Shlomo had one request from me. “Aba, in your speech, do not do anything different for my Bar Mitzvah. Also, no crying and no embarrassing stories.”
Well, Shlomo, here’s lesson #1 of adulthood – you can’t always get what you want. So with or without your permission, allow me to do something very different and read you a letter that I wrote just for you:
Dear Shlomo,
It’s a strange time to be making a Bar Mitzvah.
As Mommy spent the past two months trying to find our out-of-town family places to stay for Shabbos, there were thousands of families in Israel who were trying to find a home to live in for far longer than a weekend.
As we received RSVPs from your cousins and uncles and aunts and eagerly awaited seeing them, hundreds of Israelis were receiving notices of family members who were killed in battle or captivity, never to be seen again.
As you worked hard practicing your parsha for your big day, boys and girls just a few years older than you practiced for their upcoming military missions in Gaza.
As you stood outside earlier this week having your picture taken and your biggest concern was that your hat would not blow away in the wind, countless children across Israel scanned their neighborhood looking for safe rooms so that they would not be hit by an incoming missile.
Strange time indeed.
And here is where I am supposed to tell you that your Bar Mitzvah is our response to Hamas, that this celebration of your commitment to Judaism counteracts the antisemitism on college campuses, and gathering so many people together who love you is our way of banishing hatred and evil. But I won’t say that. I can’t say that. I don’t believe it. I feel like that is a strained rationalization to make us feel good about going on with our lives.
So, here’s the truth: We are incredibly fortunate and privileged to live this life of ours here in Baltimore. But in all honesty, it is those in Israel who are truly privileged. Greatness – and G-d blessed you with so many natural talents that you have the capacity for greatness – greatness does not develop at celebrations like these. Greatness is not born out of photo shoots and gala kiddushes. Greatness is not born by getting together with friends and family. Greatness is born through difficult times; it is born on the battlefield. Greatness is born when you are asked to risk it all for others; it is born in sacrifice for something or someone greater than yourself. The brutal truth is that us celebrating our simcha this Shabbos is beautiful and special, but the real response to Hamas, to antisemitism, to hate and to evil, that is not found here. It’s found in Israel.
Now Shlomo, before you run off to join the IDF (which I would be more than proud if you did), I want to share with you something that you need to know – there is an alternative path to greatness. Rav Eliyahu Dessler in Michtav Mei’Eliyahu writes that when we, in our daily prayers, invoke zechus avos, the merit of our forefathers, it is not some spiritual bank account in which the good deeds of our ancestors are stored, and when we need it, we take something out of that account. No. Zechus avos is an inheritance; the deeds of those who came before us are not stuck in the past; their deeds course through our veins.
When we study the stories of Bereishis or the tales of the kings and prophets it is not because they’re great stories, which they are. We study these stories because they are our stories. You and I, all of us, are Avraham leaving our comfort behind as we seek out our mission in life. We are Yitzchak ready to give up our lives for G-d. We are Rochel selflessly giving up our dreams for others. We are Tamar boldly changing the course of history. If we learn our history, if we learn the Torah properly, we do not need to experience every challenge in the world to grow from them. Their struggles are our struggles, their accomplishments are ours too.
This is why we have a tradition of giving our children the names of great people in the Torah; to make that bond between our past and present even stronger. Shlomo, you are named after two incredibly accomplished kings. Yosef, who overcomes the fleeting pleasures of this world, who forgives his brothers after they tried to kill him, who leads the way for all future Jews to balance worldliness and a deep care for all people with a deep connection to his faith and an even deeper care for B’nei Yisrael. You are named after Shlomo, a king who is mature beyond his years, who asks for wisdom when he could have asked for anything at all, and who uses his talents to build a house for G-d. Self-control, forgiveness, worldliness, maturity, and a desire to connect to Hashem, those all sound very familiar. Their story, Shlomo, is truly your story.
This notion does make me a little nervous – and here I am going to interrupt for an embarrassing story. Sorry, Shlomo.
10 years ago, Shlomo and I were in the lobby of the shul. Shlomo was three at the time; he looked up and saw the picture of the late Rabbi Leibowitz, the first rabbi of this shul. “Who is that?” he asked me. I explained that he used to be the rabbi. “What happened to him?” I explained that he passed away. I saw the gears inside Shlomo’s head moving. “So he died and now you’re the rabbi?” Sort of. Yes. He shook his head; he understood. “So, Aba, when will you die so I could become rabbi?”
King Shlomo took over his father’s position when he was 13 years old…
Shlomo, you are not only named after the Biblical Yosef and Shlomo. You are also named after your paternal great-grandfather. I’ve told you his stories so many times before because they are your stories. I hope and I pray that you will never have to face even a fraction of what he faced in his life, but that should not stop you from growing from his experiences.
Your great-grandfather, as you know, survived Auschwitz. But he didn’t just survive. Every night, after bone crushing work, he would come back to his barracks and pray. Despite the risk, he helped organize a shofar blowing in Auschwitz. He rescued tens of young girls from being burned in the crematoria. He later sacrificed what could have been a much easier life in America for living in Israel. And despite losing so much in the Holocaust and later a son who was a soldier in the IDF, he remained deeply grateful to G-d. I get the chills whenever I think of the Shehechiyanu he would say on Yom Tov. (No crying, right?)
The very last memory I have of your great-grandfather was when he was quite ill and incapable of doing all that much. He asked me what I was learning in yeshiva – it was Meseches Yevamos. There was a sefer, a book that he thought would be very helpful for my learning. I told him this in the morning. I went out for the entire day. He spent the entire day calling every bookstore in Bnei Brak to find that book so by the time I came home he could give it to me. Shlomo, it is incredible to see, and it gives Mommy and me so much pride to see how you have adopted his qualities; his tenacity, his gratitude, and his love for Torah.
You inherited qualities from every part of your family. You recently wrote essays on your mother’s maternal grandfather and your mother’s father. Their stories are also your story. The same is true for every one of your relatives, your grandmothers and great-grandmothers, everyone. And here’s the point I am trying to make – if you learn from the past, their challenges, their accomplishments, their stories, they are yours.
So, no, you do not need to fight on a battlefield to grow courage, you do not need to experience antisemitism to be a survivor, you do not need to overcome severe challenges to develop grit. You need to learn about your past, absorbing the lessons of those who came before you.
Here’s one final truth, one final lesson – Shlomo, you will face adversity. You will face obstacles in your life that will seem impossible to overcome. You will face challenges that will sap every part of your being. We all do. There is only so much Mommy and I can protect you from.
And while that pains me, I am not worried. Armed with your knowledge of where you came from, empowered by the Torah; both Jewish tradition and Jewish history, fortified with zechus avos, with the fact that their stories are your legacy, you will have what it takes to make your own story. A story that I hope and pray you will one day pass on to the next generation.
Hindy and I are so touched by the attendance of every single one of you who are here. We are so grateful to the leadership of Ner Tamid and the entire congregation for all that you do – but today especially, for making us feel truly as one family. We are grateful to our family for giving us support and legacies that we treasure. And we are most especially grateful to Hashem, she’hechiyanu v’kiyimanu v’higianu lazman hazeh.