A little over two years ago, I received a call from someone inviting me to come along with him on a trip to Eastern Europe. There is an ancient custom to go to kivrei Tzadikim, the graves of holy people, during the days leading up to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. This minhag is the basis of the custom that many of you have to visit your parents’ graves during this time.
To be frank, visiting graves of holy people doesn’t appeal to me, but it was a unique experience – and honestly, I needed some content for my High Holiday sermons, so I said yes to this very gracious offer.
It all happened very quickly. I didn’t even have a chance to review the itinerary. After landing in Poland, I found out that one of the places we were visiting, Belarus, has a level four State Department advisory against traveling there – level four being the highest level. In the words of the State Department: “Do not travel to Belarus. The U.S. government has extremely limited ability to help detained U.S. citizens. You may not receive consular access. You could also face arbitrary detention with no contact with the outside world.” Imagine getting arrested in Belarus. That would have been quite the sermon.
I could tell you all about how the Belarus border patrol confiscated my phone and searched my social media accounts another day, what I want to tell you about today is the first stop on this trip, which was in the city of Krakow.
For those who have a very good memory you may recall that that year, two years ago, on the first day of Rosh Hashana, I described the local Krakow population gawking at us identifiable Jews as historical artifacts, and I wondered if one day in the near future that will be the reality in Baltimore, how antisemitism will drive us all away and my great-grandchildren may one day visit the ‘old Baltimore Jewish community.’ So I guess you can say that I found my sermon inspiration. But I realized this past week that there was a far more important message, right in front of me, at the Krakow cemetery, that I completely missed. I’m going to take you on a bit of a journey so please hold on tight.
When you enter the Krakow cemetery, you first encounter the grave of Rav Moshe Isserlis, the Rema, probably the most influential Halachic authority of Ashkenazi Jews. You then see the grave of the Bach, Rav Yoel Sirkis, another exceptionally influential authority, and many other great Torah scholars and Tzadikim. We stood at the graves of these tzadikim, we prayed, we heard some history about these Torah giants. And then our tour guide told us: “By the way, there is another Tzadik buried here, by the name of Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller. If you want to visit his grave, you have to walk all the way to the other side of the cemetery.” Obviously, it is a little strange that he was buried so far from these other rabbis, but we’ll come back to that soon. Who was Rav Heller?
Yom Tov Lippman Heller was born in 1579, his father died before he was born, he was raised by his grandfather, became a student of the great Maharal of Prague, appointed as a judge, a dayan, of the Prague Rabbinical court at the incredibly young age of 18, and wrote tens of books on all sorts of Jewish topics. Most famously, he wrote a commentary on the Mishna known as the Tosafos Yom Tov. Due to the prominence of this book, many refer to Rav Heller simply as the Tosafos Tom Tov.
In 1629, Rav Heller faced the most traumatic experience of his life. By this point he had been the chief rabbi of Prague for about twenty years and was well-respected, comfortable, and at the height of his career. After the 30-Year War, the government imposed a tremendously large tax on the Jewish population of Prague. Rav Heller led a commission to address the question of how they would raise the funds from the Jewish community, and they decided that they would tax people commensurate to their wealth. The richer the family the more they would pay.
Obviously, the wealthy merchants did not appreciate this. Some went ahead and did the unthinkable. They claimed to the Christian government that Rav Heller was writing anti-Christian literature. These scoundrels even found some equally evil rabbis who they bribed to substantiate their claim. Rav Heller was immediately thrown into jail and sentenced to death.
After a lengthy court case, and a lot of intervention, the judge decided Rav Heller would not be executed but would be fined a ridiculous amount of money and would never be employed as a rabbi again. He spent two years paying off this debt and then left the country for Eastern Europe, where he eventually received a role as the chief rabbi of Krakow.
It’s in Krakow where the most famous Rav Heller story took place. There was a man in Krakow known as Yossele the miser: fabulously wealthy but never gave a penny to anyone in need. The story goes that when he died, as an expression of the community’s distaste for this miser, they buried him at the far end of the cemetery.
Shortly after his shiva, people started lining up outside Rav Heller’s office all needing financial assistance. Every day, the line got longer. Rav Heller started asking these people why they all of a sudden needed his help. One after the other, they explained to him that every single week they would receive a small bundle of money outside their door. They had no idea where it came from, but a week ago, the bundles of money stopped coming.
Rav Heller immediately realized that Yossele the Miser was not a miser. He was a hidden tzaddik. He was supporting all these poor people quietly and now that he had died, there was no one to support them. Realizing how holy this Yossele really was, the Tosafos Yom Tov requested that he be buried at the far end of the Crackow cemetery, right next to Yossele the Miser.
And this is why I found myself trekking across the cemetery to its farthest edge to pray at the grave of the Tosafos Yom Tov, Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller.
Only that I never got to his grave.
As I got closer, I noticed a huge mass of chassidim surrounding his grave. It turns out that the day we were there, the 6th day of Elul, is his Yahrtzeit. They had set up a tent over his grave; they must have had hundreds of Chassidim there, and one of them, some Rebbe, was giving a talk. I didn’t want to disturb so I walked away.
This past week, I learned that my mother’s mother is a direct descendant of Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller. Which means that I went all the way to Europe, including risking my life to travel through Belarus, traveled to the cemetery in which my great-great-great-great-grandfather was buried – on his yahrtzeit – In Elul, and I did not even pray at his grave. Ouch.
It seemed so bizarre. I was so close and yet I missed this incredibly special opportunity. Why would this happen? I wonder if maybe I wasn’t worthy of visiting his grave.
You see, the Tosafos Yom Tov was the leading Polish rabbi during the rebellion of the Cossacks led by Bogdan Chmielnicki. During his reign of terror, tens of thousands of Jewish girls were sold as slaves, entire communities were uprooted, and over 300,000 Jews were massacred. Rav Heller led the efforts to provide care for the needy, homes for the homeless, ransom as many young women as they could, and deal with many cases of agunot. It left a deep impression on him.
He decided that one of the reasons that G-d brought this terrible calamity upon them was because the Jews in Poland did not treat shul with the proper decorum. He urged people to not talk at all in shul. He even composed a prayer that was recited every Shabbos, and is still said in many shuls, heaping blessings on those who choose not to talk in shul.
Ironically, that year, on the second day of Rosh Hashana, I spoke about the importance of prayer. I actually began my drasha by lightly mocking those who think the way to a better davening experience is just by getting people to stop talking. I argued that we need more engagement; we need to get more enthused about davening, we need to get people to sing more, to connect more. I tried a daily tefilah email. It fizzled. The whole initiative to elevate the davening in our shul just didn’t work.
This is not a criticism of any of you. Honestly, I see it as a personal failure. Our shul has grown so much, in the number of people in attendance on Shabbos, in the number of people studying Torah daily, in the chesed that is regularly performed. But when it comes to prayer, it’s still a little weak.
And maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I was wrong for arguing against quiet. Maybe we need to start where my great-great-great-grandfather thought we should start – with silence. Maybe the reason I never made it to his grave was because I was not worthy of praying there because I wasn’t willing to take his approach. And maybe just maybe it’s time that I reconsider and appreciate the spiritual power of silence.
Though we Jews like to talk a lot, we are a faith that places a premium on listening. Our parsha begins by describing the fulfilment of the Torah as ‘listening to G-d.’ Twice a day we remind ourselves to listen – Shema Yisrael. Every page of the Talmud invites us to ‘come and listen,’ – ta shma. Instead of learning more about tefilah, instead of singing more, or clapping more, maybe what we really need is to engage in listening, to sit silently in shul, to listen to the words of prayer and to listen to our soul.
There is a Medrash that describes the world going silent when the Ten Commandments were uttered at Har Sinai. The implication is that when G-d spoke the world listened. But Rav Shimshon Pincus says, no. What the Medrash means is that G-d silenced the world. And when there is silence, you could hear the voice of Hashem.
Last week, a number of people forwarded me an ad from a foundation associated with the Tosafos Yom Tov. They are encouraging people to accept upon themselves to choose a particular part of davening – whether it is kaddish, or the Torah reading, or the Chazzan’s repetition – and to commit to not talking for either 40 days or for a year. They have a website where you can fill out what your commitment is. Every commitment is a ticket put into a raffle to win a 1-million-dollar upgrade to your shul. If one of you win, we could skip our next capital campaign!
On Friday, I went on this website and committed to not talking during kaddish for 40 days. I urge you to join me. Yes, it would be wonderful to win that money for our shul. But more importantly, I invite you to join me in making our shul a holier place, a place where we can hear the voice of G-d, a place where we can be proud of our Torah learning, proud of our chesed, and proud of our prayer.
I have no plans on returning to Krakow – I certainly have no plans on returning to Belarus. But I don’t need to go back there. Rav Heller’s powerful advice is right here. We know what he thinks we should do. I hope I don’t miss him a second time.
Sign up here: https://ktyt.org/