by Ner Tamid | Jul 28, 2024 | Sermons
I tend to keep my phone with me up until a minute before I run to shul on Friday night. When calls come in within an hour or two before Shabbos, they are almost always emergencies. I say ‘almost’ because once in a while I will get a call to see what time candle lighting is or if there is a kiddush in shul. Last Friday, I received a call about two hours before Shabbos that was not necessarily an emergency, but it was certainly an urgent matter.
The call was from a friend who received a fundraising call from Keren Olam HaTorah. Keren Olam HaTorah is a mega-fundraising campaign on a mission to ensure that the Charedi community in Israel, which is losing its government funding, will be able to survive without those funds. Their goal is 107 million dollars. They already have 84 million dollars worth of commitments from major donors, and they are now raising another 23 million dollars to close the gap, of which they already raised 12 million.
Someone had reached out to my friend, asking him for a substantial donation, and he was not sure what to do, and was asking me for my opinion. Should he donate to this campaign supporting the Charedi community to allow them to continue to study Torah without serving in the IDF, or not?
Let’s review a little history: Before the formation of the State of Israel, David Ben Gurion wanted the support of the Charedi community and so he struck a deal with the Chazon Ish allowing anyone in the Charedi community to receive an exemption from serving in the army so that they could study Torah uninterrupted. Presumably, Ben Gurion’s thinking at the time was that the Charedim would eventually disappear, there is no way such a “backward” group of people would live on in the modern State of Israel, and this would not be a long-term issue. A less cynical take was that people recognized, after the Holocaust, there was a need to rebuild Torah Jewry, and therefore there was little if any pushback.
Well, as we all know, things did not go as Ben Gurion planned. The Charedi population has exploded. They now make up 13% of the country. Their poverty rate is at about 41%. The community is propped up by charities but also by the government, which creates an incredible financial strain on the government. To make matters worse, due to the ongoing conflicts in the North and South, the Israeli government voted to extend the amount of time reservists need to serve while the Charedi community is not serving at all. Unsurprisingly, the Supreme Court recently voted to revoke the funding they have been providing for decades to Charedim who are in yeshiva, and to start drafting Charedim into the army. (There is broad consensus that there would be a carve-out, enabling many Charedim who are fully devoted to Torah learning continue to do so.)
And it seems to many like a no-brainer.
Of course, Charedim need to share the burden of defending Israel against her enemies!
Of course, we cannot rely on Torah study alone to protect us. We have never taken such an approach in all of our history; from Moshe through the Maccabees, while we place an absolute premium on Torah study and prayer, relying on a miracle is not our way!
The government should probably do a much better job negotiating with the Charedi community, they should probably slow down a little, be less threatening, provide genuine accommodations to Charedim joining the IDF, and they would probably be much more effective. But yes, it seems like a no-brainer that a good portion of the Charedi community should take part in some form of national service.
But that was not the question posed to me; the question was if this man should give a donation to enable the Charedi community to continue their way of life.
The answer, in my opinion, is not so simple.
First of all, I told him this is quite similar to any given meshulach who comes to your door. The individual who may be very bright and capable, never got a well-paying job because he did not serve in the IDF and did not have access to a whole host of jobs. Now, he has a family emergency, they are unsurprisingly broke, and they come to you for money. On the one hand, it’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you go to the army? Why didn’t you get a normal job? And at the same time, they were born into a system. They are standing before you, impoverished, with a starving family at home. They are, despite your many differences, your brother. When my brother makes a stupid decision, I am still in his corner. No matter what. So, I pull out my checkbook and give this person some money. And now, it is not one or two or ten meshulachim, but an entire society that was not ready for this change (even if they should have been). Are we going to let our brothers and sisters starve so that they’ll serve in the army? Heaven forbid.
But there is something else, something quite uncomfortable and complicated that we would be wise to acknowledge. The typical argument to Charedim is that they can still maintain their religious observance level in the army. The proof is the Religious Zionist community. The community of people that I imagine most of us identify with; kippah serugah, they go to Hesder Yeshivot where they learn for a few years and then serve for a few years, they embrace the secular world. Why can’t you Charedim be just like them?
A few years ago, a study was published by Chotam. Chotam is a religious Zionist thinktank. The study concluded that only 46% of Religious Zionists young adults are fully observant. More than half of their youth are not maintaining the values they were taught. If Religious Zionism were a company, they would be forced to shut down. Those are not normal numbers. That is an abject failure. By contrast, the study concluded that despite some high-profile Charedim leaving the fold, the Charedi attrition rate is negligible.
To put it differently, the Charedi world, for all the complaints that we may have about army service, is doing something right. They are doing something that is needed for the future of the Jewish People. They are keeping Jews practicing Judaism.
In 1975, Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm, probably the most outspoken advocate of Modern Orthodoxy gave a speech about zealotry. Though we are a religion of peace and pleasantness, Pinchas, the protagonist of our parsha is celebrated for his zealotry. “Unquestionably,” writes Rabbi Lamm, “zealotry is a valuable sentiment. Without [it], without this passion, commitment is at best superficial. Zeal involves self-sacrifice and earnestness of purpose.”
He goes on to write: “This is why I am not overly anxious for our camp, what we call “Modern Orthodoxy,” to cut off from the “right wing.” “The Yeshiva world,” and the “Hasidic world” are reservoirs of passionate commitment, without which we are wishy-washy, wan, weak, and wavering. Of course,” he writes, “I am unhappy with many of their policies and their… rhetoric. But our very survival may very well depend on the degree to which we can become inspired by their zeal and learn to bring passion to our own commitments, no matter how much we disagree with them on specific issues.”
If you want to understand what he means, drive up to Lakewood, New Jersey, on any given weekday and join them for a Mincha Minyan. They will pray with more passion than many of us do on Yom Kippur. Go into any Beis Medrash in our community at 8 PM and you will find it packed with people learning Torah after a long day of work, while many Modern Orthodox shul’s lights are off. And go look at the numbers of Tzedakah dollars or Chesed organizations coming from those on the right compared to those down the middle, and you will see a community of people, in Israel and in the USA who are doing something right; there is a passion, a zeal, a self-sacrifice that no one else has come close to.
Should Charedim serve in the IDF? I think so. They have an absolute responsibility to do their part in defending the Jewish People. Full stop.
But will pushing them to serve, even with all the accommodations, impact the future of Judaism? It just might. Do we have what to learn from this community? We most absolutely do.
And so, with a few hours left before Shabbos began, I encouraged my friend to donate to Keren Olam HaTorah – and I donated as well.
We are in the midst of the Three Weeks of Mourning, a time during which we reflect on the destruction of the Temple caused by infighting. More Jews died in the fall of Jerusalem by the sword of their brother than by the Romans. Let’s be fiercely proud of and profoundly grateful to the Religious-Zionist community who have been bravely fighting at the front line, giving their lives to defend us. Let us hope and pray that they can be joined by more Jews who can help them carry their crushing burden. And let’s be open-minded to the incredible value and the lessons we need to learn from our Charedi brethren.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 21, 2024 | Sermons
Have you ever been out in public, maybe at a baseball game, and you see a guy with long peyos, a beard, tzitzis hanging out… and a baseball hat. In his mind, that baseball hat is somehow preventing everyone else from knowing that he is Jewish. In his mind, despite his black pants and white shirt, that baseball hat allows him to magically blend in. He is no longer Yoily from Boro Park; he is Bob, Bob O’hare from Arkansas.
I’ve always laughed at “that guy.” But last Shabbos, “that guy” was me. I was walking down El Camino in Palo Alto dressed like this with this on my head (put on baseball hat). I wonder if they noticed the OU symbol on the side of the hat…
I think I’ve shared with some of you in the past that I am not very good at hiding my Jewishness. About twenty years ago, I was backpacking through Europe, trying very hard to blend in and look “not Jewish,” with a baseball hat. One day, I was standing outside the Coliseum in Rome about to take a picture with these big hulky guys dressed as gladiators when one of them took his sword, placed it by my waste, and said, “Hey chabibi! Ata rotzeh od brit milah? Do you want another circumcision?” I could be wearing a stormtrooper uniform and they would take one look at me and say, Jew.
The reason I was wearing this baseball hat in Palo Alto and trying to not draw attention to my Jewishness is not that funny at all. A few days earlier, in California, we bumped into some friends from Baltimore who shared with us a harrowing story. They were staying not too far from where we were, and they took an Uber. When they got in the Uber, the husband was not wearing a kippah, but after having a nice conversation with the driver, he felt comfortable enough to put it on. At that point, the driver pulled over his car, in middle of nowhere, and told the couple to get out of his car. Antisemitism is alive and well on the West Coast. Hence, my baseball hat.
Now I know if Meimei would have heard this Uber story, she would have not only not worn a baseball hat, she would have grabbed her IDF sweatshirt and worn it with swagger. Meimei Polun goes to a school with a bit of an anti-Israel bend, and yet, that does not stop her from being loud and proud about her support of Israel. And the truth is, as I was walking down El Camino, I thought about that, and decided I was done wearing a baseball hat. The next day we went to Stanford University, home of some of the vilest antisemitism, and I wore my kippah without a hat, thanks to you.
My experience is fairly emblematic of the experience of many Jews living in the US since October 7th. Watching what has transpired on the streets of major cities or on college campuses has triggered fear causing many Jews to recoil and hide. And then, like me, many of these people have decided instead of hiding, we are going to be loud and public about our Judaism; kippot, necklaces with a Magen David, Israeli flags, dog-tags with the names of hostages, ‘I stand with Israel’ swag, you name it. We want to look like Jews.
It’s nice, maybe even beautiful, but the truth is, it’s a little superficial. What does it mean to ‘look like a Jew?’ Yes, the gladiator outside of the Coliseum may have picked up on something, but do I really look Jewish?! As I was writing this, I googled pictures of Hungarian people. Guess what? That’s what I look like. We’ve spoken about this so many times but it’s worth repeating – If I were to go back in time to our ancestors in the desert on their journey from Egypt to Israel, I, and many of us would stick out like a sore thumb. Or to be more accurate, like a white thumb on a brown body. Our ancestors were from the Middle East, they were dark skinned. The one exception was Moshe’s wife. She was black. There was not a single white person in ancient Israel! Jews are not defined by their looks; there is no Jewish look. We are defined by something else entirely.
In one of the most exciting passages in the Book of Bereishis, Yaakov poses as his brother, Eisav. He covers his arms with a lot of hair, and he tries his best to impersonate Eisav. Yitzchak, his blind father, who Yaakov is trying to trick, falls for it. But Yitzchak is also confused. “Hakol kol Yaakov, v’hayadayim y’dei Eisav. Your hands feel like Eisav, but your voice sounds like Jacob.” Rashi explains that Yaakov and Eisav sounded the same. When you called their home and one of them would pick up the phone, you would not know who you were speaking to. What Yitzchak meant when he said that the man in front of him sounded like Yaakov, he was not referring to Yaakov’s voice but his mode of speech. The man in front of him said, “please,” he spoke softly, he spoke humbly, he invoked G-d, he used words of refinement. What distinguished Yaakov and Eisav was not their looks, it was their speech.
The Medrashim tell us that this is why the king of Moav hired Bilaam to come curse the Jewish People. He wanted to attack the Jews with a dose of their own medicine. “Ein kochom ela b’peh. The strength of the Jewish people is their mouth.” Speech is our defining feature.
And so instead of asking ourselves if we look Jewish, I think we need to ask ourselves if we sound Jewish? And no, I do not mean if we sound like Fran from the Nanny. You know what it means to sound Jewish?
A Jew does not gossip. A Jew does not use foul language. A Jew humbly acknowledges G-d. A Jew compliments and lifts people up. A Jew uses his or her words to connect, never to destroy.
Some people say that Shabbos – taking a break from technology and the rat race – is the greatest gift that the Jewish People can give the world in this century. I disagree. The greatest gift we can give the world today in 2024 is positive and refined speech. Research has drawn a direct line between hateful rhetoric and seemingly random acts of violence. We may not ever know why Thomas Matthew Crooks tried to kill former President Donald Trump, but we do know that the words we use to describe people make an impact on how they act; violent rhetoric leads to violence. In Nazi Germany no one woke up one day and said, “Kill the Jews.” They said the Jews are ruining our society, and then they said the Jews are subhuman, and then they said the Jews should be put away, and yes, eventually, they killed 6 million Jews. Words are powerful. Words can destroy.
And that’s where one of Judaism’s greatest contributions to society comes in – Judaism elevates speech to the highest stratosphere. The very first time a sentence is uttered in the Torah, they are words of positivity; “Vayehi ohr, let there be light.” The first Jew to live among gentiles, Yosef, is described as constantly invoking G-d’s name whenever he spoke; “To commit adultery,” he said, “is bad in the eyes of G-d.” Or when he stood before Pharaoh and took no credit for his dream interpretation, “It all comes from Hashem.” When the Torah describes animals that are not kosher, instead of saying, ‘dirty,’ the Torah chooses the more refined term of ‘not clean.’
Let me share with you a story. There is a high-end investing firm that does very well and is run by an observant Jew who lives locally. He recently sent a letter to his investors after an exceptionally good quarter. And I quote: “After November’s strong performance the question remained the same: what are you doing differently that the fund has such a strong month of performance? … the answer to the question … [is] Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
We have been doing nothing different throughout this whole period. We have been … sticking ever so closely to our strategy and research process… It was because G-d made us outperform. It was not me, not my partners, not the traders, nor being super smart, nor all the hard work.”
In a world filled with so much bluster, so much ego, aren’t this man’s words music to the ear? Yes, I just made you rich, but G-d runs the world, not me. Think about the impact those humble words have on his investors who look up to him for his brilliance.
Or take Ari Schonbrun, former Chief Administrative Officer at Cantor Fitzgerald – that’s a big position in a big firm. He decided at one point in his life to no longer use any four-letter words. Ask anyone on Wall Street and they’ll tell you that’s like deciding to speak in Cantonese. Everyone curses on Wall Street. And yet, when Ari is at a meeting, not only does he not curse, but no one curses in his presence. Think about the impact his refined speech has on his coworkers.
And then there are the beautiful laws of Lashon Hara; a prohibition against gossiping. What a world it would be if people kept their opinions to themselves! Think of all the drama we could avoid if only we would stop ourselves before saying anything, and asking, “Do I sound Jewish?”
And to be clear, not speaking Lashon Hara does not mean we cannot criticize politicians. We need to learn how to disagree with someone without dehumanizing them. Not speaking Lashon Hara does not mean cover-ups for people engaged in poor behavior or lying to people asking about a shidduch. Not speaking Lashon Hara does not mean being naïve, it means being refined.
Dog-tags, Israeli flags, kippahs, they are all great. But if we really want to look like a Jew, if we really want to be recognized as a Jew, let’s use our Jewish voice. Do I sound Jewish?
Meimei, your name Meira means light, like the first words out of G-d’s mouth. May you and all of us be a light onto the nations, not only through what we wear, but by how we speak because speech is our true superpower. Hakol kol Yaakov; we are the people of the voice. A voice that does not use foul language, a voice that refrains from gossip, a voice that is humble, a voice that elevates and connects. That’s how we fight back against antisemitism and that’s how we change our broken world.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 7, 2024 | Sermons
Allow me to paint a fictional picture of two political candidates. As you listen, I want you to think about which one of these candidates you would vote for.
Imagine the scene – Imagine that on this stage, there are two people vying for the role of leader. One is wealthy; self-made – we’ll call him… D. The other has been involved in politics for decades – we’ll call him… J.
One of the candidates, J, the politically connected candidate, is over 80 years old.
D begins the debate by pointing out that J had one campaign promise, and he has not fulfilled it. J agrees; he doesn’t argue.
D argues that the elite are taking over the nation. J does not really have an argument… we do not know what his beliefs are because he does not respond.
Which one of these candidates would you vote for? J or D?
To clarify, I am NOT talking about Joe Biden and Donald Trump. This political showdown I just described to you might sound a lot like current events, but it is actually a description of today’s Torah portion; the showdown between Korach, a 62-year-old, wealthy, charismatic man, and Aaron, the High Priest, an 83-year-old who was appointed to his role by his brother.
Aaron and his brother Moshe promised the Jewish People that they would enter the land of Israel, but as Dasan and Aviram correctly point out, they did not follow through with their campaign promise.
As the debate gets more heated, Moshe challenges Aharon and Korach to an incense-burning competition, which as crazy as it sounds is far better than fighting over who is a better golfer.
(That debate was really something.
I have never been so embarrassed to be American and I’m Canadian.)
Back to the Biblical debate. Korach is rocking it. He has broad support from the masses and from the establishment. He has some valid arguments; “Why are we not in Israel already?” And, “Are we not all holy? Why do you, Aaron, take the mantle of leadership for yourself?”
How does Aaron respond to these strong-sounding arguments? Do you know what he says?
Not. A. Word.
Throughout the entire Torah portion, Aaron is silent.
Not because he is 83 and forgot his lines. He is silent on principle. He is silent because his silence, explains the Sefas Emes, is what demonstrates that he is the true leader of the Jewish People.
Let me explain. The Western world has a leadership problem. And no, I do not mean the lack of solid presidential candidates though what I am about to describe may be a symptom of this issue. The leadership problem that I am referring to is that we are obsessed with leadership.
Go look at the classes being offered in any given business school. A good portion of them will be some variation on how to become a great leader. The vast majority of books written on the topic of business are all about leadership. It’s not just in the business world; it’s in the not-for-profit and Jewish world as well. If there is a mission to Israel, it’s not just a mission, it’s a leadership mission. If a federation wants to start a new program, there is a 9/10 chance that the world leader will be part of its name. Even some of our greatest Jewish educators got into this leadership craze – search ‘leadership lessons from the Torah’ and you will be overwhelmed.
Why is this a problem?
First of all, there is a technical problem. If everyone is a leader, who exactly are they leading?
But it’s much deeper than that. Listen to the way Korach describes leadership and compare it to how Moshe describes leadership. When Korach describes leadership, he uses the term hit’na’asut, which means to be above everyone else (“Madua tit’nasu al k’hal Hashem?”). Moshe describes leadership as sheirut – service – la’amod lifnei ha’eidah l’sharsam, to stand before the nation and serve them. Korach saw leadership as being elevated above others; Moshe saw leadership as being beneath everyone else, holding them up.
There is nothing wrong with leadership per se, but it depends on the type of leadership. Judaism promotes leaders who do not see themselves at the center of the action; they are there to facilitate the growth and success of everyone around them – a servant. This is why greatness, in Judaism, is associated with humility. Think about the terminology we use to describe special people in Jewish society. The holiest gurus are not described as ‘Spiritual Masters,’ but rather as Ovdei Hashem, those who serve G-d. The greatest scholars are not described as ‘Grand Teachers,’ but rather, Talmidei Chachamim, students of wisdom.
Aharon, explains the Sefas Emes, was worthy of his position, precisely because he kept his mouth shut during the rebellion of Korach. Aharon was quiet not because he had nothing to say, but because he truly did not want the honors bestowed upon him. While Korach was yelling and screaming for attention, Aharon tried to make himself disappear.
This showdown between Korach on the one side and Moshe and Aharon on the other repeats itself every day and in each and every one of our lives.
Do we act like a servant or like someone who wants to be served? Do we act like Aharon, making ourselves small? Do we act like Moshe, serving those who need us? Or do we act like Korach, grabbing all the attention in the room?
We are going to go to kiddush and have a chance to socialize; will we try to make sure we share that amazing story that happened to us this past week or our brilliant insight, or will we step back and listen to the people we are speaking to?
Do we engage with our colleagues and friends because they can help us in some way, or do we engage with an eye towards how we can help them?
Are we waiting for compliments, or do we give them out?
I wonder what our world would look like today if we acted a little bit more like Moshe and Aharon, if our culture promoted silence and service, instead of status? I wonder what our world would look like if we were not admired by how many likes our posts receive but by how many we give out?
We are a culture of Korachs and that’s why the real J and D are up on that presidential stage. A culture of self-centeredness, of attention-seeking, of not being able to make space for others, that is a culture, our parsha makes clear, that gets swallowed up by the ground and self-destructs.
***
It’s July 4th weekend, a time to celebrate the birthday of this great country. It’s a country that rebelled against the idea of a monarch, of a Korach-like leader, and introduced to the world the idea of a leader who was truly a public servant. It’s a country that was born with the words, ‘WE, the people’ – not ‘I,’ but ‘we.’ It’s a country that didn’t ask what the country can do for her, but what she can do for her country. We hope and we pray that the United States of America can reclaim the ideals upon which she was founded.
