Tonight, throngs of Jews, from Bangor to Boca, Brooklyn to Berkeley, will engage in the search for chametz. We’ll put out 10 pieces of bread in our homes, some immaculately cleaned in anticipation of Pesach, while others still lag behind (This year, we are blessed to be among the former!). We are commanded to remove the chametz from our houses and we recite a passage after completion of this task declaring any other forms of chametz in our midst, aside from items that we may have arranged to sell to a non-Jew, ownerless. For many families, this activity is merely symbolic, taking very little time at all to complete. We know that any unaccounted chametz being found in our quarantined home is highly unlikely. There are those, however, who are engrossed in bedikas chametz for over an hour, scouring every possible landing spot for crumbs. No matter how long your search takes, we place ten pieces of bread around rooms where we would most likely encounter this nefarious 8-day foe, collect them all, and dispose of them the following morning. This is the best case scenario, as there have been accounts of those searching for the afikoman on Seder night discovering, to some horror and humor, pieces of bread from bedikas chametz which had been left behind. Nevertheless, despite the great care that must be taken to ensure that all chametz placed is found, the ritual stands, and the hunt is on.

Many sages have connected the commandment to eliminate the chametz from our houses with a charge of removing our spiritual chametz. Although this bedika is done with far less pomp and circumstance, it’s often a harder search to conduct. To cleanse our souls of chametz is to overcome our cynicism, doubt, and negativity and channel our energy back into positively serving Hashem.

I get the email every week like clockwork. I see it in my Gmail inbox and I fight every urge to not delete it right away. It’s not the worst email I’ve ever received: I’ve been chastised, ripped apart, and even told horribly sad news by email, both much worse than the message I’m currently glancing at. This message comes from the Tomchei Shabbos organization in my area, and it says succinctly “Can I count on you this week?” Some weeks I can swing it, while others weeks I am busy during the schedule of delivering food to those who need it weekly. Yet, for some reason, it would bug me. I agreed to take a route one week for Tomchei Shabbos. After having a hard time deciphering the exact location to unload my delivery, I arrived at my destination and exited my car with two heavy boxes. I held the handles on the side of the bottom box for no longer than three seconds before it ripped, and I scrambled to regain my hold as to not send both boxes tumbling to the ground. I ring the doorbell with trepidation as I wait for someone to answer. Nothing. I ring it again 30 seconds later, and I’m met with the same response, so I leave the boxes on the doorstep. I walk back to my car with a great sense of frustration. The GPS had no idea where to take me and I got lost, the box handles rip once I finally get to where I need to be, and then nobody even answers the door to get the precious package I shlepped?! I suddenly stopped in my tracks as I reached for the handle on the driver’s side door of my car. As much as it pained me to go through that ordeal, to take time out of my day and get home later than usual, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

You know what’s even more frustrating than this? Having to be on the inside of that door waiting for that package to come every single week.  

What was I thinking? What was wrong with me? Since then, my attitude changed toward this holy endeavor, even though I cannot commit every week.

Rabbi Chaim Ezra HaCohen Fatchia, a mekubal in Israel known as the Chalban, has a poignant comment on the wicked son referenced in the Haggadah, as mentioned in his book on Pesach. The question posed by the rasha is, on the surface, not significantly egregious. “What does this labor mean to you?” Although the Hebrew “avodah” is used here regarding the work pertaining to the Korban Pesach, the Chalban writes that the hang-up expressed by the wicked son is the sheer work involved. What does this work mean to you? Why do you go through this year after year after year? When we consider the avodah to be laborious, to be painstakingly long, and nothing else, that is where we encounter a problem in our own “avodah.” But is this question so foreign to us? Do we ask of ourselves or of God what exactly is it that we’re doing and does it even make a difference? Hashem, what does this work that I’m doing even mean to You?!  The behavior of the rasha can seep into our way of life, and permeate the very underpinnings of our spiritual aspirations. It’s our duty to erase this type of chametz just as we do with the leavened products in our home in anticipation of Pesach. It’s my hope that this type of chametz does not make its way back into our homes and into our souls after Pesach as the chametz we sell does.

My first post on this medium was in commemoration of Yom HaShoah last year. After uncovering information about family members being killed in the Holocaust, I didn’t quite know how to process that information. My great-grandparents had come to America before the outbreak of World War II, and three of my four grandparents were born in this country. It’s not that it didn’t occur to me that it could have happened, but I don’t know why I was so shocked at this discovery. I needed an outlet for my feelings, and so I began this blog.

The encounter of facing this information was the impetus behind me taking a course in my schedule of graduate classes titled Teaching the Holocaust, which was taught by one of the foremost experts in the subject (and Holocaust studies in general). Although it was only a 4 day intensive course, I gained more from those 4 meaningful days than in any other class I’ve taken in my life. The professor, Dr. Shawn, oversees an interdisciplinary journal for Holocaust educators, that is put out annually by Azrieli. I submitted this post for print in the forthcoming volume, and, after many edits and additions, it was accepted!

When editing this piece for publication, my emotions ran high once more. I again pored over my great-grandfather’s autobiographical work that was penned along with my great-Aunt Audrey. I was again struck with a sense of awe, turning each new page faster than the last. It caused me to comb through the internet database of Yad Vashem in an effort to trace any family members of mine listed there that I may have missed. If I’m not too sheepish, I may even try and reach out to family members that I discovered through this personal initiative.

Nevertheless, below you will find both pieces, the original and the newly published. Enjoy!

Click here to see the published piece.

Click here to see the original blog post.

There exist in our lives days that we will never forget. Happy occasions, somber ones. We’ll remember our feelings. The sights and smells around us. It’s as if the world is standing still. For me, and 130+ of my friends and colleagues, yesterday was one of those days. It was the day in which we were recognized for our years of study and completion of rabbinical school. Granted, some have long been finished while others are scrambling to complete a myriad of bechinos in a timely fashion. Yes, the ceremony itself could’ve been more succinct and to the point. It is also true that the seats in YU’s Lamport Auditorium could not be more uncomfortable. Yet, it was one of the most exhilarating and exciting days of my entire life.

 The moment from the Chag HaSemicha that sticks out the most to me was the special award presentation made to Rabbi Hershel Schachter. This year marks Rav Schachter’s 50th year teaching Torah at Yeshiva University, an unbelievable accomplishment. But what made it truly special was the Sefer Torah that was commissioned in his honor and presented to him during the ceremony. One son carried the Torah down the aisle, flanked on both sides by a brother, until they reached the stage. They ascended, along with many of Rav Schachter’s granchildren, sons-in-law, and mechutanim, and the Eitan Katz led the entire room in song. Rav Schachter is a walking Sefer Torah, and it’s only fitting that he be presented with a Torah scroll, one that will be housed mere feet from his seat in the Glueck Beis Medrash.

 

I cannot truthfully refer to Rav Schachter as my own “rebbe” as I was never regularly in his Talmud shiur nor seeked his counsel on various life issues. Yet, more poignant to me than the shiurim of his I’ve attended or halachic questions I’ve posed to him is the fact that the while he may not have been my “rebbe”, he served this role to most of my rebbeim. Had Rav Schachter never become a staple of Yeshiva University, his thousands of talmidim would’ve no doubt learned Torah from another master, yet I’m convinced the very landscape of Mordern Orthodox Jewry would be vastly different.

After the Chag and following a lovely reception with my family, Estee and I raced over to a different kind of celebration. My shul’s dinner (my apologies for lack of pictures, as our phones had died and the pictures haven’t been posted just yet) was a celebratory event recapping the successful, wonderful tenure of our senior rabbi, Rabbi Shmuel Goldin, and his wife Barbara, and the indelible mark they have stamped on the Englewood Jewish community (and beyond). The significance and symbolism of these two events occurring just hours apart is not lost on me. The new musmachim sat and heard about the power of what we can accomplish in our field. Later on, I was privy to see just how one such figure went about doing that. Although Rabbi Goldin will have only been my rav for a short period of time before he makes aliyah, I’m reaping the reward for his 33 years of ingenuity, making our synagogue into the very community that it is today. Much like Rav Schachter, Rav Goldin’s reach is incredibly broad, extending far beyond the daled amos he is currently situated.

Some of my colleagues who were celebrated yesterday are well on their way to impacting their communities and the broader Jewish community at large, while others may be situated in a more nascent state. The potential exists for all of us. Yesterday, I watched to particular rabbis, among others, be recognized for their years of maximizing their potential in their given fields. It is my wish that we, the new musmachim, are able to merely approach to the standard they set for rabbinic excellence.

Mazel tov!

Click here to see more pictures from the 5777 Chag HaSemicha.

 

 

The Gemara (Shabbos 88a) relates that when Bnai Yisrael accepted the Torah from Hashem in the desert, they were doing so with a sense of coercion. They needed to accept it, lest they be destroyed. After the miracle of Purim, however, the Jewish people renewed their commitment to the Torah given by God, yet this time, they did it on their own accord. It lacked the force that was present when Bnai Yisrael accepted the Torah in the midbar, and the aftermath of the Purim story served as the catalyst for their reaffirmation of the Torah.

Rabbi Dovid Cohen, Rosh Yeshiva of Knesses Yisrael or the Chevron Yeshiva (which relocated from Chevron to Yerushalayim after the Arab riots of 1929), writes of the unique nature of the Jews of Shushan being mekabel the Torah once more as a result of the plot that unfolded. He mentions that the Arizal, among others, notes a connection between Purim and Yom Kippur. The Vilna Gaon holds that the source for connecting these two holidays, is the aforementioned passage in Maseches Shabbos. One strong memory etched in my mind from my time in Yeshiva was when our Rosh Yeshiva would stop the Purim chagigah, and lead the assembled masses in Kabbalas Ol Malchus Shamayim, just as we do to signify the end of Neilah on Yom Kippur. On the surface, one might think the interconnection of these two holidays is absurd. Yom Kippur is the most solemn day on the Jewish calendar, while Purim is usually referred to as the exact opposite. The mannerisms exhibited are strikingly different. You can feel it in the air. Nevertheless, the connection is exists. Yom Kippur is when Moshe Rabbeinu descended from Mt. Sinai with the second set of Luchos in hand, the time when the Israelites accepted the Torah. Sources elsewhere comment that this momentous occasion, accepting the Torah on Yom Kippur, should be met by a festive seudah. Yet, as it also serves as our day of atonement. As such, there is no deluxe feast then, but we partake of this celebratory meal on Purim.

Rav Cohen continues that something is missing here. The connection is apparent because on Yom Kippur, Moshe came to teach the people the word of God and Purim ushered in the dawning of “kimu v’kiblu.” But what about Shavuos? Shavuos is the day that Bnai Yisrael accepted the Torah! It’s referred to as “zman matan Toraseinu”, the very day that the Torah was given to the Jews in the midbar! We don’t stay up all night learning Torah on Purim (maybe you do…I’m looking at you, Litvaks!). Why is there no link between Purim and Shavuos?

In trying to answer this conundrum, we must take a step back. The Medrash Tanchuma (Parshas Noach) is curious as to why the Jews needed to be coerced into accepting the Torah in the first place. The Torah states that the Israelites seemingly declared “naaseh venishmah” in unison when first being offered the Torah. If this is the case, why were they pressured into acquiring it? Answers the Medrash that when they agreed to accept the Torah, it was only in reference the Torah Shebichsav, the Written Torah. The Written Law was something that, at the time, Bnai Yisrael could fulfill with relative ease. However, the Oral Torah was much more complex to master and keep with alacrity. They simply weren’t ready to take on this monumental commitment on their own, which is why they were compulsed to accept it. This all occurred on Shavuos. But when the dust settled in Shushan HaBirah, when Haman was vanquished and Mordechai and Esther successfully saved the Jewish people from the cusp of extinction, it was then that Klal Yisrael fully recommitted themselves to the Oral Torah. Generations had passed, and the Oral Law was still incumbent upon the Jews, yet Purim heralded the time when Torah Shebe’alpeh was willingly reaccepted with gusto.

There are times in our lives when we are burdened by the way we live our lives. Living an observant Jewish life is not easy (Have you seen day school tuition prices?!). Yet, it is a life that is full of significant meaning. One must work to uncover the meaning behind everything. Do not merely take life’s details as trivial. Even though the yoke has been thrust upon us, we can work to willingly reaffirm our connection to the Almighty, His Torah, and His commandments. It doesn’t need to happen after an averted catastrophe, or even all at once. Little by little we can imbue our lives with a profound sense of purpose guided by the Torah.

Just as the Jews of Shushan experienced orah, simcha, sasson, vikar – ken tihiye lanu!

 

Shabbos Zachor holds a special place in my heart (especially when it falls out of Parshas Tetzaveh). No, I do not harbor a particularly strong internal love for remembering to destroy the memory of Amalek, but because my Bar Mitzvah was on Shabbos Zachor. The Halachic aspects of Amalek are interesting, to say the least. Rambam writes (in Hilchos Malachim and Sefer HaMitzvos) that we are commanded to erase the memory of Amalek from the face of the earth. Yet, the pasuk in the Torah from which this special parsha derives its name (Devarim 25 begins “Zachor es asher asa lecha Amalek.” Literally: “Remember what Amalek did to you!” The dichotomy between remembering what they did and blotting out all memory of this nation is peculiar. The Sifri comments that this message is twofold, based on the verse in Devarim. The first message, “Zachor”, pertains to remembering verbally, to speak about the horrible nature in which Amalek cruelly attacked Bnai Yisrael as they left Egypt, tired and weary. The second message comes from the last two words of the Maftir “Lo Tishkach” that we are commanded to not forget. This, according to the Sifri, means that we are to harbor this hatred for this nefarious nation in our hearts. Our disdain for Amalek is to continue to fester internally until they are no longer. While we don’t practice this commandment with gusto today, even the mere notion that we are to behave in such a manner proves how just how serious this commandment is. The Jewish people are not a vengeful, bloodthirsty nation.  We are commanded against hating someone in our heart. We are told to be like the pupils of Aharon HaKohen, to love peace and to pursue it. Just a few mitzvot later in Rambam’s Sefer HaMitzvos discusses the commandment to try and reach a peace agreement before going to war! Yet, when it comes to Amalek, their deeds were too beyond the pale to simply ignore. It’s a puzzling mitzvah, but one we were commanded to do.  

We see what happens when we do not take this decree to heart to the utmost, in the Haftorah for Shabbos Zachor. Chapter 15 of Shmuel Alef tells the story of Shaul HaMelech being commanded by Hashem to destroy Amalek. His mission was extensive and clear (15:3) “…You shall not have pity on him (Amalek): and you shall slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and donkey.” Although generally Bnai Yisrael are a merciful group, in the battle against Amalek, there were to be no survivors. Through the efforts of Shaul and the Keinim, this Divine battle took place. Amalek had been decimated, yet they had not been completely destroyed as per the word of Hashem. Furthermore, the reason that this did not occur was not due to military shortcomings or inabilities. The text continues (15:9) “And Saul and the people had pity on Agag, and on the best of the sheep and the cattle, and the fatlings, and on the fattened sheep, and on all that was good; and they did not want to destroy them; but everything which was vile and feeble, that they utterly destroyed.” Shaul told Shmuel HaNavi excitedly that he fulfilled the word of God and vanquished their dreaded foe. Shmuel, after hearing from Hashem that He regretted appointing Shaul as king for not listening to Him, confusedly asked him why it was that he heard the sound of sheep. Shaul responded that he kept the finest animals alive in order to use as korbanos for Hashem. The back and forth continues, as Shmuel asked Shaul why he didn’t listen to Hashem’s word, and Shaul retorted that he did listen and killed them all, save the choicest of the animals and King Agag, ruler of Amalek. Shmuel drives his message home and asks Shaul: Do you think that the Lord takes more delight in sacrifices that He does in those who listen to His voice? Shaul finally realized that he had sinned, despite his best efforts and wishes. Agag and the animals thus met their demise as well. But before they did, Agag escaped from where he had been held captive and impregnated a woman. She conceived, and their ultimate descendant was none other than Haman himself.

Had Shaul killed Agag as he was commanded to do, the Purim story would never have happened. One could argue that had those events not happened, the Jewish people would’ve never been able to rededicate themselves to the Torah, an event that was exhibited with more passion and fervor after Purim than it was at Mt. Sinai. Nevertheless, if we apply Shmuel’s words to Shaul in this case, it’s evident that the more vital deed was to listen to the word of God in the first place. If we are given a mitzvah that seems, on the surface, to be so incongruent to the ways in which we are to live our lives, one is liable to do away with it entirely. Conversely, I believe that that’s precisely the reason we’re commanded so strongly about following this mitzvah. Although today we are not roaming the streets seeking to bludgeon the descendants of Amalek, Zachor, velo tishkach. We must remember what happened, and never forget about it.

 

 

 

Taanis Esther is the fast day commemorated by the Jewish people in honor of Queen Esther standing up in an effort to save the Jewish people from the brink of destruction. After hearing of the impending order of Haman to eradicate the Jewish people from the 127 nations in the kingdom of Achashverosh, the Jews were thrust into mourning. Mordechai beseeches Esther to intervene, telling her, through her maidens and chamberlains, to speak to the King, and plead with him to annul this dastardly decree before it comes to fruition. Esther demurred. She explains that while this information is terrifying, one who seeks counsel with the king without an appointment need not wait until this decree was enacted: they are put to death.  Upon hearing this, Mordechai conveys to Esther the sheer gravity of her position. The Megillah states (4:13-14) “And Mordechai ordered to reply to Esther, ‘Do not imagine to yourself that you will escape in the king’s house from among all the Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for the Jews from elsewhere, and you and your father’s household will perish; and who knows whether at a time like this you will attain the kingdom?’” Mordechai does not mince words here. “If you do nothing, my dear Esther, don’t think you’ll be spared.” After all, can you imagine if Esther’s entire ascent to the throne was orchestrated by the Almighty specifically for this purpose? To rise up, and stand up, for her people, to a king who most likely did not contemplate the magnitude of what his advisor Haman had requested of him. With this mussar shmooze now in her mind, Esther gives Mordechai instructions (4:16): “Go, assemble all the Jews who are present in Shushan and fast on my behalf, and neither eat nor drink for three days, day and night; also I and my maidens will fast in a like manner; then I will go to the king contrary to the law, and if I perish, I perish.”

There is an interplay of events surrounding the above episode mentioned in Esther Rabbah that fascinates me. Esther Rabbah (8:7) explains that the three days that Esther commands Mordechai and the Jews of Shushan to fast are the 13th, 14th, and 15th of Nissan. Interestingly, the fast was to coincide with the first day of Passover. The Midrash continues, and after seeing Esther be initially hesitant, Mordechai now exhibits a sense of reservation about the fast. He communicates to her servants that one of these very fast days occurs on the first day of Pesach, a time when fasting is prohibited. Esther responds back to him, with the same charifus (sharpness) that he originally unleashed at her: “She said to him: ‘Sage of Israel! What is the point of having Pesach if there are no Jews in the world to celebrate it?!’” Mordechai’s actions here seem a bit peculiar. This was a shaas hadchak, a scenario of extraordinary circumstances. Esther was about to put her life on the line by approaching Achashverosh without first being summoned, and now Mordechai was the hesitant one? It seems as if his message had gone to Esther’s heart, but not to his own! Yet, after Esther relates to Mordechai some mussar of her own in relating just how serious this matter was, he ultimately heeds her word, as the Megillah says (4:17) “So Mordechai passed and did according to all that Esther had commanded him.”

There are times in our lives, just like in the lives of our biblical characters, when we must break out of our comfort zones in order to stand up for something that is right. It’s much harder to convince yourself to do something like this when you’re being attacked or outnumbered. There are times when the right thing to do is crystal clear, while at other times the correct line to tow is completely foreign to you. We see this our heroes in the Megillah. On this Taanis Esther, may we merit to have the courage to do something. Who knows? That may be the entire reason you were put in that situation at all.

The 7th day of Adar is recorded as being the anniversary of  the birth and death of Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest leader the Jewish people to date. There exists an interesting debate in Jewish law and thought about the very nature of this day. Is it one of great joy or great sorrow? It was the day that Moshe Rabbeinu, the redeemer of Israel (through the Almighty) was brought forth into the world. Conversely, it was the very day that he perished, leaving Bnai Yisrael bereft of their great and humble leader. Many Jews around the world fast, and hold this day as a day of gratitude to the Chevra Kadisha, the local Jewish burial society.

Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov in his Sefer HaToda’ah records that on the 7th of Adar, one should study the various passages, in the Torah and in Medrashim, that speak about the death of Moshe Rabbeinu. In the very last chapter of Devarim, the Torah records (34:10): “There will never arise another prophet in Israel as Moshe, whom the Lord knew face to face.” Rabbi Moshe Teitelbaum, known as the Yismach Moshe, points out the practical significance of this verse. Although Moses is not typically referenced as a prophet, Yismach Moshe cites that there will never arise one like him in Klal Yisrael who was always primed for nevuah, that was constantly ready to receive the word of God. He continues that while that later figures would have to prepare themselves, mentally and spiritually, to speak with God, this was not the case with Moshe. He was always prepared.

In the two preceding verses (Devarim 34:8-9), we see what transpires in the aftermath of Moshe’s demise.  

“And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moav for thirty days, and the days of weeping over the mourning for Moses came to an end. And Joshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom, because Moses had laid his hands upon him. And the children of Israel obeyed him, and they did as the Lord had commanded Moses.”

At the end of the days of mourning for Moshe Rabbeinu, Bnai Yisrael looked to Yehoshua, their new leader. They obeyed him because he had been trained by Moshe. Rabbi Klonimus Kalman Epstein, in his Ma’or VaShemesh writes on these verses that anyone who appoints and prepares a successor for their endeavors, it’s as if they never truly left their post. Because Moshe had prepared Yehoshua so thoroughly to be at the helm of the Jewish people, it was as if Moshe never left their midst. They stopped their crying, and listened to their new leader.

This message takes on additional meaning for me, as 7th of Adar also happens to be the yahrzteit of two of my great-grandfathers, Samuel Radman and Jack Balk.

 

Samuel Radman, Yehoshua ben Pinchas, lived a tough life. He met and married the love of his life, my great-grandmother, Rose, and promised her the world. She was his everything, and I cannot imagine how his life must’ve felt in the decade that he outlived her. He was a Russian soldier who saw action in wars, an experience that stayed with him for the rest of his life. The Radman family decided that Europe was not the place for them, yet they couldn’t simply get on a boat and leave. They walked traveled on foot, often times with bands of gypsies, across much of Russia before they were able to flee and arrive on American shores. He was a simple man, who owned a grocery store and an ice cream parlor, and was often seen sporting a coat and hat, despite sweltering St. Louis summers.

My great-grandfather, Jack Balk, Yaakov ben Yitzchak Mordechai, was born on Christmas day 1902. The youngest of the three children in his family, it’s said that he was given the name Yaakov because that name was in the first few words of the parsha that week. He, too emigrated to the United States, but as traditional channels had been all but blocked, he entered the country via San Francisco. He settled in St. Louis, the home of many Balk relatives, and worked as a butcher. Eventually, he rose to become the manager of a large grocery store in downtown St. Louis, that had a large meat processing plant. He was known to be very thorough, only willing to stock the shelves with the finest quality meat. It earned him the moniker “Send ’em back, Jack”, a nickname that he used in commercials for the establishment.

Not only was my Grandpa Jack alive when I was born, but I remember him vividly. There’s a picture that hung on my bar mitzvah collage in the hallway of my (now old) house of Grandpa Jack holding me as a newborn, with a smile on his face as wide as the Mississippi River. I recall the trips we’d take to his apartment on our vacations in St. Louis. On one of those trips, my mother had the foresight to bring along my siddur and mini-tallis from my first grade classroom. I stood in Grandpa Jack’s living room and proceeded through my entire davening regimen, which as a 7 year old wasn’t even that long. The smile, the same as the one from the picture a few years before, was the exact same.

Transitions may not always be this seamless, but the message here applies contemporarily as well. Samuel Radman and Jack Balk, men buried only yards away from each other, are no longer with us. Nevertheless, the legacies that they prepared their descendants for, whether they knew it or not, keeps the memories of these two men alive today.

Parshas Terumah begins by discussing the first capital campaign in the history of the Jewish people. There were no phone calls, flyers or emails. As hard as it may seem to fathom, they didn’t even a giant poster board with a large empty thermometer on it, whose contents would continually be filled in with a red sharpie depicting the rising funds collected. Nada. Moshe was told by Hashem to speak to Bnai Yisrael and have them give an amount “from any person whose heart inspires them to give generously.” Rabbi Soloveitchik explains that Targum Yonason maintains that, as it sounds, this offering was not to have been given by means of force or coercion. The Machatzit HaShekel offering, which is written about later on, was to be given was mandatory, while this donation, for the construction of the Mishkan, was participatory. The blueprints were given from On High and the nedivei lev, the ones whose hearts inspired them to give, were to give. Not to argue with the board about final renderings, or flummox the finance committee with ways to cut costs. Rav Soloveitchik continues that the very items given by the nedivei lev were themselves sacred. He writes that as slaves in Egypt, Bnai Yisrael were not compensated for their time and labor, and no rights to property. They would walk among the Egyptians who were clad in fine garments, while they, the lowly slaves, donned tattered rags. Yet, the tables had turned. The Israelites were now free, and they left Mitzrayim with gold, silver, and other riches. The Rav continues that after years of not being compensated or even appreciated, Bnai Yisrael finally had items of value. Yet, when the clarion call came from the Kisei HaKavod to give, that’s exactly what the Jewish people did. Some gave more, some gave less, but give they did. Rabbi Soloveitchik goes a step further that the sanctity of the Mishkan exuded not only from it being the sanctuary for Hashem, but the fact that Bnai Yisrael gave these precious items eagerly with great zeal. The gold, silver, and copper that they took as their reward for generations of backbreaking labor from the evil Egyptian regime, they so willingly donated to honor the Almighty.

Nedivei lev make their mark on the Jewish people. We can encounter them directly and/or indirectly. Today, the 4th of Adar, is the yahtzeit of one such individual: my great-grandfather, Yisrael ben Shraga Feivish or Israel “Harry” Chanen. Grandpa Harry, as he was known, is someone who I never had the fortune of meeting, but I am one of his grandchildren that proudly carry his name (Akiva Yisrael). Although he passed away over a decade before I was born, I know a tremendous amount about him, not only from the accounts of family members, but from his own words. There exists in the houses of the Chanen children, grandchildren, and even some of the great-grandchildren, a work, most likely contained in a red folder with fasteners, titled “The Dagda-Quincy Life Express.” This tale, told to my great-aunt Audrey, depicts the life of my great-grandfather, from a modest beginning in his beloved Dagda, Latvia, to his eventual journey across Europe and finally to the United States. The sixty-four page book is harrowing and eye-opening. I can feel his presence as I read through his life story. He was a great man, an ardent Zionist and what sticks out most to me, even more than the incredible story of the reunification of the Chanen family, is his sincere love of Yiddishkeit. Evidence of this is peppered throughout the book. He reflects on memories of davening in the Lubavitcher shul in Dagda, singing zemiros, weddings that brought the whole town together. From his own words: “I remember at the age of six, they took me to the cheder. I was wrapped in a tallis. When we got there I was sat in a chair, and all at once some candy started dropping from above. I was told ‘if you study well, all good things will come to you.’” He loved my Grandma Jean, and his whole family as well. He bought her the biggest Buick they made. It was so big, he had to extend the garage just so it could house the vehicle. Fate in America was good to Harry Chanen, as his scrap business flourished. He was a big fish in the small pond of Quincy, IL. As a nediv lev, His efforts were able to be felt even more there. Yet, no matter what would’ve been in his bank book, that classification would still have proven true.

He implores his descendants to be strong members of the Jewish people. Toward the end of the book, he writes: “I dreamt that I had died and I, the spirit only, was hovering over the houses of my families, taking pride in their activities. I tried to talk to them, but I could not get through and I woke up.” I’d like to think that he looks down upon us, perched next to Grandma Jean, and does just that. He taught my grandparents what it meant to be a nediv lev, and in turn, they passed that knowledge to their children, who have transmitted it to the next generation. My Grandpa Harry was a man short in stature, yet I’m not sure my size 15 feet could come close to filling his shoes.

Yehi Zichro Baruch.

 

 

Burned into my memory is Rosh Chodesh Adar II 5768. As we celebrated the new month in yeshiva, my mother frantically tried to reach me on my cell phone, like countless other mothers, fathers, and relatives who had loved ones in Jerusalem on that night. After what, to her, seemed like an eternity, I cheerfully answered the phone and the voice from the other end of the world was one of panic and worry. It was she, thousands of miles away, who informed me of the heinous attack that occurred about 2.5 miles from where I stood on the porch of Yeshivat Netiv Aryeh overlooking the Kotel. What a way to begin the month of Adar, just a few weeks before Purim.

Mishenichnas Adar Marbin B’Simcha. When the month of Adar comes, we are to increase our simcha. The mantra of the month is to be happier than usual. As Jews, we are charged to do our utmost to live with a sense of happiness every day, not only in Adar. Yet, I’ve struggled with this notion of simcha being increased in Adar. Our monthly motto alone – Mishenichnas Adar Marbin B’Simcha – does not automatically afford us a life sans tragedy and sadness, in Adar.

The text reads “marbim b’simcha” not only “b’simcha” that we must increase what is already there. In fact, we know that living without simcha is detrimental. In the litany of curses in the tochacha, one klalah is meted out because we did not serve Hashem with happiness. Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh explains that a life without simcha is a significant deficiency. He compares this delusion that one can get by without happiness to someone who lives in a furnished house, yet doesn’t have any hangers for their clothes. Although it’s inconvenient, technically, one can get around this issue by leaving their clothes on chairs and tables rather than leaving them on the floor (there are plenty of people who do have hangers in their homes yet leave the clothes strewn about on tables and chairs nonetheless!). However, this logic is completely false. Lacking simcha would be congruent to lacking a dwelling place altogether! Simcha is the tachlis, the entire essence of an eved Hashem. There are many times throughout the year when we are to have simcha, yet Adar and Purim is the only time when simcha is the etzem of the entire time.

As Jews, we are charged to do our utmost to live with a sense of happiness every day, especially in Adar. Although there are external factors, things in our lives that can “shter” our happiness, somehow we must persevere. Yet, I’ve struggled with this notion of simcha being increased in Adar. Our monthly motto alone – Mishenichnas Adar Marbin B’Simcha – does not automatically afford us a life sans tragedy and sadness, in Adar. Regular occurrences that evoke sadness aren’t barred from happening during Adar. More recent than the Mercaz HaRav massacre, Jews worldwide will not soon forget the Fogel family, who were attacked on Friday night on the 6th of Adar 5771. Ehud and Rut Fogel and three of their six children were mercilessly slaughtered as they slept. Their daughter who discovered the carnage happened to have not been home at the time of the attack. The two other Fogel children in the home were spared only due to the ruthless terrorists not knowing they were in fact inside the home at that time. The terrorists admitted that had they been privy to that information, those two children would’ve met the same fate.

Those two examples are significant extremes. But how is one to compose themselves b’simcha when they lose their job or a loved one? How do we augment our joy in a month where we may receive bad tidings?

In the letters and writings of the Nesivos Shalom, his wrote in a Purim drasha that on that particular Purim,  he was stuck in a hospital room battling an illness. Nevertheless, he wrote, if for some reason the Almighty saw fit that he needed to be holed up in Hadassah on this holiday, that he would be mekabel this yuntif b’simcha. The Rambam writes (Hilchos Yesodei HaTorah) that a navi was able to receive a Divine prophecy if they were b’simcha. Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh asks a troubling question: If the above assertion of the Rambam is correct, how could it be that Yirmiyahu had nevuah while he wrote Megillas Eichah? In order to have written Eichah, Yirmiyahu had to have received prophecy, and somehow he was able to do so with joy as the Beis HaMikdash was being destroyed around him. Yet, according to the Rambam, it would seem that Yirmiyahu would have to had some microscopic amount of happiness (NOT over the destruction of the Temple, but possibly about something else).

An exercise that helps some people get through Adar with more simcha, even if only a miniscule amount more per day, is to take stock of what’s going on around them and write down something that they’re thankful for. Through our prayers and supplication to the Almighty we may try and sway a Divine decree, just as we do in Elul and Tishrei. We may not always receive the desired results of what we hope for, yet we can always alter the way we respond to these bumps in the road, and find kernels of happiness in all that we do.

 

 

 

 

 

We find in Parshas Yisro a veiled charge to the Jewish people to be leaders. It is a missive that can be found or alluded to in other parts of the Torah, one that seems to be the entire backbone of Parshat Kedoshim. God tells Moshe to tell Bnai Yisrael that now that they’ve seen His wonders and how He brought them to this place where they were now standing, that if the Jewish people were to obey His laws, that they’d be God’s treasured nation. The next verse states that the Jews are to be a “mamleches Kohanim v’goy kadosh”, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. When we follow the laws that God set out for us, it states that we are holy, moreso than just being created in His image. This command is not simply a nice idea to try and cling to, but a decree. God is holy, and He demands we be holy as well. Being tasked with this sense of kedusha naturally makes us into leaders.

Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asserts this notion of being tapped with kedushah. He writes of being with Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz in August 2000 at the General Assembly at the United Nations along with two thousand other religious leaders of major faiths from across the globe. Rabbi Sacks pointed out to Rabbi Steinsaltz that even among such distinguished company, they were different as they were almost the only two religious leaders donned in suits. He writes “it is almost a universal phenomenon that priests and holy people wear distinctive garments to indicate that they are set apart (the core meaning of the word kadosh, “holy”). In post-biblical Judaism there were no robes of office because everyone was expected to be holy.” This final line hammers the point home. Holiness is our charge to leadership. It’s not one that we can shirk. Being holy causes us, at times, to live lives against the grain of society. It’s not always easy to take time from our busy schedules to daven three times a day. It doesn’t always seem prudent to give of our time and money if we want to be as successful as we can. Being a leader does not always breed holiness, but being holy can breed the traits of a strong leader. 

The 17th of Shvat this year is when we read Parshas Yisro, and it marks the yahrtzeit of my mother’s beloved brother, my uncle Joel Radman z”l. Our parsha teaches us that as a leader, we are to act as holy individuals ingrained with a mantra of kedushah. Uncle Joel established the Chevra Kadisha in Columbia, MO, where he and my Aunt Sheri raised their sons. As a first-born himself, and the father of a first-born boy, he also ensured that there would be a siyum for taanis bechorim before Pesach. If anyone has heard of Mexico, MO outside of the state, it’s most likely because Cleveland Cavaliers coach Tyronn Lue hails from there. Uncle Joel cleaned up the Jewish cemetery there. Additionally, he was also a leader in other areas as well. Joel Radman was a titan in Columbia’s real estate industry, who saw incredible success in his endeavors. After his passing, the Columbia Board of Realtors created the Joel Radman Award. The award application mentions that “Joel made a major contribution to the real estate industry in mid-Missouri and was particularly generous with his time and advice to the new REALTOR® members. It was his integrity, honesty, and caring attitude toward all people that made Joel unique.” These traits that are listed make it even more fitting when examined in the context of his Hebrew name, Moshe Yossel, two of the most dynamic leaders in Jewish history. Yossel (Yosef) pulled himself up by his bootstraps, and with the help of the Almighty, became the second most powerful governmental officer in the hierarchy of Egyptian leadership. Similarly, in regard to being the leader of Bnai Yisrael, Moshe Rabbeinu is recounted in the waning verses of the Torah as, (lehavdil elef havadalos) to quote Bret Hart, “the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.”

Uncle Joel was taken from this world too soon, leaving behind a loving family and a sterling reputation. As Jews, when we collectively mourn the loss of seminal figures in our history or grieve for ancient catastrophic events, there is a contemporary struggle to truly feel the sense of loss for something that occurred so long ago. To me, what hurts almost more than the aforementioned struggle is the feeling of never having the chance to truly appreciate something or someone before they are gone. Sometimes, the onus is on us if we neglect to cherish individuals and things we hold dear, while other times there is not much we can do to alter the course of reality. I was still a toddler when my Uncle Joel passed away, as my family was moving to Cleveland from Chicago. My mother and aunt would tell me stories about him, and there are even pictures of him holding me as a baby. I have proof that there was interaction between the two of us. Unfortunately for me, although those memories are less than three decades old, they might as well be from centuries ago. May we merit to continue to lead in ways that make you and the entire heavenly Radman cheering section proud. Yehi Zichro Baruch.