists them. There are five types, he says: the people who cause and carry out machlokes among our people; those who speak lashon hora; the baalei taavah who lust and crave all types of physical pleasure and enjoyment; hypocrites; and people who have an insatiable drive for honor and wealth. He adds that these people are also called Amaleikim, and Moshiach will not arrive until the world is rid of them.

Such people are consumed with themselves, their desires, their needs and their wants. They don’t include Hashem in the equation when considering what they are doing or how they are acting.

Amaleik behaved that way. Even following the great wonders that Hashem performed for Klal Yisroel in Mitzrayim and when leaving their servitude there, Amaleik focused on themselves and their own arrogant desire for power and glory.

As Yidden, we are obligated to set aside our own selfish wants and wishes and do what Hashem asks of us.

Prior to Kabbolas HaTorah, the Torah tells us the story of Yisro, the father-in-law of Moshe Rabbeinu, who left behind his hometown, relatives, friends and business associates, and went to join the Jewish people in the desert. The posuk tells us that he came because he heard about everything that Hashem had done for Moshe and the Bnei Yisroel.

Figuratively, he read the paper and heard the news and chatter about the Jews leaving Mitzrayim. He read in the newspaper that this was the first time in the history of Mitzrayim that a slave picked up and left the country. He read for months about the various plagues that were taking place in that country. He read the investigative stories about the wealth of the newly freed slaves and where it came from. He read how their dough turned to matzah. He read everything. Every day, on the major news and talk shows, there were updates on the slaves and their newfound freedom.

While the newscasters reported the stories as they do all stories, Yisro knew that there was more to them. The vast majority of the world didn’t give it much thought.

People today read of the wars and turn the page and read the next item. They read about a disastrous earthquake in Turkey and Syria; about a flood in Australia, then turn the page and read of shootings in Chicago. On the next page, they read about something silly the president said. They don’t stop for a moment to give it any thought. There’s a world, and stuff happens in it, and you read about it and move on.

But Yisro wasn’t just anyone. He was a man seeking meaning in life. He sought out every avodah zora and gave it a chance. He knew that there was more to life than superficiality. He knew that things don’t just happen because someone woke up in a bad mood one day. He knew that countries don’t go to war because a tyrant wanted to teach a weaker neighbor a lesson.

Yisro knew that there is a G-d who created the world and that He runs it and causes things to happen. He knew that what the world calls nature is anything but. He knew that everything happens for a reason. When he read about the plagues, he didn’t accept the reasoning that they were caused by global warming or global freezing. He knew that the sea didn’t turn to blood because of climate change or some other natural reason. He knew that the firstborn of Egypt didn’t die of some previously unheard of mysterious disease. He knew that there was a reason.

When the Bnei Yisroel went out of Mitzrayim, Yisro put it all together and realized that everything was engineered and performed by Hashem to redeem His people and to enact punishment upon the nation that enslaved and abused them. Because he was a fine person who sought self-improvement and betterment, he left everything behind and traveled to join the fledgling group in their desert camp. He wanted to understand what transpired.

Moshe Rabbeinu told him everything that happened, all the travails and all the triumphs. Yisro was overcome and proclaimed, “Boruch Hashem, who saved you from Mitzrayim and from Paroh. Now I know that Hashem is the greatest.” With that realization, Yisro converted and accepted Hashem as his G-d, returning home to convert his family.

Yisro showed us how to look at the world and how to conduct ourselves. The Gaon says that he was the opposite of the Eirev Rav, who prevent the ultimate geulah from happening. Instead of being consumed with himself and pursuing desires of fame and wealth, he forsook everything for the truth. He gave it all up to live the life Hashem prescribes in the Torah.

We are living in tumultuous times. Every day brings news of another flood, another fight, another battle. Every day we hear of fresh tragedies, of deaths and illnesses. We read of terrorist shootings in Eretz Yisroel, and politicians calling for the death of the prime minister and the squashing of the frum community. The media is engaged in a battle to defame us.

There are two ways we can look at everything. We can look at it all through the eyes of nature or we can look at everything through the eyes of a Torah Yid and recognize that Hashem has done it all. Everything that happens is because Hashem controlled it and willed it so for a reason we don’t yet understand. Nothing happens by itself, and nature is but a manifestation of the Yad Hashem. 

We can see what is happening and say that Hashem is preparing the world for something big and Moshiach is in the air, or we can read the news and shrug our shoulders like the Amaleikim and the agnostics of the world who seek only selfish pleasure.

We need to learn from Yisro, the Gaon, and all the ehrliche, gutteh Yidden throughout the centuries, who in good times and in times that were not so good viewed everything through the eyes of the Torah, always seeking improvement, deriving mussar from everything that happened to them as well as from the daily news.

May we merit to live lives of introspection and holiness, helping to bring Moshiach speedily in our day.

The Best Gift

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

I don’t live a cloistered life, but last week I saw something that really bothered me.

For the first time that I can remember, I saw an Israeli couple in an airport eating treif. It wasn’t plain treif. It was a burger with fries. And as they were eating their burgers, which did not look tempting in the least, they were speaking Hebrew. Words of the holy eternal language were dripping off their lips and they chewed treife meat. I was revolted.

I would have gone over to them with a little smile and said something nice. A little joke about traveling or something else banal to break the ice. And you never know? Maybe they’d end up at my Shabbos table down the line. But I was so disgusted that I couldn’t look at them.

They were smug in their brazenness. They were speaking loudly, as if to rub it in my pained heart. I felt like asking them to at least speak Spanish, or English, to lessen the chillul Hashem.

There is so much darkness in the world, our world, but there is also so much light battling the darkness and, in many places, and cases, dispelling it.

Last week, I joined the Shuvu Mission in Eretz Yisroel for one day. It was an exhilarating experience. Besides meeting good people supporting Shuvu to help return a lost shevet, I got to meet the children who have been brought back and the staff who dedicate their days and hearts to returning them to where they belong. Last Thursday, I went to the city of Petach Tikvah for the second time in my life to visit the Shuvu school there.

At a time when a million children in the school system of the Jewish state don’t know what Shema Yisroel is, I saw children - young boys and girls from secular backgrounds - reciting Shema with great emotion.

When so many Jews have lost their way and treat Shabbos as just another day, we saw and heard young girls talk about how much Shabbos means to them. They spoke of what they gave up to observe Shabbos and how they look forward to it the entire week.

Before they came to Shuvu, they had no idea what Shabbos is. In some homes, candles were lit, and in others, there was some type of Kiddush, but it didn’t go beyond that.

Hailing from the Soviet Union, their parents and grandparents were robbed of their heritage. They knew little more than the fact that they were Jewish. They had little idea what that meant.

Today, their children and grandchildren are studying Torah and learning about mitzvos and the beauty of observing them. They are returning to what the communists thought they had destroyed.

We observed as young boys in the sixth grade were tested on the principles of yi’ush. One was more enthusiastic than the other in explaining the Gemara they had learned.

Nobody in their family has opened a Gemara in a hundred years. These children we were visiting were deep into it.

I went to commemorate the founding and naming of a bais medrash in the Shuvu Petach Tikvah school in memory of my father. The whole thing was very touching. We were especially honored that Rav Meir Tzvi Bergman expended much effort to attend. His presence added so much to the occasion. In his brief remarks, he spoke of the importance of Torah and imparting it to the next generation, especially to children who would not be blessed with a Torah education if not for the people of Shuvu.

It was especially meaningful when he turned to me and said, “You could not have given your father a better present.”

I gave a little speech to the children in Hebrew and told them how meaningful the dedication would be to my father, who grew up in a city without a Jewish day school. Fall River, Massachusetts was home to hundreds of frum families who had immigrated to America to escape the ravages of poverty, hunger and rabid anti-Semitism in Eastern Europe. Yet, not more than a minyan of their children remained religious. Those people are forgotten. Their offspring are totally assimilated, their grandchildren lost to our people. My father survived because his parents sent him to Torah Vodaas upon his bar mitzvah.

My father would have been moved to see that cycle working in the reverse, where eight hundred children of irreligious parents are learning Torah and becoming frum. They will have the zechus of being proud members of Klal Yisroel, bringing along their parents and family members, and one day giving birth to fine, productive Torah families of their own.

I told the children how blessed they are to be in a Torah school. Ashreichem. And although it is something that we all take for granted, we should pause sometimes and thank Hashem that we were born in an era when Torah education is taken for granted, when we ourselves were able - and our children are able – to be in frum schools, with frum surroundings, with dedicated rabbeim and moros who teach, nurture, and guide multitudes of ehrliche Yidden.

There is darkness, but there is light. We should appreciate the light and the gifts we are blessed with, instead of bemoaning the darkness.

We are accustomed to voices of despair, anger and division. We should instead applaud the unity of purpose, growth and dedication of our people to bring more Torah, kedusha and taharah to the world.

In a world where not everything is always going right, where there are tzaros and tensions and problems, it was so heartwarming to see a little girl in the seventh grade stand up and describe how meaningful Shabbos has become to her. Her face was cherubic and her eyes were glistening as she spoke of how Shabbos lights up her life and gives her heart powerful beats that keep her going throughout the week.

She described how she is bringing along her Ima, but she’s not there yet. “But don’t worry,” she assured us. “At Shuvu I feel like I have one hundred mothers, guiding and helping me along, and one day my mother will be there as well.”

I closed my eyes and remembered the powerfully moving drashos that Rav Avrohom Pam would deliver about Shuvu, speaking of the future like a novi of old, prophesying about a movement of schools and about such children at a time when others thought it was but a dream. His dreams have come true, and how moving it was to see them in real life years later. He would speak so softly, with the gentleness of a person purified by Torah and with the concern of a loving grandfather, about just such a day. Ashreinu that we are able to see his vision in living color.

Witnessing Lev L’Achim botei medrash packed with returnees, one takes note that there is something going on in the Holy Land. Under the radar, a revolution is taking place and the face of the country is quietly changing. The Holy Land is getting holier.

The Left feels the ground slipping from under them and is holding weekly demonstrations against the new government. They march in the streets, proclaiming that they are fighting for the democratic future of the country, without realizing the hypocrisy of their efforts to overturn the results of an election.

The majority of Knesset members of the ruling coalition are religious, and religious ministers run much of the country.

The Sefardim in whom the elitist ruling class invested much effort to turn them into anti-religious secularists are being brought back to Torah in numbers large enough to be noticeable. Their party is the second largest in the government, and its leader is respected by his colleagues as an accomplished, brilliant leader and politician. His success and that of his party is a source of pain to the Leftists, who have tried time and again to destroy him.

I went to visit my dear uncle, Rabbi Berel Wein, in his Rechavia home on Motzoei Shabbos. Upon returning, I witnessed the weekly leftist march on Rechov Azza, at the home of their nemesis, Binyomin Netanyahu.

As they marched, chanting about democracy and singing “Mi ho’ish hechofetz chaim,” of all things, a policeman warned me to maintain a distance from them. “It’s dangerous for someone who looks like you to get too close to them,” he warned repeatedly.

At first, I wondered what a group calling for peace and democracy could want from me, but of course it’s not peace and democracy that they seek, but control, and my kind stands in their way.

At the time of the country’s founding, they said that we were vestiges of the past who would quickly fade and disappear in their new utopia.

Instead, they see that they were mistaken and are rapidly losing their grip. They are on the way to fading out and becoming a minority once again in the country they had total control over for several decades.

On Friday, I took the traditional Erev Shabbos walk down Rechov Malchei Yisroel into Meah Shearim, watching streams of people making their Shabbos preparations, darting from store to store, weighed down with multiple bags of every color. It seemed that the more bags they were holding, the lighter they were. Challahs for Shabbos, pickles, olives, dips, soda, fruits, and vegetables. The more, the merrier. The more they had accumulated with which to be mechabeid Shabbos, the quicker the gait, the more purposeful the walk, and the wider the smile and glow on their faces. 

For Yerushalayimer Jews of all ages, it’s all about Shabbos, the highlight of the week, every week. Young and old, men and women, boys and girls, each going their own way, passing each other with barely a glance, each going about their own chores, but all unified by the same purpose, heading in the same direction: Shabbos.

I walked slowly, sometimes stopping and just standing there to watch them, soaking it in, snapping a picture or two, while wondering what the people of Fall River, Massachusetts and all the other golus stops would have given to have ainiklach like those people I was observing.

Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu. How blessed we are. Hodu laHashem ki tov. May we always earn His blessings and merit helping others walk along the streets that sing the song of Shabbos.