Miriam's Blogathon

12:55 pm - Donations still being accepted!

Well, it's the next day and I've gotten some sleep. If you're just coming across this blog now, don't worry; donations for the Chabad Jewish Student Center at Arizona State University will still be accepted until Tuesday, July 31st at 9:00pm Pacific time.

As an added bonus, here's a link to Chabad's Daily Torah Study page!

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08:58 pm - Whew! 49, and A Single Bar of Gold

For the 49th (and final) post, a bit about the number 49 in Judaism

(Even though the Blogathon is now over, you can still donate to the Arizona State University Chabad House.)

I also want to thank all of you who have watched my blogging - tinx (whose blogathon journal is at guillainbarre), and starburstgal my Monitor! You guys have been a great support! Also, thank you to tinx for donating!

And now, the 49th post...

A Single Bar of Gold

By Lazer Gurkow


The Menorah


As a rabbi in a small community, I am often approached by congregants, who need to recite the Kaddish, for help with minyan1 recruitment. Before I agree to recruit, I always ask the congregant to rally his own friends first. Often the congregant will recruit one or two friends, leaving me to recruit the balance, which raises the question, why do I bother asking for help?

The same question could be asked of G-d during a curious episode that occurred during the building of the Tabernacle and its golden candelabra. G-d described the intricate design to Moses, but Moses did not understand. G-d explained it again, drew a picture and even offered to help build it, but all to no avail. In the end, Moses tossed the gold into the fire and the candelabra miraculously emerged.2

G-d must have known that he would eventually build it himself, so why did he ask Moses to build it?

Understanding the Design

A simpler question is what was so difficult about the design that G-d, the greatest teacher of all time, could not make Moses, the greatest student of all time, comprehend?

Moses actually understood the design very well. There were seven branches and forty- nine adornments. What he failed to comprehend was why these separate components were meant to be hammered from a single bar of gold. The idea that plurality and singularity can be wed defies human logic.3

The mystics taught that the seven branches and forty-nine adornments of the candelabra correspond to the seven weeks, or forty-nine days, between Passover, when our ancestors were redeemed from Egypt, and Shavuot, when they received the Torah at Sinai.

The Torah instructs us to count the days of this seven-week period. Seven weeks amount to forty-nine days, yet in a separate verse the Torah instructs us to count fifty days. How can we count fifty days in a forty-nine day period? The mystics tell us that the fiftieth day was counted by G-d when he gave us the Torah.4

Beyond the Human Grasp

Receiving the Torah requires forty-nine steps of preparation. Only after completing all forty-nine steps do we become worthy of receiving the fiftieth step, the Torah, that G-d bestows upon us from above.

Every law in the Torah is of such complex scholarship that it can be understood from as many as forty-nine different perspectives. It requires tremendous diligence to comprehend and internalize such depth. It requires a quest to grow every day until we reach the highest wisdom accessible to the human mind. The forty-nine-day count thus represents the quest.

There is another element in Torah that is beyond our intellectual grasp, namely, G-d, its author. The Torah's information can be grasped intellectually, but connecting with its author requires humility.

The fiftieth day, the day that only G-d can count, represents the divine aura of the Torah's authorship. This is an element we cannot count for ourselves. This is an element we will never understand. Yet, if we count for forty-nine days, if we apply ourselves to the forty-nine perspectives of Torah, G-d will bestow the fiftieth perspective from above.

When we reach the fiftieth day, we acquire an entirely new perspective. We then realize that the forty-nine perspectives are not unique to each other, in fact they all flow from a common foundation, a single kernel of divine wisdom that shines through a prism of forty-nine colors. We cannot arrive at this wisdom on our own, we receive it from G-d, who bestows it from above.

Becoming a Vessel

If the goal of Torah study is to connect to its Author and if such connection can never be achieved on our own cognizance, but must be bestowed from above, then why should we study the Torah in the first place? Let G-d bestow it from above! In other words, what do the forty-nine steps accomplish if they fail to catapult us to the fiftieth?

They turn us into recipients. You see, G-d doesn't want scholars, he wants students. He doesn't want accomplished teachers, he wants elevated souls. He doesn't want our profound comprehension, he wants our transformed characters.

G-d's purpose is that we become vessels and conduits for his holiness, and to do that we must apply ourselves. The toil, the yearning, the desperation and the earnest desire for G-d is what turns an ego into a vessel. This is accomplished during the forty-nine days.5

Elegance of Singularity

The candelabra's forty-nine adornments were beautiful and meaningful. Their graceful forms, flowing symmetry, profound meaning and metaphoric value inspired Moses to great passion. Each was significant, each contributed, each deserved its own place.

"Why must they all be hammered from a single bar of gold," his tender soul wailed. "Why blemish their distinctive beauty by the stark uniformity of a single bar?" The adornments were unique and Moses grieved for a pluralism that he felt should have been celebrated.

Pluralism and singularity are polar opposites and only G-d can wed them. Moses understood the forty-nine adornments, but the one piece of gold was the secret of the fiftieth, a secret only G-d could understand.

No explanation could make Moses understand, yet G-d tried to explain it and Moses tried to grasp it over and over again. This diligence was Moses' true hallmark and in its merit Moses became G-d's conduit for the light of the candelabra and for the light of the Torah.6

This is also why I ask my congregants to recruit their friends for the Minyan. They may not rally many friends, but I know that their efforts help them appreciate, if not identify with, the significance of prayer and of Minyan. Who knows? They may even respond with enthusiasm the next time they are themselves recruited.



FOOTNOTES
1. A minyan is a quorum of ten Jewish men, required to recite the Kaddish, a memorial prayer for the dead.
2. Midrash Tanchumah, Shemini 3; Midrash Rabbah, Bamidbar 15:4. See also Rashi and Nachmanides on Exodus 28:31 and on Numbers 8:4.
3. Tzemach Tzeddek (Sefer Halikutim, Erech Menorah, p. 861). For a slightly different interpretation see the Lubavitcher Rebbe's Likuttei Sichot, Vol. I, p. 174.
4. Likutei Torah, Bamidbar,10a.
5. See Sfat Emnet, 1871; Maharal on Torah, Exodus 28:31.
6. See Midrah Rabbah, Shemote 36:2-3 and Bamidbar 15:4-5.



By Lazer Gurkow More articles... |


Rabbi Lazer Gurkow is spiritual leader of congregation Beth Tefilah in London, Ontario. He has lectured extensively on a variety of Jewish topics, and his articles have appeared in many print and online publications. For more on Rabbi Gurkow and his wrtings, visit InnerStream.ca.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by our content partner, Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

08:28 pm - To The Point of Self-Sacrifice

The Blogathon is almost over, but donations are still being accepted!

“To the Point of Self Sacrifice”

Told by the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com


It was during Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak's younger years, when the Czarist regime still ruled the Russian Empire. A new decree against the Jewish community was in the works, aimed at forcing changes in the structure of the rabbinate and Jewish education. Rabbi Sholom DovBer (the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe) dispatched his son, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak, to the Russian capital of Petersburg to prevent the decree from being enacted. When Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak asked how long he was to stay in Petersburg, his father replied, "to the point of self-sacrifice."

Upon his arrival in Petersburg, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak learned that the decree had already reached the desk of Stalinin, the interior minister of Russia and arguably the most powerful man in the Russian Empire. The ruling Czar's intelligence (or lack thereof) made him a virtual rubber stamp for whichever minister the prevailing political climate favored; at the that particular time, His Highness was led by the nose by Interior Minister Stalinin, a heartless tyrant and rabid antisemite who was personally responsible for many of the devastating pogroms which were "arranged" for the Jews of Russia in those years.

Living in Petersburg was an elderly scholar, a former teacher and mentor of the Interior Minister. Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak succeeded in befriending this man, who was greatly impressed by the scope and depth of the young chassid's knowledge. For many an evening the two would sit and talk in the old man's study.

One day, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak told his new friend the purpose of his stay in Petersburg and pleaded with him to assist him in reaching the Interior Minister. The old scholar replied: "To speak with him would be useless. The man has a cruel and malicious heart, and I have already severed all contact with this vile creature many years ago. But there is one thing I can do for you. Because of my status as Stalinin's mentor, I have been granted a permanent entry pass into the offices of the interior ministry. I need not explain to you the consequences, for both of us, if you are found out. But I have come to respect you and what you stand for, and I have decided to help you."

When Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak presented the pass at the interior ministry, the guard on duty was stupefied: few were the cabinet-level ministers granted such a privilege, and here stands a young chassid, complete with beard, sidelocks, chassidic garb and Yiddish accent, at a time when to even reside in Petersburg was forbidden to Jews. But the pass was in order, so he waved him through.

Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak entered the building and proceeded to look for Stalinin's office. Those whom he asked for directions could only stare at the strange apparition confidently striding the corridors of the interior ministry. Soon he located the minister's office at the far end of a commanding hallway on the fourth floor of the building.

As Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak walked toward the office, the door opened and Stalinin himself walked out and closed the door behind him. The rebbe's son and the interior minister passed within a few feet of each other. Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak made straight for the office, opened the door, and walked in.

After a quick search, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak located the documents pertaining to the decree in Stalinin's desk. On the desk sat two ink stamps, bearing the words 'APPROVED' or 'REJECTED' above the minister's signature and seal. Quickly, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak stamped the proposed decree 'REJECTED' and inserted the papers into a pile of vetoed documents which sat in a tray on the desk. He then left the room, closed the door behind him, and walked out of the building.





Told by the Lubavitcher Rebbe More articles... |


Translated by Yanki Tauber in Once Upon A Chassid (Kehot 1994)

Originally published in "Week in Review"
Republished with the permission of MeaningfulLife.com. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email permissions@meaningfullife.com


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by our content partner, Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: excited

07:56 pm - Too Good To Be Good

Welcome to all who have come from the front page!

If you enjoy the articles I've posted, a donation would be very much appreciated!


Too Good To Be Good

Told by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch


At a Chassidic get-together (farbrengen) held in the early years of Chabad Chassidism, Reb Shmuel Munkes was doing the honors. The merry Chassid danced about the participants, pouring the vodka and serving the farbiesen -- the food to follow up the l'chayim's.

Among the dishes which had arrived from the kitchen of Reb Nosson the shochet was a bowl of roasted lung, a most tasty delicacy. But for some reason, Reb Shmuel was reluctant to part with this particular dish. Throughout the evening he pranced about, pouring the l'chayim's and serving the food, with the bowl of roasted lung snug and elusive under his arm, deftly side-stepping all attempts to free it from his grasp.

Soon the Chassidim grew weary of Reb Shmuel's game and demanded outright that he hand over the bowl and its mouth-watering contents. But the waiting Chassid ignored their angry demands and kept up his dodging dance. Finally, a few of the younger Chassidim decided that Reb Shmuel's prank had gone on long enough. They rose from the table, and soon the bowl and its bearer were cornered. But with a final leap and twist, Reb Shmuel dumped the roasted lung into the spittoon, and broke out in a merry k'zatzkeh dance.

The younger Chassidim sat to consider the gravity of Reb Shmuel's crime and decreed that a few well placed stripes were in order. Without batting an eye, Reb Shmuel stretched himself out on the table and received his due. He then set out in search of more farbiesen to keep the farbrengen going. But the hour was late, and the best he could come up with was a plate of pickled cabbage donated by one of the Li'ozna residents.

Upon seeing the replacement dish, the expressions on the faces of those who had already imagined the taste of roasted lung grew as sour as the kraut set before them. But soon a commotion was heard in the hallway. The town's butcher ran in, a most stricken look on his face: "Jews! Don't eat the lung!" he cried. "There has been a terrible mistake." It seems that the butcher was out of town and the butcher's wife mistakenly gave the shochet's wife a non-kosher lung to roast for the farbrengen.

Now it was the elder Chassidim who sat in judgment upon Reb Shmuel. The audacity of a Chassid to play the wonder-rabbi! By what rights had Reb Shmuel taken it upon himself to work miracles? Up onto the table with you, Reb Shmuel, decreed the court.

After receiving his due for the second time that evening, Reb Shmuel explained: "G-d forbid, I had no 'inside information' regarding the roasted lung. But when I entered into yechidut (private audoience) with the Rebbe for the first time, I resolved that no material desire would ever dictate to me. So I trained myself not to allow anything physical to overly attract me.

"When the bowl of roasted lung arrived, I found that my appetite was most powerfully roused. I also noticed that the same was true of many around the table. To be so strongly drawn by a mere piece of meat? I understood that something was not right."





Told by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch More articles... |


Translated by Yanki Tauber in Once Upon A Chassid (Kehot 1994)


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: okay

07:29 pm - It's About Time

There's still plenty of time to donate to the Arizona State University Chabad House.

It's About Time

By Lorne Rozovsky


It is in people's nature to want to know exactly when something occurred, or when it is going to occur. That's why they invented the calendar.

Today, the entire world uses the Gregorian calendar. Still, the Jewish calendar is used along with about 40 other calendar systems throughout the world.

Established by Pope Gregory in 1582, the Gregorian calendar was influenced by the Jewish calendar. Its main purpose was to replace the older Julian calendar of 45 BCE. Over time, the celebration of Easter had drifted away from its springtime position and its proximity to Passover. In Christian theology, the two celebrations are linked.

The Gregorian is a solar calendar based on the tropical year of the sun and the seasons. Unlike the Jewish calendar, it ignores lunar cycles.

Initially, Protestants refused to follow the new Gregorian calendar, though eventually they fell into line. Eastern Orthodox Christians continue to follow the Julian calendar.

In Israel, there is no legally official calendar. However, all government documents and correspondence use both the Jewish and Gregorian.

The United States has also never adopted an official calendar. Its acceptance of the Gregorian is based on a British Act of Parliament of 1751.

Most calendars number the years in relation to an historical event. Some systems count the years according to the tenure of a reigning monarch. Even Britain, which uses the Gregorian calendar, cited acts of Parliament passed before 1963 by the year of the monarch's reign. A 1925 act would be cited as 15 & 16 Geo.5 (the 15th and 16th year of the reign of King George V).

In the Gregorian calendar, the year number was supposed to designate the number of years since the birth of Jesus. For this reason, the year was always followed by the Latin 'AD' (meaning: "In the year of our Lord'). Scholars however, think that Jesus was actually born several years before the first calendar year. Jews and many others when using the Gregorian year refer to that period as CE, or "Common Era". The designation BC ("Before Christ") has been replaced with BCE ("Before the Common Era").

The Jewish calendar ensured that religious festivals occurred during the appropriate seasons. Tradition has that it was divinely given. Year number is based on the year of Creation. This would have placed the traditional Jewish date of Creation, according to the Gregorian calendar, on Sunday, September 6, 3761 BCE.

All calendars had to be adjusted every so often so that religious celebrations did not move out of place. The Jewish calendar has an elaborate system to keep lunar months in line with solar seasons.

Like other calendars, it is set up in a cyclical format. It repeats itself every 19 years during which an additional month is added in years three, six, eight, 11, 14, 17 and 19. Each year consists of 12 or 13 months, with each month having 29 or 30 days. When a leap year occurs, the month of Adar with 29 days, increases to 30. The additional month of Adar II is added with 29 days.

Some years are regarded as "deficient" and some as "complete." In a complete year, the number of days in the month of Cheshvan changes from 29 to 30, and in a deficient year Kislev changes from 30 to 29. By contrast, the Gregorian calendar repeats itself every 400 years.

Based on the story of Creation, each week in the Jewish calendar has seven days. The days do not have names, with the exception of the seventh, Shabbat. The entire week leads up to Shabbat. The Gregorian calendar copied this seven-day week.

Both the Gregorian and Jewish years have 12 months, except in a Jewish leap year. The Gregorian year begins January 1st. The Hebrew year begins on the 1st day of the month of Tishrei, the holiday of Rosh Hashanah. The year number changes on that date. The first month is actually Nissan, which occurs in the spring.

The Gregorian day starts at midnight, whereas the Jewish day begins at sundown. Hours are divided into 1080 chalakim (parts). Each celek is 3 1/3 seconds. Throughout the world, all time is set by Greenwich (England) Mean Time, or what is now called Universal Time. In the Jewish calendar, mean time is that of the meridian of Jerusalem.

The Jewish calendar developed a rather complicated system for specific religious reasons (i.e. so that Yom Kippur would not fall the day before or after Shabbat). These adjustments are called dechiyot (postponements).

Ordinarily, the Jewish year consists of 50 weeks plus three, four or five days, depending on the calendar designation of what sort of year it is, as compared to the Gregorian year of 52 weeks. A Jewish leap year, which adds an extra month is 54 weeks plus, five, six or seven days.

The origins of the Jewish calendar are uncertain, though we do know that the basic rules were set down by Hillel II around 400 CE.

When Jews were exiled in Babylon in 600 BCE, they were exposed to the Babylonian calendar. Certain similarities exist between it and the Jewish calendar. The 19-year cycle is common to both. Many of the names of the months are similar. The Babylonian month of Nisannu is the Jewish month of Nisan. Addaru becomes Adar, Tishritu is Tishri, and Abu is Av. This serves as a reminder to many Jews of the exile in Babylon.

The Jewish calendar is lunisolar, combining the cycles of the sun and the moon. The Islamic calendar is purely lunar. It also has a seven-day week and 12 months, with the years beginning from the Era of the Hijra, the migration of Mohammed and his followers from Mecca to Medina in 622 CE. A 30-year cycle is used with 11 leap years in each cycle. As with the Jewish calendar, the day begins at sunset.

Other societies have developed calendars. Calendar reform took place in India in 1957 that established a lunisolar calendar, in which leap years coincide with the Gregorian calendar. Holidays are set according to local and ethnic traditions.

China also uses the Gregorian calendar for administrative purposes, but the traditional Chinese calendar is used for festivals. Of all the calendars, the Chinese is one of the oldest, dating back to the Shang Dynasty of 1400 BCE. Before the 1911 revolution, years were counted from the accession of an emperor.

The Aztecs of Latin America also had a sophisticated calendar system linked to agricultural cycles and various religious ceremonies. It had 18 months, each with 20 days, each week consisting of five days. Its year had 365 days, which included five empty days when all normal activities would cease.

Since many Jews today plan their lives according to the Gregorian calendar, they rely on the calendars they receive from organizations like Chabad to know when to celebrate Passover, Sukkot or the High Holidays, and all the festivals central to Jewish life.


By Lorne Rozovsky More articles... |


Lorne E. Rozovsky is a Lawyer, author, educator, a health management consultant and a curious Jew. He could be contacted via his web site rozovsky.com.

This article is based on the author's article which originally appeared in The Jewish News, Richmond, Virginia.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

07:05 pm - Hand Signs of the Jew

Hand Signs of the Jew

By Lorne Rozovsky


Throughout history, many societies have had secret, and not-so-secret hand signs. These hand signs have religious, political, cultural and social meanings. The origins and significance have often been lost to history, even when the signs are still used.

Some signs are used to communicate information, either of support like the thumb's up sign, or two thumbs up, or that of an insult. Signs differ from culture to culture. The same sign may have a very different meanings in different societies. For the international traveler, this may cause embarrassment, and even conflict.

There are also signs used as part of an organized political, military or religious group. The military is perhaps the most famous for its hand signs, namely the salute. The form of salute varies from country to country, and military to military.

Some military salutes were adapted for civilian use, such as the salute used by Boy Scouts throughout the world. Other signs are purely civilian such as that of the Hindu greeting of placing one's hands flat against each other. Some signs have no connection with any organization, such as the "high five" used by young African-Americans and adopted by American teenagers regardless of ethnic background.

Many religions use hand expressions and signs. The more traditional Christian denominations use numerous methods of making the sign of the cross. Moslems use upraised hands and cover the face during prayer.

Why Use Signs?

Hands are used to communicate or to show signs of respect or loyalty. In the religious sense, it may be to communicate with G-d, or to make others aware of respect or obedience to G-d. A hand sign also adds a physical dimension to the religious involvement expressed by speaking, singing or chanting.

The making of a sign signifies a group or community. Those who enter and recognize the sign will know that they have entered their own community. In some communities, these signs have been secret since the members had to impart a message that would have otherwise brought them into danger.

Jewish Hand Signs

Hand signs do not play as important a role in Jewish religious practice as in some other communities. Because the signs tend to be traditional, they are used less frequently and often not at all by less traditional Jews. There are no doubt many Jews who have never seen some of the hand signs, nor do they understand their origins and purpose.

The Sign of the Priestly Blessing

Of all the Jewish hand signs, the most famous is that of the priestly blessing, the Birchat Kohanim, and yet it is rarely seen. This is the sign of both hands outstretched at shoulder height under a tallit, with the fingers spread apart, as the Kohen blesses the congregation. The Kohen's face is covered. The hands in the position of the priestly blessing are often seen as decoration on jewelry or on the tombstone of a Kohen.

The hands are held with the fingers straight ahead with the little finger of each hand separated from the ring finger and a space between the second and third fingers. There is a further space between the two thumbs, making a total of five spaces. The palms are face downwards. The right hand is placed slightly above the left. This raising of the hands during the blessing is called the nesiat kohanim.

Breast Beating

At any time during a confessional, when the words "we have sinned" or words to that effect are stated, it is the custom to beat the left breast over the heart with the right fist. Self-flagellation is common in many religions. The Jewish practice of breast beating however, is not flagellation and is not intended to be painful. It is a symbol to remind the person of the words being spoken and to encourage penitence.

Pointing at the Torah

Following the reading of the Torah, the scroll is raised while still open for all to see. Once the act of raising the Torah or hagbah takes place, some communities have the custom to point at the Torah with the small finger, others point while holding the tzitzit or fringes of one's tallit while reciting the words "and this is the Torah."

Blessings over Shabbat Candles

When Shabbat candles are lit, a ritual involving hands takes place. Usually this is done by the woman lighting the candles, though if there is no woman in the house, a man is obligated to do it. The candles are lit, and with both hands she waves the light towards her three times. The symbolism is to draw the spirit of the holiness of the Shabbat towards her. She closes her eyes, covers them with her hands, and recites the blessing. It is this sight of physical movement, bathed in the soft glow of the candles, and the faint murmur of her prayers that has been etched into the memories of so many generations of Jews.

It is often the physical aspect of a ritual that not only adds to but impresses on us the importance of the ritual, so that we remember it long after the ritual is over. That is what Jewish hand signs are all about.




By Lorne Rozovsky More articles... |


Lorne E. Rozovsky is a Lawyer, author, educator, a health management consultant and a curious Jew. He could be contacted via his web site rozovsky.com.

This article is based on the author's article which originally appeared in The Jewish News, Richmond, Virginia.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: busy

06:40 pm - Jews and Shoes

Jews and Shoes

By Lorne Rozovsky


Shoes have always played a role in history and culture. Everyone knows the story of Cinderella and the glass slipper, or the tale of Puss and Boots. Remember Dorothy's magic ruby shoes in the Wizard of Oz?

Language is littered with references to shoes. We wait for the other shoe to drop, or try to experience life in another person's shoes. One has big shoes to fill when he takes on a new challenge. There is the phrase, "if the shoe fits, wear it."

Shoe design can indicate a person's wealth and social position, as reflected in the quality of material or the complexity of the workmanship used to make shoes. Shoes can show membership in a particular group, like cowboy boots or motorcycle boots. High heels make a social statement, as do a sensible pair of Oxfords. Celebrities are known for the number of pairs they own.

What one does with shoes also makes a statement. For example throwing shoes at someone is an insult.

What about Jews and shoes? The Song of Songs 7:2 reads, "How beautiful are thy feet in sandals." Shoes were considered to be so important that Rabbi Akiva instructed his son Joshua not to go barefoot. They were signs of sensuousness, comfort, luxury and pleasure.

The Talmud (Shabbat 129a) declares: "A person should sell the roof beams of his house to buy shoes for his feet."

According to the Code of Jewish law (the Shulchan Aruch), when putting on shoes, the right shoe goes on first. When tying shoes. the left shoe is tied first. When shoes are taken off, the left shoe comes off first. This custom is based on the belief that the right is more important than the left. Therefore, the right foot should not remain uncovered while the left is covered. Shoes should be tied from the left since knotted teffilin is worn on the left arm.

Since the tying of shoes is a reminder of the tying of teffilin, for those who are left handed, and who place the teffilin on their right arm, the right shoe should be tied first rather than the left, so that the tying of shoes matches the tying of teffilin.

There are times in Jewish life when the wearing of shoes is forbidden. When the priestly blessing is given in traditional synagogues, the kohanim remove their shoes outside the sanctuary before their hands are washed by the Levites and before giving the priestly blessing. Removing the shoes avoids the possibility of embarrassment in the event that one of the kohanim has a torn shoe lace and remains behind to tie his shoes while his brethren are blessing the congregation.

There is also a custom amongst certain chassidic groups to remove their (leather) shoes before approaching the gravesite of a holy person. This tradition goes back to the command to Moses when he approached the Burning Bush (Exodus 3:5), "Remove your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground"

On the historic day of mourning, Tisha b'Av, Jews are prohibited from wearing leather shoes. The same prohibition applies on Yom Kippur to show remorse and penance.

In the Book of Isaiah (20:2), Isaiah is commanded to remove his sandals as a sign of mourning. Shoes also play a part in the mourning period after a death. During the period of shiva, the seven days of mourning, leather shoes may not be worn. In Talmudic times, both the pall bearers and the mourners went barefoot.

If the support of a leather shoe is necessary for medical reasons, the preservation of health overrules the prohibition. If someone has to leave the house, leather shoes may be worn, but they should be removed when the person returns home for shiva. If the mourner is going to synagogue for services during shiva, leather may also be worn, though the shoes should be removed at the synagogue.

In all of these exceptions, an unusual practice is required. When the wearing of leather is permitted, a little earth or pebble is placed in the shoes to remind the wearer that they are in mourning.

The question of shoes also arises in Jewish burials. The body of the deceased may be wearing shoes, but only if the shoes are made of linen or cotton. Most Jews are buried in a shroud which covers the feet, so the issue never arises.

Of all the Jewish customs involving shoes, the most unusual and fascinating is that of the laws of halitzah. Going back to Deuteronomy (25:5-9), when a married man dies childless, leaving an unmarried brother, the brother is obligated to marry his widowed sister-in-law. The rationale for what was called a levirate marriage was to continue the name, the assets and the soul of the deceased brother through the subsequent marriage and children.

Reference to this practice is also found in the Book of Ruth 3:4 when Naomi instructs Ruth to go to the granary at night, lie next to Boaz and to uncover his feet.

The brother could also opt to release her to marry someone else. This is the ceremony of halitzah. The widow and her brother-in-law appear before a rabbinical court, a beth din, consisting of five members. The brother-in-law wears on his right foot what is known as the halitzah shoe. This special shoe is made from the skin of a kosher animal and consists of two pieces sown together with leather threads. It must not contain metal and is designed like a moccasin with long straps.

The widow declares that her brother-in-law refuses to marry her, and he confirms it as directed in Deuteronomy (25:7 and 9). She then places her left hand on his calf, undoes the laces with her right hand, removes the shoe from his foot, throws it to the ground, and spits on the ground in front of him. The beth din then recites the formula releasing all obligations.

The shoe is a symbol of the transaction. This tradition is part of the color and romance of Jewish tradition and life.

It is also part of the spiritual tradition. The Kabbalists describe the body as "the shoe of the soul." Just as shoes protect feet from the dirt, so too does the soul require the body as a shoe to protect it during its journey in the physical world.




By Lorne Rozovsky More articles... |


Lorne E. Rozovsky is a Lawyer, author, educator, a health management consultant and a curious Jew. He could be contacted via his web site rozovsky.com.

This article is based on the author's article which originally appeared in The Jewish News, Richmond, Virginia.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: busy

06:07 pm - Voice Post

VoicePost 185K 0:57

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05:27 pm - The Thirteen Principles of Faith

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The Thirteen Principles

Maimonides


The great codifier of Torah law and Jewish philosophy, Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon ("Mamonides" also known as "The Rambam"), compiled what he refers to as the Shloshah Asar Ikkarim, the "Thirteen Fundamental Principles" of the Jewish faith, as derived from the Torah. Maimonides refers to these thirteen principles of faith as "the fundamental truths of our religion and its very foundations." The Thirteen Principles of Jewish faith are as follows:

1. Belief in the existence of the Creator, who is perfect in every manner of existence and is the Primary Cause of all that exists.

2. The belief in G-d's absolute and unparalleled unity.

3. The belief in G-d's non-corporeality, nor that He will be affected by any physical occurrences, such as movement, or rest, or dwelling.

4. The belief in G-d's eternity.

5. The imperative to worship G-d exclusively and no foreign false gods.

6. The belief that G-d communicates with man through prophecy.

7. The belief in the primacy of the prophecy of Moses our teacher.

8. The belief in the divine origin of the Torah.

9. The belief in the immutability of the Torah.

10. The belief in G-d's omniscience and providence.

11. The belief in divine reward and retribution.

12. The belief in the arrival of the Messiah and the messianic era.

13. The belief in the resurrection of the dead.

It is the custom of many congregations to recite the Thirteen Articles, in a slightly more poetic form, beginning with the words Ani Maamin--"I believe"--every day after the morning prayers in the synagogue.



Maimonides More articles... |



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04:54 pm - The Merging of Two Souls

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The Merging of Two Souls
A Bride Describes the Experience of an Orthodox Jewish Wedding

By Sara Esther Crispe


It has been an entire week. As per our tradition, I have not seen him or spoken with him. I have not even heard his voice. And yet I have his picture in my mind, his words in my heart and his being engraved in my soul.

It is the day of our wedding and I wake early to prepare. Externally I am having my hair done, my nails, my makeup. But within I am in a completely different world. I recite psalms trying to infuse every moment with holiness. I fast as it is my personal Yom Kippur, my Day of Atonement and I ask forgiveness for my past while cleansing and preparing for our new future.


In my wedding dress I represent a queen and I pray for the ability to be a crown to my husband. Not to be his decoration, but to be the tie between his superconscious and his conscious, to enable him to be his best. Just as a crown rises above the head and yet connects with it as well, so too the Jewish woman binds together the spiritual and the physical, theory with reality. The crown rests on the temples, the most sensitive part of the head. Spiritually the woman rests on the temples as well. She is able to massage where there is pain, while simultaneously ensuring that the head does not inflate, for she serves as its borders. And yet she holds the head up high. Because she is queen she allows him to be king.

I take off my earrings, bracelet and necklace. In another room he empties his pockets, undoes his tie and unties his shoelaces. He is not marrying me for my physical beauty or external jewels. I am not marrying him for the money in his pockets. He comes to me unbound, with no ties, with no connection to anyone or anything but to me and our commitment, to each other.

The music starts and my chatan, my groom, is about to be led to me. He will cover my face with a veil, in order to shield the holiness, the Divine Presence, which rests on the face of a bride. My veil will be opaque so that I cannot see out and no one can see in. My eyes will anyway be closed to more highly sensitize my ability to think and feel. I want the utmost privacy at this moment and to not be distracted by the stares from our hundreds of guests.

By veiling me we make an important unspoken statement to one another. We recognize that we are marrying what we see, but we are also marrying what we don't see. With utmost belief we are sure that we are the other halves to our soul. Only together can we complete ourselves and complete each other. Yet it will take work, hard work. He is not the answer to my incompleteness but rather the means for me to get there. So we recognize that we love what we know and what we are aware of, but we are also marrying the parts that are hidden now from each other, and even to ourselves. We are determined to love these parts as well and to learn to understand how they are also an integral part of our healing and growth.

Finally, after the longest week of my life, my chatan, my groom, approaches me. It is almost too intense to look. I glance at my husband-to-be for a moment but then my eyes well up with tears. I can no longer see but I don't need to. We are about to be bound together. But we are not just two people. Our marriage represents the continuity of the Jewish people. We are not only about to be bound to each other, but in doing so, we bind together the past, the present and the future.

We will now reunite again under the chuppah, the marriage canopy, to become husband and wife. The canopy is open on all sides to represent how our home and hearts should be, welcoming and open to all around. We will be outside, under the stars, to bring heaven down to earth while elevating ourselves closer to heaven.

Now it is I who is led to him, as he awaits me under the chuppah. As I approach, I encircle him seven times. As there are seven days of the week culminating in the holiness of the Sabbath, so too, I will surround him, enveloping him in love and commitment, culminating with my standing by his side. Just as I am his crown which sits as a circle around his head, now I too create that bond, that foundation, that security.

In a circle all sides are equally close to its center and there exists perfect harmony. Once I have completed my seven circles, he returns to encircle me by placing an unblemished and unmarked simple gold ring on my finger. This is our 8th circle, one above the natural, the days of the week, and uniting us with the supernatural, the One Above. Seven blessings are now recited, imbuing additional holiness to our relationship and commitment. But right before we turn to celebrate with each other, with our guests, as husband and wife, we first must break a glass.

The last thing my new husband does under our wedding canopy is that he steps on this glass. It is silent and we all hear it shatter. The shattered glass represents the suffering that must always be remembered, even in our joy. Even though we are imbued with happiness, we as a people, as a world, are not in such a state. And therefore it is our responsibility to remember that as we rejoice we need to create a world where all can rejoice. And we must live our lives with a sensitivity to those less fortunate than ourselves and be grateful for all the good that has been bestowed upon us.

After the glass is broken, it is now time for us to celebrate our joy. I remove the veil, as my husband and I gaze at each other for the first time as a married couple. The music begins, our guests start singing and dancing, and we are led from the canopy to begin our new life together.





By Sara Esther Crispe More articles... |


Sara Esther Crispe, a writer, inspirational speaker and mother of four, is the editor of TheJewishWoman.org. To book Sara Esther for a speaking engagement, please click here.

Painting by Chassidic artist Zalman Kleinman.


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04:32 pm - Connecting Roots

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Connecting Roots

By Catherine Roozman Weigensberg


Roots. A word which symbolizes life and strength. The roots of a tree are a source of moisture and minerals, and provide a stabilizing factor which prevents the tree from succumbing to the elements. For humans, roots are deeply embedded in our family and friends, particularly those who have known us most of our lives. They provide nourishment. They anchor us. They feed our souls.

The three of us had bonded in 6th grade
Monday night found me at a local synagogue with my husband, where my old schoolmate Ruth walked down the aisle with her husband to join her eldest son and his bride beneath the chupah, the marriage canopy. I sat beside another childhood friend, Rosa. The three of us had bonded in 6th grade, and now, forty-one years later, Rosa and I reminisce about our youth, middle age and the many life challenges we have all faced in between. And we chat about our contemporaries, those who survived the four decades – and those who didn't. We marvel and thank G‑d that we're all here to enjoy this joyous occasion.

While we feast, I look over at Ruth's brother Mark. I'm transported to another time, and see myself smiling at their doorway, just a few blocks from ours. Ruth and I are playing a card game called "Concentration" when her little brother, Mark, joins us as he often did, and wins (as he always did).

Reality check. "Little" Mark, now in his forties, is a practicing physician, and he beams proudly at his children. I walk over to say hello and I let him know that I have never forgotten our card games. Nourishment.

Later that evening I pass Ruth's parents, now in their eighties. They were there when my world fell apart, when my father passed away in 1970. I lean over, and with moist eyes hug them both as their kind, wonderful smiles take me back to many fond memories. Anchoring.

I watch Ruth as she walks over to our table, beckoning me to join the bride and her entourage dancing breathlessly behind the curtain. Ruth glows with contentment. She floats through the room and I follow, eagerly welcoming the dizzying rhythm of the traditional "Hora" dance. First one large circle, then other smaller concentric ones, each with its own pulse, each with its own story. The bride, the mothers, the sisters and aunts, the friends… singing, laughter. Feeding of the souls.

They were there when my world fell apart
There are times in our lives when we need to move forward. And then there are those retrospective occasions which urge us to stop and reflect, to return to our roots where hazy memories become clear and pulsate with life, when simple acts of long ago seem to take on greater meaning and relevance today. Whether or not we appreciated those precious moments makes no difference as long as we take the time to reflect on them now, or perhaps even tomorrow. It's never too late. I was given that chance at this Monday night wedding, when my perennial roots wrapped around my grateful and receptive spirit, embracing me with a familiar warmth and comfort which will remain with me for a long time to come.

Ruth, Rosa and I have been meaning to get together, the three of us, which we haven't done since, well - our childhood. So we thought maybe we'd go out for dinner or coffee sometime. We've been attempting to do this since last year, when Ruth married off her middle son. Seriously, a whole year of procrastinating, trying to accommodate each of our busy schedules. Monday night Rosa and I vowed to never let that happen again. So, we're making plans soon. We'll do it. Like the branches of a tree, we must sway and bend with the wind, for our roots are strong and are intertwined forever.





By Catherine Roozman Weigensberg More articles... |


Catherine Roozman Weigensberg, a married mother of four residing in Montreal, Quebec, was a geriatric social worker for several years before becoming a full time caregiver for her mother.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: drained

03:57 pm - Sarah Nachson: A Modern-Day Matriarch

Sarah Nachshon - A Modern-Day Matriarch

By Chana (Jenny) Weisberg



Holy City of Hebron
The artist, Baruch Nachshon, is Sarah Nachshon's husband


Editor's Note: On August 2nd, 2007, (the 18th of Av) we commemorate and remember the victims of the Hebron Massacre, in which sixty seven Jews, including babies and children, were brutally murdered by Palestinian civilians and policemen in the ancient city of Hebron. Those who survived were badly maimed and mutilated and were forced out of the city and taken to Jerusalem. Their property was left behind and was seized by the Arabs.

A few dozen Jewish families returned in 1931, but were evacuated again during the 1936-39 Arab revolt. The city had no Jewish population for thirty-seven years until after the Six Day War in 1967, when Jews, once again, returned to the holy city of Hebron.

Because of the bravery and dedication of individuals like Sarah Nachshon, there is once again Jewish access to our holy sites and a thriving Jewish community in the city of Hebron.

This is her story.

Name: Sarah Nachshon
Birthplace: Kfar Chassidim, Israel
Occupation: Activist, Mother, Grandmother
Children: Ten Children, Over 70 Grandchildren
Husband's Name: Baruch Nachshon
Husband's Occupation: Artist
Place of Residence: Kiryat Arba, Israel

A famous philosopher once said that human beings can suffer through any "what" as long as they have a good enough "why." You can put up with hunger pains, for example, if your hunger means that you will be able to fit into your wedding dress in time for the ceremony a month from today.

For me, the most remarkable aspect of Sarah Nachshon's very remarkable life is the way in which her "why," the mission to rebuild the Jewish community of Hebron, has enabled her to keep a smile on her face throughout "whats" that would have brought most of us to our knees.

While I heard her story, I could not help but imagine myself in the situations she described. I imagined myself pregnant, sharing one room with seven children, living without electricity, and carrying twenty-five liter jerry cans of water long distances in order to fill my baby's bottle.

I don't think I would have lasted more than an hour or two. In contrast, Sarah Nachshon's absolute clarity of purpose and unwavering sense of mission have enabled her to repeatedly sacrifice her own personal needs with love and even enthusiasm. Her rare clarity, together with her tremendous humility, have caused many admirers to refer to her as "a modern-day Sarah, our Matriarch."

Sarah Nachshon grew up in the village of Kfar Chassidim in the north of Israel. Her parents had fled from Poland several months before World War II, and despite their poverty, she has sweet memories of her childhood. "My family lived in a small shack, and we didn't have any toys or anything else. I had only one dress, and if I wanted to wear another dress I had to trade with one of my friends. But I will tell you something - I had a wonderful childhood. My parents taught me to be happy with what I have, and that is a value that I have worked hard to pass on to my own children as well."

Growing up, Nachshon also learned from her parents the value of self-sacrifice for the land of Israel. "I remember the stories my parents told us of how they fought against the British in order to establish the State of Israel. My parents taught me that if the Jews want to keep the Land of Israel, then we must fight for the Land of Israel. If we don't fight for it, they taught me, we will lose it, G‑d forbid."

After the Six Day War in 1967, Nachshon and her husband, the respected Chassidic artist Baruch Nachshon, were instructed by the Lubavitcher Rebbe to join a group of idealistic activists determined to reestablish the ancient Jewish community inside newly-liberated Hebron. These activists understood the supreme importance of establishing a Jewish presence in the oldest of the Israel's four holy cities, where a Jewish community had existed for hundreds of years until the massacre of sixty-seven Jews by local Arabs in 1929. They also understood that maintaining a Jewish community in Hebron would be the only way to guarantee continued Jewish access to the Cave of Machpelah, the burial site of our Matriarchs and Patriarchs and the second holiest site in Judaism which until 1967 had been barred to Jews by the Muslim authorities for over 700 years.

In 1968, the Nachshon's and their four young children moved with this group of activists into an Arab-owned hotel inside Hebron. Nachshon recalls, "An army official came to meet with our group, and told us that we were a big pain in his neck. But he told us that because the government feared for our safety, they had reluctantly agreed that a group of seven families and fifteen yeshiva students could stay in Hebron if we would move into an army compound overlooking the city.

"They assumed that we would not be able to tolerate the terrible conditions for long - living in one room with all of our children, only one kitchen for all of us to share, and with the only bathrooms outside. The army saw us with our little children and thought that within a few weeks we would give up and leave. They thought that our dream to live in Hebron would die right then and there."

But the army underestimated the determination of this small but committed group. Over those three years, not only did the families not move out; thirty more families moved in. While living in the army compound, Sarah Nachshon gave birth to three more children, and repeatedly risked imprisonment by defying government orders and circumcising her newborn sons at the Cave of Machpelah. When the mohel, the ritual circumciser, performed the first circumcision at Machpelah in over 700 years on Nachshon's son, he wept as he said the blessing over "the covenant of Abraham our father," in the burial place of the Patriarch himself.


Avraham Yedidyah’s gravestone in the ancient cemetery of Chevron

Despite the challenging physical conditions, Nachshon remembers the years she spent at the army compound with much nostalgia. She recalls, "When we were living in the army camp, my sister visited us from her home in Canada at the beginning of one of my pregnancies. She asked me, 'Sarah, do you mean to tell me that you will spend this whole pregnancy living in a place with an outdoor bathroom?' I told her, 'I'll tell you something! I am happier to live in one room in the Land of Israel than in a palace in Canada!' Afterwards, when we moved to a larger apartment, my children missed the army compound so much. They were so sad that they could no longer sleep together with all of their siblings in one room."

In 1971, the city of Kiryat Arba was established outside Hebron in order to provide permanent housing for the families from the army compound as well as the many other families who wanted to join them.

While living in Kiryat Arba, Sarah Nachshon experienced one of the most painful chapters of her life. In 1975, she gave birth to a healthy baby named Avraham Yedidya who died without warning of crib death when he was only six months old.

The terrible morning that Nachshon found her baby lifeless in his crib, her husband was out of town, and there was no way to reach him. As she made the preparations for the burial all on her own, while she wept and prayed she tried to remind herself that everything G‑d does is for a purpose, even if it is hidden from us. Suddenly, she understood that her lost son was meant to play a sad but vital role in the rebuilding of the City of the Patriarchs. "I decided," she recalls, "that we would bury him in Hebron. Our Avraham Yedidya would be the first Jew buried in the ancient Jewish cemetery of Hebron since the burials of the sixty seven Jews massacred in 1929."

Roadblocks and Israeli soldiers who had been given orders to prevent a burial in the ancient cemetery lest it anger the local Arabs, blocked the funeral procession of cars from Kiryat Arba. Sarah Nachshon got out of her car holding her baby wrapped in a sheet. She addressed the soldiers, "Are you looking for me? Are you looking for my baby? My name is Sarah Nachshon. Here is my baby, in my arms. If you won't let us drive to the cemetery, we will walk."

As darkness fell, and the mourners got out of their cars and started walking in the direction of the cemetery, senior army officials continued to order the soldiers over their walkie-talkies, "Stop them! Do not let the funeral procession reach the cemetery under any circumstances!"

But the soldiers, unable to turn back this young mother grieving for her lost child, radioed back their superiors, "If you want to stop this woman, come down here and stop her yourself!" One of the soldier got out of his command car, and as he wept he begged Sarah Nachshon, "Please, Mrs. Nachshon, it is too far to walk! Please permit me to drive you to the Jewish cemetery."

Thirty-two years later, tears still come to Sarah Nachshon's eyes when she remembers the words she said to the hundreds of people who gathered that summer night to bury her son. "I told them, 'It has been a hard day, but there is something I must tell you. I, Sarah, am holding my dead baby, Avraham, in my arms. And just as Avraham our Father came to Hebron to bury his Sarah, so too I, Sarah, have come here to bury my Abraham. At this moment, I know why G‑d gave me this irreplaceable gift for only six months. To reopen the ancient Jewish cemetery of Hebron.'"

In the years that have passed since that funeral, Sarah Nachshon has continued her struggle to ensure that the City of the Patriarchs will remain in Jewish hands.



A recent picture of Sarah Nachshon

In 1980, she and her children joined a group of fifteen other mothers and thirty children who cut through barbed wire and defied government orders by entering the abandoned Jewish hospital Beit Hadassah in Hebron. The army and government had assumed that if they prevented the husbands from entering Beit Hadassah, the women would not be able to make it on their own. But weeks turned into months and not only were the women not leaving – but they succeeded in establishing a school within the building, and other programs to keep the children occupied and happy. They lived without electricity, running water, and in substandard conditions, forbidden to leave the building lest the army prevent them from reentering. But they weren't budging. These women were stronger than anyone could have imagined.

These women were not allowed to meet with their husbands or leave the building. But on Friday nights, when the men were returning home from prayers at the Machpelah Cave, they would stand outside of Beit Hadassah and serenade these heroic women with the traditional Friday-night song Eishet Chayil, A Woman of Valor.

As a direct result of this group's tremendous self sacrifice, the Israeli government at long last agreed to the establishment of a Jewish community within Hebron. Today, the Hebron Jewish community numbers 800 residents, with hundreds more waiting to move in as soon as apartments become available.

To this day, Sarah Nachshon leads groups of women to the Cave of Machpelah, and is active in the struggle to open all of the halls of Machpelah to Jews 365 days a year. She fills her days performing acts of kindness for her family, friends, neighbors, as well as complete strangers. On an average day you will find her babysitting for one of her over seventy grandchildren (she knows all of their birthdays by heart), volunteering with the elderly at her local senior's club, or using her vast knowledge of alternative medicine to treat a sick neighbor. As one friend explained, "It's easier to make a list of what Sarah Nachshon doesn't do than what she does do."

Sarah Nachshon, in other words, is living proof that when you live for a "why" that is greater than yourself, you can become a person who is so much greater than if you only live for yourself.




By Chana (Jenny) Weisberg More articles... |


Chana (Jenny) Weisberg is the author of Expecting Miracles: Finding Meaning and Spirituality in Pregnancy through Judaism (Urim), and is the creator of the popular website www.JewishPregnancy.org. Originally from Baltimore, Weisberg today lives in Jerusalem with her husband and five children.

Illustration by Chassidic artist Baruch Nachshon.


The content on this page is copyrighted by the author, publisher and/or Chabad.org, and is produced by Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you comply with the copyright policy.

Current Mood: tired

03:28 pm - Call From Above

A Call From Above

By Melody Masha Pierson


It’s 11:45 pm and I am not yet sleeping. In the past week or so, my number on the transplant list has jumped from seventh to fourth! The phone can ring at any time. Being in the top five means the “call” can be in an hour, a day, a week or a month. One has no way of knowing. I can’t sleep. And I am not afraid. It’s just that every time the phone rings, I don’t know who will be on the line. It could be a girlfriend, the newspaper boy, a telemarketer, my kids, my Uncle Hershey, or a brilliant surgeon telling me they have lungs waiting for me and to get to the hospital immediately. I can’t sleep but I am tired. I don’t even know how I am writing this. I guess I need to talk to someone. So, I am talking to you, dear reader.

I will be facing a double lung transplant
For the past 13 months, since I was accepted into the transplant program, I have bided my time, used my time, cried sometimes, laughed quite a bit and had some frustrations. But on the whole, I have been pretty calm. That’s really not like me. I complain when my back hurts or my feet ache. Yet somehow I don’t complain about my breathing problems or the fact that I will be facing a double lung transplant, a procedure that could take up to eight hours and ultimately is a life-changing experience.

Maybe I am used to life-changing experiences. My life changes everyday. Coincidentally, since I have known the Chabad rabbi here in Montreal, the changes have always been for the better. For me, a life-changing experience can be a very small thing. Like recognizing the song of a bird that I never knew before or - get this - cutting my hair short after fifteen years .

You know, as I write this, the phone could ring (I must have mentioned that already). For the past two days, as time is closing in, my children, husband and friends have displayed more anxiety than I’ve ever seen since this journey began. Perhaps this is harder for them. They are waiting for the surgery to finally happen and to see me overcome it, intact, praying that nothing goes wrong. I pray every day. Maybe I am just as frightened as my family and friends because little by little, I feel that my physical world has become smaller. My physical abilities have diminished. Just brushing my teeth before bedtime, sometimes, is just more than I want to handle.

What do I say to my husband and children before they wheel me in to the surgical unit?
I believe in one thing though. Do what you are required to do, with an open heart and respect for G-d. This is what He wants from us. It’s not more complicated than that. My perception has started to become even clearer recently. We spend so much time worrying about all kinds of things. Believe me, when it comes down to waiting for a call that can extend your life and improve its quality enormously, many pre-conceived problems and mundane worries seem to depart without a trace.

But there is one thing I worry about. As I project into the hopefully-near future, what do I say to my husband and children before they wheel me in to the surgical unit? There’s a thought. What does one say to comfort them? As for myself, I will be asleep and in good hands during my transformation. But they will be a in a waiting room for many hours. They are terrified that they will not see me again, G-d forbid. I know it’s not comfortable to acknowledge but I am telling it like it is. So what will I say?

I don’t have an answer yet. I will obviously tell them to try not to worry and that I love them. But I am trying to come up with something “deep” and “meaningful” to leave them with while I go into the operating room. So far, I have thought of nothing. As for my very own course of action when that moment comes, I will probably recite the Shema, the foundational Jewish prayer, in my mind or with my lips, until I am out like a light.

Soon, my world will radically change
Soon, relatively speaking, my world will radically change. I don’t know when. Thirteen months ago I was number twenty-one on the list. Now I am number four. Soon, my phone will ring. It will be one of my children, a friend, a telemarketer, the newspaper boy, or a brilliant surgeon telling me that they have found a match for me. But that call will not originate from the surgeon’s office. It will come from G-d.

And He’s had my number all along.



By Melody Masha Pierson More articles... |


Melody Masha Pierson is a 50-year-old Jewish woman in Montreal, and member of the Chabad Montreal Torah Centre. She is currently awaiting a double lung transplant as a result of severe emphysema. It is her writing and Torah learning that provide her with the strength and faith to stay positive and productive during this challenging time.


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Current Mood: tired

02:58 pm - The Mirror

The Mirror

By Chanah Zuber Scharfstein


This is the story about a very beautiful and very special mirror. It hung on a wall in the dining room of a fine house belonging to a rich man.

The mirror was large and square, with a wide, thick gold frame carved with beautiful designs of leaves and flowers. Everyone that saw the mirror admired it, but everyone also noticed that it was imperfect. On one of the corners, you see, the silver backing had been scraped off so that this part of the mirror was plain glass. People would remark upon its beauty and then say, "Oh, what a pity! Too bad the mirror is damaged." To everyone's surprise the mirror's owner would tell his visitors that it was he himself who had deliberately scraped the silver backing off! Can you imagine owning such a costly mirror, a work of art, and then ruining it? But let me tell you the story of that mirror.

Many year ago, in a small town in Poland, there lived a man called Abraham. He owned a small store and he earned just enough money to take care of his family. He was not a rich man, but he also was not a very, very poor man. He had only a few customers. Sometimes people left without buying anything because Abraham did not have many things to choose from. They went to the big stores instead where they could find what they wanted.

Abraham was happy with his life. Though he was not rich, he always had enough to share with others. No visitor that came to his home ever left hungry. Every time a poor person needed help, Abraham always found money to give him. Abraham and his wife lived a very simple life. Their home was small. The house really needed a paint job, but there was never enough money for that. It seemed to them that it was more important to help someone in real trouble than to paint a house. Their furniture was old for the same reason. The curtains on the window had probably been washed a hundred times. Abraham and his wife had no carpets on their floor. Their clothes were plain, and they did not often buy new things. Many of their cups and plates had chips and cracks. The food they ate was simple.

Yes, it was not a very fancy home. But it was a real home. It was a warm and happy place. Everyone felt comfortable and relaxed there. Abraham had many visitors because everyone knew that he was kind and liked to be helpful.

One day Abraham was standing in the doorway of his little store waiting for customers. Suddenly he noticed a stranger walking toward his store. Abraham lived in a small town so he knew all the people there. When the stranger was near the store, Abraham asked him how he could help. "Maybe you would like to come to my home and rest awhile," he said. "If you are hungry, please be my guest. If you are thirsty, please come with me for something to drink. Perhaps you need money? We will help you."

Abraham's invitation was so warm and friendly that the stranger decided to stop in his house for a rest.

What Abraham did not know what that this was no ordinary stranger. This was a very holy, wise and famous Rebbe from a town far way. He was on his way to a wedding and happened to pass through Abraham's town. The Rebbe was an important man and many people in Poland traveled long distances to listen to his words of wisdom, or to ask for a blessing or prayer in time of need. It would have been a great honor for any home to have this Rebbe as a guest.

The Rebbe soon noticed Abraham's kindness and generosity. He knew many rich people who could have helped the poor much more easily than Abraham, but who did much less than he. The Rebbe enjoyed his short stay. Before he left he blessed Abraham with riches, so that he should be able to continue helping the poor and needy more easily.

After the Rebbe left, Abraham's store suddenly became a very busy place. All day long customers were coming in. Everyone found what he wanted, and no longer did people leave his store to shop somewhere else. With each day that passed, Abraham had more new customers and more money to bring home. Soon he had to make his store larger to fit all his new customers. After awhile, Abraham became a very big, important and rich storekeeper. He became one of the richest men in the town. The Rebbe's blessing that Abraham should become wealthy had been fulfilled.

To be rich seems mighty good when one is poor. People sometimes think that if they were rich, life would be beautiful. But being rich can be a problem too. Now that Abraham had a big store, he had a lot more work to do. He worried about robbers breaking into his store or home. He worried about his business. He wanted his store to keep on growing. He wanted a very beautiful home. He wanted new, fancy clothes. Because Abraham was busy with his store, he found less and less time for studying Torah and going to shul to pray. He did not even have time to bother with poor people. Abraham could only be seen by special appointment. His secretaries were told to give money to needy people who came for his help, but Abraham had no time to listen to their stories or problems.

Abraham and his wife built a brand new house that almost looked like a palace. It had many rooms, and all the rooms were large and beautiful. On the windows hung soft velvet drapes. The floors were covered with thick rugs. There was wallpaper on the walls. The kitchen was filled with new pots and pans. There were lots of fine dishes in the cabinets. All the furniture was new and expensive. The dining room table was made of shiny wood. The chairs in the living room were soft and plump. On the walls hung paintings by real artists. And on one wall in the living room there hung a huge mirror. It was so big it almost covered the whole wall. All around this mirror there was a wide, thick frame of gold. No one else in town had such a fine mirror. Everyone who saw it spoke of its beauty. It was truly a masterpiece.

There were many servants in this new house. But this house was so fancy that Abraham did not want to let beggars or poor people come in. Strangers were no longer invited for a meal. Servants would open the door and give some money to the needy, but that was all.

"Abraham is different," people said. "He has changed since he became rich. What a pity! He was always so kind and good, and now look at him. He has no time for any of us any more." And they would shake their heads sadly and remember the good old times when Abraham had never been too busy to help others.

Time passed . One day a messenger came to visit Abraham. He had been sent a long distance from the famous Rebbe who had given Abraham the blessing of riches. The news of Abraham's good fortune had reached the ears of the Rebbe and now he needed his help. An innocent Jewish man had been put in prison on false charges and a great deal of money was needed for his ransom. Of course Abraham was happy to help. He gave the messenger the money and sent him off with good wishes for a safe trip home. He also sent regards to the Rebbe.

The messenger had completed his job, but he did not feel happy. It had been difficult for him to speak to Abraham in person. His secretaries had not wanted to let a stranger into Abraham's private office. Abraham had given him the money, but he had not invited him to his home for some food and rest. The messenger was surprised. The Rebbe had praised Abraham and often spoken of his hospitality and charitable ways. The messenger could not understand what had happened.

When he came back to the Rebbe, he gave him the money and told him everything about his trip. The Rebbe shook his head sadly. He understood that Abraham, the poor man, had a heart of gold, but Abraham, the rich man, with all his gold, seemed to have a heart more like stone. The Rebbe decided to visit Abraham to see what could be done.

When the Rebbe arrived at Abraham's house, Abraham welcomed him warmly and invited him into his home. This house looked very different from the home that Abraham had lived in when the Rebbe first visited him. It was was big and beautiful, but gone was the friendliness and warmth one had felt in the simple, old home. The Rebbe walked on the heavy rug. He saw the costly paintings. He looked at the expensive, new furniture, and at the drapes made from the finest, softest velvet. And then he noticed the mirror. He looked at its shiny gold frame. It was the biggest mirror he had ever seen.

"Quite a change, is it not?" said Abraham with a pleased smile on his face. "And that mirror, " he continued, "is my favorite treasure. Of all the lovely things I own, I like that mirror the best. It cost a great deal of money, but it was worth it. It is truly a masterpiece, a work of art, is it not?" he said and turned to the Rebbe.

"Yes," the Rebbe answered. "Quite a change. Quite a change." He said this softly, in a low, serious voice, and his face looked sad.

Suddenly, the Rebbe called to Abraham. "Come here," he said, and asked him to walk over to the mirror and stand in front of it. The Rebbe then walked away a bit and asked Abraham to tell him what he saw.

Abraham was puzzled at this, but answered, "Myself. That is what I see in this mirror. My own reflection -- that is all I can see."

"Look closely," the Rebbe said. "What else do you see?"

"I see my lovely furniture reflected in the mirror. I see my paintings, I see my rugs and drapes. I can see many things in my beautiful home," answered Abraham.

The Rebbe then walked over to the window with Abraham. He pushed aside the drapes and told Abraham to look out into the street. Abraham's home was on a big street and people were always passing by. Since it was a small town, Abraham knew almost all the people walking past his house. The Rebbe asked him many questions about all the people they saw. And Abraham told him that the woman with the basked was a poor widow with many small children. She was hoping that kind people would put food in the basket for her family. He told the Rebbe about Bentze, the water-carrier, who was getting old and found it hard to carry the water. He pointed out Yankel the tailor, a fine Jew who went to shul every day, but was very poor and never had enough money for his family.

Abraham was wondering why the Rebbe was asking him all these questions. The Rebbe was a serious man who never had time to waste. Why should he be so curious about all these people?

Then the Rebbe said to Abraham, "It is strange, is it not? A mirror and a window are both made of glass and yet they are very different."

"What do you mean?" asked Abraham.

"Well," said the Rebbe, "when you looked in the mirror you could only see yourself and the things that belong to you. You could see much more when you looked out the window. Then you could see all your neighbors and friends from the whole town."

"That is true," said Abraham. "A mirror and a window are both made from glass. The window is transparent. Light can pass right through it. It is clear and you can see everything through it. The mirror, on the other hand, is covered with silver on one side. The rays of light cannot pass through, and therefore a mirror can only reflect what is in front of it."

"I see," said the Rebbe and nodded his head. "I see. The piece of glass that is plain is clear through and through, allowing you to see others and their lives. But when it is covered with silver, then you can see only yourself. Hm, very interesting. It is really quite fantastic, isn't it? Now do you think it will work the other way too? Could you take a mirror and scrape off the silver so that you would be able to see everyone else instead of yourself?"

Abraham's eyes filled with tears. He felt so ashamed. Finally, he was beginning to understand everything that had happened to him since he became rich.

That evening, Abraham made a big party in his home. The whole town was invited, especially all the poor people. Everyone had a fine time. Then Abraham asked for silence. He made a short speech and asked for everyone's forgiveness. He told his guests that he was sorry for the way he had acted after he became rich. His life would now be different. He promised them that his doors would always be open for everyone, and that he never would be too busy to help those that needed him.

After all the guests had left, Abraham walked over to his beautiful mirror. With a sharp knife he scraped off the silver covering in one corner. He did not stop until that part was as clear as glass. Only then was he satisfied.



By Chanah Zuber Scharfstein More articles... |


By Chanah Zuber Scharfstein; from The Call of the Shofar, edited by Nissan Mindel


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02:33 pm - Science and Religion an Contradiction?

Key Jewish FAQ's
By Nissan Dovid Dubov

Are Science and Religion a Contradiction?


In the traditional view of the Bible, the world is a mere five and a half thousand years old and was created in six days. Surely modern science proves that the world is billions of years old and man evolved through a process of evolution, thus laying to rest the Biblical story of Genesis? Can one honestly follow antiquated religious beliefs when science proves otherwise?

( The definition of science and religion... )

Current Mood: accomplished

01:48 pm - In the Garden of the Torah - Heel Becomes a Head

In the Garden of the Torah
By Eli Touger

When the Heel Becomes a Head - Eikev


Adapted from
Likkutei Sichos, Vol. IX, p. 71ff;
Sefer HaSichos 5749, p. 641ff

Nothing Comes Unearned

One of the fundamental principles of Chassidic thought is that all revelations of G-dliness are dependent on man’s Divine service. Even revelations which transcend our mortal grasp must be drawn down through our own efforts.

The above also applies to the revelations of the Era of the Redemption. In that era, it will be seen that our world is G-d’s dwelling. And just as a person reveals his true self at home, so too, at that time, G-d’s true self, as it were the essential aspects of His Being will be perceived in this material world.

These revelations will not, however, come about merely as an expression of Divine favor. Instead, they will have been ushered in by our deeds and our Divine service during the era of exile.1 And more particularly, it is the response to the challenges that arise during the era of ikvesa diMeshicha the current age, when Mashiach’s approaching footsteps can be heard which will precipitate Mashiach’s coming.2

Responding to G-dliness

An intellectually honest person is, however, prompted to ask: How can our Divine service bring Mashiach ? Mankind was on a higher spiritual level in previous generations, and seemingly displayed a greater commitment to Divine service. How can our efforts accomplish a purpose that theirs failed to achieve?3

These questions can be resolved by contrasting our Divine service during the era of exile with that carried out at the time of the Beis HaMikdash. In our prayers,4 we say “we are unable to go up, and to appear and bow down before You.” When a person came to the Beis HaMikdash and appeared before G-d, he had a direct appreciation of G-dliness.5 And as a spontaneous reaction, he prostrated himself. This was not merely a superficial act. On the contrary, experiencing G-dliness directly spurred complete homage, motivating men to willingly forgo all personal concerns and subordinate every aspect of their being to G-d.

During the era of exile, by contrast, G-dliness is not apparent, and our commitment is not triggered by external factors. Instead, it must come as a result of our own initiative.

When G-dliness shines openly, the revelation draws a person to Divine service, and causes him to feel satisfaction in this endeavor. When, by contrast, G-dliness is not overtly revealed, commitment to the Torah and its mitzvos requires more self-sacrifice.

A Point in Soul Above “I”

When focusing on the extent of commitment how much of a person’s character is given over to Divine service there is no question that the Jews who lived during the time of the Beis HaMikdash possessed an advantage. G-dliness permeated every aspect of their being.

Nevertheless, the very fact that this commitment absorbed their minds and their feelings indicates that it left room for a sense of self. Their Divine service had an “I,” albeit an “I” of holiness.

In the time of exile, by contrast, a person’s Divine service occupies less of his conscious thought, and there is less external motivation. For us today, making a commitment to Divine service, and abiding by it, reflects the workings of an inner potential that transcends the conscious self. A modern believer must go beyond all concepts of a personal “I”. It is not his thoughts or his feelings, but rather his true self, the aspect of his being which is totally identified with G-dliness, which motivates this expression of his conduct.

This reflects a deeper dimension of soul and a deeper commitment to G-d than was revealed during the time of the Beis HaMikdash.

A Channel for the Soul’s Power

These concepts are related to this week’s Torah reading, Parshas Eikev. Eikev literally means “heel,” and refers to ikvesa diMeshicha,6 the time when Mashiach’s approaching footsteps can be heard. Moreover, the connection between this era and “heels” runs deeper. The human body is used as a metaphor7 to describe the Jewish nation as it has existed over the ages. In that context, our present generation can be compared to the heel the least sensitive limb in the body for we lack the intellectual and emotional sophistication of our forebears.

Indeed, our Sages8 refer to the heel as “the Angel of Death within man.” Nevertheless, we find that the heel possesses an advantage over the other limbs. It is the part of the body that yields most easily to the will. For example, it is easier to put one’s heel into very hot or very cold water than to immerse any other limb.

One might say that this advantage is a result of the heel’s lack of sensitivity. Because the heel is furthest removed from the influence of the heart and mind, it offers less resistance to orders which run contrary to one’s thoughts and feelings.

Chassidus9 explains, however, that there is a deeper dimension to the heel’s responsiveness. The heel is uniquely structured to express the power of the will. Our wills are channels for the expression of our souls, and of all the limbs in the body, it is the heel which displays the most active obedience to this potential.

Our minds and hearts are mediums for the expression of our conscious potentials. And our heels are mediums for the expression of our inner will, which transcends conscious thought.

Similarly, in the analogy, it is the souls that can be compared to “heels,” the people living in ikvesa diMeshicha, whose commitment expresses inner power, and manifests the infinite potential of the G-dly spark in each of us.

Just Recompense

Other interpretations10 explain that the word eikev refers to “The End of Days” when the ultimate reward for observance of the Torah and its mitzvos will blossom. Indeed, the beginning of the Torah reading focuses on the reward we will receive for our Divine service.

This prompts a question: Since the mitzvos are G-dly, how can any material benefit possibly serve as fair recompense?

The answer to this question has its source in our Sages’ statement:11 “The reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah.” The fundamental reward for observance of a mitzvah is the connection to G-d which such observance establishes.12

The rewards of health, success, and material well-being mentioned by the Torah are merely catalysts, making possible our observance. For when a person commits himself to observe the Torah and its mitzvos, G-d shapes his environment to encourage that observance. As the Rambam states:13

If you will serve G-d with happiness and observe His way, He will bestow these blessings upon you… so that you will be free to gain wisdom from the Torah and occupy yourself in it.

These benefits of observance, however, are not ends in themselves, but merely help men reach their ultimate goal: the service of G-d.

The real benefits mankind will receive will be in the Era of the Redemption, when:

There will be neither famine nor war, nor envy nor competition, for good things will flow in abundance, and all the delights will be as freely available as dust.14

And yet, man should not strive for this era merely in order to partake of its blessings.

The Sages and the prophets did not yearn for the Era of Mashiach in order to rule over the entire world, nor in order to eat, drink, and celebrate. Rather their aspiration was to be free [to involve themselves] in the Torah and its wisdom, without anyone to oppress or disturb them.15

It is the observance of the Torah and the connection to G-d which this engenders which should be the goal of all our endeavors.

Realization of the Mission

The two interpretations of the word eikev are interrelated. For it is the intense commitment that characterizes our Divine service during ikvesa diMeshicha which will bring the dawning of the era when we will be able to express that commitment without external challenge. Heartfelt dedication to the Torah today will bear fruit, leading to an age in which the inner spark of G-dliness which inspires our observance will permeate every aspect of existence. “For the world will be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters cover the ocean bed.”16




FOOTNOTES
1. Tanya, ch. 37.
2. See Sefer HaMamaarim 5710, p. 237, which interprets the verse (Numbers 12:3) “And Moshe was more humble than all the men on the face of the earth” as meaning that G-d showed Moshe all the future generations of mankind. Moshe saw the dedication of the Jews in the generation preceding Mashiach’s coming, and their unswerving adherence to the Torah and its mitzvos despite their lack of conceptual development. He appreciated the superiority of such Divine service, and this moved him to humility.
3. The explanation to follow comes in addition to and is enhanced by the concept that the Divine service of the previous generations remains an active force in our world, for good is eternal (see Tanya , ch. 25). Using this reservoir of good as a resource, we are like “dwarfs on a giant’s shoulders” (Foreword to Shibolei HaLeket). Our own small contributions are amplified by the hard-earned merit of our forebears.
4. The Mussaf prayers, Siddur Tehillat HaShem, p. 258.
5. See Chagigah 2a, “Just as a person would come to see [G-dliness], so too he would come to present himself [before G-d].”
6. Or HaTorah, the beginning of Parshas Eikev.
7. See Tanya, ch. 2.
8. Avos d’Rabbi Nosson, the conclusion of ch. 31.
9. Torah Or 1b, Sefer HaMamaarim 5685, p. 262ff.
10. Devarim Rabbah 3:1,3; Ibn Ezra and Ramban to Deuteronomy 7:12.
11. Avos 4:2.
12. The word mitzvah shares the same root as the Aramaic word tzavsa , which means “connection” (Likkutei Torah, Vayikra 45c). The fundamental aspect of the mitzvos is the connection to G-d which observing them establishes.
13. Mishneh Torah, Hilchos Teshuvah 9:1.
14. Loc. cit., Hilchos Melachim 12:5.
15. Loc. cit. :4, see also Hilchos Teshuvah 9:2.
16. Isaiah 11:9, quoted by the Rambam, loc. cit.: 5



By Eli Touger More articles... |



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01:28 pm - Once Upon a Chasid - The Horse's Mind

The Horse's Mind


Not on bread alone lives man, but on the utterance of the mouth of G-d does man live (8:3)

At the core of every existence is a 'divine utterance' that constitutes its 'soul' - its essence and purpose. This 'divine utterance' is the Divine 'words' of creation ("Let there be light", "Let the earth sprout forth vegetation", etc.) which express G-d's desire that it exist and it's function within His overall purpose of creation. It is the 'divine utterance' which was the original instrument of its creation, and which remains nestled within it to continuously supply it with being and life.

The soul of man descends into the trappings and trials of physical life in order to gain access to these 'sparks of holiness'. By investing itelf within a physical body which will eat, wear clothes, and otherwise make use of the objects and forces of the physical existence, the soul can redeem the divine utterances which they incorporate. For when man utilizes something, directly or indirectly, to serve his Creator, he penetrates its shell of mundanity, revealing and realizing its Divine essence and purpose.

Therein lies a deeper meaning to the verse: "The hungry and the thirsty, in them does their soul wrap itself."1 A person may desire food and sense only his body's hunger; but in truth, his physical craving is but the expression and external packaging of a deeper yen - his soul's craving for the sparks of holiness that are the object of her mission in physical life.2

- Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch

Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok of Lubavitch was once asked by one of his young daughters: how does one explain the existence of angels and other 'spiritual' existences? After all, no one has ever seen an angel…

Said Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok: "We are now riding in a coach discussing angels, and to us, this is a most befitting accomplishment of our trip. But the horses pulling the coach believe that the purpose of the expedition consists entirely of the oats awaiting them at the journey's end, and in the eyes of the coachman, the purpose lies in the wages he will earn to feed his family. So we have three thoughts, three perspectives on the same reality.

"Now tell me," concluded the Rebbe, "just because the horses are thinking "oats" does that in any way lessen the significance of our discussion of angels…?"


FOOTNOTES
1. Psalms 107:5.
2. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi applies this same concept to explain a most puzzling fact of life: how is it that man, the highest form of life, derives life and sustenance from the lower tiers of creation - animal, vegetable, and mineral worlds? But it is "not on bread alone that man lives": the life-sustaining quality of the bread is but an expression of its essence and soul - the "utterance of the mouth of G-d"



By Yanki Tauber More articles... |


Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org


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01:13 pm - Unsatisfied or Unfulfilled?

Unsatisfied or Unfulfilled?

By Lazer Gurkow


"And he afflicted you, he made you hunger and he fed you the manna" (Deuteronomy 8:3). To describe the manna experience as one of hunger and affliction seems a bit curious. What does the Torah have in mind?

Two Groups

This question is best addressed by the following parable. A great rabbi delivered a deep lecture and presented an entirely new approach to the study of Talmud. Among the students there were two groups who walked away unsatisfied.

To the first group, the new insight opened a host of new possibilities and they were left unsatisfied with their previous understanding. They returned to their books to study again. To the second group, listening to a lecture of such depth felt like a waste of time for they could barely grasp it.

The manna, which our ancestors ate in the dessert, was a material food of spiritual quality. It was not digested in the conventional manner nor did it have the aesthetic appearance and appetizing texture that we associate with the experience of food. Eating manna was more nourishment of soul than of body and many Jews were left unsatisfied.

Two Hungers

There were those who could not relate to the spiritual fulfillment and craved the pleasure of material food; they were left physically "afflicted" and "hungry." Others related to the spirituality so well that they found themselves unsatisfied and wanting more. They were left spiritually, "afflicted and hungry."

The same concept holds true today with regards to prayer and Torah study. There are those who find prayer monotonous and boring and are completely oblivious to the spirituality inherent in prayer. The prayer experience leaves them feeling deprived and spiritually barren.

Others arrive at services eager to "commune with G-d." However, when their meditations allow them a glimpse of an even greater sphere that is as of yet beyond them they, too, walk away unsatisfied and yearn for more.

The difference between the two groups is that the first is left demoralized and uninspired. The latter receive an encouraging boost that raises them to the next level.

Fortunate are those who belong to the second group of G-d's "unsatisfied customers."

Current Mood: good

12:28 pm - Miraculous Oasis

Transforming our Desert

By Lazer Gurkow


Miraculous Oasis

The desert that our ancestors traveled was arid and infertile, inhospitable to all forms of life. Despite their forty-year sojourn in the desert our ancestors survived and even thrived. G-d provided Manna, fresh water and a protective canopy of clouds, thus creating a miraculous oasis, a rare climate for life.

Two Questions

Transforming the desert climate to create a climate hospitable to life was a deliberate miracle. It is an axiom of Jewish faith that G-d does not perform a miracle in vain. Was this forty-year transformation of the natural order really necessary when G-d could have simply led our ancestors directly into the promised land and thus obviate the need for a miracle?1

The biblical narrative is not simply a recounting of history. Torah is a book of instruction and the episodes described in the Torah have relevance to our life even in today's modern age. What is the modern day relevance of our ancestors sojourn in the desert 3,300 years ago?

G-d Equals Life

The difference between dry, desert ground and cool, soft soil is that the latter nourishes life and the former obstructs it. The earth was created by G-d for the purpose of nourishing and supporting vegetation. The desert's arid climate obstructs this flow of life. This obstruction has symbolic meaning.

Life is synonymous with G-dliness, for G-d is the source of all life. The soil that nourishes life is therefore symbolic of the realm of G-dliness, whose divine energy pulsates with life. G-d continuously radiates his energy but it does not always reach us. Unclean spiritual forces, called Kelipah ("husks" or "shells"), obstruct this natural flow and conceal G-d's presence from us.

The mystics therefore saw the desert synonymous with kelipah, which stands in diametric opposition to Israel and Jerusalem, the seat of G-d's imminent presence.

Entering the Desert Before the Holy-Land

Before our ancestors were spiritually able to enter the Holy Land and absorb its divine energy they were required to transform their collective kelipah. We each have a kelipah that dulls our heart and mind. It obstructs our natural desire to perform G-d's commandments and study his Torah. By concealing G-d's energy from us it works to divorce us from G-d.

It is this kelipah that lures man to temptation. This kelipah is our inner demon that drives us to sin. It tempts us with forbidden pleasures and fuels avaricious appetites. It is a formidable opponent that is not easily overcome.

Our sages have long proclaimed that were it not for G-d's support we could not prevail in this struggle. As our ancestors prepared to enter the Holy Land they received such divine assistance in the guise of their forty-year march across the desert.

The desert, synonymous with the powers of kelipah, threatened to rise against our ancestors' quest for holiness and nearly overcame them. By transforming the desert and creating an oasis of life, G-d enabled our ancestors to transcend their personal kelipah and form an inner reservoir of G-dlines. Forty years of subduing the desert proved enough. As our sages taught, it takes forty-years to truly ascend to a higher plane.2

Transforming the Personal Desert

Every morning upon waking from sleep a Jew must pray to G-d. The hour of prayer is a holy time, it is our private little Israel, the holy-land that we must enter and fully engage. Before we enter our little Israel we too must transform our desert, we do this by fulfilling the mitzvah of charity.

Charity is a powerful tool in our struggle against our own desert. Parting with hard-earned funds is difficult. After all, we invested a great deal of energy is amassing our wealth and we are loath to part with it and bestow it upon those who have not earned it.

Forcing ourselves to contribute to charity helps to transform our kelipah. It helps to break the iron grip of selfishness. Once we have conquered our desert it is possible to truly enter our little Israel and fully engage in prayer.

Why did G-d create us this way? Why did he not give us a docile nature that has no demons to overcome, that naturally wants to obey his commandments and fulfill his will?

Obstruction Creates Intensity

Because smooth waters lack intensity. To witness the awesome power of water you must first obstruct its flow. Building a dam that obstructs the water's natural flow raises the water pressure. When the dam is finally overrun one can witness the frenzied momentum of the water's headlong rush.

In a similar vein, without the struggle and spiritual challenge it is nigh impossible to stimulate the depth of our commitment to G-d. By endowing us with our own little kelipah against whom we must struggle in our quest for piety and sanctity we are given the opportunity to dig deep within ourselves and stimulate the depth of our connection with G-d.

Temptation stimulates the soul's natural desire to overcome temptation. The stronger the temptation, the stronger the desire to overcome it. As the pressure builds so does our commitment, till we reach a point of frenzied desperation. That is when we gather the reserves of our energy and catapult ourselves over the obstruction, in a headlong rush into G-d's passionate embrace.



FOOTNOTES
1. We know that the forty years our ancestors were made to travel the desert was in punishment for their sins but we believe that nothing is left to chance. If our ancestors were made to live in the desert for a significant period of time before their entry into Israel there must be a spiritual significance to traveling the desert.
2. After forty years a student reaches his master's understanding. This also explains why Moses told the Jewish people that now, after forty-years in the desert G-d had finally granted them "a heart to understand, eyes to see, and ears to hear."



By Lazer Gurkow More articles... |


Rabbi Lazer Gurkow is spiritual leader of congregation Beth Tefilah in London, Ontario. He has lectured extensively on a variety of Jewish topics, and his articles have appeared in many print and online publications. For more on Rabbi Gurkow and his wrtings, visit InnerStream.ca.


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11:55 am - HaYom Yom

HaYom Yom


Hayom Yom, an expression which translates as 'Day by Day,' is a collection of concise thoughts, often relevant to the season or portion of study when it appears, which gives the reader food to sustain the soul each day of the year.
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Lessons for Sunday, July 29, 2007 - Av 14, 5767

Tachanun is not said at Mincha.

The 14th of Menachem Av 5701 (1941) marked fifty years since my father told me to begin recording the stories he told me. When the Tzemach Tzedek began writing on Talmudic and chassidic subjects, the Alter Rebbe said to him: Uknei l'cha chaver1 (lit. "acquire a friend for yourself"); read v'kaneh l'cha chaver (a slight change in vowels) - "the quill shall be your friend."

My father once quoted the Alter Rebbe, "v'kaneh etc..., the quill shall be your friend" - and elaborated: This refers to the quill of the heart, meaning that whatever one learns one must experience emotionally.


Compiled and arranged by the Lubavitcher Rebbe in 5703 (1943) from the talks and letters of the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe.
FOOTNOTES
1. Avot 1:6.

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