Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Realizing Our Potential

2012-01-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

by Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Many months ago, we began the study of the Torah anew and learned the first Rashi on the Chumash. Rashi famously quotes from his father, Rav Yitzchok, that the Torah should have begun with the mitzvah of hachodesh hazeh lochem. He explains that the reason it doesn’t is so that if nations of the world will ever allege that the Jews stole Eretz Yisroel, the Jews will be able to respond to them that Hashem created the world and it all belongs to Him. He chose to give it to us and thus it is ours.

Others answer that the reason the Torah doesn’t begin with Parshas Hachodesh is because the stories of Sefer Bereishis are a necessary backdrop, a hakdamah of sorts, to the mitzvos.

This week, in Parshas Bo, we finally arrive at the parsha of hachodesh hazeh lochem with which the Torah should have ostensibly opened. By now, we should have studied and internalized the messages of our avos and grown to appreciate the connection we have, through the promises made to them, with Hashem and with Eretz Yisroel. We know that this land is ours and that no one can ever take it away from us. We have learned how to behave and how to conduct ourselves from the stories of our forefathers and should now be ready to progress to the mitzvos of the Torah.

We need to explain the significance of the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh and understand why it is that we are welcomed with this mitzvah into life as avdei Hashem. What is it about this mitzvah that through it we are introduced to all the subsequent commandments of the Torah? Of all the mitzvos of the Torah, why was this the first one given to the Jewish people as a whole and the one with which Rashi believed the Torah should have begun?

An answer, perhaps, can be offered based on the fact that Kiddush Hachodesh is a process that is entrusted to the Jewish people as a whole. The proclamation of the new moon requires a verbal statement of a bais din. The dayanim on the bais din, who certify that a new moon has been seen and proclaim, “Mekudash,” have to either be members of the Sanhedrein or “semuchin,” certified and invested with the power of p’sak, who are links in a chain stretching back to Har Sinai (Rambam, Hilchos Kiddush Hachodesh 5:2). Why does the Torah require those who proclaim the new moon to be semuchin? Why is it not sufficient for them to be proficient in the shapes of the moon so that they can ascertain when to accept testimony regarding the birth of the new moon?

The reason is that when it comes to this special mitzvah, it is plainly evident that the words and actions of humans can be invested with Divine properties.

The Nefesh Hachaim and other seforim discuss the ability of Klal Yisroel to affect happenings in this world and in Shomyaim through the observance - and transgression, chalilah - of mitzvos. That capability is first evident in the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh.

It is through having the koach to proclaim Rosh Chodesh or be me’aber the shanah that the Torah first reveals to us the limitless capacity and potential of man to rise up to the highest sphere, becoming a partner with the Creator Himself.

Rav Chaim Vital and other authors of seforim kedoshim discuss how each Yom Tov brings with it special hashpa’os, an awakening of the Divine flow that occurred back when the miracle the Yom Tov commemorates originally took place. Bais din, through its proclamation of which day will be Rosh Chodesh, and subsequently on which day Yom Tov will begin actually determines when Hashem will cause that specific measure of Divine hashpa’ah to occur. The Ribbono Shel Olam, kevayachol, actually abides by the bais din’s reasoning and determination to celebrate the Yom Tov on that day.

The many ramifications of bais din’s decision attest to their power. An example of the extent of bais din’s power is discussed in the Yerushalmi (Kesubos 1:2) regarding a physical phenomenon that can be manifest in a girl when she reaches the age of three. (See Shach, Yoreh Deah 189:13, for a further dissertation.) If she was born during the month of Nissan, for example, if the bais din decides to add a second month of Adar, postponing her birthday for a month, the physical realities which set in as she becomes three years of age are actually dependent on the bais din’s decision and are postponed for a month because she will not be celebrating her third birthday until Nissan!

Thus, since the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh is unique in that it shows Klal Yisroel the incredible heights they can reach, that they can literally influence even the Heavenly realms, it is therefore the first mitzvah given to us as a group and serves as an introduction to all the other mitzvos. It goes to the root of the greatness of Am Yisroel and demonstrates how much we can accomplish if we devote ourselves to observing the mitzvos and living lives dedicated to Hashem and His Torah.

In Lita, people would retell a story to underscore the potency of a talmid chochom’s ruling. There was a man who lived in Volozhin who suffered from a lung disease. He sought out and tried all sorts of solutions and remedies which were available in his day, but he remained worried about his condition.

Legend has it that the sick man’s father appeared to him in a dream and informed him that his specific lung ailment was the subject of a machlokes between the Rama and the Shaagas Aryeh. The Rama held that when the form of lung disease from which he suffered occurs in a cow, the animal is treif, as it is incapable of living for another year. The Shaagas Aryeh, however, ruled that an animal with this disease was kosher, since it could live well past a year. In the dream, the father warned his son to remain in Volozhin, the Shaagas Aryeh’s town, where the p’sak - and therefore the reality - would be in line with the Shaagas Aryeh’s view, and he would therefore live.

This is the idea of the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh, which would have been a fitting opening to the entire Torah.

Imagine the message that Klal Yisroel received when, still in the throes of servitude, they were injected with this awareness and taught the particulars of a mitzvah with capacity beyond time and space. What a resounding announcement of their own freedom from the constrictions of Mitzrayim! It is as if they were gathered together by Moshe Rabbeinu and told, “You are ge’ulim, redeemed and ready to soar!”

Anyone who has ever beheld the countenance of a true tzaddik or talmid chochom has experienced the wonder for themselves. Indeed, even in the world of 2012, when so much has been dimmed and dulled, we can still witness the spiritual heights that man can attain.

Last week, Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv was taken to Shaarei Tzedek Hospital for tests. While there, he went to visit his son, Rav Avrohom, who was on the eighth floor of the medical center, recuperating from an illness.

The gadol hador wished his son well, stayed a while, and then left. As Rav Elyashiv exited the room, Rav Avrohom’s roommate, an elderly Sefardic Jew, burst into uncontrollable weeping. When he finally calmed down, he told Rav Avrohom what it was that had so profoundly impacted him.

Seeing the old rov, related the roommate, brought him back to his years as a teenager at Yeshivat Porat Yosef and the time the rosh yeshiva, Rav Ezra Attiah, took him and his friends to be tested by a much-younger Rav Elyashiv, a virtually unknown talmid chochom at the time, in the solitude of a Meah Shearim shul.

“Much has happened since that day sixty years ago,” related the man. “I left the path of Torah and mitzvos. But when I saw the face of the tzaddik, I was transported back in time, and I remembered the happiest, most fulfilling moment of my life. When I saw him again, my entire life flashed in front of me. His face impacted me so...”

With that, the elderly Jew broke down in sobs and could not continue the conversation.

The heights that man can attain and the glowing countenance of a giant in Torah can move a Jew to teshuvah.

That awareness, with its accompanying demand for growth, was given to Klal Yisroel on the verge of freedom, as if to say, “This is what you can reach and accomplish through these mitzvos and by learning Torah.”

We can now understand the depth of a posuk later on in the perek. After the pesukim discuss the halachos of Pesach, the posuk (12:28) states, “Vayeilchu vaya’asu Bnei Yisroel ka’asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe ve’Aharon - The Bnei Yisroel did as Hashem had commanded Moshe and Aharon.”

The Mechiltah, quoted by Rashi, notes that the lesson was given to the Bnei Yisroel on Rosh Chodesh Nissan, while the actual fulfillment of the dinim of Korban Pesach didn’t take place until the middle of the month. Still, the posuk refers to the Yidden having done as Hashem commanded Moshe, in the past tense.

We can suggest that the posuk refers to them as having completed what was asked of them because this parsha of hachodesh hazeh lachem carries within it something integral to the observance of every mitzvah that would follow it, namely, an instructive lesson into what a mitzvah can do to man and the levels he can reach by following the Torah. “Vaya’asu” indicates that they understood the message that was being imparted to them, appreciating its relevance at every juncture of life. In this case, hearing, comprehending and internalizing the messages of hachodesh hazeh lochem and the chag hegeulah were themselves fulfillments of Hashem’s will.

The dinim and halachos of Kiddush Hachodesh and Pesach aren’t merely introductory and practical. They are a call from Heaven. “My children,” the Ribono Shel Olam is saying, “you are ge’ulim. There is no end to your freedom and to how great you can become!”

According to the Nefesh Hachaim (1:13), the word asiyah, which lies at the root of the word vaya’asu, means that what was being discussed achieved its tachlis, or purpose. Thus, when the Torah employs the verb asiyah to complete the discussion, stating, “Vaya’asu Bnei Yisroel ka’asher tzivah Hashem,” that indicates that they realized the potential inherent in Hashem’s commandment. They understood the message behind the tzivuy, and thus, even though they had not yet performed the mitzvah, they had actualized the potential of how high they could reach.

Salah Tamri is one of the Palestinian leaders with whom Israel expected to be able to work. Prior to being jailed during the Lebanon War, he advocated a peaceful coexistence with Israel and a sharing of the disputed land. That all changed when he was freed from jail in one of the infamous prisoner exchanges. He returned to his base of operations radicalized and no longer interested in achieving any accommodation with the Jewish state.

Tamri was asked what happened to him. How could such a bright, educated and successful Palestinian, who advocated peace, now be agitating for friction and war with the Jews?

In explaining his jailhouse conversion, Tamri related that he had previously wanted to reach a peace deal with Israel because he feared that Israel would win any war against the Arabs. He thought that Israel would swallow up the Palestinians and completely overtake the West Bank if prompted to take military action. He therefore felt that the best approach for the Palestinians was to reach some sort of amicable cooperation with the occupiers.

That all changed in jail the day he saw one of his Israeli guards eating falafel and pita. He said to the guard, “What are you doing? Why are you eating that?”

The guard was incredulous, “What is it your business what I eat?” he said. “Don’t tell me what to eat. I am the guard and you are the prisoner.”

“But today is Pesach, your holiday of liberation, and the Torah says you should not eat bread today,” scolded the prisoner. “How can you be eating pita so impassively?”

The guard unloaded on Tamri.

“He told me,” recalled Tamri, “that he couldn’t care less what a four-thousand-year-old book says about anything.”

When he heard that, Tamri began looking at the whole equation differently. He said that if the Israelis don’t care about what the Torah says regarding their liberation and Pesach, then they probably couldn’t care less about what the Torah says about Eretz Yisroel. The Arab concluded that if they don’t have a feeling for the Torah, then they don’t have a strong feeling for the land. And if they aren’t connected to the Torah and to the land, then they won’t sacrifice and fight hard enough for the land. And if they aren’t prepared to fight to the end for the land, then the Arabs will win. And if the Arabs will beat the Israelis, why should they work towards an accommodation and peace when they can fight for their liberation and win?

A people that has lost its belief in its own destiny and historic role, reasoned Tamri, is a people that wouldn’t fight for its G-d-given right either. Thus, when he left jail, he emerged determined to wipe out a nation that eats pita on Pesach.

What that rasha perceived was that his guard, and hundreds of thousands of others like him, had stopped hearing that they were ge’ulim. They no longer appreciated the lesson of Kiddush Hachodesh and Am Yisroel’s potential. Thus, Rashi’s hakdamah to the Torah - that Eretz Yisroel is ours - was no longer relevant.

We, the she’airis Yisroel, the remainder that clings to Pesach and Kiddush Hachodesh and cherishes every mitzvah, know that we have a higher calling and a path to traverse.

With this, we can explain the significance of the custom to say “Shalom aleichem” to each other when we recite Kiddush Levanah. We go outside and greet the new moon, perceiving in its reflected light our ability to rise, and the levels we can attain if we would exert ourselves and dedicate ourselves to Torah. Beholding the new moon should generate thoughts of teshuvah, thoughts of growth, and thoughts of a new beginning. Thus, as we begin that journey, we wish each other “Shalom aleichem.”

As we study parshas Bo and begin this new month of Shevat, let us restart the march with renewed vigor towards realizing the potential that lies within each and every one of us to reach the apex and positively affect the world.

Find Reasons to Sing

2012-01-18T06:44:00.000-08:00

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

“Velo shamu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah.” This posuk in this week’s parsha is almost haunting in its implications.

Just try to imagine the scene. Moshe Rabbeinu was tending to his flock in the wilderness, when he beheld the extraordinary sight of a bush aflame. He stopped what he was doing to consider what was taking place in front of him, as he wondered how it could be that the fire was burning but the bush wasn’t 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, 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.

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 was fresh off experiencing the revelation of the Creator of heaven and earth, 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 long conversation with Hashem and bearing the knowledge that the painful enslavement would soon end, Moshe went to share the good news with his brothers and sisters 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, didn’t listen.

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

They didn’t listen. They couldn’t listen. They didn’t have the keilim with which to listen. They were incapable of hearing the words that would have transformed everything for them. They failed to digest the message promising hope for a better tomorrow.

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 the people too tired to hear the words they had been awaiting for two hundred years is relevant to us in our day.

At the close of the year 2011, experts in the media and academia shared their choice for the “word of the year.” They searched for a word that defined the values, struggles and experiences of society in 2011. One of the most interesting of their selections was the word “bleak.”

This word has been used quite often during the past year. The economic forecast, of course, was bleak, as was the foreign affairs front. The word, and its accompanying baggage, marched into the American mindset, settling in like an unwelcome guest.

Yidden live in a state of constant anticipation, always awaiting good news. 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 them, our ears listening for the footsteps of our go’el.

The situation in our world is bleak, to be sure. So many people are struggling to feed their families. Suddenly, it has once again become acceptable to be anti-Semitic. Each day, it seems, there is graffiti in some other supposed safe place, reminding us that we are in golus. Tiny Eretz Yisroel is being targeted by despots and crazies. The Torah community has its own problems and is being targeted by secularists, with fodder being generously provided by extremists.

Yet, we are equipped with the tools to see beyond that, 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 posses the ability to see beyond the clouds to the light and warmth of the sun.

Few things are more disturbing than encountering bitter people. They are surrounded by opportunity and blessing, yet they insist on concentrating on the negatives. Such people remain locked in by the inability to see beyond the sadness which envelopes 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. We don’t know of much crime, and the anti-Semitism our forefathers experienced is basically in remission.

Fresh off the Holocaust which almost decimated our people, we have reestablished ourselves and now flourish in cities and towns across the globe. The waves of assimilation which plagued first-generation religious Americans are non-existent. We can do what we want, where we want, and no one bothers us.

Why the negativity? Why the constant harping on what is wrong without appreciating the good?

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

The Ohr Hachaim Hakadosh (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.

Every year, the previous Boyaner Rebbe would make a siyum during the Nine Days on Maseches Makkos. People thought that he made the siyum on that particular 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, using 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 which 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 did Rabi Akiva, 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 we have to daven in and the yeshivos and botei medrash spreading Torah and kedushah 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.

A friend in Montreal told me about an eltere Yid named Reb Aron Pernikoff, who spent most of his time at the Montreal Community Kollel. Reb Aron didn’t enjoy an easy life, but he exuded a certain tranquil joy, a loftiness and chashivus.

Reb Aron had a vertel he loved to share. He would quote the famous 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, sham 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 in the willow trees which grew at the river.”

Reb Aron would ask, “Where did the exiled Jews have harps from?” When people run away, when they are barely escaping with their lives into a golus, they take only the bare necessities that they think they will need. “How did they have harps with them?” he would wonder.

He would answer, “A Yid knows that no matter where he is going, no matter how bleak the landscape ahead is, there will always be reason to sing. They took their musical instruments along in anticipation of those opportunities.”

This past Motzoei Shabbos, I joined multitudes of Monsey Yidden in paying tribute to the roshei yeshiva and talmidim of Lakewood’s Bais Medrash Govoah at the yeshiva’s annual Monsey reception. It was heartening, almost therapeutic. It was 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 bah.”

Every week, there are dinners, parlor meetings and receptions for yeshivos, shuls and mosdos of tzedakah and chessed. As difficult as the economy is, people still open up their wallets and help each other.

When we sit down to learn this week’s parsha and read the posuk, “Velo shamu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah,” let us ensure that we aren’t guilty of “velo shamu el Moshe.” Moshe’s word is the Torah. It is enduring and binding, and listening to it means keeping our ears tilted to hear the sounds of imminent geulah and open to the besuros tovos that are all around us. Let us not grow so despondent about our situation that we can’t hear and see the good which is prevalent.

Let us always be on the lookout for Eliyahu Hanovi, who will soon be mevaser lonu besoros tovos yeshuos venechamos.

Yisgadeil Veyiskadeish Shemei Rabboh

2012-01-04T08:49:00.001-08:00

by Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

The story is told of a woman who was married for sixteen years and had not been blessed with children. Pain and loneliness were her daily companions. She begged her father, a great tzaddik, and her husband, an illustrious talmid chochom, to daven along with her, but the wait continued.

One day, a little over one hundred years ago, before the advent of washing machines and dryers, she spent several hours washing the family’s clothing. When that task was finally completed, as was her habit every week, she hung up the freshly-cleaned laundry in the courtyard she shared with other families. A neighbor, for some unknown reason, became upset at the sight of the hanging clothing, flew into a rage, and ran inside her home to get a scissors. She returned and cut both ends of the rope, sending all the clean clothing into the mud, ruining hours of hard work.

The housewife was upset and burst into tears. She hurried into the privacy of her home and gave vent to her distress there, weeping in solitude. Then she went and engaged in the long process all over again, this time hanging her laundry to dry in a neighboring courtyard.

That evening, the offending neighbor came to the house crying, begging forgiveness. “I don’t know what came over me. I am so sorry. Please be mochel me. Plus, I already got my punishment. My son is sick, burning up with fever.”

The woman forgave her and wished her son a refuah sheleimah. The story is told in many different versions, but the way I heard it, upon hearing the commotion, the woman’s father looked up from his learning and asked what had transpired.

With much emotion, she related the story. She explained that the cruel actions of her neighbor had been too much for her to handle in her already fragile state and she couldn’t calm down. But rather than react with angry words to her neighbor, she went inside her home to express her pain in private. She told him how she then went and redid the laundry, without making a machlokes or telling anyone.

“The fact that you didn’t respond to her and prevented this from becoming a fight,” said the father, “will be the merit you need to be helped. Your great deed will grant you a child who will be great.”

One year later, a son was born.

The zaide was the author of the classic sefer, Leshem Shevo Ve’achlama, Rav Shlomo Elyashiv. The baby who was born was Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv. (His father adopted the family name of his wife when they sought certificates to leave Lithuania to British-controlled Palestine.)

There is a message here for us. Beneath the surface understanding of the story lies a reminder that our own revered gadol hador was a gift to the generation brought about by the middah of vatronus, by a chastened woman remaining calm and peaceful.

Devorim gedolim einam bemikreh. Rav Elyashiv would become a son-in-law of Rav Aryeh Levine, a rebbe in how to treat others and in appreciating the worth and dignity of every person.

The Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah 8:5) states that when Hashem created the world, there was a commotion. “Shalom” objected to the creation of the world, for shalom said that the world would contain arguments and conflicts. Hashem quieted the complaints by throwing “emes” into the world, as the posuk states (Doniel 8:12), “Vatishlach emes artzoh.”

The simple explanation is that once emes, truth, was given to the world, people wouldn’t fight. Hostility is caused when people cannot unite and each one dishonestly attempts to promote his cause. Once truth became an integer of the world, people would be able to work together for the truth.

However, the Maharal (Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Emes 3) explains that the giving of the Torah is what caused shalom to give up its opposition to creation. Man is beset with dispute only when he is without Torah. Torah causes him to be peaceful, as the posuk states, “Derocheha darchei noam vechol nesivoseha shalom.” Furthermore, the Gemara (Brachos 64a) says, “Talmidei chachomim marbim shalom ba’olam.” The proper way to explain the Medrash is that when Torah was given to the world, shalom ceased to oppose its creation.

Yaakov Avinu, the embodiment of Torah, was motivated by emes and shalom. His brother Eisav, who lived by the sword, as the posuk states, “Ve’al charbecha tichyeh,” was the antithesis of those middos of Yaakov. One who lives by the sword isn’t confident in his ability to win arguments. He is dishonest and his arguments are weak and fictitious, so he is forced to rule through violence and terror. People are subservient to him because they fear him, not because they believe him to be correct in his actions or in his beliefs.

That is the definition of Yaakov’s admonition to Shimon and Levi as he parted from them in this week’s parsha. Yaakov refers to the way they chose to avenge what was done to their sister Dinah as “klei chomos.” Rashi explains that the means employed by Shimon and Levi are not the implements of the children of Yaakov. They are stolen from Eisav. The Bnei Yisroel do not engage in violent disputes, and when and if they do, they have to know that they have adopted the methods of Eisav and his disciples.

Jews don’t hit. Jews don’t shout. Nor do they spit or react with violence and anger.

The tools we possess are respect, acceptance and equanimity, laced with the confidence that comes from living in accordance with the perfect harmony of halacha. We know who we are and what we stand for, and we know that in order to influence others, we need to work with them to make a difference. Shouting louder doesn’t make us more audible; using physical threats or violence only makes us weaker.

When we hear about beatings and threats, we must protest. We need to acknowledge the problem and reaffirm our own commitment to following the paths of our grandparents and rabbeim, who taught us not just by what they said, but by how they lived and conducted themselves. Chazal cite the hallmarks of talmidim of Avrohom Avinu. They are rachmonim, bayshonim and gomlei chassodim. We, who consider ourselves to be in the category of Avrohom’s pupils, must test ourselves by that qualifier. To the degree those adjectives apply to us, we are bnei Avrohom.

Respect was their hallmark. Like the Rambam teaches us in Hilchos Talmud Torah, they addressed every human being with calmness, tranquility and humility. The sifrei mussar are replete with admonitions of how Torah people are supposed to conduct themselves - with humility, kindness and empathy.

The Ponovezher Rov famously retold how, while undergoing medical treatment in an American hospital, he met a secular Jewish doctor. Speaking with him, the Rov discovered that he had learned in Lithuanian yeshivos in his youth, and although he wasn’t observant, he still maintained respect for Torah and its scholars.

The Rov observed that the man had lost all connection to Yiddishkeit.

“The only reason that I don’t officially convert and go to church,” the doctor confided, “is because the kapote (coat or jacket) of the Chofetz Chaim doesn’t allow me to.”

The Rov, a talmid of the Chofetz Chaim, looked at the doctor with curiosity, wondering what he meant. The old doctor explained that, when he was a child, his parents sent him to learn in the yeshiva of Radin.

When he arrived, he joined the line of new bochurim at the humble home of the Chofetz Chaim, waiting to introduce himself and receive instructions regarding where he would be lodging. His journey had been lengthy and exhausting, and, as he waited there, he was overcome by fatigue. He sat down on the floor and, within moments, was fast asleep.

He barely felt hands lifting him and carrying him to a bed, but when he awoke late that night, he realized that the host himself, the great tzaddik, had carried him to a bed and covered him with his own kapote. The Chofetz Chaim himself was sitting and learning in his shirt-sleeves.

The compassion and simplicity of the Chofetz Chaim affected this doctor profoundly, and even through the decades and continents, a warm glow remained. It was that inspiration that prevented him from leaving Judaism completely.

That respect - respect for everyone - is intrinsic to the make-up of the Torah Jew. This is because respect isn’t a public relations gimmick that Torah Jews use. It isn’t a broad smile and pleasant greeting in order to win friends and influence people. Respect is a part of our spiritual DNA, a legacy from our forefather Avrohom Avinu who welcomed visitors into his home, even if he opposed the choices they had made.

A talmid sat in the back seat of a taxi along with his rosh yeshiva, Rav Moshe Shmuel Shapiro, discussing a sugya.

They were going back and forth with spirit and energy, when, suddenly, Rav Moshe Shmuel stopped him. The rosh yeshiva scanned the identification card hanging near the driver’s seat, looking for the driver’s name.

“Let us continue the conversation in Hebrew, rather than Yiddish, so that Arik, in the front, can also enjoy and partake,” said Rav Moshe Shmuel.

The stereotypical Israeli taxi driver didn’t understand the rest of the conversation, but he got the message most important to him: he was a person too, and he was deserving of recognition and respect.

And yes, that same respect and empathy afforded to adults is meant to be displayed to children as well.

In a Yated interview, Rav Reuvein Feinstein related a story about his father, Rav Moshe Feinstein. The Feinsteins would spend some time each summer in the city of Hartford, Connecticut. Rav Moshe was friendly with a shochet, Rav Berman, who lived there.

During the time the family was in Hartford, a relative of the Bermans, a yeshiva bochur, came to stay with them. The bochur took advantage of the opportunity of being in the presence of Rav Moshe to observe him and try to learn from his conduct.

The bochur observed how Rav Moshe, the tremendous masmid, would wake up every day at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning and begin learning. Then, at about 6 o’clock, a little girl entered his room. To his astonishment, the bochur witnessed how Rav Moshe got up from his table and started playing ball with the little girl.

Intrigued, the yeshiva bochur revealed himself and asked the gadol hador if he was perhaps related to the girl and why he deemed it necessary to interrupt his learning to play ball with her.

Rav Moshe, demonstrating the wisdom and sensitivity that characterized his middos and hanhagah, replied, “Until I came here, she was the gantze macherke. She was the one who garnered everyone’s attention. When I arrived, I stole the focus and attention from her and I therefore owe her something. I must repay her by, at the very least, spending some time playing with her!”

In the timeless brachos of Yaakov Avinu, he faced his beloved sons and analyzed their kochos and character traits. The message he imparted would guide not only his immediate family, but his descendants, for thousands of years. His words are a beacon of light to us today as well. He cursed the anger of Shimon and Levi, stating, “Ki be’apam hargu ish, uveretzonam ikru shor.” No one doubted their sincerity and that their actions were lesheim Shomayim, fueled by the most righteous of calculations. Yet, their father cursed the middah that had generated such results.

The Maskilim who had been battling traditional Judaism for years, saw Zionism as a vehicle with which to continue their war. The Maskilim effectively used the new movement to battle religion.

What is transpiring today in Eretz Yisroel must be understood as another chapter in that ongoing, awful, century-long tug-of-war.

We should not allow ourselves to be drawn into the cauldron or be lectured by the ideological heirs of those early Maskilim who did everything in their power to vilify Torah, gedolei Torah and Yiddishkeit.

They were quick to discover the power of the media and propagandized regularly against the religious community. Nothing was beneath them. They lobbied to have rabbonim sidelined and at times jailed. They sought to have chadorim made illegal and to delist melamdim, who they demeaned and accused of kol dovor assur. They vilified botei din and attempted to have them banned as well. They also lobbied the authorities, claiming that rabbonim used seforim to encourage anti-government and anti-social activities, and sought to have them made illegal.

Everything the Israeli media and those in power engage in today is taken from their destructive playbook and must be viewed in that context in order to understand the extreme media focus on the goings-on in the religious community.

Dealing with people with respect means recognizing the value that people place on symbols, places and memories, and reflecting on how one’s actions can impact others. The brutality of Israeli police is well documented. Regrettably, discrimination against chareidim is a bitter fact of life in the Holy Land. However, to compare such conduct to that of the Nazis is insensitive and insulting. To use images that have haunted our people for seven decades as a propaganda tool is cynical manipulation. It is disrespectful to those who truly suffered. Trivializing Jewish pain and suffering for a cheap photo-op gimmick is foolish and wrong.

Too many people who were hurt by the Nazis are grieving. Too many people who suffered are pained as they relive the horrors that they - and our people as a whole -endured. Just decades ago, millions of Jews were rounded up, maimed, beaten, and destroyed financially, mentally, and of course physically. Jewish life as it had existed for hundreds of years was upended. There were millions of karbanos, most of them in the Olam Ha’emes, but many with us, everywhere.

For people to lower themselves in an attempt to further multiple agendas is callous. For us to remain silent in the face of actions timed and staged to make waves at a sensitive time in front of the world media would be to condone senseless insensitivity.

As descendants of the avos, who taught the world sensitivity, and as talmidim, children and grandchildren of great people whose lives embodied nobility of spirit and empathy, we have a mandate to always act with consideration and responsibility.

Rav Yisroel Salanter caused a revolution amongst Klal Yisroel with the emphasis he introduced on the study of mussar in yeshivos. He sought not only to bring about the study of classic sifrei yirah which had been neglected, but also to infuse the Jewish people with recognition of the need to improve the way they deal with each other, the way they speak, and the way they conduct themselves. The mussar he preached was not only about how a Jew relates to Hashem, but also how he relates to his fellow man.

Rav Yisroel taught a generation how to act and how to conduct itself. He also fought the Maskilim bitterly. He was from the first of a long line of gedolim who advocated establishing newspapers to combat the negative influences of those determined to besmirch Torah. He taught the young how to communicate and how to present themselves, with kindness and sophistication. With gaonus in Torah and middos, he was a leader in preserving the Torah nation.

Because, even when the situation calls for change or retribution, anger is not the means with which to achieve it. It requires one steeped in Torah and mussar to lead the charge. When one needs to influence or chastise another, he can learn from the Master of the Universe: “Ess asher ye’ehav Hashem yochiach.” Hashem rebukes those He loves. His messages are laced with compassion and concern.

When the Chazon Ish famously agreed to speak to David Ben-Gurion, two Jews at the polar opposites of the spectrum met. One represented the holy mesorah of Pumpedisa and Sura, while the other proudly dreamt of the Maskilim’s vision of the “new Jew.” The Chazon Ish brilliantly rebuffed the arguments of the politician. He made it clear, with the ferocity of a mother lion protecting her young, that the Olam HaTorah was untouchable and that his “army” wasn’t impressed by the military might of Ben-Gurion. Yet, he spoke calmly, with warmth and a begrudging respect. As he explained, “In between each ‘frask,’ each ideological blow I dealt him, I felt like I had to give him a ‘glett,’ a stroke on the cheek.”

As fierce as the battle he waged was, the Chazon Ish knew that ne’imus, pleasantness, is proper and more effective.

In all the reporting and coverage of what has been transpiring, the entire religious community has been tarred with the same brush and portrayed as crazed anti-social Neanderthals.

The hundreds of thousands of fine, ehrliche, decent frum people who humbly and quietly go about their peaceful lives, living as the generations before them did, are ignored. They are given no voice in a hostile media engaged in a Kulturkampf, on a mission to portray us all as fanaticized Taliban weirdoes.

While the reaction of Torah leaders such as Rav Aharon Leib Shteinman, Rav Ovadia Yosef and the Belzer Rebbe; political leaders such as Moshe Gafni, Yisroel Eichler and Aryeh Deri; organizations such as Agudas Yisroel, the Orthodox Union and the RCA; and so many others are completely ignored, religious and secular self-righteous opportunists rush to the microphones to promote themselves and their agendas.

Perhaps this Shabbos, when the baal kriah reads the posuk of “Arur apam - Cursed is their anger,” we will reinforce the time-honored ways of our people and proclaim its lessons to ourselves and our children in a way that no one can deny in accusatory fashion.

When we hear how “birtzonam ikru shor,” we will reinforce our behavior so that no one can infer that the posuk refers to us.

The pesukim will remind us not to sit by apathetically, in oblivion and silence, in the face of outrageous behavior that can be taken as a form of ratzon, compliance and acceptance of the situation. Wanton voices that shout viciously and angrily, with all the associated bad middos, should not be permitted to achieve their goals, besmirching an entire community.

This week, as we lain the parsha, we will be proclaiming that we speak with the authentic Jewish voice, the one that expresses itself with warmth and calmness to friends, neighbors and people we meet on the street.

We daven that our wayward brothers, who have been led astray and brought up to hate, will be able to take this message to heart. We hope that the truth will prevail, the good of the many, recognized; and the aberrations of the few, acknowledged for what it is.

We daven that our feet will tread back to the way of “deracheha darchei noam” and once again find the path of “chol nesivoseha shalom.”

And then, perhaps, we will heal a fragmented people, united, with our differences, like the twelve sons around Yaakov Avinu’s death-bed, who cried out, as one, “Shema Yisroel.”

Chazal derive from the posuk in Shema, “Ve’ohavta eis Hashem Elokecha,” that we should endeavor to cause the name of Hashem to be loved - “shetehei Sheim Shomayim misaheiv al yodcha.” When viewing the actions of bnei Torah, people should say, “Kamah na’eh ma’aseihem. How pleasant are the ways of the people who adhere to Torah.” Upon contemplation of religious people, the hearts of those removed from Torah should be opened to learn, appreciate and accept a life of Torah.

The most emotional parts of davening are Shema and Kaddish, when we proclaim, “Yisgadeil veyiskadeish shemei rabboh,” that the Name of Hashem should be made great and holy.

May we merit to see that transpire in our day, when the entirety of Am Yisroel will be awakened to the truth, the emes and the shalom with which the world was created.

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

2011-12-28T08:29:00.001-08:00

by Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Formed in a cauldron of pain and suffering, a special relationship developed between the Amshinover Rebbe, Rav Shima’le Kalish, and the talmidim of the Mirrer Yeshiva in Europe. Joined together by Hashgachah as they escaped from war-torn Poland, the relationship was reinforced by shared struggles, challenges and remarkable salvation.

On Motzoei Simchas Torah in Shanghai, with the echoes of the spirited Hakafah niggunim still ringing in the ears of the Mirrer talmidim, the Rebbe studied the faces of the Litvishe bochurim. He sensed their unspoken anxiety about the long, cold winter ahead, stretching before them like the train tracks they’d traveled on through the frozen Russian landscape.

The Rebbe saw the winter months as an opportunity, not an obstacle, and searched for a way to convey that point. “Mir hubben yetzt ge’endikt mit di groisse teg, we have concluded the great days,” remarked the Rebbe. “Yetzt kummen di groisse necht, now come the ‘great nights.’”

The Rebbe was referring to the words of the Rambam (Hilchos Talmud Torah 3:13), who says that even though there is a mitzvah to learn Torah day and night, a person acquires the majority of his wisdom at night. Therefore, one who wishes to obtain the crown of Torah should be zealous about his nights and not forfeit even one of them.

The Maharal in his sefer Ner Mitzvah on Chanukah addresses the significance of the 25^th of Kislev, the date upon which Chanukah begins. From Tishrei until this date, the days grow shorter and the amount of darkness increases nightly. On the 25^th of Kislev, the amount of daily light increases, and the length of daily darkness decreases. Therefore, it is fitting, explains the Maharal, that the Mishkon, which signifies light, was completed on this day.

It is therefore that the miracle of Chanukah was performed with light; with the Menorah remaining lit for eight days, since the day on which the Chashmonaim lit the Menorah following their war against the Yevonim, was the day on which light begins to evidence its strength.

We see physical light and study the spiritual qualities of light. As the physical light of the sun increases, so does the potential for the spiritual light we can create through increasing our Torah learning and kedushah.

The Maccabi victory over Yavan was celebrated and consecrated with the miracle of the eight days of light in the Bais Hamikdosh. Metaphors for the eternal battle between good and evil; Yavan resembled darkness and the Maccabis light.

The Maccabi leaders rallied the Jewish people who had become gray from compromise and caused them to see the black and the white. They roused them from their fear of Yavan and what it represented. They motivated them to overcome the meekness in their souls. By example, they showed the few and the weak that if they would expend effort, Hashem would help them prove that even modest light defeats substantial darkness.

Their message remains illustrative until this day. Maintaining crucibles of light and oases of goodness is possible if we remain loyal to the objective and infused with proper faith.

The darkness is complete and total, it seems. The world is darkening and there is danger lurking everywhere. It would seem that we have nowhere to hide and nowhere to turn.

Even after the last dancing light has disappeared and the last night of Chanukah is over, as we face a dark and lonely road, we have the tools to brighten the night.

We can go into a world where everything is warm, bright and happy, singing the song of the night. The flames of the Menorah will light up the way, the fires of the Chashmonaim will burn in our souls, and the darkness of despair will be banished.

The words of the Maharal will provide succor for us as we recognize that the darkness has begun to recede and yield to the light. There is hope if there is faith. The light will gain and so will we, if we follow the words the Amshinover Rebbe uttered during one of the darkest periods in Jewish history. We can cause ourselves to be blessed with a beacon that illuminates the path before us. It worked for him and the survivors in Shanghai, and it can work for us as well.

We possess the ability to live on a higher, elevated plane that is afforded to us every time we sit down by a shtender with a Gemara opened before us.

There is a scene that plays itself out all over. In Yerushalayim, New York, Lakewood or London, it is a timeless image as likely in the shtetlach of old as it is now. It’s nighttime. Rush-hour is over and traffic has eased up. Families all over are sitting and lingering after supper. Hardworking breadwinners relax in their easy chairs, perhaps with a newspaper in hand and slippers on their feet.

In botei medrash across the globe, night seder is beginning. The committed Jew, just like his father and grandfather before him, sighs contentedly as he opens his Gemara, humming the eternal tune of limud haTorah. “Amar Abaye…” A fruitful night is about to begin. A night which stretches back to the day when light was first created; the Mishkon was assembled, and the Chashmonaim emerged victorious. A night connecting to the awful darkness of the Inquisition, pogroms and the Holocaust - which were followed by rebirth and rejuvenation. A night which presents an opportunity to climb the ladder back into the presence of holiness and G-dliness. A night which defeats depression and yei’ush, depravity and mortality, is about to begin. Eternal light, energy, immortality and joy are about to descend into the heart of the Jew as he opens a Gemara and connects with the source of light.

No matter how cold it is outside and how fierce the awful winds are blowing, he remains anchored to a force stronger than any other. Ki ner mitzvah veTorah ohr. The mitzvos are compared to a candle and the Torah to light, for they light up our paths, brightening the pervading darkness. They ground us and provide depth and internal fortitude in a world mired in superficiality.

Last week, I had the occasion to be in the Palisades Mall on Thursday night. There was a line of hundreds of people leading to a store. We went to check it out. Perhaps there was something exciting going on there. The store at which the people were lined up was Foot Locker. We looked inside, trying to get a clue of what the commotion was all about. There were a couple of policemen at the door and security people milling about with the crowd. The store itself was basically empty, with a few salesmen helping customers with purchases. Something was strange, so we asked one of the policemen what was going on. He explained that the people were waiting to be the first to purchase a new sneaker that would be put on sale at midnight.

I later read that the scene replayed itself all across the country. Thousands of people lined up to buy the new sneaker. There were reports of violence, beatings, shootings and the like as people in line grew impatient.

I told my children that this was a lesson in real life for them regarding the emptiness of the life of a person who doesn’t have the blessings of Torah and mitzvos. It is doubtful if any of them needed new sneakers, as they surely could have managed with what they were wearing without standing on line for hours to pay $180 for a pair boasting a coveted designer name. Through the power of advertising and peer pressure, thousands of people across this great country felt that their lives would not be complete if they could not be among the first to possess a certain sneaker.

“You see right in front of your eyes the truth of the shmuessen of the mashgichim, that life without Torah is empty,” I said to my children. “It is not an exaggeration.”

Indeed, these peoples’ days are dark, consumed by choshech. We pity them and the blank looks in their eyes as they stand there seeking to fill the hollowness of their lives.

As we approach the cold, dark days of winter, without the benefit of any Yomim Tovim to intervene, we can keep ourselves warm, blessed, and neither lacking anything nor wanting superfluous superficiality if we hew to the path of Torah. It’s not a cliché. It’s the truth. If you don’t believe me, just ask those thousands of people who waited hours on line for a pair of Air Jordan sneakers, how happy they are. Then go ask the people humming to themselves as they work their way through a shvere sugya.

Ashreinu mah tov chelkeinu. Winter, spring, summer and fall.

Of Battles and Miracles

2011-12-21T08:28:00.000-08:00

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

A story is told about an American tourist who went to visit a Yerushalmi Yid. Upon entering the humble apartment, the tourist found him in an exalted state. The visitor asked him why he was so full of joy. The Yerushalmi answered him with a twinkle in his eye. "Didn’t you hear?" he asked. "Moshiach is here in Yerushalayim. Of course I’m besimcha."

The visitor was a real tourist type. He left the old Yerushalmi’s apartment and ran to the Kosel. He thought that if Moshiach was in Yerushalayim, the best place to find him would be at the Kosel. He got there and looked around, but was stunned when everything seemed regular. He looked at everyone there. No one impressed him as being the Moshiach whom Klal Yisroel has been awaiting for centuries. Quite upset, he returned to the Yerushalmi and told him that he went to the Kosel looking for Moshiach and couldn’t find him.

"Where is he?" asked the tourist. "Where would he be if not at the place that the Shechinah hasn’t departed from?"

The Yerushalmi looked at his fellow Jew and said with a smile, "You don’t look for Moshiach. He looks for you. You have to prepare yourself for him so that when he comes, you will be worthy of redemption. Achakeh lo bechol yom sheyavo. Part of the wait, part of longing for Moshiach, is to be a true ben chorin. A ben chorin, a free person, is one who busies himself studying Torah and having it influence and mold his character."

Chanukah is a Yom Tov that celebrates this idea. It is a time when we celebrate the Chashmonaim and their mesirus nefesh for kedushah. They didn’t go looking for the person who would lead the charge against Yavan. With mesirus nefesh, they rose up to throw off the forces of darkness from the nation that was having its light source blocked. They were the me’atim, the tzaddikim, the tehorim, the people who were osek baTorah, ki ner mitzvah veTorah ohr, but they were not meyayeish.

Too often, we look for others to do our work. We look in the wrong places for saviors and salvation from our problems, not knowing that we have to perfect ourselves and that the solution is within us. If we improve ourselves and make ourselves worthy, we can beat back all those who torment us and all that afflicts us, even if it is the most powerful nation and philosophy on earth, much as the Greeks were in the days of the Chashmonaim.

There is a discussion in the Acharonim if the mitzvah of zeh Keili ve’anveihu, to beautify mitzvos, applies to having a nice menorah. The menorah itself is not the actual cheftzah of the mitzvah, as the mitzvah pertains to the materials that are necessary for the lighting, namely the oil and the wicks. The Mishnah Berurah (672:2) rules that everyone should endeavor to obtain the nicest menorah and best lights he can.

Perhaps we can suggest that even if you believe that the rule of beautifying mitzvos only applies to the act of the mitzvah itself, the custom of beautifying the menorah is almost universal, for that is in the spirit of the Chashmonaim: to go beyond the metzuveh. They fought the Yevanim even though, technically, they had no chance to win, and perhaps there was no obligation for them to go to battle under those conditions.

The Medrash Maaseh Chanukah relates that "Matisyahu Kohein Gadol said to the Chashmonaim, ‘Boruch hagever asher som baHashem mivtacho. My seven sons and I will join with you and your three sons… I have complete faith that Hashem will perform miracles for us and that we will be able to beat the Yevanim.’ They fasted and begged Hashem for mercy… and proceeded to do battle."

While analysis of how he was permitted to place himself and the others in danger when we have a rule that we do not rely on miracles is beyond the scope of our discussion here, the fact remains that Matisyahu and the Chashmonaim went beyond what was called for in order to preserve Am Yisroel and their devotion to Torah.

And when Hashem caused them to win the war, they could have lit the menorah with oil that was defiled, for the din is that tumah hutrah betzibbur. It would have been halachically permissible to light with oil that was found in the Bais Hamikdosh, even if it did not have a tahor stamp on it.

Nevertheless, after such mesirus nefesh, they weren’t prepared to settle for the minimum. The Chashmonaim who went to war to preserve the kedushah of Am Yisroel weren’t about to light the menorah with oil that wasn’t tahor betachlis hahiddur.

Thus, we can suggest that we go to great expense to commemorate the actions of kohanecha hakedoshim and the nissim that were performed for them by being mehadeir in the menorah as well as in the oil and wicks, for there is no greater hiddur perhaps than beatifying the mitzvah even when there is no obligation to do so.

Klal Yisroel didn’t feel itself strong enough to throw off the yoke of Greek tyranny until Matisyahu rose up and inspired them. Today, as in those days, forces of evil are able to prosper because people of goodwill cannot come together to topple them. Murderous tyrants can be toppled, as we have seen. What it requires is a man of courage who can no longer take it. People rally to him, and the momentum they create is able to restore the forces of light and justice.

The miracle of Chanukah that we celebrate is primarily that of the tiny flask which burned longer than was thought to be realistically possible. The menorah’s lights signify that the power of light overcame the power of darkness. The oil lasting longer than one day signifies that if you expend the effort and work bemesirus nefesh, physical rules will not apply.

The miraculous military victory over Yavan is a dramatic example of how the laws of nature are suspended when dedicated souls join together and enable light to triumph over darkness. That reversal of the natural order in their day was made possible by the great mesirus nefesh demonstrated by Matisyahu and his followers.

That victory was of the same type that brought about the miracle of the pach shemen. A small amount of oil, which according to its physical and chemical characteristics could only burn for one day, burned for as long as was necessary, just as the forces of good, though outmatched by evil in terms of numbers and strength, thoroughly eviscerated the forces of darkness.

We see wrongs in our world and are told that there is nothing we can do about it. We try to right the wrongs and are mocked. Yet, in fact, if you look around, there are so many people who overcame the odds, building Torah where no one thought it was possible, restoring lives others had given up on, and fighting abuse which people thought was part of life. We see teachers touching souls and impacting them forever. We see righteous men and women not taking no for an answer, standing up to an apathetic society and awakening their consciences. We see people rallying to fight for those wronged by an out-of-control justice system, and we cheer them on, hoping that they will succeed against all odds.

We see people working with selfless dedication and are amazed that it is as if logic and the laws of nature don’t apply to them. They tread where no one has dared step before, and they succeed where lesser people vow that success is absolutely impossible.

They are the heroes of our people. They have changed a desolate land and caused a desert of assimilation to bloom with Torah. It is those heroes who have heard the call of the Chashmonaim. They have been the shluchim for the rebirth of our people decades after we were nearly wiped out. They have succeeded in greater fashion than anyone thought possible, blessed with siyata diShmaya reserved for those who work bemesirus nefesh leSheim Shomayim.

That is why the neis of Chanukah is celebrated by kindling lights in our homes facing the street. That is why the mitzvah is to light the menorah as soon as sundown begins and darkness starts spreading across the sky.

That is why the shiur that Chazal gave for the duration of the lights is "ad shetichleh regel min hashuk"; the lights of the Chanukah menorah should remain lit as long as there are people out on the street.

As long as people are out in the public thoroughfare, we need to remind them of the miracle. We need to prominently remind them not to yield to the temptations of darkness.

"Don’t surrender to defeatism," we call out to them. "Don’t regard what you do as being inconsequential. Remember that Matisyahu started out as one lonely man of faith, with the powerful Greeks and most of his own people against him. Because he did not let defeatism overtake him, the Yevanim and Misyavnim were conquered and the forces of good prevailed."

We gather our families around us and light the menorah to proclaim that Hashem felled the mighty, the many and the evil. They were demolished by the weak, the few, the just and the holy.

Hashem had mercy on us and fought our battles, causing the zeidim to fall into the hands of the oskei Torah. We sing songs of thanksgiving and Hallel, and we remind ourselves that, in our day as well, the Yevanim, in other guises, continually attempt to trap and kill us.

We have to be ever vigilant, for the forces of Hellenism are ever present. They cloak themselves in the guise of enlightenment and intellectual purity as they accost us with cleverly worded propaganda to curb our growth and poison the way people view us.

In our day, the modern Yevanim hide behind the power of the pen, the web, blogs and populist demagoguery to attack us. Misyavnim offer wild accusations to back up their unfounded charges. The more growth our community experiences, the more scorn the Misyavnim heap upon us.

The menorah and the Yom Tov of Chanukah remind us that we should not hesitate to defend Torah and mitzvos. The lights of the menorah proclaim to us to seek out the people who carry the flag of Torah and the Matisyahu ben Yochanan Kohein Gadols of our day and rally around them.

During the Gaza War which Israel fought four years ago, Lev L’Achim waged its own war. Schools in the line of fire in the country’s southern region were closed, as the rocket-fire was too fierce. Several intrepid Ashdod yungeleit traveled to Ashkelon and set up shop in a basement bomb shelter. They dispensed warmth, pizza and Torah. Local teenagers were so bored that they came and were intrigued. When the war ended and normal life resumed, these kids were still interested, so the yungeleit continued coming, creating a small afternoon bais medrash in Ashkelon.

Slowly, they had some real talmidim, and finally they finished a masechta with the secular teenagers. On Chanukah, the talmidim, accompanied by their Lev L’Achim rabbeim, went to celebrate the siyum at the home of Rav Aharon Leib Shteinman. The aged gadol was very moved by the sight of the teenagers in his home proclaiming, "Hadran alach," to the first masechta they had learned.

As the siyum ended, one of the boys asked Rav Shteinman for a bracha. He asked that the resistance of his parents to his Torah study weaken. "In fact," he told the rosh yeshiva, "if they knew where I was now, they would be furious. I told them that I was going to play soccer."

Rav Shteinman said to the boy, "You have answered a question of mine. Why, in Al Hanissim, do we thank Hashem for the milchamos? War is a necessary evil, as people get killed and hurt, and lives are destroyed. Why do we thank Hashem for the war, when, in fact, we should just be thanking Him for the nissim and niflaos?

"But now, I have a new understanding. It is for milchamos such as yours - the wars waged by these determined teenagers - that we thank Hashem!"

We all have our personal battles and wars, and to the extent that we win them, we recite Al Hanissim, thanking Hashem for providing us with the wherewithal to overcome and persevere.

As we light the menorah, we remember to use our abilities to spread goodness and kindness in this world. We appreciate the kochos that Hashem blessed us with and acknowledge that we can accomplish greatness if we try hard enough. Read the fascinating interview in this paper with Rav Ben Zion Kook about Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv to see what man is capable of if he sets his heart to learning.

If we dedicate ourselves with mesirus nefesh to being bnei chorin and making the world worthy of the geulah, Moshiach will reveal himself shortly and return the Bais Hamikdosh, its kedushah, its avodah and the menorah. Amein.

Mazel Tov Chinuch Roundtable

2011-12-14T08:46:00.000-08:00

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

You have to feel bad for Mitt Romney.

He did everything right, working assiduously for half a decade, with scores of handlers, pollsters, wordsmiths, schedulers and volunteers behind him. His campaign is well-equipped and expertly managed, and he has looked on comfortably as a long stream of Republican candidate wannabes rose and then fell. Victory seemed inevitable for the well-spoken, immaculate former governor. All he was waiting for was the coronation, which would begin January 3^rd in Iowa and culminate at the Republican National Convention in sweltering Tampa at the end of August.

But at the very last minute, just as he began to feel Iowa and New Hampshire victories fall into his lap and the nomination within touching distance, Romney was suddenly upended. By whom? The fellow derided by every single mainstream publication and pundit as unsuited for leadership, and by some as mean and vindictive. They gave him zero chance of winning anything, or climbing out of the single digits in poll popularity. Newt Gingrich’s rise happened so fast, and so unexpectedly, that the commentariat is tripping over itself in its haste to decry his personal shortcomings and lack of qualifications, reminding us all that he was driven out of his position as Speaker of the House.

How did this happen and what does it teach us?

It’s because Newt speaks, as they say, tzum zach, reaching over the heads of the media and addressing people in a straightforward and honest manner. In debate after debate, as the well-crafted statements of the others fall flat, his candid, unapologetic talk has reached the hearts of the American people. He demonstrates a keen understanding and brilliance, coupled with a man-of-the-street charming ability to say the plain truth in a way people can accept and relate to.

His meteoric rise stems from a rare ability to understand issues that confront America in a historic context. He grasps real problems and understands their repercussions, explaining and reacting to them in a way unmatched by his peers.

At the most recent debate, as he discussed his comment that the Palestinians are an "invented people," he displayed a steely ability to say the truth and not be cowed by worries about how the intelligentsia will look at what he said, nor by what handlers will say or by whether it is politically correct. He just said the truth in a most intelligent fashion.

We know that the Palestinians are a fictitious people invented by the same Egyptian Arab, Yasser Arafat, who invented modern terror. It was and is an overblown myth bought into, hook, line and sinker, by a world that has no use for Jews. Careful staging and brilliant public relations brought on by repeated grizzly acts of terror created a feel of a genuine, oppressed people. Gingrich had the temerity to see through the smoke and mirrors, calling them what they are: fictitious.

His response in this instance reflects his approach. Unlike the others who crowd the Republican field, he doesn’t deliver canned, rehearsed, poll-tested responses to questions.

And strangely enough, Americans, it seems, have had enough of sound bites and phony politicians. Republicans, at least, have had enough of well-coiffed media darlings who speak empty words. They want a real person, who offers real solutions and is able to understand and explain the issues Americans face in their daily struggles.

That, it appears, is Newt Gingrich, and that is why he is emerging as the leader.

His rise to the top has relevance to us in our world, on many levels.

Our communities, and particularly the chinuch community and the mosdos haTorah, face a relentless stream of spiteful and petty attacks from haters and scoffers, who use their electronic and wooden podiums to spew traditional sinas am haaretz letalmid chochom.

A favorite accusation of theirs is that our world - our mosdos and their leaders - are out of touch. The attackers, sitting at computer screens and poking out angry diatribes, are in touch, apparently. The naysayers, protected by anonymity and the luxury of not being in decision-making positions themselves, are able to lob grenades at those who have dedicated their lives to impacting the world for good.

Today’s generation of mechanchim is comprised of leaders and heroes, who confront and address real issues in a real way. Their motive is to enhance what is good and true as they transmit our glorious heritage, way of life and Torah to the next generation.

This week, the Yated celebrates the publication of the 200^th Chinuch Roundtable column. Two hundred weeks of real issues, being dealt with by real people, offering real solutions.

And getting real results.

Today, more and more, mechanchim represent the best and brightest of our world. They are men and women of high qualifications and accomplishments who have dedicated their lives to a job - a calling, actually - that requires more time than they have, along with tremendous stamina, yet is so short on financial compensation. The mosdos they lead are engaged in a constant search for more, always looking to be better and to meet the needs of additional children and families.

The dedicated and gifted members of the Chinuch Roundtable are mechanchim who are stopped by people they know, and those they don’t, at chasunos and in the grocery store, for advice and their opinion. Many of them carry the burdens not just of talmidim, but also of crushing budgets, and are left with little or no free time. They work long days and late nights. Our moderator tells me how so many of the responses to the weekly question arrive in the hours when most of the world is fast asleep.

Yet, they see a bigger picture.

It is the same picture that is played out in the parshiyos of Sefer Bereishis, which we are currently laining, as each of the avos attempts to pass on their Torah and knowledge of Hashem to the next generation.

There is a fascinating, if puzzling, exchange in the parsha we just read.

When Eisav confronted Yaakov after not seeing him for many years and observed his large family, he asked his brother, "Mi eileh loch? Who are these?"

Yaakov answered, "Hayelodim asher chonan Elokim ess avdecha - They are the children Hashem has graced me with."

Rashi explains Eisav’s question as, "Mi eileh lihiyos shelcha? Who are they to be yours?"

What a strange question. If you see a man walking with women and children, isn’t it obvious that they are his family?

An explanation that is offered is that there was a perpetual battle between Yaakov and Eisav. Their difference of opinion, in fact, spanned the ages and exists today. Yaakov opted for the next world, for Olam Haba and nitzchiyus, while Eisav wanted Olam Hazeh, this world, the here and now.

The nachalas shnei olamos was forever divided. The epic divide between Yaakov and Eisav was formed when they negotiated over a bowl of lentils.

Yaakov wanted one world. Eisav desired the other. As an ish sadeh, Eisav wanted his field. Yaakov, the epitome of the yoshev ohalim, was living on a higher plane, as he reached for the intangible.

Eisav let the bechorah go, because, as he said, "hinai anochi holech lamus." Why do I need things that aren’t relevant to this world? I have no value for things I can’t see or touch.

But now, upon seeing Yaakov and his family for the first time, Eisav witnessed the joy and fulfillment of a father in the company of his family, his wife and his children. He confronted Yaakov and said, "This type of enjoyment is pure pleasure. It’s Olam Hazeh. So how does it come to you? Olam Hazeh is my province. Mi eileh lihiyos shelcha?"

Yaakov responded to Eisav that he was in error. He said that the beautiful children Eisav was jealous of were given to him by Hakadosh Boruch Hu - chanan Elokim - for a higher purpose - not merely for enjoyment, but for nitzchiyus, for perpetuation of the Divine creed.

Children, and generations, are part of something much bigger than us, and being part of the world of chinuch is brushing eternity.

Our children are part of something bigger. They carry forth the mesorah from parents, grandparents and great-grandparents back to Yaakov Avinu, who lived with the attitude that they were bearers of a regal tradition and charged with a mandate to create generations for Hashem. Children, they recognized, are a "matnas chinam," an undeserved gift, from Him, for Olam Haba, for nitzchiyus.

The Chinuch Roundtable column appears in this newspaper each week, be’ezras Hashem. The questions selected for the review of our distinguished panelists are scrutinized to ensure that they meet the standards of the newspaper and are relevant to our readers and the chinuch community. But there is something the reader doesn’t know or see.

There are many questions that are submitted that cannot be used, for various reasons. These questions also reflect the confusion, doubt, and, all too often, pain of dedicated parents. Just because they cannot be published does not mean that they are heartlessly deleted, with the parent or child left to deal with a pressing issue by themselves. In such situations, the moderator and publisher determine which panelist would best be able to deal with that question, and the email is forwarded to him to deal with it personally, responding to the hurting parents and helping them with their dilemma.

Our panelists get nothing in return, except the satisfaction of helping people. They make themselves available because they are real. In their offices, they see all sorts of problems and issues, but they don’t merely issue statements and assurances that they will deal with them. They roll up their sleeves and confront the problems, one at a time, dealing with them honestly and candidly, and addressing them with courage, optimism and faith.

In these pages, the Chinuch Roundtable panelists have offered straight talk about pressing and relevant issues. They’ve discussed resentment amongst parents and administrators regarding tuition. They’ve spoken about the poor state of the general studies departments in too many schools. They’ve dissected the disconnect that many working fathers experience in our current system and the burdens placed on working mothers. They have demanded accountability and, unlike the weak and anxious bloggers, their names are right next to their words as they unapologetically tackle real issues.

And, unseen by the rest of the world, they work privately with so many other desperate questioners, offering advice, time and encouragement, not just in print and by the podium, but in private, exhibiting traits of true leadership.

So, as we celebrate the accomplishments of those unafraid to talk straight, we applaud them, thank them and wish them the strength and ability to continue in their avodas hakodesh, unimpeded by financial pressures or other obstacles.

My rebbi Rav Elya Svei zt"l would quote the words of Chazal who teach that when confronted by aishes Potifar, Yosef Hatzaddik’s defenses had crumbled. He almost succumbed to the nisayon, when "herah lo demus deyukno shel aviv." This is usually understood to mean that when he thought of succumbing to sin, he saw the image of his father’s face in front of him and he drew back.

Rav Elya would relate an explanation in the name of a chassidishe rebbe, who explained that Chazal mean that the face that Yosef saw which prevented him from sinning was not that of his father, but rather, Yosef Hatzaddik observed the reflection of his own face the way it appeared to Yaakov. He remembered how Yaakov would look at him, and that is what prevented him from sinning. He contemplated how his father, Yaakov, had looked at him - with pride, love, hope and confidence - and, thus strengthened, he rose above the nisayon.

Rav Elya would say that we must look at each child in a way that imbues them with the knowledge that they are capable of greatness and that there are high expectations for them. They should be viewed in a way that creates a demus deyukno.

A child who understands that someone believes in them is more likely to excel and lead a blessed, accomplished life than children who perceive themselves as viewed with a face and look of negativity and derision. Same goes for adults, by the way.

What makes the members of our chinuch panel extraordinary is not only that they give of their time to share wisdom and experience. It’s also that they don’t approach problems with an air of negativity and pessimism by dumping on the children of today. In fact, their approach is quite the opposite. Their advice is laced with confidence and faith in every Jew - each child, each person, each father and each mother.

Leadership isn’t earned simply through ambition or careful preparation, but necessitates the readiness to face real issues and confront them, head-on, intelligently, forthrightly and honestly. That is true in the general world and in our world as well.

And to those in our camp who step up, we are eternally grateful.

A Struggle For the Ages

2011-12-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

By Rabbi Pichos Lipschutz

We read the news and fret. Seeing what is going on in the world, we cannot blame the pessimists who see wide-ranging conspiracies. We cannot laugh at those who feel as if the world is about to blow up. They fear that the euro will become worthless, economic malaise will overwhelm Europe, and it will spread to the rest of the world. America will become awash in a sea of red ink, unemployment will increase, taxes will rise, health insurance will become unaffordable, the Postal Service will close, and, worst of all, Barack Obama will be reelected and get even with Israel and the Jews for Binyomin Netanyahu’s arrogant intransigence in refusing to accept his plan for the division of Eretz Yisroel.

They are afraid that America will never be the same. It will sink into a quagmire from which no one will be able to rescue it. The bulwark of democracy and capitalism will become a beachhead of socialism as it descends into finality as a failed state. They see radical Islam on a victorious crusade across Northern Africa and worry about what it will mean for Israel in particular and for Jews and freedom-lovers the world over.

In actuality, it’s nothing new. Shlomo Hamelech, the wisest man, proclaimed many centuries ago, "Ein kol chodosh tachas hashomesh - There is nothing new under the sun."

The Ramban writes in his hakdamah to Parshas Vayishlach that the parsha "was written to show that Hashem saved his servant from someone stronger than him… The parsha contains a hint for future generations, for all that transpired between our forefather Yaakov and Eisav will happen to us with Eisav’s children, and it is fitting for us to go in the path of the tzaddik (Yaakov)." Vayishlach is in fact a parsha which helps guide our lives in golus. The Gemara discusses how the chachomim who traveled to Rome for negotiations and deliberations with the incumbent political leadership learned this parsha prior to setting out on their precarious journeys. In order to succeed in their missions on behalf of the Jewish people ruled by the Romans, they studied the first encounter between Yaakov as an av and Eisav as a force in his own right. The lessons learned from the exchange between Yaakov and Eisav guided the chachomim in their interactions with Eisav’s offspring.

The Maharal (Derech Chaim 5) teaches that the experiences of each of the three avos parallel different periods in Jewish history. Yaakov, he says, corresponds to our final golus, Edom. In his words, "the golus will be very long and, at the End of Days, the golus will disappear and everything will be good." Just as Yaakov Avinu traveled a difficult, dark path until he tasted peace, so will his descendants travel a lengthy golus before the eventual simchas olam, eternal peace and joy.Even a cursory reading of the account of Yaakov Avinu’s struggle with the malach, the sar of Eisav, affects us. We somehow sense that in these pesukim lies the secret to a destiny that would prove to be one long struggle, an enduring battle between the forces of kedushah and tumah, good and evil. It’s the battle that defines our mission, both as individuals and as a nation, always forced to fight for what’s right and pure.

Beyond that, there is also a bigger picture and a bigger plan. Chazal uncover layers of depth and significance to that fight, with nuances that hint at different mitzvos or periods in history.As the battle winds down, the posuk relates that Eisav’s malach said that he has to leave, as the sun was about to rise. Rashi explains, based upon the Gemara in Maseches Chullin, that Eisav’s malach had to say shirah that day and, with the day about to dawn, he had to return. We were taught as children that he begged Yaakov to release him, since he’d waited from the beginning of time for his turn to sing before his Maker. We understood that it just happened to work out that way, with the epic battle taking place on the night before he was slated to sing.

Rav Chaim Soloveitchik understood the malach’s request on a higher level. He explained that it wasn’t mere happenstance that the malach would be singing shirah that day. The song of a creature is sung when he fulfills and achieves his mission. Shirah takes place when shleimus has been achieved. The destiny for the malach, the sar of Eisav, the yeitzer hara, is to struggle with the forces of good - and lose. His job is to provide the challenge for the good to overcome evil and emerge triumphant.

Until that fateful night, the malach of evil had not fulfilled his shlichus, for each and every time, the power of tov was unable to overcome him. Everything in this world is created for kavod Shomayim. As long as the angel’s actions didn’t bring about kavod Hashem, he had not achieved the purpose he was created for and could not sing shirah.

When Yaakov Avinu was victorious, the malach’s destiny was realized. He had fought hard, but the koach of good had won. He was now worthy of singing the shiras Hashem, because he had lost, and that was his tafkid.Often, we are confronted by obstacles and hindrances. We are ready to give up and permit the forces of evil which torment us to win. Sometimes, people think that they are doomed, with no way out. Survival becomes a daily battle. However, if we summon our inner strengths, we will find resources of stamina, vitality and vigor to keep on going, just as Yaakov did back then.

There is a plan and a mission inherent in the struggle and we must be cognizant of this fact. We proceed, for at the end, as the Maharal says, the darkness will disappear and we’ll see the good.

The parsha recounts (35:21) that following the passing of Rochel Imeinu, Yaakov and his sons traveled on, setting up camp near Migdal Eider, where they enjoyed a rare moment of tranquility and relative quiet. The Targum Yonasan Ben Uziel writes that this place, "meiholah leMigdal Eider," is the location from where "Moshiach will reveal himself."

The aspect of maaseh avos siman labonim carries through here as well. Yaakov’s rest symbolizes our respite from the bitterness and pain of golus. After the battles, after the wars, after enduring the chicanery of Lavan and the depravity of Eisav, Yaakov merits some tranquility. And so shall we.

This week, many years ago, an American bochur walked into a shtiebel in Yerushalayim to daven Minchah. An old Yerushalmi Yid with a twinkle in his eye called him over.

"Ich hub far eich ah kasha. I have a question for you," he said. "The posuk says that Yaakov was victorious over the malach of Eisav and was given a new name, Yisroel, in honor of his triumph.

"But," asked the wizened Yerushalmi, "how can we say Yaakov won? He was left bruised and limping, while the malach ascended to Heaven to sing shirah. Doesn’t it seem like the malach was the victor and Yaakov the loser?"

The Yid thought for a moment and continued.

"Amerikaneh bochur’l, listen to the answer and remember it: When there is a dispute about an ideology, the one who hits first is the loser. If one of the debaters raises his hand and smacks the other, it’s a sign that he can no longer match his opponent with intellect and facts, so he has to hit. When the malach struck Yaakov, he was in fact conceding defeat. He was saying that Yaakov had triumphed!"

The Jewish road is strewn with obstacles, and that is the biggest testimony that ours is the path to victory. They keep hitting, they keep striking, but their blows are ones of defeat.

We don’t hit back. We keep marching on, secure that there’s a plan.

"Bikeish Yaakov leisheiv beshalvah." Yaakov Avinu seemed destined for a life of constant travail. He was forced to contend with Eisav and then escaped his murderous wrath. He toiled in learning for fourteen years, depriving himself of sleep throughout. His journey continued with Elifaz robbing him of everything he owned. He went on to face Lavan’s wiliness and greed. It never ended for him, as each day brought a new round of trouble, sad news, and daunting nisyonos.Instead of growing despondent and asking, "Why me?" Yaakov looked at each new day as a fresh opportunity to learn more Torah, establish a holy family, and toil in the vineyard of Hashem following his father and grandfather. Thus, he was successful in what he did, fulfilling his mission as he prospered and prevailed.

Obstacles, as Rav Chaim taught, have a mission of their own, to be beaten down with bitachon and steady, unwavering avodah. We look around and see the gloomy news coming from every direction. There are militants and madmen eying tiny Eretz Yisroel through their gun-sights, ready to pull the trigger at the slightest provocation. We see despots and dictators arming themselves with nuclear weapons, laughingly threatening to obliterate us and our people. And we worry.

Right here, in New York and New Jersey, the horrific emblems of seventy-five years ago have resurfaced, with broken, shattered glass serving as a haunting reminder of the darkest time in recent memory.

The avak, the dust, of the struggle is everywhere, making it difficult to see clearly.

Rav Mordechai Shulman, the late rosh yeshiva of the Slabodka Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, was a close talmid of the Chofetz Chaim. He would tell stories that demonstrated the ruach hakodesh of the Chofetz Chaim. He said that during the years of World War I, the Chofetz Chaim carried the pain of Klal Yisroel in his heart. With the Jewish people suffering terribly, he was beside himself, as he offered his pure tefillos and brachos to lighten the gezeiros.

Since Rav Mordechai spoke and read the Russian language, he was given the job of reading the daily Russian newspaper to his rebbi and translating it into Yiddish, so that the Chofetz Chaim would be apprised of the day’s developments.

Rav Mordechai recounted that, every day, he was amazed anew, for as he began to read the news to the Chofetz Chaim, his rebbi would complete the account, down to the last detail, as if he’d already heard it. He said that it was impossible for the Chofetz Chaim to have heard the news from anyone else, and there was no way he could have read the newspaper on his own, for he was not able to.

Rav Shulman related that his astonishment was lessened years later when he saw an explanation from the Vilna Gaon on the words we say during Shacharis that the malachim stand each morning "umashmi’im beyirah yachad bekol divrei Elokim Chaim uMelech Olam." In Heaven, the angels sing out that which they hear from their King.

The Vilna Gaon explains that this means that the song of the angels is comprised of the events - the encounters, developments and happenings - that have been decreed for the day ahead. Every day, the malachim are mashmia bekol the words of Hashem as they impact the occurrences of the coming day.

Heaven is filled with the sound of what will yet be. "And," Rav Mordechai remarked, "I am certain that, every day, the Chofetz Chaim heard the sod siach sarfei kodesh of the malachim discussing what Hashem did and was going to do in His world."

The Chofetz Chaim was privy to that song, said Rav Mordechai, so of course he knew what had happened each day, as he had heard the call of the malachim.The story is astounding in what it teaches us about the way of the world and what it says about the greatness of the pure and holy tzaddikim. Everything that happens - the good, the bad and the fearsome, the anti-Semitic rants and attacks, and the calls of hate and aggression - is announced each morning in Heaven, passed on from angel to angel. It is all part of a plan. The Divine Plan.

Reb Yosef Friedenson is a most eloquent voice who has made it his mission to teach our generation about what existed before the Holocaust, as well as the heroism and self-sacrifice demonstrated amidst the suffering and devastation during World War II. His memories tell the story of Klal Yisroel in exile. They are recollections that reflect the experiences of Yaakov Avinu in his own golus.

Reb Yosef shares the memory of standing in a crowded square, as the Nazis, yemach shemom, were herding Jews together, barking orders at them. Reb Yosef’s father, a learned man, spontaneously addressed the gathered Yidden. He began by quoting the pesukim in Sefer Yeshaya, perek 14, which contain the words of the novi in response to the arrogance of Nevuchadnetzar:"For you said to yourself, ‘I will ascend to heaven and set my throne above G-d’s stars. I will preside on the mountain of the gods far away in the north. I will climb to the highest heavens and be like the Most High.’ But instead, you will be brought down to the place of the dead, down to its lowest depths. Everyone there will stare at you and ask, ‘Can this be the one who shook the earth and the kingdoms of the world?’"

The pesukim relate how the mightiest and most arrogant of armies will eventually fall. Even their rise, we are told, is stained with hints of a dark future.

Ultimately, the darkness passed and the feared Nazis fell.

When he relates his recollections and thoughts, Reb Yosef remarks, "On that fortuitous day, when we watched the Nazis march out with their arms raised above their heads, being prodded and pushed by the guns of the liberating armies, we wondered aloud, ‘Are these the soldiers from whom we had such fear? Are these the fearful oppressors of yesterday?’

"Just as my father said, just as the novi said. The darkness, the light, it’s all part of the pattern of Jewish history."

More recently, people who were the embodiment of evil, such as Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi and Osama bin Laden, were like wounded animals at their end, when they were found by those seeking justice. The men whom the entire world feared were humbled and degraded. They were exposed to the whole world as small, scared people, a very different impression than the legendary aura they seemed to possess while they were in power.

It was difficult to believe that these people ever had any strength of their own. In fact, they didn’t. They were players in a Divine plot. They were tools of Hashem to somehow create kavod Shomayim in ways yet to be seen. When their mission was completed, the strength and guile they had been granted in order to complete their jobs were taken from them and they returned to the afar min ha’adamah that they essentially were.

The pattern of Yisroel bein ha’amim is symbolized by the struggle between Yaakov and the sar of Eisav, which ended when the sun rose. The Torah reports, "Vayizrach lo hashemesh, vehu tzoleiah al yereicho - The sun rose and Yaakov was limping." The limp reminded him of the travails he had experienced and overcome. But the sun was shining. "Al kein lo yochlu Bnei Yisroel es gid hanosheh." Therefore, we don’t eat the gid hanosheh, which the sar of Eisav had injured. By not eating it, we remind ourselves until this very day that the torment we endure is a sign of strength and victory. They can’t beat us with the force of argument and veracity, so they hurt us, enslave us, break our windows, and call us demeaning names. We are reminded that it is a sign of strength to be hounded and persecuted, as we have been throughout the ages. We are pained in our lives, as private people and as a tzibbur. We are tested again and again. Our enemies are weak and impotent, and we have the wounds to prove it.

We are reminded that "vayizrach lo hashemesh."

Near Migdal Eider, Moshiach waits to reveal himself. May he do so bemeheirah beyomeinu. Amein.

In actuality, it’s nothing new. Shlomo Hamelech, the wisest man, proclaimed many centuries ago, "Ein kol chodosh tachas hashomesh - There is nothing new under the sun."

There is a plan and a mission inherent in the struggle and we must be cognizant of this fact. We proceed, for at the end, as the Maharal says, the darkness will disappear and we’ll see the good.

This week, many years ago, an American bochur walked into a shtiebel in Yerushalayim to daven Minchah. An old Yerushalmi Yid with a twinkle in his eye called him over.

"Ich hub far eich ah kasha. I have a question for you," he said. "The posuk says that Yaakov was victorious over the malach of Eisav and was given a new name, Yisroel, in honor of his triumph.

The Yid thought for a moment and continued.

The Jewish road is strewn with obstacles, and that is the biggest testimony that ours is the path to victory. They keep hitting, they keep striking, but their blows are ones of defeat.

We don’t hit back. We keep marching on, secure that there’s a plan.

The avak, the dust, of the struggle is everywhere, making it difficult to see clearly.

The pesukim relate how the mightiest and most arrogant of armies will eventually fall. Even their rise, we are told, is stained with hints of a dark future.

Ultimately, the darkness passed and the feared Nazis fell.

"Just as my father said, just as the novi said. The darkness, the light, it’s all part of the pattern of Jewish history."

We are reminded that "vayizrach lo hashemesh."

Near Migdal Eider, Moshiach waits to reveal himself. May he do so bemeheirah beyomeinu. Amein.

A Force As Strong As Stone

2011-11-30T06:38:00.000-08:00

by Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Parshas Vayeitzei, Rav Moshe Shapiro once remarked, is a parsha "filled with stones."

It opens with the account of Yaakov Avinu’s first rest in fourteen years, as the stones he selected negotiated with each other for the right to serve the tzaddik.The single stone they became was turned into a matzeivah, enduring testimony to the awesomeness of the place.

As the parsha continues, Yaakov journeys on, using every bit of strength to lift the weighty stone from atop the well, allowing the shepherds and their sheep to drink.

The parsha closes with Yaakov Avinu facing Lavan, with a collection of stones between them. The pile would serve as a monument, an agreement of sorts between two men representing two different worlds.

The stone symbolizes strength, firmness and solidity in a parsha where those traits were necessary for our father’s survival in the face of much opposition and forces determined to destroy him.

The word even, stone, is explained (Rashi, Vayechi, 49:24) as a fusion of av and ben, the strength of the relationship between father and son hinted at in the stone’s power. It is fitting that a parsha that connects the avos to their bonim - the shevotim - is filled with stones.

Each word and each nuance in this parsha, describing the very beginning of our nation, is significant and deserves close scrutiny. The story of the stones battling for the right to protect and shelter Yaakov Avinu is filled with meaning.

The Ramban, quoting Pirkei D’Rav Eliezer, writes that the twelve stones were gathered from the mizbeiach that Avrohom had constructed for the Akeidah. Rashi quotes the Medrash which states that the stones fought each other for the right to have the tzaddik rest his holy, tired, head upon it. The Medrash Rabbah adds that it was when the stones resolved their quarrel, agreeing to join as one, that Yaakov Avinu rejoiced with the realization that he would be the one to spawn the holy shevotim, twelve sons who would join into one eternal unit, Klal Yisroel.The greatness of those shevotim, like the stones, is that twelve different paths and ideas, each with its unique gifts, fused into one, committed to unity, while not forfeiting their individuality.

When Yaakov saw the achdus of the stones, he understood that he would merit sons who, despite their differences, would behold the ability and potential to become one.

The greatness of our people is not only that there are twelve shevotim, though it is part of our inherent greatness to acknowledge that there are twelve distinct derochim in avodah. Yaakov knew that he was going to be the father of the shevotim when he saw that they were able to end their dispute and work together, each one compromising and joining with the others as one.

It was then that he had the dream and saw the malochim and received the Divine blessing. For only when there is achdus can we merit such things. It was when he had that realization that he was able to dream of our destiny, the angels hinting at our rise, fall and eventual climb back up.

It is this lesson that we take with us from the parsha, and it is as true today as it was back then. Together, we can achieve and effect change. Separate, we are irrelevant and weak.

It is like that on an individual level, too. Man is comprised of diverse parts, and he is charged with leading them together to bring glory to his Creator - "kol atzmosai tomarna" - as one united entity. The yeitzer hara seeks to introduce peirud, division and discordance, to break down communication within man, so that he has no clear direction.

Nothing is more damaging than peirud, the greatest obstacle to communal effectiveness.

We have been in golus for so long that we are worn down, broken by cheit and suffering. It seems as if we have lost the ability to respect and work along with those who disagree with us, even though they are our brothers.

We know that the geulah depends on the relationship between Yidden, as Moshe Rabbeinu commented when he realized that the incident with him and the Mitzri had become common knowledge. If there is evil speech amongst you, he remarked, I know why you have not yet been redeemed.

Perhaps we can understand the depth of the concept by recognizing that lashon hara is borne of jealousy and pettiness. If we rise above envy and resentment and accept and reach out to others, loving every Jew, then we prove ourselves ready to become one stone, twelve shevotim living b’achdus and worthy of geulah.

Distinct, yet together.

When the winds of war grew stronger in Poland of 1939, the gadol hador, Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky, brought many European yeshivos to his hometown of Vilna, funding their survival. He found a bais medrash for each, taking responsibility for feeding the bochurim.At the time, there were people who thought it would be more practical to create one large yeshiva, rather than several small ones. Rav Chaim Ozer, father of the olam hayeshivos, disagreed with the plan. He explained that Klal Yisroel needs a Mir and a Novardok and a Stolin and a Lubavitch and each of the many streams that form the mosaic of our nation. Fusing them into one, he said, would dull their magnificent stripes and colors.

Dovid Hamelech asks, "Pischu li sha’arei tzedek, avo vom odeh Kah. Zeh hasha’ar laHashem... - Open up for me the gates of righteousness… This is the gate of Hashem." Dovid is asking that the gates of righteousness be opened for him. Shouldn’t he then continue with "Eilu hashe’arim laHashem - These are the gates," in plural? Why does he refer to many "sha’arei tzedek" and then point to one and say, "Zeh, this, is the sha’ar laHashem"?

Commentators explain that Dovid Hamelech is teaching that there are different paths to Hashem, each holy and each precious. Every person has to find the path that is right for his neshamah, and whichever it is, zeh hasha’ar laHashem, that is the correct one for him. Zeh, the seforim point out, has a gematria of 12, hinting to the twelve sons who first taught us this lesson of many paths leading to one goal.

In fact, pertaining to the various customs regarding the recitation of piyutim in tefillah, the Mogein Avrohom (Orach Chaim 68) states as halacha lema’aseh that there are 12 gates in Heaven, corresponding to the 12 shevotim, and each shevet has its own gate and minhagim from which they should not deviate.

Back in the days of the British Mandate, the ruling British officers conducted a survey in Yerushalayim, asking its Jewish residents if their language of choice was Yiddish or Hebrew. It was a loaded question, pitting the Hebrew-speakers in the Zionist camp against the Yerushalayimer Yidden of the old yishuv, who wouldn’t speak the modern language of Ben Yehudah.

A British officer showed up at the home of the Yerushalayimer rov, Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, to ask him his language of choice. "Hebrew," smiled Rav Yosef Chaim to the astonished official.

When he left, Rav Yosef Chaim’s talmidim asked him about his seemingly strange answer. "Voss iz tzuvishen mir un mein brider, what’s between me and my brother, iz nisht der gesheft fun der sheigetz, is none of his business. It’s between us."

There are so many different paths. There are the paths of Yehudah and Yosef, and the paths of Yissochor and Zevulun.

Yaakov Avinu perceived this, and he asked his sons to gather around his bed before his passing, as Rav Dovid Cohen, the Chevroner rosh yeshiva, explains in a new sefer of his maamarim on Sefer Bereishis and Sefer Shemos.

"Hei’asfu - Gather together," Yaakov requested of them, since that is the prime condition for hashro’as haShechinah and the ultimate geulah. Gather around me and I will tell you what will transpire at the end of days. But the Shechinah left him and he wasn’t able to foretell the day of the redemption.

Rav Cohen explains that when Yaakov felt the Shechinah leaving him, he concluded that there must be peirud, dissonance, among his sons, for strife drives away the Shechinah.

In this light, we can comprehend the response of the shevotim: "Shema Yisroel Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad. Kesheim she’ein b’libcha elah echod, kach ein b’leibeinu elah echod. Just as you only have One in your heart, so too, in our hearts there is One." They were mechadeish that even under different exteriors, with different functions in His Kingdom; they were still one, with a common goal. As the Mahral [Nesivos Olam, Nesiv Ha’avodah 7] expounds, just as Yaakov was one, with one heart because he was one person, so too the shevotim proclaimed that they would join together until they would become united as one.

Last week, I was privileged to visit Montreal for a rally in support of Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin. The askonim arranging the event were rushed, hoping that it would take place before the snow began. In Montreal, that’s working against the clock. Sure enough, the season’s first snowfall came the morning of the event, just in time to make it difficult to get around and to provide another reason for people looking for excuses to stay home.

Our friends in Montreal tell me that they never experienced such an event and such an outpouring of compassion, concern and love. It was a collective shout of: "Reb Sholom Mordechai, we are with you!"

Spearheaded by a group of askonim from Satmar, Belz, Lubavitch, Skver, Vizhnitz and the yeshiva community, the event drew multitudes of Yidden, representing the many beautiful kehillos that make up that city. Chassidim, Litvaks and Sefardim came out en masse for the Lubavitcher chossid from Iowa.

Looking around at the overflowing crowd, we saw what makes us great. I witnessed the beauty of Am Yisroel.People have a tendency to point out flaws and to find faults with this or that system or approach. Events like the one in Montreal last week demonstrate that we have many struggles, but shechorah ani venava, the enduring, untarnished beauty of a nation shines through on a cold winter night, when they come to shed a tear and give a dollar for another Yid. The headlines, the haters, the cynics and the scoffers can sometimes make us believe negative things about ourselves. Last week, I heard the resounding answer of the gathered Yidden, with virtually each of the twelve shevotim represented. They said, "We don’t care what nusach he davens. We don’t care what kind of hat he wears or if he wears a hat at all. Ess achai anochi mevakeish."

One of the great modern-day paragons of ahavas Yisroel was Rabbi Naftali Neuberger, the late menahel of Yeshivas Ner Yisroel in Baltimore. He recognized the danger that Iranian Jewry was facing before others did, and he traveled to that hostile country to lay the groundwork for the community’s emigration. Then he opened wide the doors to his yeshiva, welcoming the influx of students and meeting their every need.

However, as an Iranian alumnus of Ner Yisroel recalled, Rabbi Neuberger insisted that the newcomers maintain their precious, sacred mesorah, which stretched back many centuries. He established a separate minyan for them, so they could adhere to their minhagim in tefillah. In time, they acclimated to the yeshiva, learned English, were able to follow the shiurim, and adapt socially and academically - but as proud bearers of their distinct tradition.

But that wasn’t the only thing that made Rabbi Neuberger’s method unique

"One Shabbos morning," recalls the alumnus, "we were davening at our Iranian minyan, and I noticed Rabbi Neuberger himself slip in during davening and stand inconspicuously in a corner."

The talmid asked Rabbi Neuberger why he was there. Rabbi Neuberger explained that he wanted to take advantage of the fact that at the Iranian minyan, they recited Birkas Kohanim."But we understood what he was really saying: ‘I respect your minhagim. I want you to maintain your mesorah, and here I am, a German-born talmid of the Mir, soaking in your brachos,’" said the talmid.The brachos of an agudah achas.The posuk we previously quoted from Parshas Vayechi states, "Hei’asfu v’agida lochem," Yaakov Avinu called together the shevotim and wanted to reveal to them what would transpire at the end of days. The Medrash Rabbah (Bereishis 98:2) says that if the Bnei Yisroel will join together as an agudah achas, they will thereby have prepared themselves for the final redemption, the geulah b’acharis hayomim.

After the Montreal event, a Yid stopped me and grasped my hands. He seemed a relic of a bygone time. On his head, he sported a well-worn fur hat to protect against the cold. His flowing gray beard was streaked with red, his face crisscrossed with lines. He possessed a quiet dignity that hinted at past suffering, and he seemed to be having trouble expressing what was on his mind. I looked at him and took in the picture. I was wondering why he wasn’t speaking. He had approached me and was then quiet. So I looked him in the eye and it was then that I noticed why he wasn’t speaking.

His eyes were filled with tears.

He was so overcome that he couldn’t speak.

He was sad, but happy. He was feeling the pain of golus, but also the light of redemption.

"Thank you for letting us be a part... a part of this," he mustered.

What he was saying, this old-world Europeiyishe Satmar Yid, was, in essence, what the shevotim told their father.

He wasn’t thanking me, or the askanim, or even Reb Sholom Mordechai, the catalyst for this remarkable show of achdus.

He was echoing the words of the shevotim around Yaakov Avinu’s bed.

"We are all one. Ein belibeinu elah Echad."

He was saying thank you to the Ribbono Shel Olam for letting him be part of a nation joined by a force as strong as stone - those stones, way back at the beginning of Yaakov Avinu’s journey.

He was saying we are b’achdus, we are prepared for the geulah. May it arrive speedily. Amen.