Our Anthem

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Recently, a fascinating sefer was published, woven from the cherished recollections of Rav Meir Heisler. It contains stories, anecdotes, and teachings he heard firsthand and shared with his talmidim in moments of closeness. Each page glimmers with hidden jewels, stories that had long rested in silence, unknown to the wider world. As you journey through its lines, a new appreciation blossoms for the gedolim it portrays, and life itself comes into focus with radiant clarity.

Rav Heisler recounts that he was once with Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach when somebody told him that a certain cheder had stopped learning Parshas Bereishis with its students. Upon hearing that, Rav Shach reached for the phone and dialed the number of the principal of that school. When he wasn’t able to reach him, he called the principal’s son-in-law and, with passionate urgency, demanded from him, “What does it mean that your father-in-law isn’t teaching Bereishis to the children? Tell him that the Chofetz Chaim would make a cheirem over this!”

The son-in-law responded that his father-in-law felt that the children would not understand Bereishis anyway, so why bother teaching it to them.

Rav Shach grew emotional and said to the man, “Oon heint farshteit er yu? Foon dem leben mir doch, nur foon do kindershe yuren- And today your father-in-law understands the pesukim of Bereishis? This is what sustains us - what we learned when we were young children!”

The parshiyos of Bereishis that we learned when we were young fascinated us and engraved themselves upon our neshamos. Those stories we learned, the songs we sang about them, the projects we made and the little sheets we brought home all became the bedrock of our emunah, enduring across the years.

Each year, when we learn the parshiyos, those memories awaken. Although we grow in our learning and understanding, the foundation of our knowledge of Chumash remains what our rabbeim and moros instilled in us when we were young and innocent. Ask children about these parshiyos and their eyes will sparkle as they recount the week’s story.

I remember, as a young, small child, sitting at a classroom desk and hanging on to every word of my rebbi as we learned Parshas Vayeitzei, describing Yaakov Avinu’s dream, his years in Lovon’s house, his marriages, and the birth of the shevotim. We were captivated by the image of many stones joining to become the single rock upon which Yaakov rested his head. We were taught that Yaakov slept on Har Hamoriah, site of his father’s Akeidah and the future site of the Botei Mikdosh.

The sun set early and all of Eretz Yisroel folded under Yaakov. In his sleep, Hashem promised him the land, protection, brachos, and innumerable descendants. Awakening, overwhelmed by the awesomeness, he declared, “This is a holy place. Hashem is here and I did not know.” He consecrated the stone and vowed ten percent of his possessions to Hashem.

Yaakov traveled on to Choron, discovering shepherds sitting aimlessly with their flocks at a watering hole. They explained that they had come to draw water for their sheep, but the underground well was sealed with a massive stone and they had to wait until more shepherds arrived so they could remove the rock together. When Rochel appeared with her sheep, Yaakov rolled the boulder away by himself, opening the well for all.

Yaakov was the av of golus. What unfolded as he left the home of his parents in Be’er Sheva and set out for Choron was the beginning of Yaakov’s first journey into exile, the start of a long and painful golus.

He walked until nightfall and lay down to sleep in a place that seemed completely devoid of holiness. Upon awakening, he realized that “ein zeh ki im bais Elokim - this is a place laden with kedusha, the house of Hashem and the gate to heaven.”

Yaakov Avinu was modeling for all future generations how to endure golus. Forced to leave lands that hosted us for generations, we often find ourselves in places that feel desolate, barren of anything meaningful. These places appear incapable of receiving any holiness, much less supporting lives of kedusha. They seem as lifeless as stone.

The golus experience is tragic, the Jewish family scattered across the world, enduring every form of oppression and suffering along the way. On the surface, it seems as though we have been torn from the presence of the Divine, thrust into a world stripped of holiness.

But as Yaakov Avinu taught us, even the darkest corners of the earth hold the potential for kedusha. A stone can become a mizbeiach. Ein zeh ki im bais Elokim. The secret to surviving golus is recognizing that we can bring kedusha anywhere.

We never give up on any place or any person. Not long ago, many believed that Torah could never flourish in America. The prevailing assumption was that anyone who came here was destined for a spiritually empty life, and for many years, that was the reality.

But Hashgocha arranged for giants who had internalized Yaakov’s lesson to arrive in America as they fled the horrors of Europe.

They planted yeshivos in a land where people insisted that Torah could not grow. They upheld shemiras Shabbos where it was nearly nonexistent. They persuaded parents to send their children to receive a Torah education, even when such choices were mocked as antiquated and misguided. They introduced kedusha into a place steeped in tumah.

Because of the determination of good people across the country, America is now home to vibrant frum communities from coast to coast and Torah is thriving on a remarkable scale. This transformation occurred because enough of Yaakov’s descendants believed that any place, no matter how inert, could be turned into a mizbeiach and a makom kadosh.

And not only in America. Across the globe, Torah is flourishing in places no one ever imagined. Wherever Jews go, holding fast to Yaakov’s message, the brocha he received that night in his dream  - “uforatzta yoma vokeidma vetzafona vonegba” - is being fulfilled in ways the world has never before witnessed.

No matter where our people end up, they build, they believe, they plant, and they grow. And in the process, they uncover and reveal sparks of kedusha in the largest cities, the smallest towns, and in the lightest and darkest corners of the world.

We never give up on anyone. We never say that he or she is beyond repair. We never say that they are beyond hope, for we know that there is holiness and good everywhere. Our task is to find it and to help the embers flare into flames.

The anthem of golus is “Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.” Never think that you are alone and abandoned. Never think that anyone is too far gone. Never think that there is a place that cannot be transformed into a home for Torah and kedusha.

We are all familiar with Rav Chaim Volozhiner’s prophecy that America would be our final station of golus. When we uncover enough watering holes here, we will finally be able to go home.

We have been spread across the world, and wherever we have gone, we have established botei Elokim, spreading kedusha and Torah where others insisted it could not be done. The cycle repeated itself every few hundred years. Jews would grow accustomed to their host country after bringing as much kedusha there as possible. Then the country would turn against them and the Jews would once again move on to the next bleak outpost. At last, we are here, spreading Torah across the fruited plain, awaiting that great day of “Vehoyah Hashem lemelech al kol ha’aretz.”

We often lose sight of those who refined and prepared the American landscape, enabling the Torah world to rise. The great impact of the famed post-war giants sometimes overshadows the silent, hidden avodah of those who came before them and first uncovered the “achein yeish Hashem” on these shores.

The going was rough in those early turn-of-the-century days, as millions of Jews fled the poverty and pogroms of Eastern Europe and came here seeking a better tomorrow. They settled in cities and towns across the country, eking out a living as peddlers, tailors, knitters, and shopkeepers. The ruach was stone cold. The water pits were blocked, refusing to open.

With the peddlers came rabbonim, who sat at home and learned by themselves and with the people. They wrote seforim and corresponded with the giants of Europe. They fought for Shabbos and Jewish education. My grandfather was one of those people. He was a Slabodka talmid living in Fall River, Massachusetts. He served as rov of four shuls and oversaw the local kosher bakeries and butchers. And when he wasn’t busy with communal obligations, he sat at his desk and learned, by himself, at all hours of the day and night, rarely sleeping in a bed. He sat and learned and wrote seforim. In fact, New England was dotted with towns that had great Litvishe rabbonim.

But for the masses, the temptations were many and powerful. People who refused to work on Shabbos found it nearly impossible to find employment. They went hungry. Their children begged for food, clean clothing, and heat. There were few Hebrew schools. There was little choice but to send the children to public school, where many were lost to assimilation. Every generation has its own unique nisyonos, which cannot be overcome without great determination and belief, and it is unfair for us to judge those who lived in those times.

Many failed, and many were lost, but those who persevered increased the kedusha here. The zechuyos created by limud haTorah and mesirus nefesh for kiyum hamitzvos accumulated, countering the klipos hora and enabling frum people to live and thrive here. They made it possible for shuls and yeshivos to be built, and for botei medrash and kollelim to flourish.

In Omaha, Nebraska lived Rav Tzvi Hirsch Grodzensky, cousin of Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky, who toiled in Torah. In Boston, Rav Zalman Yaakov Friederman presided over huge kehillos and ensured that there would be kashrus and rabbonim in Massachusetts, all while he learned and taught Torah. The great gaon Rav Eliezer Silver of Kovno eventually settled in Cincinnati, Ohio, and from his pulpit there he influenced the entire Torah world.

I once drove from Vail, Colorado, to Denver and decided to pull off at the exit for a little town named Leadville. As I drove through the town, I was astonished to see stores with Jewish-sounding names and a Jewish cemetery. I doubt that much of a Jewish community exists there today, but a hundred and fifty years ago it was a thriving Jewish metropolis.

Travel across this country and you’ll find Jewish cemeteries in the most unexpected places. You think you’re the first frum Jew ever to pass through some forsaken town off the beaten path, and then you see a bais olam and realize that neshamos were moser nefesh to uncover sparks of kedusha in that location, preparing the country for its spiritual rebirth and the world for Moshiach.

Generations of such people, who came to the final golus from Europe, brought with them Torah and mitzvos, sometimes living very lonely lives. Others were more fortunate. Whether they learned late into the night in the Rocky Mountains or led quiet tishen on Friday nights in places very far from Mezhibuzh, they were slowly but surely removing the rocks that blocked the waters of Torah from flowing. History may not record their efforts, but everything that came after those pioneers is because they uncovered the holy spark of “achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh,” and our flourishing existence here proves it.

Rav Moshe Mordechai Shulsinger recalled that during one of Israel’s wars, people asked Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach how they might help. He offered two suggestions. The first was to recite the first brocha of Birkas Hamazon from a bentcher. The second was not to be “fartayned” all day. “Don’t be perpetually aggrieved,” he said. “Some people go through every day of their lives with complaints against everyone. People have complaints against their spouse, parents, children, rabbonim, rabbeim, moros, and chazzan. They think that other people have tried hurting them, harming them, and insulting them. People become bitter, angry, and upset, and get into arguments.”

Stop, Rav Shach advised. Stop complaining. Stop seeing only the incompetence of those around you and begin seeing the blessings.

“A person can spend his day in kapdanus and bitterness,” Rav Shach would say.

Don’t say that this is an empty place. Don’t say that the water is buried beneath a rock too heavy to move. Don’t say that everything is bleak and hopeless. Instead, think, “Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.” See the potential. See the good. Help remove the stones and pebbles that prevent people from growing.

A person who is aware that Hashem maps every step and writes every chapter lives with emunah and simcha. Nothing happens without purpose. Yaakov Avinu, facing loneliness, poverty, and deceit, never complained. He saw Hashem’s Hand: “Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.”

Never do we see him offering ta’anos, focused on the evil done to him. He never assumes the role of the nirdof. He isn’t consumed by Lovon’s spite.

He saw the Hand of Hashem there too. “Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.”

Thus, he emerged from Bais Lovon rich in family and possessions.

Chinuch works the same way - seeing the value in every child, lovingly encouraging and motivating them from a young age to do good and be good. Chinuch succeeds by helping a child believe in himself, strengthening his confidence, and letting him know that if he aims to succeed, he will.

Hashem crafted man as a wondrous, spectacular creation, and infused each person with worth. Closing the door on a person is losing sight of Hashem’s glory. Every soul carries kedusha. Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.

Where Yaakov revealed Hashem’s Presence, the Bais Hamikdosh will stand, a testimony that throughout the journey of golus, Hashem has accompanied us, guiding us home.

Dark or difficult as life may seem, remember: “Achein yeish Elokim bamakom hazeh.” We have the strength to roll stones away, to clear paths for ourselves and others. Challenges are surmountable through effort, tefillah, emunah, and bitachon.

And so, Rav Shach reminds us: Do not dwell in complaints. Do not see obstacles as insurmountable. See the blessings. See the potential. See Hashem’s Hand in every step.

With this awareness, life transforms. Stones become wells. Darkness becomes light. And in so doing, we hasten the coming of Moshiach, may he arrive speedily in our day.