Standing Strong

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

On the 87^th anniversary of Kristallnacht, the night when the windows of Europe’s Jews were shattered and the illusion of safety collapsed, Jewish residents of New York City once again find themselves in a familiar place: anxious, uncertain, and watchful.

We have a newly-elected mayor, a city whose moral compass feels unsteady, and a public square where anti-Semitism is no longer whispered but shouted. It is enough to make one shudder. The same poisonous ideas that once hid in the shadows now strut in daylight. Their champions sit in city councils, in Congress, in the Senate, and across social media feeds, shaping opinion and policy.

The facts don’t matter. What we say doesn’t matter. Words don’t matter, and debates don’t either. The New York City election reinforced and proved our fears, as a majority of voters supported an avowed anti-American anti-Semite.

A new day has dawned. We cannot look back and speak of what was. We must honestly assess the situation today and strengthen ourselves, for the weak will not survive, but the strong will.

We must remember our history, and if we don’t know it, we must learn it and teach it to our children. Am Yisroel has been under attack since time immemorial, and without fail, those who chased us, tormented us, killed us, and sent us into exile are all gone, while we are standing and thriving.

For generations, America has been different. It has been a malchus shel chesed, a land of kindness where Jews could breathe freely and build deeply. But now, many fear that the tide is turning. The recent election has forced open our eyes to an uncomfortable truth: the system that allowed us to flourish is changing. Groups that despise us are gaining power.

So where do we go from here?

Chazal remind us: “Ein lonu al mi lehisho’ein ela al Avinu shebashomayim.” We are not a people who depend on the whims of rulers or the polls of the moment. We have been here before, and we have outlasted Paroh, Nevuchadnetzar, Titus, Stalin, Hitler, and every would-be destroyer who thought we would fade into history’s footnotes.

We are still here. They are not.

We say it every morning during Shacharis: “Eileh vorechev v’eileh vasoosim, vaanachnu b’sheim Hashem Elokeinu nazkir,” Some of our enemies come after us with chariots and some with horses, but we daven to Hashem. They dropped to their knees and fell, but we have risen and stand strong.”

Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, the Ponovezher Rov, embodied this truth. Having watched the flames of Europe consume his world, he arrived in Eretz Yisroel with nothing. Yet, before he even had two shekels in his pocket, he climbed a barren hill in Bnei Brak and declared, “Here I will build a yeshiva,” and bought that property.

The world saw ashes. He saw a future. Those around him saw despair. He saw the potential for Torah to take root.

While Hitler’s legions marched through Lita and Nazi General Rommel’s tanks were ten days away from reaching Eretz Yisroel, Hashem was preparing the rebirth of Torah that would flourish there, a spiritual defiance stronger than any army.

While Jews the world over mourned their terrible losses and cried over the plight of millions locked in Europe as the war machine raged and concentration camps rose, there stood one lonely, penniless man planning for the future of Torah.

Such is Jewish strength. Throughout the centuries, since the destruction of the Botei Mikdosh, the Jewish people have persevered, drawing strength from their devotion to Torah and to their faith.

And Hashem has rewarded them.

We will soon read in Parshas Vayeishev the story of Yosef being sold by his brothers. The Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah 85) says that when Yosef was sold, Yaakov was mourning, Reuven was grieving, and Yehudah was seeking a wife, and at that very moment, Hakadosh Boruch Hu was creating the light of Moshiach.

At a time when we see destruction, when everywhere we look we find reason to fear for the future, Hashem is laying the groundwork for Moshiach. When it seems that we have no future, that the world is crumbling before us, we must strengthen ourselves. We must know that our strength is not physical. It is spiritual and eternal, stronger than any enemy who has ever risen to destroy us.

The enemies may think themselves invincible, attacking us with missiles and massive armies, but they must know that we have faced the strongest armaments through the centuries, and in every era it appeared we had no chance, yet we endured and our enemies fell. They inflicted pain, and caused great human and financial loss, but we overcame and survive until this day.

Even in our darkest chapters, Heaven was already scripting redemption.

So too in our day. While we see chaos and corruption, Hashem is quietly setting the stage for the light of Moshiach that will soon shine.

The Ponovezher Rov, after the war, stood before the Arch of Titus in Rome, the monument celebrating the Roman Emperor’s most “glorious” victory: capturing Yerushalayim, destroying the Bais Hamikdosh, and carrying its keilim to Rome.

He raised his finger and pointed toward the arch. “Titus, Titus! Where are you now? You are dust, but I and my people are still here!”

That moment captures the entire saga of our people.

Winston Churchill once said, “Success is not final. Failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.”

The Jewish people have always continued. That is our greatest strength.

Last week’s election may sting. It may fill us with concern for what lies ahead. But our faith does not rise and fall with the political winds. We do what Avrohom Avinu did in last week’s parsha. After pleading with Hashem to spare Sedom, and realizing that his pleas were rejected and the decree would stand, the Torah tells us, “V’Avrohom shov limkomo — And Avrohom returned to his place.”

He accepted, he realigned, and he moved forward with purpose and faith.

That is our task now: to return to our place — the place of Torah, of chesed, of community, of emunah. To lift our eyes beyond City Hall and toward Heaven.

History’s verdict is already written. Those who draw strength from Hashem, from Torah, and from one another will not only survive, but will prevail.

We have risen before, and we will rise again.

And not only on a historical or national level. On a personal and practical level, the themes of emunah and resilience in daily Jewish life — chesed, dignity, and empathy — must reign supreme.

We read in this week’s parsha how Eliezer, the faithful servant of Avrohom, was sent on a sacred mission to find a wife for Yitzchok. As he neared his destination, he lifted his eyes heavenward and davened to Hashem for success. He devised a simple yet profound test: the young woman who would offer water not only to him but also to his thirsty camels would reveal herself as the one destined to continue Avrohom’s legacy.

And so it was. Before Eliezer could even finish his prayer, Rivka appeared, a young woman radiant in her chesed, eager to serve, overflowing with compassion. Her kindness was not a performance, but an instinct of the heart. It was this middah, this generosity of spirit - that made her worthy to become the mother of Klal Yisroel.

The test for entry into the house of Avrohom — the foundation of our people — was not brilliance, wealth, or power. It was chesed. The truest mark of greatness in our tradition has always been how one treats another human being.

And in our time, as we brace for what may be difficult days ahead and as we long for the final redemption from golus, we must once again prove ourselves worthy of Hashem’s kindness by showing kindness to one another.

For decades, Hashem has shown us mercy, carrying our people to the shores of America, giving us safety and prosperity after the infernos of Europe. We have built communities, schools, shuls, and yeshivos. Yet, sometimes, amid comfort and success, we forget the simple warmth that sustained us when all we had was each other.

We must relearn the art of caring, the sensitivity to see the person in front of us not as a burden or obstacle but as a tzelem Elokim.

We must be more thoughtful when we drive, when we speak, when we interact in business, at a simcha, or in moments of sorrow. To feel another’s pain, to share another’s joy — that is Avrohom’s house.

When we attend a simcha, let us not merely drop by with a quick mazel tov and rush away, but linger for a moment, look the baalei simcha in the eye, and let them feel that their happiness is our happiness.

And when we speak to others — young or old, rich or poor, familiar or stranger — let our words be gentle, our tone respectful. Every person yearns to feel valued. To make another Jew feel wanted, seen and cherished is to perform an act of holiness.

Kindness is not weakness. It is the truest expression of strength. It was Rivka’s chesed that built our nation, and it will be ours that sustains it and earns its final redemption.

As Rav Elozor famously taught (Sanhedrin 98b): “Mah yaaseh adam veyinatzel meichevlo shel Moshiach? Yaasok b’Torah uv’gemillus chassodim.” What should a person do to be spared from the challenges that precede the coming of Moshiach? Engage in Torah study and acts of kindness.

In uncertain times like ours, when fear and worry cloud the future, the answer remains timeless: Strengthen our connection to Torah, deepen our acts of chesed, and live with faith.

The Chofetz Chaim, in Sefer Ahavas Chesed, takes it a step further and writes that gemillus chassodim is so important and powerful that if the performance of chesed would spread throughout our people, the world would be filled with chesed, and all the suffering and hardship that confront our people would disappear.

He writes there, in the hakdomah, that “to the degree that a person accustoms himself to doing acts of goodness and kindness his whole life, to that degree he will receive Hashem’s goodness and kindness in this world and the next.”

Let us not become disillusioned. Let us not fret about the future. Let us know that we are an eternal people who have outlived Titus, the Crusades, Stalin, Hitler, and so many others.

From the churbanos of the Botei Mikdosh to the expulsion of 1492, to the Inquisitions, trials, and persecutions of every generation, our story has never been one of defeat, but of renewal, for wherever we appear to fall, Hashem plants the seeds of our rising.

By filling our lives with Torah and chesed, we contribute to building a future of light, hope, and redemption.

By increasing our emunah and bitachon, and our dedication to Torah, kindness, goodness, and gemillus chassodim, we will overcome our enemies of today and merit the coming of Moshiach very soon.