by Ner Tamid | May 5, 2024 | Sermons
About two months ago, the Knesset voted to establish a day to memorialize the massacre of October 7th. They did not choose the actual Hebrew date, the 22nd of Tishrei, because that is a holiday, Simchas Torah, nor did they choose the next day, which is a quasi-holiday, Isru Chag. Instead, they chose the 24th of Tishrei as the day that the State of Israel would yearly remember the atrocities of October 7th. This vote took place on March 17th, less than a half year after that dark day.
Now contrast that with Yom Hashoah, the day the State of Israel commemorates the Holocaust. It was not until 1951 that the government dedicated a day to Holocaust memorial. This decision was a resolution. It would take almost another decade until the Knesset voted on making this day an official day for memorializing the Holocaust. What in the world took so long? In what alternative universe does it take the Jewish State 15 years to establish a day to remember the greatest calamity in Jewish history?!
If you dig a little deeper, it becomes quite clear. The truth is, the Rabbinate of the State of Israel did commemorate the Holocaust the very first year of Israel’s existence. They did so on the Tenth of Tevet, a day already dedicated to other tragedies in Jewish history. The IDF participated in ceremonies to mark this day, but it never really caught on. Not because, as some argue today, that the Holocaust needed its own date. In 1949, the opposite was true.
The little dark secret of early Israeli history is that no one wanted to talk about the Holocaust. The survivors were plagued with overwhelming and debilitating guilt. To talk about the Holocaust for them was unfathomable. Who can blame them for being silent? It is the rest of the Israeli population that carry the blame. They steered away from discussing the Holocaust because to them the Shoah was an embarrassment. “How did our European cousins allow themselves to be taken to the gas chambers like sheep? How did they not put up any defense?” The image of an inmate at Auschwitz, skin and bones, sunken eyes, obeying every bark of the Nazi, was an affront to Jewish pride. The Israelis of the late 40’s and 50’s wanted nothing to do with these weak-kneed Jews.
You’ll notice that when they did finally agree to establish a day for Holocaust memorialization, they did not call it Yom Hashoah. They called it Yom Hashoah V’hag’vurah, Holocaust and Heroism Day. The day they chose was the 27th of Nissan. It was a controversial date, the rabbis were opposed, because Nissan is a joyous month, and a Holocaust memorial is inconsistent with this month’s festive vibe. The reason the Knesset pushed forward for that date, the reason they added the word “Gevurah/ Heroism” to the name of the day, is because the day they chose was the day that the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began. According to recently unearthed minutes of the Knesset discussions, the memorial day was going to ignore the Holocaust entirely and only focus on the uprising. When they finally agreed to focus on the Holocaust, the only way the proud people of Israel could commemorate the atrocities was by incorporating a memorial of the heroics of those who fought back. To simply remember concentration camps and gas chambers would be, according to them, shameful. Remembering the bravery of those who stood up against the Nazis was a way to save face.
How wrong they were.
They failed to understand the bravery, the courage, the superhuman perseverance needed to survive for a single day in a concentration camp. They were so fixated on their idealized image of strong, bronzed young men and women building up the new country, that they could not see how much inner strength it took to not take one’s life, how much determination it took to move one’s frostbitten legs on a death march. And that was just to survive.
They did not begin to appreciate what it took to maintain an element of dignity. When humans are beaten and starved, they lose their ability to think of anyone beyond themselves. The most chilling passage in Elie Wiesel’s memoir is the story of two people beating each other senseless over a single crust of bread. Those two people, writes Wiesel, were a father and son. But they were the exception, not the rule. People gave up their food – if you could even call it that, to help complete strangers. My grandmother survived Auschwitz due to the kindness of others. Do you know what gevurah, what heroism, is needed to hold onto the Divine spark when you are in the deepest darkest depths of hell?
And then – the men and women who kept Mitzvos in the Holocaust! The people who lit Chanukah candles, laid tefillin, blew shofar, all under the noses of the Nazis?! Is that not gevurah? Is that not heroism of the highest order?!
If it had been up to me, I would not commemorate the Shoah on Asarah B’tevet because it’s too minor of a day – no one would pay any attention to it. I would not commemorate the Shoah on the 27th of Nissan because doing so implies that without the Ghetto Uprising there was no bravery in the Holocaust. I would have chosen the upcoming holiday of Shavuos.
Rav Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban, argues that Pesach and Shavuos are one long holiday. The days in between, during which we count from one holiday to the next, should be viewed as Chol Hamoed, no different than the days between Sukkos and Shmini Atzeres and the first and last days of Pesach.
What is the significance of calling these days Chol Hamoed? What is the meaning of connecting Pesach and Shavuos? Is there really a difference if we see Pesach as a stand-alone holiday or if it is related to Shavuos?
The answer is yes.
The very first survivors of violent and lethal antisemitism were the Jews who left Egypt. The Egyptians demonized the Jews, enslaved the Jews, and tried to exterminate them. This genocide lasted for two centuries. And then, miraculously, freedom. The holiday of Pesach. But if we end the story right there, then the story of Pesach is one of freedom from bondage, it’s a tale of overcoming hate, it’s a day to remember the dangers of antisemitism, it’s the original ‘Never again.’
But the story does not end there. The story continues. G-d turns to these people, likely as emaciated and lost as the survivors of Buchenwald and Auschwitz and asks them if they are interested in dedicating their life to Hashem. They are asked if they are open to living a life filled with commandments that will not be easy to uphold. They are asked if they are ready to receive a book that will guide them and their descendants for all of time. And they say, yes. Naaseh v’nishma.
The story of the Exodus is not one of overcoming hate. It’s a story of moral courage; of being able to accept the Mitzvah to love despite being hated. It’s a story of choosing the soul even when they beat your body. It’s a story of values and Mitzvos. The Pesach story was not complete until Shavuos when we stood at the foot of Har Sinai and accepted the Torah.
Had the members of the Knesset of the 1950’s understood this I don’t think they would have been so timid in establishing a day to remember the Holocaust. They would have appreciated how the concentration camps and antisemitism of the Shoah is only half the story. They would have appreciated how from time immemorial we have connected the story of spiritual bravery to the story of physical bondage. In that light, the Holocaust, and especially those who held on to their heritage in the darkness, is a dizzying tale of bravery.
Many of the new people who recently joined the shul may not have heard of Max Jacob. Max Jacob was the face of our shul for many years. You could still see his face on a beautiful portrait right outside the chapel. Max was the volunteer Executive Director for decades. He also happened to be a survivor. He spoke about the Holocaust often, whenever he had a chance, both in public and in private. We must have spoken about the Holocaust hundreds of times. But there is one time that he spoke about the Holocaust that I saw him transform. He was normally cool as a cucumber. But there was one time I saw his emotions overwhelm him.
It took place in my home, in my Pickwick apartment, about a decade ago. Like I do every year, we had a post-Purim celebration in my home. It was the first or second year I was in the shul, it was a very small crowd. But we were singing joyously. We were sharing divrei Torah. And it was at that moment, not at the Holocaust memorials where we said Never Again, not when we sang Ani Maamin and cried, but in that moment of joy and connection, in that moment of spirited Judaism, in that moment suffused with Torah, Max stood up and he yelled: “Hitler! Where are you?”
“You are six feet under.”
“And I, I am here. WE are here.”
And he sat down.
I can only imagine how proud Max would be at the amount of Torah study taking place in our congregation. Because that’s how we respond to the Holocaust. And that’s how we respond to modern antisemitism as well. Yes, we are inspired and follow in the footsteps of those who fought in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. But that is not the whole story. Shavuos is intrinsically connected to Pesach. We focus on the spiritual strength of our past and of our present.
After our Bava Kamma siyum, many people continued learning. Some are learning Daf Yomi, some Amud Yomi, some Nach Yomi, some Mishna Yomi. Some fell off the bandwagon. And some never joined. That’s okay. Tomorrow, Mishna Yomi is beginning a new book, the Tractate of Sotah. Mazel Tov to all those who finished Nedarim. Hadaran Alach, may we return to you and learn Nedarim again. On Thursday, Nach Yomi is beginning the book of Kings. Mazel Tov to all those who finished the book of Shmuel. Hadran Alach, may we return to you and learn Shmuel again. I invite you to join one of these Torah learning initiatives. I invite you to walk in the footsteps of our ancestors who shined the bright light of our Torah overwhelming the darkness of those who tried and try to destroy us. I invite you to commemorate the Holocaust not only this Monday, or on Asarah B’Teves, or even on Shavuos, but every day – every day we stand proud as Jews and engage in our heritage. I invite you to join me in trading ‘Never Again,’ for ‘Hadran Alach,’ may we return to you, the holy books of the Torah, again and again and again.
by Ner Tamid | May 1, 2024 | Sermons
Throughout Jewish history there have been too many false Messiash to count. Going all the way back to the first century there have been charismatic people, ascetics, warriors, simple shepherds, all claiming to be Mashiach. All of them ended their Messianic campaign in disgrace.
Rav Moshe Chaim Luzzato, a brilliant 18th century kabbalist and philosopher, distinguishes between two types of false Messiahs. He invokes terminology found in classic literature that refers to Mashiach as a form of birth and explains that there are similarly two types of failed Messiahs. There are false messiahs, just like there are times that someone may think they are pregnant, but they are not. And then there are times when a woman is pregnant, but tragically, there is a miscarriage; the fetus dies before birth. Explains Rav Luzzato, there were times in history when a false Messiah showed up; people like Shabtai Tzvi and Jacob Frank. There are other times when someone had the potential to be the real Messiah, but it did not pan out. Perhaps Bar Kochba, who was embraced by Rabbi Akiva, is a good example of such a person. According to some historians, Luzatto himself, talented, brilliant, charismatic man that he was, may have thought himself to be a candidate for Mashiach. One way or another, as we wait for the real deal, we have a concept of false Messiahs and aborted Messiahs that helps us conceptualize the world around us.
Throughout much of history, Mashiach was seen as an individual. But in the late 19th century, many started to develop ideas of a Messianic era that would be heralded, not by a person, but by a movement. Marxism, a world of equality, in which the downtrodden are poor no more, has been described as being born out of the Jewish concept of Mashiach. Was that a false Messiah or a miscarried Messiah? I’m not sure. One way or another, it did not end well.
The return to Israel, Zionism, was a Messianic movement of sorts. This is one of the reasons that in its early years, many rabbis opposed the movement; many saw it as supplanting Judaism. And while we at Ner Tamid proudly describe the State of Israel as “reishit tz’michat ge’ulateinu,” the beginning of the sprouting of our redemption, we are not so naïve to say this definitively, especially after the humbling reminder of October 7th. Rather, we say it as a hope and as a prayer. May the State of Israel be the beginning of the sprouting of our redemption.
There is another Messianic movement that was grabbing the attention of many Jews throughout the early 20th century, and that was the Golden Medina, the United States of America. It was a place where Jews could practice their religion freely, where Jews could become millionaire businessmen and Hollywood producers. It was a place where Jews could become judges and politicians like everyone else. “The wolf and lamb” can lay side by side.
The crown jewel of this new Messiah was higher education. That was the great equalizer. You could be a ‘greener,’ an immigrant with a thick accent, but if you were bright and ambitious, you would be accepted and respected. Sure, there were quotas and other bumps along the way. But those were the chevlei Mashiach, the birth pangs of this beautiful new reality. The poor and downtrodden Jew finally found a home. The third temple was the hallowed halls of Harvard, Penn, and Yale.
And yet here we are today. These citadels of education have taught their students almost everything – except basic Middle Eastern history. These citadels of tolerance have taught their students to be tolerant of every minority – except for Jews. These citadels of empowerment were supposed to be the pathway through which Jews could be full-fledged members. Instead, they have become the place where Jews are afraid to stay for Pesach. The warm and all-encompassing ivy has turned into poison.
To be clear, I love this country. The United States, coined by many leading rabbis as the ‘country of chesed,’ has been the greatest blessing to the Jewish People. It still is to this day Israel’s greatest ally and supporter. I value higher education. I am a proud alum of Johns Hopkins. Although the US in 2024 is not identical to Germany in 1933, but we cannot be ignorant of our history of false and aborted Messiahs. Is this quasi-utopia coming to an end?
In the early 19th century, a Scottish historian by the name of Alexander Fraser Tytler proposed a theory; democracy cannot last forever. And I quote: “The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.”
And yes, it has been more than 200 years since this glorious democracy was born. So maybe democracy was blessed with long life. Just because you have a long life does not mean you will live on forever.
And so, I wonder out loud – perhaps it’s time to start asking ourselves hard questions. Questions like, at what point of growing antisemitism do we reassess our way of life as Jews in this country to be either more or less vocal? At what point in the illiberal and ignorant education being offered in higher education, do we give up on the dream of sending our children to the Ivy’s and start sending them to Yeshiva University and Stern or find pathways that bypass higher education altogether? At what point of political unrest should we leave this country? At what point of growing antisemitism all over the world should we move to Israel and give up on the American dream?
In Judaism we have a belief; nothing lasts forever.
There is, however, one exception to that rule. There is one thing in this world that does last forever and that is our Neshama, our soul.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of our loved ones. We may not be able to feel their warmth, we may not be able to embrace them or be comforted by them, we may not be able to share with them our deepest secrets, our dreams, our regrets. But they are still alive.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of those murdered in the Holocaust. They may not have graves, they may be drowned in the sea, thrown in a pit, burned into ashes. But they are still alive.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of those murdered since October 7th. In heaven, they are still dancing.
When we pray for their souls, it is not just for them, it is for us. It is an affirmation of our belief in an afterlife. It is an affirmation of our belief in a world of spirituality. It is a commitment to living a life focused not only on our bodies and our material and sensual pleasure. It is a commitment to not being seduced by the comfort of our host country. By speaking of the soul, by praying to G-d for the elevation of their souls, we are committing to living our lives by the light of a value system that has outlived Tytler’s theory not by a few decades, but by a few thousand years.
We hope and pray that what we are experiencing in Israel and here in the US are birth pangs, not a false alarm and not a tragic miscarriage. We hope and pray that our stay in this country remains safe and sound and that the State of Israel continues to flourish until the day that reishit tz’michat ge’u’loteinu, the beginning of the sprouting, blossoms into something so grand and beautiful we cannot even imagine. But while we hope and pray, while we petition and protest, while we do everything we can to continue on this course, let’s not forget to ask ourselves if maybe just maybe it’s time to move on once more. Let’s not forget what is real and eternal and what is false and going to inevitably decay. In the memory of those whose souls we pray, let us ensure that we live lives not dedicated to the American dream, but dedicated and attuned to the dream of our soul; a life of prayer, a life of Torah, a life of Mitzvos. May we merit to see the day when each of us reunite with our loved ones and the true Mashiach finally arrives.
by Ner Tamid | Apr 28, 2024 | Sermons
I’d like to share with you a story, a love story, about a prince and his young bride. The prince in this story is charming, pious, powerful, and benevolent. This is not a new-age Disney story; the prince is worthy of his title. And he falls in love with a young woman. She is destitute, enslaved actually, by a cruel tyrant. But the prince, drawing on all his strength and wisdom rescues the young woman who falls in love with the charming prince.
Their honeymoon, however, does not last long. The bride, likely due to the trauma of her years in captivity, does not have the moral fortitude to withstand temptation, is unfaithful to her new husband. The prince, being kind and gracious, quickly forgives her and they carry on as husband and wife in the prince’s palace.
Tragically, despite all the good the prince has done for his wife, despite the fact that he is a truly noble prince, the princess slowly slips away. She is once again unfaithful to her husband. This time, the husband banishes her from his palace and from his kingdom. There is only so much he could bear.
She spends her years travelling from city to city, country to country. Sometimes she is taken in by the people of the city, but bad luck seems to surround her, and she is banished time and time again. It’s a difficult life and she misses her prince.
Unbeknownst to her, the prince is actually not that far away. Though she cannot see him, he watches over her from a distance, to ensure that she is safe. All the while he waits. Will she ever say I am sorry? Will she ever try to come back home? Will she ever look for me?
One day, the prince is overcome with longing for his wife. He finds the hut that she is sleeping in. He peers through the cracks, he sees his princess; she is aged, she has endured hardships, but she is still the love of his life. He knocks on the door.
No answer.
He calls out, “It’s me! Your husband! Are you there?”
She stirs in her bed. She hears him. But she’s so tired. She hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. She groggily opens her eyes and considers getting out of bed.
He knocks again. He calls out. “Please! I am ready to take you back! Please answer the door!”
She’s too tired. She turns over and goes back to sleep.
This story should sound familiar. It’s the story we read this morning, the Book known as Shir Hashirim, the Song of Songs. A charged story of two lovers that is interpreted as a thinly veiled parable to the relationship between G-d, the prince, and his princess, the Jewish People. He rescues, we are unfaithful. He forgives us but before long, we are unfaithful again. He sends us away but ensures that we survive. And at one point, He comes knocking on our door, trying to arouse from our slumber.
Rav Yosef Soloveitchik, in a much-celebrated talk he gave in 1956, dramatized G-d’s knock on our door. He described how G-d, in recent history, knocked on our door, and through that knocking He inspired us to create the State of Israel.
Allow me to quote his opening passage:
“Eight years ago, in the midst of a night of the terrors of Majdanek, Treblinka, and Buchenwald; in a night of gas chambers and crematoria; in a night of total divine self-concealment; in a night ruled by the devil of doubt and destruction who sought to sweep the Lover from her own tent into the Catholic Church; in a night of continuous searching for the Beloved — on that very night the Beloved appeared. The Almighty, who was hiding in His splendid sanctum, suddenly appeared and began to beckon at the tent of the Lover, who tossed and turned on her bed beset by convulsions and the agonies of hell. Because of the beating and knocking at the door of the mournful Lover, the State of Israel was born.”
He goes on to dramatize the knocks in Shir Hashirim, describing six knocks, meaning, six different ways that G-d conveyed to us that He is right here, even though we could not see Him. Six different ways that he tried to get our attention. One of those knocks was the short-lived broad political support that the Jewish People received to create the State of Israel. The second knock was the young State’s ability to overcome the Arab nations who attacked her. The third knock was the shift the State of Israel caused in Christian theology who had to now acknowledge that we were not scorned and pushed away by G-d – something they had claimed for two thousand years. An additional knock of unaffiliated Jews being drawn to Judaism. Another knock, how the world started to realize that Jewish blood is not cheap; we will stand up and protect ourselves at all costs. And the final knock that every Jew now has a home, a place that will take him or her in.
Then, Rav Soloveitchik turned to his audience and challenged them; you hear G-d knocking, don’t you? Will it move you? Will it change you? Will you answer the door? Or will you just turn over and go back to your indifferent sleep?
I shared the following with some of you on Shabbos Hagadol, but I do not apologize for repeating, because it has to be screamed from the rooftops. Two weeks ago today, a diabolical country bent on the destruction of the Jewish People and the Jewish State attacked Israel with 300 projectiles, drones, cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles. As you know, 99% did not make it into Israeli airspace. That was not a knock, ladies and gentlemen. That was G-d picking up a battering ram and smashing it against our door. Do you hear it?
And yes, you can say, “American and Saudi intelligence helped us out. Maybe the Iranians were deliberately shooting duds our way. We have the Iron Dome. It’s nothing.”
Yeah, maybe it’s not a battering ram against my door. Maybe it’s just the wind. Maybe it’s just a garbage can rattling around on the street. Sure, it could be.
But you might want to check. Because it sure sounds like someone is at our door.
The Talmud tells us that King Chizkiyahu, one of the last kings of Judah, was supposed to be the Messianic king. History as we know it was supposed to end right there and then. The mighty Assyrian army had gathered around Jerusalem and besieged it. Then one night, bachatzi halaylah, there was some plague that broke out and killed the entire army; Jerusalem was saved.
King Chizkiyahu, the Talmud tells us, did not sing. He did not break out in song, thanking G-d. He read the news, he posted ‘Am Yisrael Chai,’ on the official King of Judah Twitter account. But he rolled over and went back to sleep.
And because of that, G-d said, “You know, maybe this king is not really fit to bring Mashiach.”
We should have said Hallel two weeks ago. We should have created a holiday. We should have danced from the rooftops. Yes, what happened was cloaked in nature. But anyone with even the least sensitive ears can hear G-d knocking on our door.
What He’s telling us, what He wants us to be doing differently in our lives, how each of us can become a little more faithful to Him and stop hiding from Him, I’ll leave that for each of us to decide.
But at the very least, let’s get up, let’s open the door, let’s say thank you, let’s sing, let’s welcome Him in. Something big is happening. Let’s make sure we do not fall back asleep.
by Ner Tamid | Mar 17, 2024 | Sermons
There is a story told in the Gemara, Bava Basra, Daf Yud, how Rav Yosef, the son of Rav Yehoshua, fell ill, and his neshamah, his soul, temporarily ascended to heaven. When he recovered, his father asked him, ‘What did you see up there?’ He answered, ‘I saw an upside-down world. ‘Olam hafuch ra’iti.’ Those who are considered important in this world are at the bottom. And those who are unimportant down here, in heaven, are the most distinguished.’ His father replied, ‘You didn’t see an upside-down world. What you saw was a clear world; olam barur ra’ita.’
I could have saved Rav Yosef a trip to heaven; all he had to do was turn on the news this past week. When we think of who is most important in our society, I’d venture to say it is our politicians voted upon by hundreds of thousands and Hollywood stars and directors who grab our attention. But instead of showing us how to take advantage of their mega-platforms, instead of demonstrating true leadership in the darkest of times, two people, one a politician, the other a Hollywood director, reminded us how upside-down this world really is.
Chuck Schumer, a man who in every single talk he gives with a Jewish audience reminds them how Schumer comes from the word, ‘shomer,’ protector. “I am,” he would proclaim, “the protector of the State of Israel.” But this past week he showed us that he is one who endangers the Jewish People. He lambasted Israel’s actions, giving fuel to the many who are trying to marginalize Israel. And while we could have a serious discussion about whether or not Netanyahu should remain Prime Minister of Israel, for an American politician to make this case is, in the words of Benny Gantz, Netanyahu’s prime opponent, “counter-productive and unacceptable.” A Jewish politician who claims to be a friend who endangers Israel in their time of need? This is not respectable behavior. We live in an upside-down world.
This past Sunday, nearly 20 million people tuned in to watch the Oscars. As I am sure you all know by now, Jonathan Glazer, a Jew, who directed a powerful film about the Holocaust, after stepping up to the podium to receive an Oscar not only criticized the Jewish State, but demanded that the Holocaust not be invoked by the Jewish People. “Olam hafuch rai’ti. It is indeed an upside-down world.”
It’s not only those who are at the top who are really at the bottom. The inverse is true as well. Allow me to share with you two different stories about people who do not have prestigious positions, who many of you never heard of, but are making a real difference.
The first is about a guy name Ron Hassner. He is a dorky political science professor who despite teaching at UC Berkely. The past week he has been living in his office. He is 6’4 and his office is the size of a one-car garage, but that is not stopping him. His wife did not kick him out. Why is he doing this?
The Berkeley campus has been a cesspool of antisemitic hate and that hate predictably turned violent. A gathering with an Israeli lawyer was shut down by the police after 200 violent protestors broke windows and doors and injured students who were trying to attend the event.
Hassner, who despite teaching at Berkeley never joined a single protest is now staging a live-in. Until the university agrees to properly combat antisemitism, until the Jewish students on this campus can feel safe, Professor Hassner is not leaving his office. I am told that he asks visitors to bring Febreze as the stench in the room is getting quite strong. This man, who never protested before, who no one ever heard of, who is unimportant, is actually making a difference, is likely saving lives. “Olam hafuch rai’ti. It is indeed an upside-down world.”
Let me tell you about another unrelated news item in the Jewish world. According to Jewish Law, divorce can only be affected when a man chooses to give his wife a divorce bill, a get. Though it is rare, unfortunately, this is sometimes taken advantage of. There are men who use this power that they have and refuse to divorce their wife unless some crazy demands are met. A woman who is waiting for a get is called an Agunah, literally, a chained woman, as she is unable to get remarried until she receives her get. We don’t know the exact number of women who are waiting for a get, but I do know of one – her name is Malki Berkowitz. She lives in New York and her husband is refusing to give her a get. It’s a tragedy. It’s disgusting. It’s heartbreaking. But most of us are going on with our lives.
However, there’s a 36-year-old woman by the name of Adina Sash, some may know her by her Instagram handle, FlatbushGirl. She decided one day that she wanted to help Agunos. She rolled up her sleeves and she did. She has helped people who were struggling receive their get, incredible. Recently, she became aware of the plight of Malki Berkowitz but none of her efforts were successful. So she came up with an idea – she asked all of her followers on social media, and she has many, to not be intimate with their husbands until Malki receives her get. Yes, you heard me correctly.
Now I happen to think it’s a terrible idea. There are enough issues with modern marriages that they do not need this extra tension. To be clear, I think it’s a really really terrible idea. Do not follow her advice, please.
But I have to give credit to Adina. Compared to Schumer and Glazer, she is a nobody. She is just a young woman without any professional role in the community who saw a problem that others were not addressing, and she stepped up. She, not a rabbi, not a major organization, an Instagram influencer is making waves and making a difference. Is this not an upside-down world?
Let’s take this Gemara one step further. If we indeed do live in an upside-down world, those who are deemed important are not, and those who are deemed to be unimportant are, what does that say about us? And by us, I mean all of us, regular people, not well-known beyond our little circles. In an upside-down world, you and I are most important of all. And yet, we are sitting here, enjoying these stories of the villains and heroes of the Jewish people, eating our proverbial popcorn. It’s not relevant to me. What can I do? Who am I?
The sin of the Golden Calf, according to most commentaries, was not idolatry. They were not looking to replace Hashem. They were looking to replace Moshe. Without him, they believed, without a leader, they were lost. It was not a lack of belief in G-d. It was a lack of belief in oneself.
You know how G-d responded to the sin of the Golden Calf? He asked every single Jew to come forward and contribute to the building of the Mishkan. The Mishkan could not be built without each of them doing something to make it complete. More important than believing in G-d, Hashem wanted to make sure we believe in ourselves.
On Monday, (through my work with the OU,) I plan on spending the day in Albany with the parents of Oren Neutra. Oren has been held captive since October 7th and Oren’s parents will be at the New York State capitol to plead their case in front of politicians. I plan on telling them how our congregation has a picture of their son up on the wall of our sanctuary. I plan on telling them that every Shabbos we pray for his return and every day, twice a day, we add special chapters of Tehillim in their son’s merit. So tell me, who’s going to make a bigger difference to these distraught and broken parents? Some politicians who have to meet them or the knowledge that two hundred people they never met, on their own volition, are thinking about their son? I would not underestimate the power, both emotional and spiritual, that we possess.
You and I, us small people – we may not be able to get Malki freed. But imagine if every parent in this room commits to ensuring that your child will only get married with a Halachic prenup- a mechanism created and endorsed by leading rabbis that ensure that men give their wives a get, or if you are single that you will only get married with a Halachic prenup, imagine what a difference we could make. Imagine if every married couple goes ahead and gets a Halachic postnup – the same document but meant for couples like me and my wife who did not have a prenup. And yes, it’s an awkward conversation to have once you’re married. “Hey honey, in case we ever get divorced, you want to sign this document to make sure you don’t like a jerk?” Just blame it on me.
The Schumer’s and the Glazer’s of the world may have a bigger pulpit than you and me. The Ron Hassner’s and the Adina Sash’s of the world may be in the news. But in the real world, real change takes place right here, with me and you. The small actions we take to free the hostages, the pre and post-nups we sign to ensure that there will never be more agunos. We don’t have to wait until we go to heaven to see things clearly. V’n’hapich’hu, we could turn things over today. We just need to open our eyes and appreciate our worth, roll up our sleeves and get to work.
by Ner Tamid | Mar 10, 2024 | Sermons
Can anyone guess who said these words?
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You pay tithes of mint, dill, and cumin. But you have disregarded the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.”
Glad no one knew who said that. They were said by Matthew, one of the disciples of Jesus. But the truth is, those words could have been said by many Jews. How often do I hear people ask, why is Judaism so obsessed with details of minutia? Who cares? Would we not be better off if we focused on “the weightier matters” such as faith, justice, mercy?
If Matthew were preaching right outside this shul, how many of us would follow him?
I imagine the people who would be most inclined would be the many people in this shul who just finished learning a full tractate of the Talmud. They, who spent hours listening in to the debates of Abaya and Rava, who argued about the finest of details, those people would be the first to say, “You know, Matthew, you have a point there. Why did my head need to spin for hours on end with details about an ox and a pit? Would those hours not have been better spent studying inspirational literature that just encourages me to be a better person?”
If Matthew were preaching right outside this shul, you know how I would respond?
I’d ask CSS to call the police and get him off our property.
Just kidding.
This is what I’d respond to him:
“Matthew, I agree, us Jews sometimes get so caught up in the details that we lose sight of the bigger picture. A few years ago, I was visiting a shul and sat down in a vacant seat. A few more minutes later, someone walked in and kicked me out of the seat. It is my “Makom kavuah,” he told me. There is a law that one should have a set seat to daven in. What this person forgot is that the reason we have such a law is that we are trying to emulate our forefather, Avraham, who had a set place to pray. He was also a paragon of kindness. I have a feeling he would never in a million years kick me out of his seat in shul. So, Mathew, I feel you. But just because we sometimes lose sight of the forest, doesn’t mean the trees are not important.”
“Matthew, I imagine you watched the State of the Union address last night. I am sure you noted when President Biden spoke about a Two-State solution. You were probably wondering what happened to the Romans and who these Palestinians were, but that’s a discussion for another time. When the President said he believed in a Two-State solution, that is a big idea, and it could mean so many things. He could mean that he is going to pull aid from Israel until there are two states. Or he could continue to add right-wing hardliners on his list of no-entry to the US. He could also mean that he will continue to support Israel with aid and is just voicing a dream of ultimate peace with the Palestinians to give something to those in his party who are opposed to his support of Israel. The details, Matthew, they matter a lot. Yes, we don’t want to lose the forest for the trees. But a forest without any trees is not a forest.”
But there’s more. I don’t know how long Matthew has been time-traveling, but assuming he was around two months ago, he may have noticed some headlines about a plane that lost its door in mid-flight. It was an excellent plane, engines were in perfect condition, the cabin was comfortable and modern. It just had a bolt that wasn’t properly installed. Just one bolt! Is it such a big deal? Yes, it is because details matter. A lot.
We just read a parsha filled with details! Does it really matter if the dimensions of the Ark were two amos or two and a half amos? Does it really matter? Apparently, it does. You may reject the Oral Law, but this is scripture, Matthew!
Or perhaps if I would try to send an email to Matthew and I would send it to Matthew@Apostlecom, and I would forget that little period before the word com. Is that really such a big deal?
You see the reason we don’t think it’s a big deal is because we don’t think that WE are a big deal. An airplane, we consider that to be a big deal. Navigating an email from my computer to yours on the world wide web, that’s a big deal. What a terrible misconception. Our every action IS a big deal. Our every word can create or destroy. Our every thought has power.
“I wonder, Matthew, if perhaps your religious worldview with human beings who are damned from birth who can only attain salvation with grace in some ways shades your view of those small details. Because I believe that we are created with a soul that is piece of G-d Himself. I believe that this soul is connected to the heavens and to the world around us. I believe that my every breath has the ability to dramatically change the course of the world. In my worldview, in a worldview in which I am charged with partnering with G-d, details matter a lot.”
Now Matthew was no slouch. We know from historical records that he preached to the Jewish community more than the other students. He likely spent time learning with the Sages like his teacher, Jesus. And so, I could hear Matthew conceding that yes, maybe details are important; you cannot paint a big picture without all the small strokes, fine. But why do we spend so much time studying texts that aren’t even relevant to us?
And all the people who made their way over to my side of the argument would slowly start making their way back over to Matthew. Leading the way would once again be the 137 people who just finished learning Bava Kama, and the dozens of people who have continued with Bava Metzia. Why are we doing this? If I find a cloak at the exact same time as someone else, I’d probably just let him keep it!
I’ll be honest, this question troubled me a lot when I was younger. I used to argue with my father that there was no point in learning Gemara with all the scenarios that were irrelevant. And to top it all off, I’d forget so much of what I learned. What was the point?
My father shared with me a Medrash in response to these questions that I’d like to share with you. It tells a story of a king and his two servants. They are each given a huge bucket and told to fill it up with water. The king leaves and the servants get to work. Immediately, they realize the buckets have a hole on the bottom. All the water they put in immediately leaves the bucket. One servant says, “Pff. I’m not going to waste my time.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through TikTok. The other servant takes small bucket after small bucket and keeps on filling the big bucket with water. Even though it all comes spilling out.
A few hours later, the king returns. He turns to the guy on his phone and asks him what he’s doing. He explains, “Your Majesty, you likely didn’t realize but the bucket, it has a hole in it. I saved my energy for a more important job. How can I serve you?”
And the king shakes his head. “You fool! I wanted you to pour water into this bucket not to fill it, but to clean it!”
Yes, there are practical elements to the study of the Torah, but the impractical elements are just as important. And yes, we may forget a lot of what we learned, but it still is meaningful. By engaging with these texts, these texts which we believe to be sacred, by allowing the cleansing water of Torah to pass through us, whether the laws are relevant or not, whether we remember what we learned or forget a moment later, we transform.
Why is Torah sacred? Why are these laws that are irrelevant holy?
The Baal HaTanya explains that the laws of the Torah are our window into the thought process of G-d Himself. How do we connect to G-d? We can’t touch Him, we can’t feel Him. But we can try to understand Him. The Baal HaTanya writes a rather evocative idea: When we do a Mitzvah with our body it’s like we are hugging G-d. When we pray with our mouth it’s like we are kissing G-d. When we plug the depths of the Talmud, when we try to understand all the nuances of any particular law, practical or not, when we merge our minds with the mind of G-d, that is the deepest, most intimate connection we can have.
This here in my hands is a letter my wife wrote me while we were engaged. Allow me to read it to you:
Yeah right! You think I would read that to you?!
But let me tell you, you know how many times I read this letter? You know how much I analyzed every choice of adjectives? Do you know how much attention I paid to the curve of her writing?
So, Matthew, I am not sure if I have persuaded you, but I hope next time you give you sermon, you can appreciate that details matter a lot. They matter a lot because we matter a lot. Everything we do has significance – far more than an airplane. Details matter because without trees there is no forest, and without that little dot your email never leaves your outbox. And details matter because although people consider your religion the religion of love, we lay claim to a passionate, love-filled relationship with the Divine, and the Talmud is the greatest love letter ever written.
by Ner Tamid | Feb 11, 2024 | Sermons
I’d like to share my favorite parable of all time. This parable animates my approach to the rabbinate and really, my approach to life. It’s a story told by Rav Nachman of Breslov, a Chassidic rebbe, known for many things, one of them being a great storyteller.
This particular story is of a prince. He lives the good life with his mother and father, the king and queen; the finest clothing, the best education, an opulent and pampered life. But one day, out of the blue, the prince removes all his clothing, gets on all fours, starts eating crumbs from the floor, and starts making gobble-gobble sounds like a turkey.
His parents, as you can imagine, were beside themselves. What in the world is going on? They give him a few days, hoping it’s a phase, but he’s still on the floor, debasing himself and acting like a turkey. And so, they swallow their pride and start calling in the experts. Psychiatrists prescribe him medication, therapists try every modality under the sun, educational experts cycle through the royal palace. But the prince is still on the floor claiming to be a turkey.
Let’s pause here and try to understand what is going through the prince’s mind. The prince is not as crazy as he seems. On the contrary, it is the king and queen and all the royalty who are the crazy ones. You see, the palace life is full of choreography, rules of etiquette that must be abided by, outfits that must conform to the royal protocols, curtsies and bows and pleasantries. Life in a palace is one big show, or more accurately, it’s one big fraud. Everyone is following a script, and no one, absolutely no one, is themselves.
The prince is a thoughtful young man. While everyone is standing in adoration of the king and queen, he sees right through it. We’re not special. Our blood is not blue, we have no special gifts, it’s all one big game. If anything, says the prince, you know what we really are? We are no different than an animal in the wild. We eat, we sleep, we enjoy ourselves. That’s all I really want, and that’s who I really am. And so, the prince, the one honest person in the palace, strips off his stifling clothing, he drops his ridiculous royal mannerisms, and gobbles-gobbles like a turkey.
Nietzsche, one of the most influential philosophers of all time, made the same argument as the prince in Rav Nachman’s story. Humans, he writes, were once driven by instinct, and as long as that was the case, we were truly the kings of the world. But then we developed something called civilization, with rules that curbed our instinct. They forced us to act against our inner animal. In this state of being ‘civilized,’ in this state of living by a moral code that went against our natural spirit, we became divorced from who we really are, and in his words, we became “the sickest of animals.”
It’s the prince who is the most authentic person in the palace. He embraces his base desires, his yearning for unbridled freedom, for no rules. “This is who I am.” Of course, every doctor who tried to cure him was unsuccessful. How could they be? They were trying to tell him that he is someone he is not. They are trying to force him to be inauthentic. Once the prince tasted the richness of being true to thyself, there is no allure to the palace life with all its games.
Who here feels like a turkey?
Who here feels stifled by the rules we must abide by? And I don’t even mean the rules of the Torah. The rules of life. The smiles we need to plaster onto our face, the pleasantries, the unspoken rules that dictate our every move. The prince is far more relatable than we thought.
The story continues:
One day an old man came to the door of the palace. He said he had a cure for their son. He had no credentials, but they were desperate, so they ushered him in. The old man enters the room that the prince is in and finds him under the table, unclothed, eating scraps of meat that have fallen to the floor. The old man removes his jacket. He then removes his shirt. He then gets fully undressed and gets under the table next to the prince. The prince eyes the old man suspiciously.
But the old man ignores him and starts gobble-gobbling himself. He joins him in eating the scraps of food off the floor. He spends a week under the table as a turkey.
At the end of the week, the old man snaps his fingers, and the king’s servants drop his and the princes’ clothes under the table. The old man starts to get dressed. The prince turns to him, incredulous: “What are you doing? I thought you were a turkey?!” And the old man explains that just because he’s a turkey doesn’t mean he can’t wear dignified clothing. The prince ponders this for a moment and then puts on his own royal outfit. But they are still under the table.
A week later, the old man snaps his fingers, and the servants bring him food on beautiful China and magnificent cutlery. And again, “What are you doing? I thought you were a turkey?!” And the old man explains that just because he’s a turkey doesn’t mean he shouldn’t delicious food.
And this continues until finally, the prince is acting like royalty; with all the clothing and mannerisms that it entails. All the while, the prince still considers himself to be a turkey. Only that now he realizes a turkey could act like a human, a turkey can even wear a crown.
What Rav Nachman is trying to convey in this profound story is that the prince was right; we are all just animals. Some people embrace that reality – I will follow my instincts, I will embrace what other people may call my flaws, and I will just be true to myself. And there are others who are completely divorced from reality; they have no self-awareness, no sense of who they are, they are living their lives conforming to whatever they are told to do. The life of the true-to-thyself prince is myopic and self-centered, and the life of the superficial king is stifling and inauthentic.
And then there is the wisdom of the old man, who tells us that we can and we must know who we are, perhaps we are an animal at our core. But that doesn’t mean we cannot act in the most dignified fashion. That knowledge does not preclude us from acting like and embracing the divine. True growth and true greatness comes precisely from the individual who knows who they really are, who is brave enough to go to the darkest of places and face their inner demons. The richest life is live by he or she who is bold enough to confront the gap that exists between who we really are and where we need to be.
I’d like to share with you something a little esoteric. Today is Rosh Chodesh Adar Rishon. The Jewish calendar is a hybrid between the cycle of the moon and the cycle of the seasons. One of the rules of the calendar is that Pesach must always fall out in the spring season. But because there are less days in a lunar year than there are in a solar year – there are 365 days in the solar calendar and 354 in the lunar, a 10.5-day gap, our Sages instituted an extra month to “catch up,” and ensure that the two remain in sync.
The mystics point out that the moon is so to speak more authentic than the sun. The sun shines every day. The moon waxes and wanes. Which one of those is more aligned with human nature? Absolute consistency or days of highs and days of lows? It’s the moon, of course. The moon that almost disappears, as we feel like almost giving up, and then, boom, we bounce back with a vengeance.
The gap between the lunar calendar and the solar calendar represents the gap between who we are and who we want to be. When we acknowledge our deficiencies, when we acknowledge our moon-like behavior, when we embrace our moon as we do in a Jewish leap year by adding a lunar month, you know what happens? The lunar calendar actually becomes longer than the solar year. This year there are 384 days in the lunar calendar. Says the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Adar Rishon, this extra month, this month that represents our acknowledgment of our deficiencies, this month of kaparas pasha, is a month that propels us forward well beyond the years in which we ignore who we really are. Those who forget they are turkeys live an inauthentic life but those who remain turkeys live an incomplete life. It’s the prince who now wears a crown, who knows who he is, who lives the richest life of all.
This idea is not limited to people shying away from their own weaknesses. There is a similar phenomenon of people who are afraid of difficult theological questions. These “kings and queens” pretend there are no questions, no difficulties, and stifle their inner voice whenever she makes a peep. And there are those “prince-like” people who get so weighed down by their questions on G-d, and they just give up. They are both missing out on the richness of seeing the light after grappling with darkness. This is the message, and this is the power of Adar Rishon, the extra lunar month that propels us forward; face the darkness, work through your demons, and then, and only then, will you taste the richness that life has to offer.
There is a beautiful letter written by Rav Yitzchak Hutner to one of his students who wrote to him about some terrible failings. This is how Rav Hutner responded:
“…Know my friend, that the key for your soul is not the tranquility of the yetzer hatov, but the war against the yetzer hara… There is a saying in English, “Lose the battle and win the war.” You surely have stumbled and will stumble again, and you will be vanquished in many battles. However, I promise you that after you have lost those battles, you will emerge from the war with a victor’s wreath on your head.
The wisest of all men [King Shlomo] said [Mishlei 24:16], “The tzaddik will fall seven times and will rise.” The unlearned think that this means, “Even though a tzaddik falls seven times, he will rise.” The wise know well that the (true) meaning is: “Because a tzaddik falls seven times, he will rise.”…”
Sharing in your suffering,
Confident that you will prevail,
Praying for your success,
Yitzchak Hutner
The prince is right. We are all turkeys. But we would be fools to remain living under the table.
