In the early 18th century, there was a fabulously wealthy and powerful Polish family known as the Potocki’s. Count Potocki and his wife were devout Jesuits and used their wealth to support churches all over the continent. They had one son, Valentin; he was bright, handsome, and curious, he had everything going for him. His parents, the religious people that they were, had high hopes that he would one day join the Jesuit order as a priest.
Valentin was sent to Paris where he studied under the greatest Christian teachers. In Paris, he once happened to visit a tavern owned by a Jew. The details are murky, but what we do know is that Valentin was impressed with this tavern-owner, something about him sparked his curiosity. This encounter inspired Valentin to start learning Torah, and after about six months of secretly learning Torah from a Parisian rabbi, Valentin came to the conclusion that he could not in good conscience become a priest. Instead, he wanted to convert to Judaism.
Despite this Parisian rabbi discouraging him from converting – doing so was a capital crime and one which would also endanger the Jewish community, Valentin disguised himself so that his family would not know what happened to him, traveled to Amsterdam, a country in which there were religious freedoms, and converted.
For reasons unknown to us, Valentin, who at this point was renamed Avraham ben Avraham, chose to move back to Poland. We could surmise that one of the things that drew him back to Poland was that the greatest Jewish sage, the Vilna Goan, was living there. The two of them, the towering leader of the Jewish world, and this recent convert met, and the Vilna Gaon walked away from the meeting immensely impressed by the dedication and devotion of Avraham ben Avraham.
Tragically, Avraham ben Avraham’s life was cut short. A Jew informed on him to the authorities. He was first given the chance to ‘repent,’ as the Christian authorities offered him the opportunity to renounce his Judaism, but he refused. His wealthy and powerful family managed to get the church to agree that if Valentin would live his life in a castle on one of their estates, away from the public eye, he’d able to practice Judaism in private and be spared. He refused.
Valentin Pototzky, Avraham ben Avraham, was burned at the stake on the second day of Shavuos, today. For two hundred years, until the Holocaust, a Keil Malei, a memorial prayer, was said for him, in all the shuls of Vilna. And to this day, in shul around the world, including this one, people still tell his story.
This past September I had the privilege of visiting the grave of the Vilna Gaon. There is a sign over the structure of his grave, ‘Here lies the great Vilna Gaon, and here, in the same structure, lies the ashes of Avraham ben Avraham.’ Side by side. This was done with the Vilna Gaon’s directions. It was his way of saying, “Avraham ben Avraham, you may have lived a short life, you may have died without children, historically, you did not have had the same impact as I did. But your life made a difference.”
It’s a fascinating tale of the intellectual honesty of Avraham ben Avraham and the honor and respect given to him by the Vilna Gaon, but there is one person in this story who does not get enough credit and that is the tavern-owner in Paris. We don’t know what he said to Valentin, we don’t know what Valentin saw, but this tavern-owner clearly made a powerful impression. Perhaps he kindly greeted Valetin at the door, looked him in the eyes, and gave him attention like he never received before. Perhaps he saw this old man pull out an old book to study from in between customers. Perhaps he saw how ethical he was in his monetary dealings. What we do know is that this man lived in a way that inspired good, positive, and uplifting change, in those who saw him. And in turn that person’s actions inspired change in all who learned his story.
Today, we read the Book of Ruth. We read this beautiful story today on Shavuos because Ruth exemplifies a deep commitment to Judaism and because Ruth is a convert and we too all converted to Judaism and committed ourselves to G-d at Har Sinai on this very day. But the real heroine of the story is Naami, Ruth’s mother-in-law, and not Ruth. Because you see Ruth did not convert due to any intellectual exercise; she wasn’t a philosopher or a scholar. What drew her to Judaism was her mother-in-law, a person whose name exemplified her character, Naami, from the word neimut, pleasantness, sweetness. Ruth, having witnessed this pleasantness up close for all these years, recognized that Naami possessed something that she did not possess, the Torah. Derache’ha darchei noam, its ways are pleasant, v’chol n’sivoseha shalom, and all its pathways are peace. And Ruth wanted a piece of it.
Listen to the celebrated, poetic words of Ruth, “Where you go, I go,” she says to Naami. “Where you live, I will live, your people, Naami, are my people.” And only then Ruth ultimately says, “Your G-d is my G-d.”
And the amazing thing is that Naami wasn’t perfect. Far from it. She, with her husband, deserted the Jewish People at a time of need during a time of famine. Her sons both intermarried. She describes herself as bitter! And perhaps that’s exactly it. Naami’s greatness perhaps lies in her ability to overcome. To hold her head up high despite the losses she endures. To be loving despite the scorn she receives from others. To hold onto her faith despite her many mistakes. Naami is so pleasant that Ruth cannot imagine a life without her and the value system that Naami is drawing from. (Rabbi Moshe Miller, Rising Moon)
Yizkor is a day not only to remember others, it’s a day to ask ourselves, how we will we be remembered? How are we remembered right now by those around us? Do they see us, do they interact with us, and come away uplifted? Do they wonder what value system is this man or woman drawing from? What magic formula do they have because I want a piece of it? Or do they simply walk on by?
There is an incredibly troubling increase in anti-Semitism these days. Can we take an ounce of the energy we are using yelling and screaming at the anti-Semites and turn it inwards; how are we contributing to a positive version of Judaism? How are we creating a different narrative? Are we a Naami, are we such a pleasant person that when someone meets us, they are so taken that they want to throw away everything they have away to be close to us and our Torah? Are we that Parisian merchant who a future priest can meet and be inspired to give up a life of riches and prestige?
That’s what today is all about. That’s what Shavuos is. It is a day to reflect upon the mission of every Jew, which is that every person who sees us, who speaks to us, who interacts with us at work or at home, or anywhere, would say, Mi k’amcha Yisrael, who is like you among the nations!
A few years ago, a man by the name Levi Welton visited his parents in Sacramento, California. Levi and his wife were living on the East Coast, but his parents just moved to a new community and he decided to visit them for a weekend. Shabbos morning, he went with his father to the shul in their new community and after davening there was a kiddush in honor of a Bat Mitzvha. He decided on a whim to strike up a conversation with the father of the Bat Mitzvah girl, who introduces himself as Chaim Valentzia.
In the course of the conversation, he learned that Chaim was a convert. And so Levi asked him, how did you pick the name Chaim? Most of us are given names at birth by our parents, but a convert has the incredible privilege to name themselves, and Levi was curious how Chaim Valentzia chose his name.
Chaim told him the following story. “I know this going to sound strange but a number of years ago, I was living on the East Coast. I was interested in Judaism, I was studying and exploring what it’s all about. One Friday night, I ended up at the Lincoln Park Jewish Center in Westchester, New York. During services, at the end of L’cha Dodi, the congregants started to dance and so I joined them. And I found myself,” said Chaim, “between the rabbi and an old man. He wasn’t just any old man, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was dancing with such joy, with such purity, with such evident faith, I was smitten.”
“And then, and then I noticed the numbers on his arm. A survivor. A survivor of the Holocaust to have such faith, such joy….! I turned to this old man,” said Chaim,” and I asked him, what’s your name? And he told me his name was Chaim. And I knew right then, that if I convert this would be the name that I would live by, this is the man who I will always look up to. I will perpetuate his greatness.”
Levi, who was listening intently, turned to Chaim, and said, “Tell me, is his name Chaim Grossman?”
Chaim’s eyes popped out, “How did you know?!”
And Levi explained, “I am now the rabbi of Lincoln Park Jewish Center, I know Chaim, or should I say, I knew Chaim very well. But what you don’t know,” Levi added, “and you had no way of knowing is that Chaim – Chaim the survivor – never had any children. He had no one to name a child after him. And now Chaim’s legacy will not be lost. V’yikorei sh’mo b’Yisrael, you have his name, and one day, your great-grandchildren will be named after you, and this legacy, Chaim’s legacy, the life he lived, will be perpetuated for all of time.” (Rabbi Yoel Gold)
Whether you have children or not, whether you have family or you do not have family, we are all charged with one mission – to be memorable people; to never forget that we stand in the presence of G-d and that we represent Him to all who see us. To live an inspired life, and to be an inspiration. To live a devoted and loving life. To live a life that will not be easily forgotten. May we perpetuate the memories of those who came before us and may we, like Naami, like Avraham ben Avraham, like the tavern owner of Paris, and like Chaim the survivor, be worthy of being remembered.