From Real Jerusalem Streets. Mazel tov, Alter & Shaina!

This Dvar Torah is written in honor of the marriage of my brother-in-law and new sister-in-law, Alter & Shaina Gross. Mazel tov!

Parshas Pinchas, like many of the summer parshios that I lained at camp, maintains a special place in my heart (It’s a parsha that I helped a younger camper learn how to read, and got to watch him lain in front of both of our units). The parsha is action packed, and contains the readings Rosh Chodesh and a lot of the Yamim Tovim (!כָּאֵלֶּה). Yet, the story of Pinchas actually begins at the end of Parshas Balak. Bnai Yisrael are have gone astray, committing themselves to sexual immorality and worshipping other beings. One man, Pinchas, witnessed what was happening, and in an act of zealotry, slew a Jewish man and a Midianite woman who were together. Only once Parshas Balak ends and Parshas Pinchas begins do we hear Hashem inform Moshe Rabbeinu that Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aharon HaKohen has caused His anger to cease. This act ultimately gave Pinchas and his descendants a covenant of peace and of priesthood. Both at the end of Balak and here at the start of our parsha, Pinchas is introduced with his full family lineage, Pinchas ben Elazar ben Aharon HaKohen. This is unlike many other figures mentioned in the Torah. Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that the way that Pinchas behaved was a manifestation of the very lineage he was a part of. He took to heart the self-sacrifice of his ancestors in summoning up the courage to be among the righteous, seemingly against the current of the masses at that time. This thrust him into the category of a leader, and is why his progeny received the bris Shalom.

Rabbi Soloveitchik also notes that Pinchas’ actions may seem incongruous to those of his grandfather, Aharon HaKohen. Hillel in Pirkei Avos (1:12) teaches us that we are to be like the students of Aharon, both a lover and a pursuer of peace. Pinchas’ zealotry doesn’t seem on the surface to be in line with Aharon’s teachings. Yet, notes the Rav, to erase this notion, Pinchas’ lineage is mentioned to show explicitly that his actions were just. To be a lover and pursuer of peace does not mean to stand idly by while the Divine missive is being trampled in order to “make nice.” Pinchas’ actions do not preclude him from still being an ohev Shalom v’rodeph Shalom. The message here is that while God and his commandments were being flagrantly thrown by the wayside, the courage of Pinchas saved the Jewish people at this juncture, and his actions were precisely in line with those of his grandfather and forebears.

Rabbi Aharon Ziegler has recently published a seventh volume in the series of his monumental work, The Halakhic Positions of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik. Among the various sections of this wonderful book is an entry called The Teaching Parent. The passage speaks about Hashem changing Avraham’s name from Avram, and then he and Sarah being blessed with Yitzchak (I assume this passage can be said about Sarah as well, although it’s not listed here). The Rav asks what the need was to change Avraham’s name in order for Yitzchak to be born. He explains that before the change in moniker, it was assumed that fatherhood and motherhood were natural states. We know that there are inherent biological instincts that are common to humans, and even animals. However, when the letter “hei” was added, explains Rav Soloveitchik, the entire concept of parenthood as it was known was completely altered. This new parent was to be a teaching parent, one who transmits a message to their children.

The passage continues:

The Torah considers a child as a gift bestowed upon parents by God. Man has no right to demand children, for no one is entitled a priori to receive this gift. When a child is born into a family, he does not yet belong to the family. Parents must “re-acquire” the child.

This was the purpose of the Akeidah. Avraham had to prove himself worthy of the gift. Similarly, all parents must demonstrate that they are deserving of their children. God does not demand of us to replicate the Akeidah, but to educate the baby, teaching the child to love and do chesed, and ultimately, to pass on the message of the Torah community to the next generation. The child will then realize the wisdom of “Listen, my son, to the discipline of your father and do not turn from the Torah of you’re mother (Mishlei 1:8).

That is the charge of the responsibility of every Jewish parent. To fulfill the Mitzvah of “Be fruitful and multiply” – “Pru U’Revu,” one must be more than a biological parent. One must be a teaching parent as well.

The message of The Rav is that to truly fulfill the commandment of Pru U’Revu, it requires more than just siring or birthing a child. One must ensure that their offspring have a love and appreciation for what we as a people hold dear.

I felt unsure about whether to write anything publicly about Father’s Day. After my mother’s passing, social media on Mother’s Day can be absolute nightmare, and I don’t mean to rub salt in any still-healing wounds of friends of mine who have lost their own fathers. On the other hand, one is commanded to be makir tov to those who do tremendous things for you.

My sister and I have been truly fortunate to be raised by parents who did their very best to ensure that we would always be on the above-mentioned path. They have forged a derech which at times seems untraversable. I simply couldn’t not publicize my thanks and appreciation for all that he’s done for us. My father a humble, unassuming man, who is most likely cringing if he’s reading this. He has a sterling reputation and has worked hard at everything he’s done in his life. When I once tried to explain what my father does for a living, before I truly comprehended what exactly it was that he did all day, one of my rebbeim remarked “So basically your father is involved in mitzvos all day! That’s amazing!” Totally nailed it. He’s the smartest person I know, serving as my guide in matters pertaining to Judaism, accounting, insurance, and anything else I may have uncertainty about. He takes pride in anything that my sister and I did. He was sure to take time out of his busy work schedule and various synagogue or school board meetings to come and hear Dena and I read Torah or watch me operate the scoreboard at Mizrachi basketball games.

In the last few years, I have been blessed by gaining an extra father, so to speak. My father-in-law is an individual known in his community for promoting and fostering limud haTorah. His zest for yiddishkeit is palpable, and for pointing me to the greatest potato kugel spots, I will be forever grateful.

We are truly blessed to have you in our lives, men who took the mandate of Rav Soloveitchik to heart, and became, with their spouses, “teaching parents.” Thank you for showing us the way, in addition to all that you do for us!

One of my most beloved teachers from my time in Israel would implore to his students about the importance of learning Torah on Shabbos. How could we squander the holiest day of the week by sleeping through it? I’m grateful for Shabbos not only because of the time that it gives me to recharge and focus on my loved ones, it also is the day of my week when I am able to learn the most. It’s often frustrating, while studying the parsha over the course of the day, that I find unbelievably inspiring morsels pertaining to the Torah portion that we already read over Shabbos, not giving me any time to share these ideas before we’re reading the next parsha at Mincha. This relegates me to try and write down where I saw these ideas after Shabbos and hopefully remember to use them in my Divrei Torah for the next year. Here, throwing caution to the wind, I will share thoughts that I saw on Parshas Shelach which I found to be very meaningful, regardless of whether or not we’ve moved on from the sedrah.

At the end of the parsha, we read about the mitzvah of tzitzis, something we remind ourselves about a few times over the course of our day.  Rav Shimshon Dovid Pincus writes how although in Pirkei Avos we are told not to measure the importance of the mitzvos we’ve been commanded to keep, as we do not know which are more important, it is clear that the mitzvah of tzitzis is dear. The mitzvah of tzitzis reminds us of every mitzvah in the Torah. The numerical value of the word tzitzis is 600, and with the 5 knots and 8 strings, that is equivalent to 613, the number of commandments we as a people have been given. Additionally, in regard to this mitzvah, there is an extra note about adding a string of techeles in our tzitzis. The Gemara in Menachos tells us this blue thread is important because the blue will remind us of the (vastness of the) sea, which will remind us of the (vastness of the) sky, which will remind us of the Heavenly Throne and the vastness of the Almighty.  Yet, the next two words of the pasuk are just as important as the mitzvah tzitzis being there to remind us of the rest of the commandments. V’Asisem Osam – Not only will we remember the mitzvos, but we must do them! Once we are mindful perform these mitzvos, it’s written “velo sasuru acharei levavchem v’eineichem” that we are not to be lead astray by our own wants or things we see.

Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk explains that to merely “do” the mitzvos is not enough. Noam Elimelech says that even though we follow this pattern of seeing the putting techeles on our tzitzis, seeing them, and remembering the sky, ocean, and Kisei HaKavod, and then doing the mitzvos, what happens after that? We do them again! One may think that after following the commandments of Hashem, they are exempt from doing all of them, or any of them again, yet they are sorely mistaken. Just as the ocean and sky are “ein sof”, they have no end, so too does our responsibility to God.

While this adage of the Noam Elimelech makes sense at face value, it’s often hard to find meaning in mitzvos we do over and over again. When I was younger and I would play any video game, my ultimate goal would be to “beat” the game itself. Once I accomplished that feat, the game was no longer interesting to me. Similarly, when I finish a book, more often than not, I will not pick it up again to being reading it cover to cover as I did before. Same with a movie. Not only is it important in finding meaning in everything that we do, the Noam Elimelech continues and implores us that it’s our responsibility to keep ourselves inspired and excited to perform mitzvos. That’s specifically why it says “velo sasuro” that we shall stray, immediately following “v’asisem osam” that we will observe the mitzvos, meaning that even if we feel as if we’re in a rut and do not want to do these mitzvos, we must be mechadesh and find new meaning and significance to what we do.

If one is in the middle of the ocean with water surrounding you for miles, you can feel just how all-encompassing the water truly is. If one stares up at the sky and looks as far as they can in any direction, the sky will keep going even farther than their gaze will grant them. Just like the yam and the rakia are “ein sof,” the Almighty, His Torah and mitzvos are great in their vastness. There is no end to them. As such, explains Rav Elimelech, we must continue to elevate ourselves higher and higher in shemiras hamitzvos. We don’t have to do it alone! There are countless resources, in print and online, that can help us in this endeavor. There are rabbis, teachers, and mentors for each of us. May we all be able to find meaning in every mitzvah.

Rabbi Yechiel Spero, in one of his many books, mentions that the word “mispar” in mispar shemos (the counting of the various members of Bnai Yisrael at the beginning of Sefer Bamidbar, and other places in the Torah) literally means numbers. However, from the same shoresh comes the word sapir, a sapphire, something that is shining. Each person has the ability and responsibility to shine. One of the best ways for us to do that is through another one of Hashem’s most treasured items: His Torah.

Over the last few years, there has been a delegation from the Archdiocese of New York that comes to visit Yeshiva University. They’re shown the various batei midrash, bustling with young men learning together. One time, a member of this cohort approached one student as he was returning his sefarim to their place before he went to lunch and asked him what his career aspirations were. The student responded to them that he wanted to be a doctor, to which the member of the group responded with a puzzled look. One of the cardinals said to him, you’ve just been poring over volumes of Talmud and Jewish law for three hours, as you apparently do every morning. Wouldn’t this time be better spent researching various scientific topics or reading medical journals? The student looked back at them and said, that’s what I want to do with my life, but this – This is my life. This is who I am. It’s ingrained in every fiber of my being.

The responsibility of the Jewish people to learn Torah is not just for those who choose to sit in beis medrash all day. The call of the Torah is one that can and should be answered by each and every one of us. The numbers are not important. It doesn’t matter whether or not you learn an sefer or a daf of gemara or a pasuk per day. The process, the effort -that is what’s important.

We are mere hours away from Shavuos. What better way to celebrate the momentous occasion of receiving the Torah than by learning the Torah itself. Rabbi Shaul Alter, head of the Sfas Emes Yeshiva in Yerushalaim and son of the previous Gerrer Rebbe, notes an interesting point on the Torah reading for Shavuos. We read the Ten Commandments, arguably one of the most well-known passages in the entire Five Books of Moses. Rav Alter writes (Ibra D’Dasha, Parshas Yisro, p. 46) that some find it puzzling that the Aseres HaDibros are found in Parshas Yisro, a portion named after the father-in-law of Moses, the most widely known convert to the path of Hashem at the time. Rabbi Alter explains that this is no coincidence. The mere placement of these psukim in this parsha teaches us that just as Yisro, someone whose background at the time of Matan Torah may not have been as strong as other members of the Jewish people, was able to accept the Torah, so too all of us are able to do the same. The Torah is a vast entity, and when one weighs in their mind how many subsequent works have been written on the subject matter, delving into it can be a formidable task. This is precisely why we have the custom to stay up and learn Torah on Shavuos night. To delve deeply. It doesn’t matter what we learn or how much we learn. The important part is being mekabel the Torah, just as klal Yisrael did so many years ago. It is who we are, the lifeblood of the Jewish people. 

May be we zoche to receive the Torah just as Bnai Yisrael did so many years ago, “k’ish echad belev echad”, as one singular people.

I’ve never considered myself to be a numbers guy. I’m very good at simple math that I can do in my head, and I thrived on my elementary school multiplication tables. When I was little, I thought I was great at counting. When you’re a toddler, it’s pretty exciting when you can count past eleven. But even now, counting isn’t always so simple. People will ask me how many people were in shul on a particular day or how many were at a wedding, and I’ll have no idea what to tell them. At least at a sporting event, at the end of the game they’ll announce the crowd on hand. This would be an interesting innovation in synagogue life. “Good Morning, Congregation _______________  worshippers! Today’s “paid” attendance is 500! Tomorrow, the first 100 mispallelim through the door will get a free piece of shmaltz herring!”

Sometimes the count itself is important. We’ve been counting the days and weeks from Pesach until now during Sefiras HaOmer. We know the significance of counting every night. (Mazel tov to those of you who made this far! Maybe you can also get a free piece of herring…). But sometimes, the final count isn’t even important. Once you get a minyan, does anyone make a point to count how many people are davening after that? There is greater importance and significance is in the action of counting rather than the final tally.

The beginning of Parshas Bamidbar contains God’s commandment to Moshe and Aharon to take a census of the tribes of Israel. The simple meaning of this count of the nation is for military purposes. Rashi goes in a bit of a different direction here and comments here that because Bnai Yisrael were so dear to Him, Hashem counted them at various points in time. He counted them when they left Egypt, at the time of the cheit haeigel, to know how many of them remained in the broader nation. When God wanted to rest the Shechina, His presence upon them, He counted them. On the first of Nissan He counted them, and on the first of Iyar, when the Mishkan was built, He counted them, too. According to Rashi, it was because the nation of Israel was so close to the heart of Hashem that He counted them so many times. If something is truly dear to you, one will often times be invested heavily in it.

When I was growing up, my most prized of possessions were my toy cars.  Hotwheels, Matchbox, Tonka, etc.: I would play with them for hours on the floor of my den. I’d line them up, divide them by specific make, model, and color, and I’d count them. They were my pride and joy. Although I grew out of that specific fad, I know grown adults who have hobbies, collections, and obsessions that seem to have taken over their entire lives and houses, at times, much to the chagrin of their spouses. Hashem’s hobby, His prized possession is Bnai Yisrael. But it begs the question: Since Bnai Yisrael holds this special place in the eyes of the Ribono Shel Olam, and Rashi explained that He counted them many times, why couldn’t He just tell Moshe the exact number of people that there were at all times? If you were to ask a serious collector about their specific collection, they would regale you with every intimate detail of how the traveled the globe, investing vast amounts of money just to get that hard to find baseball card or stamp or mug. If you ask any of these collectors how many items are in their collection, although they may not give you an exact figure, they can safely venture a hypothesis pertaining to that magic number. If something is so precious to you, you’ll know everything about it, you’ll know it’s ins and outs and have stories associated with it. If Bnai Yisrael are so special to God, shouldn’t He know how many people are there? One might answer that when one has such a vast collection, it’s hard to know your full inventory. If antique Winnebegos are your thing, you may have a better idea how many you truly possess than if you were to collect keychains or shotglasses. But we’re not talking about an amateur collector here. We’re talking about God Almighty. He’s not an amateur anything! He split the Yam Suf, He will bring people back from the dead, wrought tremendous miracles since the dawn of time and you’re telling me that He doesn’t know the exact number of souls among the Jewish people?!

Rav Soloveitchik notes that Hashem’s purpose is deeper than merely figuring out the amount of people in the nation fit for military service. Ever the Brisker, he maintained that there are “tzvei dinin,” that there are two purposes and goals of the census. The first goal is quantitative, and seeks to ascertain an accurate portrayal of how many people are in the nation, similar to a person taking stock of their assets in order to see what they have. Moshe is the leader, and as the leader, it is his job to make sure everyone is there. By Hashem merely telling Moshe the exact figure, it wouldn’t get Moshe anywhere. The second goal is qualitative, to count the people in order to get to know each individual. Moshe Rabbeinu was the Rebbe of Klal Yisrael. It’s more than a numbers game. It’s not enough for him to know the mere number of individuals in he was in charge of. He had to know each person individually, their backgrounds, and life experiences. Just as Rashi mentioned about how Hashem was so careful to count every single Jew, He charged Moshe, their leader in the wilderness, to get to know them just as intimately. Moshe knew that Hashem was in charge and that everything that he accomplished was only through the help of the Almighty, but when the nation sought counsel and when they complained, those complaints were directed to Moshe.

This idea stems from comments of the Ramban and is further expounded upon by Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, in Alei Shur and his Shiurei Chumash. The effort that Moshe Rabbeinu exerted in counting and getting to personally know the individuals that made up the entire nation hammers home the fundamental significance of the individual. The census itself was meant to be positive experience. When the count was taking place, the pasuk says “se’u es rosh kol adas bnai yisrael, to lift the heads of the Bnai Yisrael.” The way that their heads would be lifted, so to speak, was for them to come before Moshe, Aharon, and the heads of the Shvatim, the greatest leaders of the generation. These leaders would know them, and make a note of them. Rav Wolbe continues that every person provides a unique combination of strengths and circumstances that distinguish them from anyone else that came before or will come after. This individual was born to specific parents, lives in a certain era, and has certain talents given to them in order to fulfill their divine mission. If a person is not aware of their own importance, one cannot begin their journey in their service of God. But if their leader is not aware of the traits of their followers, or who is even part of their flock, it’s just as alarming. Moshe would collect their half shekel in accordance with the message from God to count the nation, and through this process he would meet and greet every person, see their particular strengths and weaknesses, and go to bat for them. He was their rebbe, and they were his talmidim.

Just as this process was meant to imbue the count with a sense of deeper meaning, may we merit to find the hidden, significant meaning in all that we do.

Our third installment contains wisdom from the first Mishnah of the third Perek of Avos.

עֲקַבְיָא בֶן מַהֲלַלְאֵל אוֹמֵר, הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים וְאִי אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה. דַּע מֵאַיִן בָּאתָ, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן. מֵאַיִן בָּאתָ, מִטִּפָּה סְרוּחָה, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, לִמְקוֹם עָפָר רִמָּה וְתוֹלֵעָה. וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן, לִפְנֵי  מֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּאAkavia ben Mahalalel says: Keep your eye on three things, and you will not come to sin: Know from where you came, and to where you are going, and before Whom you are destined to give an account and a reckoning. From where did you come? From a putrid drop. And to where are you going? To a place of dust, worms, and maggots. And before Whom are you destined to give an account and a reckoning? Before the King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

Akavia ben Mahalalel continues the trend of incorporating three nuggets of wisdom into his teaching. He also does a wonderful job of explaining his ideas. Each of these three points will keep one grounded, in addition to keeping them away from sin. They keep one humble in their pursuits.

Everyone starts off identically. True, some are born into better scenarios than others, our true beginning, as alluded to in the Mishnah, is the same. Additionally, no matter what we make of our lives while we live them, our ultimate demise is inevitable. We take nothing with us when we make our exit. And once we depart, we’ll have an appointment that is significantly important. We will have to answer for the mistakes, shortcomings, and blurred judgement in our lives. Will we be ready for this detailed account?

On June 24th, 2006, I set out on the journey of a lifetime with hundreds of teenagers from different Ramah camps from around North America. It was my second time in Israel, and I was even more excited to be in our homeland this time than the last. As I sat on the airplane, I read through some of the plane letters my friends had written me and also taken in a movie or two. By the time we touched down at Ben Gurion Airport, something had happened that would shape far more than our summer experience: the capture of Gilad Shalit. While I didn’t realize it at the time, this was only the beginning of what was to be a summer to remember, one far more intense than typical sightseeing. While I don’t remember every detail of that summer, what I do recall is vivid.

A few weeks after we arrived, the country was at war. Nevertheless, the trip went on, even as other summer programs had cut their trips short or cancelled altogether. Every day was imbued with a greater sense of purpose. As the days went by, more and more soldiers were called up for miluim. Slowly, our Israeli program staff was waning. One of our bus counselors, Ilana, saw her husband be called. He was also staffing our program. At that time, they had only been married for a few months. Yet, we never looked back. Even when our hike from the Kinneret to the Mediterranean had been changed to random Jerusalem Hills hiking or when we had to use longer routes to get to our destinations due to safety considerations, our hopes were not dashed.

I don’t want to paint an only rosy picture because at the end of the day, war was being waged and lives were lost. The Philadelphia Ramah contingent, along with everyone else on the trip, was hit hard by the death of Michael Levin, a native son of their Jewish community. We came together, we cried together.

Tisha B’Av that year was the most poignant and meaningful one I’ve experienced. It didn’t take much to find the feelings of sadness and mourning.

Emergency synagogue and rabbinic delegations from abroad came to Israel and some of them met with Ramah Seminar. Some told us they were proud that we were there and that we didn’t head back home. I kept thinking to myself that we weren’t going back home because we were home. As long as the program felt they could keep us safe, how could we leave?

I used to be confused as to how feel on Yom HaZikaron. To my knowledge, I do not personally know a soldier who has been killed in the line of duty. As a Jew living in the diaspora, it’s often hard to connect with places that you do not live in. However, that summer in Israel changed my perception on Israel’s memorial day forever. Being there, watching the events unfold in front of me provided me with the proper base for understanding what exactly we are to mark, what exactly is missing. It’s a sentiment that I’ve tried to apply to the American Memorial Day as well, even though the two days seem so very different. This experience taught me that it didn’t matter who I knew or didn’t know when it came to mourning Israel’s fallen heroes. When we say “Acheinu kol beis Yisrael” it doesn’t refer to the Jewish people as a ragtag bunch of people with a shared, common goal. We are acheinu, brothers. We grieve for our brothers. And sisters. Sons and daughters. We grieve for those who fell in battle, whose blood was spilled so that we can live freely in the Jewish homeland. We grieve because there have been too many casualties. Too many families ripped apart. Too many lives snuffed out without a chance to blossom even further.

As I sat on the plane home from my trip, I began to cry. My two seat mates, colleagues of mine on Seminar, began to weep as well. We didn’t really know each other all to well, but that didn’t make a difference. It was a highly emotional summer, and I’m glad I wasn’t anywhere else.

This Shabbos we will continue our learning into the second perek of Pirkei Avos. The Mishnah I would like to explore is the second to last one in the chapter, Mishnah 20 (in some editions Mishnah 15).

רבי טרפון אומר היום קצר והמלאכה מרובה, והפועלים עצלים, והשכר הרבה, ובעל הבית דוחק

Rabbi Tarfon would say: The day is short, the work is much, the workers are lazy, the reward is great, and the Master is insistent.

There is a great amount of wisdom to unpack from this short statement of Rabbi Tarfon.

The day is short – The day here refers to our lives (Rabbi Ovadia MiBartenura). The Chida points out that the text states that the day is short, not that the amount of time is short. This is an important inyan. It should be well engrained into our minds that our time on this earth is finite. If the Mishnah stated that we have a short amount of time to complete our Divine mission in this world, it may cross our mind that we can postpone this “work” to a later date. The following Mishnah tells us succinctly “Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, velo atah ben chorin lehibatel mimenah”, that while it’s not our job to complete every iota of work on the Heavenly to-do list, this does not yield us creative license to desist from anything at all.

Yet, the work is much. Torah is vast, and there is no shortage of mitzvos for us to complete. Our task in the world should be so dear to us that we should feel as if we only have a day to complete it.

The workers are lazy. It’s not entirely our fault. Sometimes, when we’re engaged in learning, it gets tough and we become disenfranchised. An acquaintance told me of how they began the new Daf Yomi cycle with gusto, and coasted through Maseches Brachos. Maseches Shabbos saw them constantly behind 10-15 dapim. By Eruvin, they were done. We say to ourselves “I’m not a talmid chacham. Why am I doing this? I can’t do this.” Even when we think we’re overcoming this laziness, we are not always immune to it seeping into our holy work.

Additionally, we’re human beings who have human needs and desires. Rabbeinu Yonah writes that when Moshe Rabbeinu was on Har Sinai, he didn’t sleep for the entire 40 days while he was with Hashem. When you are privy to such an audience, how can you think of your own needs? We need to sleep, to eat, to drink. Our needs don’t just dissipate if we do not give into them. In additon, the world trains us to work toward these deadlines. When one is under the gun, they can either steadily work toward their goal or cram everything in until the final stroke of the clock. Klal Yisrael have a far off deadline. Why put off until 120 what we continue doing today? The word of God takes no vacations.

The reward is great. We know of the immense treasures of Olam Haba as a direct response to our action in Olam Hazeh. It’s hard for us to fathom the true reality of this reward. Olam Haba is packed with more amazing amenities than the fanciest Pesach program, but we don’t get a list of what’s there. The reward is indeed great, but it’s not always easy to connect to something so great that we have no information about.

Finally, the Master is insisting. Our Master has high expectations of us. He has a lot invested in us. He gives us life and sustains the entire world. We are His treasured nation, a nation of tzaddikim as it says in Yeshayahu and quoted in the hakdamah to Pirkei Avos. Every morning as we wake, the first thing we do, before wiping the sleep from our eyes or checking our phones, is recite Modeh Ani. The prayer ends rabah emunasecha, great is your Emunah. YOUR emunah? In what? WE believe in God – what does God believe in?

All of us.

Every morning he returns our souls to us so we can continue the plans that He set out for us. There’s a lot going on in our lives, but among the cacophony and clutter, we cannot lose sight of the ultimate goal. We were brought into the world in order to engage in Torah and mitzvos, to serve the Creator with diligence. We cannot drop the ball. After all, the Master is waiting.

On the eve of Yom HaShoah this year, I had the opportunity to preside over the minyan at a shiva house in my community. Our discussion turned to the departed, a woman that emigrated to Israel in her youth, and helped work to transform a village of tents into what would be one of the most prominent cities in the state of Israel. The group assembled at the shiva house marveled at such a feat, how someone in their youth would be able to do something as incredible as building up the land of Israel. We spoke of her courage, and how the youth of today can’t imagine doing something akin to this. The conversation then shifted to inyana d’yoma, Yom HaShoah. One of the women at the house remarked how she just finished a memoir of a child survivor, who at the age of 7, had been instructed by their parents to run. We fixated on that point for a little while. What were each of us doing at the age of 7? How do the 7 year old children we know now – children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins – spend their days? The idea to need to muster up such incredible courage and unthinkable strength weighed heavily on us for a few minutes, only dissipating once it was time to daven Mincha shortly after.

That account is just one of the copious of other children given similar instructions. Run. One of the most widely circulated of testimonies was about Rabbi Herschel Schacter z”l (father of my teacher, Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter), the first Jewish army chaplain to enter the stern gates of Buchenwald after liberation.  In Rabbi Schacter’s obituary, the story is written:

In Buchenwald that April day, Rabbi Schacter said afterward, it seemed as though there was no one left alive. In the camp, he encountered a young American lieutenant who knew his way around.

“Are there any Jews alive here?” the rabbi asked him.

He was led to the Kleine Lager, or Little Camp, a smaller camp within the larger one. There, in filthy barracks, men lay on raw wooden planks stacked from floor to ceiling. They stared down at the rabbi, in his unfamiliar military uniform, with unmistakable fright.

“Shalom Aleichem, Yidden,” Rabbi Schacter cried in Yiddish, “ihr zint frei!” — “Peace be upon you, Jews, you are free!” He ran from barracks to barracks, repeating those words. He was joined by those Jews who could walk, until a stream of people swelled behind him.

As he passed a mound of corpses, Rabbi Schacter spied a flicker of movement. Drawing closer, he saw a small boy, Prisoner 17030, hiding in terror behind the mound.

“I was afraid of him,” the child would recall long afterward in an interview with The New York Times. “I knew all the uniforms of SS and Gestapo and Wehrmacht, and all of a sudden, a new kind of uniform. I thought, ‘A new kind of enemy.’ ”

With tears streaming down his face, Rabbi Schacter picked the boy up. “What’s your name, my child?” he asked in Yiddish.

“Lulek,” the child replied.

“How old are you?” the rabbi asked.

“What difference does it make?” Lulek, who was 7, said. “I’m older than you, anyway.”

“Why do you think you’re older?” Rabbi Schacter asked, smiling.

“Because you cry and laugh like a child,” Lulek replied. “I haven’t laughed in a long time, and I don’t even cry anymore. So which one of us is older?

Lulek is better known today as former Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau.
In the recently published Memory and Meaning of fascinating Yizkor drashos of Rabbi Norman Lamm, he wrote in more than one address of the need for the younger generation to show more of a sensitivity and understanding of those who came before. Those words were penned decades ago, yet they ring just as true today. On the other hand, how can we truly understand the plight? There will be a day when there are no more survivors or children of survivors. That once unthinkable day is looming closer and closer. What will become of the memory of the Shoah when it’s rendered as a far off event in the annals of history, like the Spanish Inquisition, the Crusades, or the destruction of the Temples?

While Lulek, his brother, and European Jewry were fighting for their lives, my grandparents and other relatives were alive and well in America. Rabbi Lau was just 7 years old when he remarked that he wasn’t even a child. He didn’t laugh anymore. His parents and other relatives had been taken away, never to be seen again. He didn’t cry. When I was 7, I was a precocious boy in a Jewish school who loved Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls, and waving to my parents from my shul’s bima when the children were invited up for “Ein K’Elokeinu.” How would I even begin to understand what it was like? I can’t. None of us can. But, if we fail to conjure up a meaningful way to continue the legacy of six million of our people being ruthlessly butchered by the Nazi death regime, our charge to “never forget” will have meant nothing.

Hashem Yinkom Damam. Yehi Zichram Baruch.

It’s customary that during the Shabbos afternoons between Pesach and Shavuos, we engage in the study of Pirkei Avos. To me, this Masechet happens to be one of the most significant  works in all of the various texts that we as a people have. Whether you enjoy learning mishnah or mussar, there’s something for everyone.  Rather than venture to try and explain every Mishnah in the entire tractate, I’m hoping to offer insight over one Mishnah per Perek over the next 6 weeks. The first Mishnah I’d like to discuss is the second Mishnah of Chapter 1.

שמעון הצדיק היה משיירי כנסת הגדולה הוא היה אומר על שלושה דברים העולם עומד, על התורה ועל העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים

Shimon the Righteous was among the last surviving members of the Great assembly. He would say: The world stands on three things: Torah, the service of God, and acts of loving-kindness.

There is plenty to unpack in this Mishnah. Just to give context, Shimon HaTzaddik served for 40 years as the Kohen Gadol after Ezra. It’s important to note that he is a given a moniker, Shimon HaTzaddik, rather than being referred to simply as Shimon, unlike many of the other commentators mentioned in Avos.

He posits that the world stands on three things: Torah, Avodah, and Gemilus Chasadim.

The Torah is the lifeblood of the Jewish people, and serves as our manual for how we conduct our lives. Its transmission to the future generations is fundamental. Service of God is also vital in the life of a Jew. Our connection to Hakadosh Baruch Hu through prayer has sustained us for generations. Acts of kindness increase the Presence of the Almighty in the world.

These three things quoted by Shimon HaTzaddik are intrinsically connected as well.

Maharal writes that these three correspond to the Avos. Gemilus Chasadim refers to Avraham Avinu, because of the acts of chesed he perpetrated, especially in the aftermath of his own bris milah. Avodah refers to Yitzchak Avinu because literally about to be offered as a korban to Hashem. He not only excelled in avodas Hashem, he WAS avodas Hashem! Yaakov Avinu embodies Torah as he’s described as an “Ish Tam Yoshev Ohalim.”

The Gra explains how each of these relate to humankind: Torah is bein adam leatzmo, Avodah is bein adam leMakom, Gemilus Chasadim is bein adam lechaveiro.

Rabbi Shalom MiBaranovich describes this Mishnah as a whole body experience. Torah is connected to the brain because it’s an intellectual pursuit. Avodah is connected to the heart because tefilah is referred to as avodah shebalev. Gemilus Chasadim is connected to the limbs of the body because the arms and legs are running and carrying out the various acts of chesed.

Finally,  Rav Avraham Schorr quotes Midrash Tanchuma (Pekudei 3) that a person is called an Olam Katan, a miniature world. Similarly, only when a person is heavily engrossed in torah, tefilah, and chesed, will they be truly standing. Only through those three things is a person even alive! 

May we always strive to foster meaning in our lives through limud haTorah, tefillah, and chesed.