by Ner Tamid | Sep 29, 2024 | Sermons
How do you enter a Rosh Hashana like this one?
Hamas, Hezbollah, Harvard.
So much loss, so much hate, so much pulling us down.
It’s like we’re waking into this holiday season through a pile of sticky mud.
And if we weren’t beaten down enough, tonight we begin the Selichos season – two weeks of saying, I’m sorry. Ashamnu, we have been guilty. Bagadnu, we have betrayed.
To add insult to injury, a year like this could have inspired us to do so much more, but it didn’t. Which makes the chest-beating all that much heavier.
So do we walk into Rosh Hashana hunched over? Beaten down? Broken?
No. Not at all.
Rav Kook makes an amazing observation. The very first viduy-confession found in the Torah is actually not a chest-beating, shoulder-sagging, viduy. It’s positive. It’s uplifting. It is even self-congratulatory.
Writes Rav Kook, “Just as there is great value to the repair of the soul through the confession of sins … there is also great value through the confession of our positive deeds, in order to gladden the heart and strengthen the paths of life in the way of God.”
One of his followers went ahead and rewrote the classic Viduy in this positive spirit.
Instead of Ashamanu, Ahavnu – We have loved,
Instead of Bagadnu, Bachinu- we have cried,
Insteda of Gazalnu, Gamalnu- we have given back,
Dibarnu yofi- we have spoken great things!
He’’emanu- We have believed,
v’Hish’tadalnu- and we tried to give our best effort,
Zacharnu- we have remembered,
Chibaknu- we have embraced…
Ladies and gentlemen, that is the Viduy we need this year. I am not suggesting we switch the traditional text, but I am suggesting that our mindset, as we go into the year ahead, a year filled with so much uncertainty, is a mindset of pride. We have so much to celebrate. We have accomplished so much this past year.
I just want to take a few moments to list a few public accomplishments that took place in these four walls, with our shul:
On October 13th, we hosted a community-wide rocking Friday night minyan, to support soldiers like Arky Staiman who begged us to do so.
On October 14th, we hosted a community-wide program with B’nai Jacob Sharei Zion, Shomrei, and Ohel Moshe that was attended by 400 people, giving the community much-needed chizuk and unity.
On October 15th, we produced and distributed hundreds of We Stand with Israel signs that you can still see all over Baltimore.
On October 21st, we plastered our back wall with pictures of hostages – if not the first, one of the first shuls to do so.
On October 29th, we co-sponsored a rally in downtown Baltimore, letting the world know we are proud of our support for Israel.
On November 2nd, hundreds of shul members chipped in to pay for the Bar Mitzvah of a young boy from Sderot, who was homeless, placing a smile on his face for the first time in a month.
On November 4th, 170 people started learning Bava Kama in memory of Eliyahu Harush, giving much-needed comfort to his young widow, Hodaya.
On November 27th, we sent a video to the Bar Mitzvah boy, wishing him Mazel Tov from Baltimore, letting him know there were people who cared about him.
We’re going to skip December. I had a Bar Mitzvah in December so we were a little busy…
But in January, we hosted a comedy night that was a fundraiser for Israel. In February, we hosted a soldier, Yoshi Rosenbluth, to share with us his experience on the battlefront. We also hosted a presentation from Zaka, the organization that helps care for the dead in Israel. We brought in Hodaya Harush, to see with her own tear-filled eyes, what was done in her husband’s memory. And then we sent her and her precious children to Disney World for much needed respite.
We hosted Dance Parties for the women of the community, to inject some joy and energy into a year of sadness.
We had not one but two Moshav concerts, each packed to the brim, bringing a taste of Israel and an uplift to Baltimore.
An endless stream of members visited Israel, to volunteer, to learn, to give comfort. They came back to our community, shared their stories and lifted us higher.
We hosted Jen Airley who stole our breath.
We chipped in to buy three mobile shuls for soldiers in Gaza.
We dedicated all of Tisha B’av to the situation in Israel, most specifically an event for women that filled our entire social hall.
Okay, then I went away for two months… (It’s in my contract, I promise)
And this past week, we hosted an incredible lecture by Shabbos Kestenbaum to learn more about the antisemitism plaguing our campuses.
And all of the above is just the public accomplishments. I can’t begin to imagine what went on behind closed doors.
But here’s just a little glimpse – There must have been over $150,000 that went through my pulpit fund this year, supporting Israel, and also supporting many people in this community.
The kindness – the amount of Shabbos invitations, of people extending themselves, informally, through meal trains, and through our Ner Tamid chats is breathtaking.
The volunteerism in this shul was off the charts! So much of what you see here every time you walk through the doors is only made possible by a growing team of incredible volunteers. From the CSS team welcoming you at the shuls entrance, to the food you eat at the kiddush. The chesed that we collectively engaged in is remarkable.
You know how many extra prayers were said in these walls? Thousands of extra chapters of Tehilim every day after davening. Even though everyone is always in a rush, no one left, no one speak. We begged G-d to watch out for acheinu kol beis Yisroel. And that is aside from the extra tefilos that all of you said over the past ten months.
And then there is my pride and joy – something I have been accused of talking about ad nauseum – the amount of Torah learning in our shul this year. Wow.
137 men, women, and teens completed Bava Kamma – a difficult and long tractate of the Talmud.
And then the vast majority continued learning daily. How many people here are doing Daf Yomi? How many people are doing Mishna Yomi? How many are doing Nach Yomi? Amud Yomi?
In Rav Kook’s positive Viduy, instead of Tainu, we have gone astray, the text reads, Ta’amnu Sefer- we have learned your books. Yes, we have.
***
A new member of our shul shared an observation with me.
And once we’re talking about new members and this past year’s accomplishments, it’s worth noting that 49 membership units joined Ner Tamid this year.
This new member, Ari Weiss, complained. He said, “Rabbi, all the Torah learning initiatives are nice, but they’re not for everyone. Some people may be intimidated by all the Hebrew text. Some people may not be into learning Navi, Mishna, or Talmud. You need to find a daily learning opportunity that is for everyone. That is your tagline after all, isn’t it? Something for Everyone.”
And Ari didn’t just complain; he did research and eventually we settled on a form of Torah learning that is indeed ‘for everyone.’ We settled on this book – Master Your Words, Master Your Life (https://a.co/d/4DKYPGL). It discusses the laws and ideas behind Lashon Hara and how to speak more positively about one another. In a world filled with so much toxicity, I cannot think of something more important to be learning each day. It is split up into daily learning, each day’s learning is a short page, which should take you between 30 seconds to two minutes to read.
It gets better – Ari and his wife, Michal, in their generosity bought a whole bunch of these books for you, for free.
There is a new cycle beginning this Thursday. This is your last chance to take part in the incredible spiritual revolution of Ner Tamid. And I promise you this is the last time I will pitch any learning program this year…
Who wants a copy? They are available for anyone who is not currently learning on a daily basis. Hands up. If we run out, a generous sponsor has offered to buy more.
***
Rav Kook’s Viduy concludes with the words:
Nisinu- We have tried,
Tzadaknu, lifamim- We have been righteous, sometimes,
Karanu b’shimcha- we have called out in Your Name!
Ratzinu- We have wanted to do more
Samachnu- we have rejoiced,
Tamachnu- we have supported one another.
Friends, we have so much to be proud of. Let’s walk into this new year with our heads held high. And may G-d bless us all with a year of profound growth, true peace, and blessings.
by Ner Tamid | Sep 22, 2024 | Sermons
Before every Bar and Bat Mitzvah I meet with the family to discuss their big day. At the end of our conversation, I often turn to the boy or girl and ask them if they have any questions for me. They usually meekly shake their head no and say a silent prayer that the meeting should quickly come to an end. But Simcha Schwartz surprised me and said, “Yes, I do.” And he went on to ask me an amazing question from this week’s Parsha:
We read something called the Tochacha today – it is a long list of curses that will befall the Jewish People if they do not obey the Torah. And Simcha, who studied his Torah portion, said, “That’s not fair! Our great-great-great-great-great-grandparents accepted the Torah at Sinai. They are responsible to keep it. But what does that have to do with me? I never accepted the Torah? How can I compelled to keep something that I never agreed to? Why would I get punished for breaking an agreement that I never made?”
It’s a good question, no? Why are we obligated to keep the Torah? Because my great-grandparents did? Because a mohel gave me a bris when I was 8 days-old and had no say in the matter?
Simcha, I want to share with you an answer, which at first may seem like a stretch, but bear with me until I am done. Deal?
Rav Yaakov Weinberg of blessed memory, one of the Roshei Yeshiva of Ner Yisroel asked this same question – you are in good company. And he shared the following answer:
You have been Simcha Schwartz since you were born. Was there ever any point when you were someone else? No, of course not. You started off as baby Simcha, and then you grew and grew. And now you’re 13-year-old Simcha.
But that’s not entirely accurate. The molecules, the particles of your skin and bone, almost none of them are the same ones you were born with. Those molecules are dying off and regenerating every moment. The heart that you were born with is not really the same heart. And the brain and the blood from your brain is not the same either. And yet, you still consider yourself the same person. When you look at a baby picture, you say, “Look, that’s me!”
The same is true for the Jewish People. Were we at Sinai? Did we accept the Torah? Yes, we did. The Jewish People did. And although the particular molecules that stood there are no longer, we are a continuation of them, we are the same, we are one. I am bound by my ancestor’s agreement the same way I am bound by decisions I made twenty years ago even though the physical matter of Sruli Motzen from twenty years ago is no longer.
Now you may be thinking to yourself, I don’t want to be part of this mega-Jewish Person thing. I want to be on my own; I want to be my own person. Well first of all, too bad. Molecules do not get a say in the matter and neither do you. But before you jump to any conclusions, I’d like to point out that this ‘being part of a Jewish nation’ goes in two directions. We are connected vertically to the very first Jews who committed to this incredible enterprise called Judaism, but we are also connected horizontally, to every Jew across the world, who will give the shirt off their back to help you.
Let me share with you two stories that will help you understand how significant this is:
If you travel through Tel Aviv right now, you will see signs from the municipality of Sderot. One of the most amazing stories that is not being told is what is happening with the significant amount of displaced people in Israel. The northern cities are empty and many in the south are still unable to return home. Where are these displaced people? They have been welcomed with open arms by their fellow Jews. For almost a year! So much so that the government of Sderot felt the need to take out huge billboards thanking the people of Tel Aviv for welcoming them with open arms.
This could only happen on such a large scale because the Jewish People see themselves as one, as a family, as one unit. Ingrained in every Jew is the notion that we are connected; acheinu kol beis Yisroel. And you, Simcha, have received this education from your parents. Your father’s career is focused on feeding Jews; what greater form of togetherness than that! And your mother has been an exemplary volunteer at our shul since the day she joined. Your family Is not living life in a vacuum; they see themselves as part of a community.
Story # 2- On Thursday, I had the honor of spending some time with Motty and Shiri Twito. Their son, Eyal, who spent some time volunteering at Ohr Chadash Academy in 2019, was tragically killed in January when he and some fellow soldiers were hit by an RPG. Motty and Shiri were in town to help fundraise for an organization that helped them with their grief. They described to me how they refused to speak to anyone after the death of their beloved son. They could not bring themselves to experiencing any joy, it was an exceptionally dark time. But then this organization, with their Shabbatons full of inspiration and meeting others in a similar situation, really changed everything.
Beautiful, right?
It gets better. Motty and Shiri are Daati-leumi, religious Zionists. The man who runs the organization they were here to promote is a Chassid. Together, they looked like an odd couple; two strapping, tanned, Jews – tiny kippah on Motti’s head, a little scarf covering a small part of Shiri’s hair. They’re sitting with a Chossid with his long coat and scraggly beard, who is looking out for them, providing them with relief and support.
And it gets even better. You know who got this Chossid started? You know who paid for the very first Shabbaton that he hosted for bereaved families after October 7th? A Satmar Chossid. Satmar is an anti-Zionist group. They object to the existence of a State of Israel. But there’s a Jew in pain – yes, this Jew’s daughter was dancing at a rave festival on Simchas Torah, yes, this Jew’s husband fought for the IDF, yes, this Jew’s father lived on a Kibbutz that was avowedly atheistic, none of that matters. They are Jews and we are connected.
***
Who here wants a good and favorable judgment this High Holiday season? We all do. So let’s take this idea one important step forward. I want to share with you something personal, but I think it is important to share in this context:
When I was in tenth grade, I decided to not speak on Yom Kippur. There is a tradition of not only abstaining from food on Yom Kippur but also abstaining from talking. It is called a Taanis Dibbur – a speech fast. It’s an incredible experience; it feels like a cleansing. We say so many silly words every day; inane conversations, filling the silence, sometimes we gossip or worse. And for 24 hours the only thing that came out of my mouth was prayer.
Then about 15 years ago, I started working for a group that did outreach – meaning, we taught classes and ran services for unaffiliated Jews. Part of my job was to attend Yom Kippur services with this group. There was no way I could maintain this Taanis Dibbur. I had to do Hataras Nedarim, which I did; I annulled the implicit vow to not speak on Yom Kippur. But I was quite disappointed. I really got a lot out of those 25 hours of silence.
I was speaking to a rabbi I was close with, and I shared this with him. I probably thought he’d be like, “Wow, I cannot believe you used to not speak for 25 hours…” But that’s not what he said. You know what he said?
“FOOL! You are a fool!”
“Not speaking for 25 hours is very nice. But when you stand before G-d on Yom Kippur as an individual who does not speak with others, you are standing as an individual who does not speak with others. G-d will judge you alone and that’s a pretty scary thought for G-d to assess your worth in a vacuum.
But this year, you are going to be connecting to your fellow Jew. You might end up talking about sports or politics, but you are connecting to a fellow Jew. And you will stand before G-d in a group of people. He will see you as part of a whole. When He sees you in a group, He judges the group together. And when you dedicate yourself to that group, G-d sees how valuable you are to His children, and that generates a radically different and far more compassionate judgment. You are lucky to be going into the High Holidays with a group of people that you will support and you will connect to.”
The best way to get a favorable judgment this year is to not go inward but to go outward. If you are hosting meals this Yom Tov season, there are so many people who would appreciate an invitation. More effective than the most heartfelt prayers is G-d seeing us share our blessings with others. 3-day-Yom Tov is a scary thing, especially for people living on their own. If you are not hosting meals, pray for others. If you are able to, give more tzedakah to help the many people in our community who are in need. Share their burden. Show G-d that you are part of the whole, that you are not an individual, you are part of the Jewish People. There is no such thing as a lone Jew; the quicker we embrace that, the more we live that, the better off we will be.
Yes, we are held accountable by the commitments of the Jews who came before us. But we are also held tight but the Jews who live around us. The sooner we embrace the reality that we are all connected, the better off we will all be.
by Ner Tamid | Aug 11, 2024 | Sermons
Like many of you, I got a call on Thursday from Baltimore City, begging me to stay indoors due to Tropical Storm Debby. My children’s outdoor camp activities were cancelled due to the possibility of dangerous winds and fallen trees. There was a run on toilet paper at the local supermarket. And a whole bunch of you forgot to turn your notifications off, so we would all get to hear that high-pitched screeching sound letting us know that there was a Tornado watch.
I’m actually kind of happy we had this experience. It gave us a tiny, microscopic, window into what our brothers and sisters in Israel have experienced this past week as they wait to see how Iran and their proxies will act.
But ‘tiny’ and ‘microscopic’ does not do justice to the shared experience. In Israel, they are not worried about a tree falling and taking out the power; they are worried about hundreds of missiles falling from the sky causing devastation.
They are not worried about the thunder that might wake the children who will then come and snuggle in their parents’ warm bed; they are worried about the air raid sirens and how quickly they can get their children to the safe room.
They are not worried about winds; they are worried about all-out war.
And whereas you and I could track Debby as she makes her way up the coast, all of Israel is waiting with bated breath for what Hezbollah and Iran will do without any warning at all.
That was uncomfortable, wasn’t it? That was only five seconds.
There is nothing more unsettling than waiting for the unknown.
To me, one of the most disturbing elements of the past ten months has been the disconnect between us in America and our brothers and sisters in Israel. They are sending their boys off to the front line and we’re sending our boys off to sleepaway camp. They are reliving the destruction of the Temple and the fall of Jerusalem, and we’re watching cute and inspiring videos about their heroes while we go about our day. They are counting bodies, and we’re counting homeruns.
And yes, I know we care, but the gap – the gap between us and them is vast. It’s like we’re two nations, with two entirely different realities.
I’d like to share with you a biographical sketch of a man who lived during a time when we were also two nations experiencing radically different realities; as always, we have a lot to learn from our past.
About 2500 years ago, there lived a man by the name Yeshaya, Isaiah. Yeshaya was born to the aristocracy, a close relative of the king. He was powerful, intelligent, and a brilliant orator – and he was a prophet. He began his prophetic career during one of the high points of the Judean monarchy. At that time, the Jewish People were split into two kingdoms, North and South, Israel and Judah. King Achaz, the Judean King had a mighty army, they had expanded their border all the way down to Eilat. The Temple was flourishing, people were knowledgeable in Torah, all seemed good.
But Yeshaya was a prophet. A prophet’s greatest skillset is to see what no one else sees. Or perhaps more accurately, to see what everyone else is ignoring and to say what no one wants to hear. At this particular time, he did not even need a prophetic vision, he turned to his fellow Jews of the Southern Kingdom and asked them to just look over the border. “Do you not see how the Northern kingdom is falling apart? Do you not see how Assyria is getting stronger each day, and will someday very soon wipe out your brothers and sisters on the other side of the border?”
“Fine,” they said, “we’ll say some Tehillim.”
“And look, Yeshaya, we get it. Bad things may happen, but they’ll survive. We’ll survive. Hakol yihyeh b’seder. Ten chiyuch, hakol l’tovah.” “You think Israel is going to collapse? We’ve never been so powerful! Look at our army! Look at our intelligence!” and the people went on with their lives. Little did they know that there is no guarantee that Israel will not be overtaken by foreign entities. There was no guarantee then, nor is there a guarantee now. They would find out the hard way.
In the meantime, Yeshaya tried again. He pointed to the disparities in society between the haves and the have-nots. He reminded them of the many members of society who are being ignored and not taken care of. And I could just hear the people of Juda responding to him, “Yeshaya, Yeshaya, you’re getting political. You’re a prophet. Stay in your lane.”
He tried one more time – “You guys are doing so many Mitzvos, you’re learning so much Torah. It’s beautiful. But do you ever think about G-d? Do you think He just wants your mechanical actions?! He wants your heart! Do you think He wants offerings? Do you think He wants you to just mumble the words of your prayers?! He wants your emotions! He wants a genuine relationship with you!” But this too fell on deaf ears.
The Book of Isaiah is one of the most popular books in the Jewish canon. But at the time, Isaiah was one of the least popular people in Israel. No one likes to be made uncomfortable. He was blocked by some. Reported on by others. His posts got one or two likes, usually it was that angry face emoji. There was no shortage of eloquent people who were reassuring the Jews of Judea that all would be well. Who would you listen to? Mr. Doomsday or Mr. Inspiration?
Yehsaya did have a short stint of popularity. During one of the darkest times, after the Ten Tribes had been taken away, after Sancheriv the Assyrian general had besieged Jerusalem, Yeshaya returns to the scene. This time he shares a message of hope, reassuring them, letting them know that it may look bleak, but it will all be good. And he was right; Sancheriv ran off and Jerusalem was saved. He shared during those dark days famous visions of lions and lambs, and broken swords.
You see, prophets were contrarians. Their job was to remind us to always feel a little bit uncomfortable. To never feel like we’ve made to the top of the mountain of success. To second-guess our most precious and dear beliefs. When they were too comfortable, he made them uncomfortable, and when they were scared, he reassured them.
I wonder what Yeshaya would tell us today.
I imagine he would turn to the mothers in Israel, preparing their “go-bags” and training their children to run to the maamad, and he would tell them “Don’t worry. V’ashiva shoftayich k’varishona, I will bring justice back to this holy city.” He would tell the sleepless spouses that their husbands will come home; that war will one day be a thing of the past. He would walk through the army barracks giving hugs to the teenagers who are trying to hold it together and remind them how beloved they are to Hashem. The people of Israel need chizuk, they need strength, and that’s what the prophet would give them.
But then he would turn to us, as we plan our summers ahead, as we flip through inspirational video after inspirational video, and he would thunder: “Do you really think you’re doing enough?! How can you sleep when your cousins are in Gaza? How can you eat comfortably when their mothers and fathers haven’t eaten in ten months?”
“I hear you talking about how scared you are in this country, but then you treat American politicians like heroes, and then you go and build houses that scream ‘I am not going anywhere’? Are you really in exile or is this your home?!”
“And yes, your mitzvah observance and Torah learning has never been greater. But G-d does not want actions. Rachman liba ba’i. Hashem wants you. To show up honestly, authentically. No games. No gimmicks. An open and honest and growth-filled relationship.”
“You may not be able to help the fallen and broken in Israel, but is there a shortage of fallen and broken around you? Open your eyes!”
We don’t have prophets nowadays. But we do. Not only because the words we read this morning from Yeshaya so clearly reverberate in our times. But even more deeply, the Talmud says that prophecy lives on through children. Inside each and every one of us there is a child, a voice of idealism, of unbridled self-criticism, and of unself-conscious yearnings. We’ve all heard that voice before. Sometimes we listen to it. More often, like they did to the prophets of old, we ignore it.
This Shabbos is the only Shabbos dedicated to words of prophecy – Shabbos Chazon, the week we listen to Yeshaya of old, but also to the internal Yeshaya, the child inside. After three weeks of mourning, after three weeks of reminding ourselves that things are not where they need to be, the hope is that we are little less guarded, a little more vulnerable, a little more open to hear that inner prophetic voice. And for each us, that voice is saying something else. Each of us are comfortable in our own way. And each of us need to listen to that voice to figure out what we really need to do. Can you hear it? What’s that voice saying? To you.
***
For a while it seemed like the tide had turned, the people embraced Yeshaya and his messages. His daughter married the king of Israel, Chizkiyahu, and Yeshaya was now an official member of the royal family.
But it could not be maintained. Chizkiyahu died. His son Menashe took over. And Yeshaya’s criticisms started grating on too many people and getting in their way of their lives. Our sages teach us that after attempting to sideline Yeshaya was unsuccessful, he was executed by Menashe, his very own grandson.
As I said, those times are not so different than now. Do we listen to the words of the inner prophet and allow him to guide us to personal and collective redemption, or do we kill him with apathy and comfort?
by Ner Tamid | Aug 5, 2024 | Sermons
I sat down this morning and tried to write a eulogy for our teacher, our mentor, our rabbi, and our friend, Rabbi Chaim Landau. While I struggled to find the words to properly encapsulate the impact this one man had on so many, I realized where I was – the chair I was sitting in, the desk I was working on, the walls I was surrounded by – Rabbi Landau’s old office, and I noticed it was filled with ghosts.
I saw the hundreds, maybe thousands, of Bar and Bat Mitzvah boys and girls nervously shifting in their seats as Rabbi Landau spoke to them about their big day ahead. I saw the countless beaming couples discussing the details of their upcoming wedding. I also saw those same couples as they came back to that office time and time again for advice and guidance as they navigated their married life. I saw the maybe hundreds of people who yearned to join the Jewish faith, who Rabbi Landau guided with kindness and compassion. I saw the countless people who sat in those chairs as they poured their heart out to Rabbi Landau, as they went through losses and setbacks. And I watched Rabbi Landau comfort, lift up, and guide all those people.
I left my office and walked the halls of our school wing, and I saw the ghosts of Yeshivat Rambam and Shlongers Yeshiva, two very different institutions, and yet, both welcomed with open arms by the rabbi of Greenspring Valley Synagogue. Hundreds of students connecting to their heritage thanks to the endorsement and encouragement of Rabbi Landau.
I saw the ghosts of the young children, students of the Montessori school that started as one classroom and grew and grew – a brainchild of Rabbi Landau and part of his brilliant vision. I saw Rabbi Landau stopping to say hello to each child of 3,4, or 5 years old. I saw him playing his keyboard in the classrooms and singing as the boys and girls smiled and clapped along.
I went upstairs to the social hall where I saw the ghosts of the people attending the creative gatherings Rabbi Landau would put together, the Omer Lecture Series, Yom Yerushalayim celebrations, and more. I watched as an exceptionally diverse group of community members learned and grew from these unique events.
And then I went to the sanctuary. I heard Rabbi Landau’s loud, booming, British accent bounce off the walls. And I saw the ghosts of thousands of congregants sitting spellbound listening to his passionate and humorous sermons. I watched the strings of their heart stir, the gears in their head turn, as they made resolutions – to be better spouses, better parents, to be better Jews, to be stauncher Zionists, to be good and decent people.
And it occurs to me as I look around this very full room, I was not looking at ghosts.
Those couples who came to Rabbi Landau for counseling, they went back home, they put his advice to practice, their children watched their parents, and now have beautiful families of their own.
The teensy Bar and Bat Mitzvah students felt heard by a man with a beard, a rabbi! And felt a connection to Judaism they were inspired to explore.
The hundreds of men and women who became members of our faith and now have children and grandchildren who are Jewish too.
The schools that started here had and have thousands of students who went on to live lives infused with Torah and Zionism.
The impact Rabbi Chaim Landau made is not the past; it is the present and the future. It is sitting in these pews, and it is all over the world. It is the immeasurable impact that is coursing through the minds, hearts, and souls, of the tens of thousands of people Rabbi Landau touched in his life.
The impact I must add goes far beyond those who walked through these walls. It is an impact still felt in Charleston, West Virginia, where he started his rabbinate, with a creative bang and flourish. It is an impact still felt by the many students he taught in so many of the local schools. It is an impact felt in the dining rooms of the homes he visited. It is an impact still felt by the patients and staff of the University of Maryland Medical Center where his beautiful piano playing filled the entire hospital giving hope and life to those inside.
There are no ghosts. While Moreinu HaRav Chaim’s soul may have returned to his Creator, he left so much chaim, so much life down here on earth. Chaim shel bracha; A life well-lived, a life that has impacted the trajectory of tens of thousands, a life that is still reverberating ever so loudly in this room, in this hallway, and all over the world.
So how did it happen? How did a Brit, a man born in a small seaside village of England, a country known for its cold weather and cold demeanor become such a lover, a hugger – not just a hugger, but a bear-hugger? A man who never seemed to not smile? A man who seemed to always have a skip in his walk, as if he was listening to the classical music he loved? Who was always doing “lovely!” How did it happen?
I learned yesterday that coffee may have had something to do with it.
But there is more.
Our Sages instruct us to become students of Aaron the High Priest. Hevei mitalmidav shel Aharon. Not a student of Moshe, not a student of Rabbi Akiva. There is only one Jewish figure whom we are asked to emulate, and that is Aharon. In what way? Ehov et habriyot, love people. That was not only the leadership quality, it was the life quality that Rabbi Landau exemplified, it was the key to his success.
It was his love for people that caused him to fall in love with the rabbinate as he watched his father spend his days caring for all who needed him, including inmates at the local prisons.
It was his love for people that allowed him to say “Great game! Better luck next time!” after destroying his opponents in racquetball.
It was his love for people that endeared him to complete strangers, fellow dogwalkers on the street, custodians of the hospitals he would visit. He would greet everyone with the cheeriest hello and smile.
As I read through the outpouring of comments on social media about Rabbi Landau, the words, “mentchlich, smile, kindness, non-judgmental” appeared over and over again. In the words of our Sages, Rabbi Landau was a true student of Aharon HaKohein.
I must mention that this love was not a love of softness; it was a love that was mixed with particular strength. Rabbi Landau had the courage to take a stand on matters that were not always popular in a community in which he would often be in the minority, but that did not stop him.
Rabbi Landau had the strength to take a stand on opinions in these walls that were not always so popular, but that did not stop him either.
Probably the last big decision that he encouraged and saw through at Ner Tamid was the removal of this microphone. It was far from popular, Rabbi Landau had to go head-to-head with some of the most powerful people in the shul, but he prevailed. I think it is fair to say that thanks to his courage, strength, and vision, the shul is where it is today.
If I may speak on behalf of the congregation. I would like to thank the Landau family, Sivan, Talia, Dov, Yaella, for sharing your father with us. Yes, there were some perks – his office was filled with candy your mother did not allow at home, some of you may have thought you owned this place. But I am told it’s not easy to have a father who is a rabbi… we thank you and are deeply indebted to you for sharing him.
Most specifically, I want to thank Rebbetzin Mindy Landau. Not only for sharing your husband with us, but for being such an incredible role model of being a dignified person and of standing by your husband through thick and thin. It has been humbling watching you. Rabbi Landau spent two years trying to persuade you to marry him. It was probably the best investment of time and best decision he could have made.
If I could speak personally. When I first joined the shul, I received a lot of questions that all concluded with the words, “like Rabbi Landau.” For example, “Why don’t you have trivia questions like Rabbi Landau? Why don’t you give out chocolate bars like Rabbi Landau? Why don’t you speak at this point of the services like Rabbi Landau?”
And I was scared, not only of the congregants, but of Rabbi Landau. In the rabbi world, it is an open secret that having a rabbi emeritus is a disaster waiting to happen. As the incoming rabbi, you have your own vision but you cannot undo anything that was done in the past for fear of insulting your predecessor. The previous rabbi understandably is constantly judging his successor and it often comes through.
But that is everyone else’s experience. My experience was exactly the opposite. Rabbi Landau encouraged me at every turn to do things my way. When I’d ask him what the shul’s minhag was, he would tell me to do whatever I think is best, repeatedly. He was gracious beyond description. It was almost as if he had no ego, no sense of personal pride. His selflessness was superhuman. He would never sit in the front; he would beg me to stop acknowledging him from the pulpit. He would thank me profusely if I ever asked him to speak – as if I was doing him a favor. Thank you, Rabbi Landau. I hope and pray that I can live up to your example.
It is customary to ask forgiveness from a parent at their funeral. Rabbi Landau was a father to us all. And so, on behalf of the congregation, I ask you forgiveness for not always appreciating what we had and for allowing your sweetness to lower our guard and not always treating you with the reverence you deserved.
I do not think it is coincidence that today is Rosh Chodesh Av, the yahrtzeit of Aharon Hakohein. The world has lost a true student of Aharon; a man bursting with genuine love for every human being. At Ner Tamid I know we will forever say, Hevei mitalmidav she HaRav Chaim Landau, Zecher Tzadik livracha. Be a student of Rabbi Landau! He dedicated his life to us and we in turn will dedicate our lives to him, perpetuating his legacy of love – for all people, for Torah, for Israel, a life of joy and of strong conviction. While G-d has taken back this precious neshama, there is still life, there is still Chaim living on in the hearts and souls of the hundreds and thousands of us that he touched. We are forever his students.
T’hei nishmaso tzrura bitzror hachaim. May his precious soul be bound up in the Eternal Bond of Life.
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.
