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Forks in the Road: Old Divisions, Modern Ramifications

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Forks in the Road: Old Divisions, Modern Ramifications
Rabbi Yosef Gavriel Bechhofer
We Might Be a Little Late!
Originally published here .

This essay is some one hundred and fifty years late. Events since, some fortunate, most unfortunate, have blurred the differences between the great schools of thought that developed in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century.

Doubtless, the Satmar Rebbe (R. Yoel Teitelbaum) had this blurring in mind when he is said to have remarked that he himself was the last true Chasid, and that the Brisker Rav (R. Yitzchak Ze’ev Soloveischik) had been the last true Misnaged.[1] It is said that the Satmar Rebbe explained the devolution of both Chassidus and Misnagdus with the following parable:[2]

Once there was a woman whose husband would only eat fleishig (meat dishes), which she dusifully prepared for him. Their daughter came to marry a man who would only eat milchig (dairy dishes). Not wanting to deprive her son in law, the mosher in law prepared for him, as well, the food he craved. For several years this practice continued, with father and son in law eating in separate rooms.

Now, it came to pass that the family became impoverished and could afford neisher fleishig nor milchig. The woman was compelled to cook potatoes for both her husband and son in law. Nevertheless, the two continued their custom to eat in separate rooms. After several years elapsed in this manner, the two realized that there was, indeed, no point in their remaining separated and finally came to dine together.

Nevertheless, as we all strive to enhance our individual and collective Avodas Hashem (divine service), it is worthwhile – perhaps essential – to know what we might choose as our goal or aspiration.

The Great Divide

The nature of that goal has been the subject of a debate that has raged since the middle of the eighteenth century, when Eastern European Jewry erupted into the controversy surrounding Chassidus. Henceforth, the Ashkenazic Jewish world divided along the lines of Chassidus vs. Misnagdus. To be sure, there are other, significant trends in Judaism, including the (Hirschian) Torah im Derech Eretz school and, of course, many rich variations of Sephardic Avodas Hashem. The most blatant divide, however, is along the Chassidic/Misnagdic fault line. It is this line that we will attempt here to delineate.

But before we really begin: Caveat emptor! It would be the epitome of presumptuousness to purport that a short (or even long) essay might succinctly and precisely capture the distinctions between these schools of Avodas Hashem. We intend to examine a relatively narrow bandwidth of the differences, focussing more on exemplary thinkers and Ovdei Hashem (paragons of Avodas Hashem) who grappled with these distinctions in their personal struggles to formulate their own pathways in the hope that the reader will use these distinctions as a springboard for contemplation and understanding. In this effort, we follow in the footsteps of R. Dessler, the Michtav Me’Eliyahu, (in a recently published essay[3]) and others who pursued a simplified definition of differences, for reasons R. Dessler eloquently expresses.

We must begin our conversation with a definition of the “newer” Chassidic model of Avodas Hashem. The reason for this is simple: Existing philosophies are often forced to articulate their defining characteristics only when faced by a new challenge. This seems to be the case with Misnagdus. Despite its earlier origin, it was only forced to define itself as a philosophy when it came to battle the revolutionary Chassidic movement. The very term Misnaged can only be understood if one knows the context of Chassidus. Its meaning, “Opponent,” is only intelligible if one realizes toward what the opposition was directed.

“Mainstream” Chassidus and Chabad

Chassidus itself divided into two significant camps, that of “mainstream” Chassidus, and that of Chabad. Each side argued that its respective derech (pathway in Judaism) was the most accurate reflection of the Ba’al Shem Tov’s (R. Yisrael, the founder of Chassidus, also known as the Besht – an acronym for Ba’al Shem Tov) novel approach to Avodas Hashem. What was that approach and what did each side represent as the means of implementing that approach?
Read more Forks in the Road: Old Divisions, Modern Ramifications ›

How to Answer Difficult Questions

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I met a friend recently and he told me he was reading through his Jewish Publication Society Bible presented to him by his Hebrew School at his Bar Mitzvah.

He had two specific questions at the tip of his tongue:

Wasn’t the conquering of Eretz Yisroel and the wiping out of the inhabitants genocide?

Wasn’t the death penaltly meted out to Nadav and Avihu for their improper service excessively harsh?

How would you suggest handling these questions?

Thanks
Steve

Where is G-d?

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By Michael Freund
First published in The Jerusalem Post on May 27, 2010

Yesterday at 11 a.m., air raid sirens sounded across the country. Emergency crews went into position, security forces entered a heightened state of readiness and thousands of people made their way to public shelters.

It was a chilling scene, as schoolchildren were shepherded to safety, and the innocence of our nation’s youth was disrupted by the din of the alarm. Thankfully, it was only a drill.

As Col. Chilik Soffer of the IDF Home Front Command bluntly noted: “Every country trains for emergency scenarios like earthquakes and fires. Here in Israel we train for those as well as for enemy attacks.”

Living in the Middle East, it would appear, like any tough neighborhood, requires taking all sorts of precautions, however unpleasant.

And while the government tried to calm the country’s nerves, assuring us that this exercise was routine and bore no relation to the dire state of the region, it was hard to escape the feeling that something ominous is in the air. Indeed, the headlines of late have been filled with all sorts of warnings and threats, as our foes dispatch daily reminders that their intentions are anything but peaceful.

In the past few days, Syrian dictator Bashar Assad spoke openly of war and embracing the “resistance option,” while Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad reasserted his determination to bring about Israel’s demise. To our north, Hizbullah is busy rearming, and its thug-in-chief Hassan Nasrallah boldly declared that Israeli commercial and civilian shipping could come under attack.

Meanwhile, to the south, rocket-fire emanating from Gaza resumed, and Palestinian terrorists sought to attack soldiers guarding the frontier. In every direction, it seems, our enemies are gearing up for a war of extermination, each one trying to outdo the other in a frenzy of blood-curdling intimidation.

The arc of iniquity that stretches from Beirut to Damascus, and from there to Teheran and all the way back to Gaza, is not just rattling its saber, but may be getting ready to unsheathe it.

IN THE meantime, our closest ally, the United States, has increasingly turned hostile to us and our interests, badgering us to make still more concessions to the enemies gathering at the gate.

Like it or not, we are very much a nation that is dwelling alone.

In the face of all this, there is a knife-like question piercing through the fog of fear: Where is G-d?

Some might take this as a challenge to divine justice, but that is not what I intend. I am a man of faith, and I believe our deliverance will assuredly come.

What I mean to say is: Where is G-d in our public discourse? Why aren’t we turning to Him in this hour of need?

Sure, diplomacy and military readiness are crucial, and we must continue to invest our efforts in these areas, even as we hope for the best. But the piercing siren sounded yesterday brought to mind the wailing of the shofar on Yom Kippur, penetrating the serene obliviousness that characterizes much of our daily lives. This was a spiritual wake-up call, sounding to arouse us and jolt us into action. We can choose to ignore it, but we do so at our peril.

Each night, our generals and defense officials grace the television screens, insisting that “Israel is strong” and “we are ready.”

I’m glad to hear it and hope it’s true. But as we have seen in the past, overconfidence can breed arrogance, which is a recipe for disaster.

A dash of humility and a healthy dose of faith are just as critical to ensuring success. That’s why I’d like to see our leaders projecting a little less conceit and a lot more conviction.

How refreshing it would be to hear them invoking some reliance on the Almighty and putting G-d back into the national conversation, injecting the sacred into their public discourse – and ours.

This is more than just semantics; it goes to the very heart of the challenges we face. Belief in a higher power and in the justness of our cause is our spiritual ammunition, giving us the strength and determination to turn back any foe.

The great hassidic leader, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, once asked a student where G-d could be found. The surprised young scholar offered the seemingly obvious answer: Rabbi, He is surely everywhere! “No!” said the Kotzker, with fiery certitude. “G-d is only where we let Him in!”

Now, more than ever, would be the perfect time to do so.

The Benefits of Buy In for the Newly Observant

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Originally Posted on Orthonomics.

My husband brought home some reading material for me on Shavout. One of the pamphlets available at our shul was from a well known Kiruv group. The first column was regarding setting priorities. The scenario set up is as follows: A man’s tefillin are stolen and he decides to replace his tefillin with a $900 pair. Later that week he receives a call from an outreach yeshiva asking him to sponsor a pair of tefillin for a newly observant Jew through a subsidized program at the cost of $250. The man asked to sponsor the tefillin does not have extra ma’asser funds and if he were to sponsor the tefillin at $250 it would come at the expense of his own purchase.

I’m not interested in reprinting the methodology used to reach the conclusion that perhaps the man would indeed have a responsibility, or privilege, to underwrite his fellow’s first pair of tefillin even at the expense of his own higher level of performance.

The choice that was not given or discussed, is the choice that I think would be the best choice: enabling a newly observant man of limited means to purchase his own (discounted) tefillin.

I don’t believe I’ve ever dedicated a post to kiruv, but I do know that there is both kiruv and a kiruv industry. I’m not sure if it is a recent trend in kiruv to offer so much up “free of charge” or if it is a more recent development (when I was in college, the community kollel charged a small price for the lunch part of the lunch ‘n’ learns, today I am aware that there are incentives offered to students who attend courses), but I’m not sure that it is a particularly productive trend.

Now certainly I would expect a strapped student or even a strapped young professional who is just starting out to have the funds available for a pair of tefillin, especially where becoming more observant comes with some other costs. As such, it is obviously necessary that he have tefillin to don in the meantime. However, from a psychological standpoint, there is something extremely healthy about “buying in”. Chazal recognized this discussing na’am dekisufa [bread of shame] in which it is assumed that a free handout is enjoyed less than what is earned by one’s own labors. I’ve read more than one biography/autobiography of a competitive athlete who believes that taking ownership of his/her career (i.e. footing the bill) has been a great motivation and very transformative. In other words, there is a psychological difference between how something “tastes” when it was handed to you, gifted to you, or purchased by you through the “sweat of your brow.”

While I do believe that the reason a wedding band needs to be owned by the chatan is a legal issue, as opposed to a psychological issue, I think there is great value in a man giving something of value that he worked for and saved up for to his bride. Tefillin is symbolic of a marriage and I think there would be great value to the wearer of the tefillin to pay for his tefillin, perhaps through some sort of work-study or even a loan (yes, I did use the word loan although that wouldn’t be my personal preference).

To sum up this post, I do believe that all things worth striving for, religion especially, requires “buy in”. I have heard it argued that one cannot ask [American students] targeted for kiruv (for lack of a better term) to help share in the any of the costs of dinners or events, and that sometimes you have to attract them with other incentives. And perhaps that is true if you are looking to attract large quantities of students. But, I think that when the line has been crossed from experimentation to growing commitment, helping to facilitate “buy in” would be the best choice of all.

When given two options, I’ve been known to choose the 3rd option.

Making Choices

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R’ Micah Segelman

The Mishna in Sanhedrin (37a) teaches that the creation of the world was worthwhile even for a single person. The Alter of Slobodka explains the Mishna that the creation of the entire world is justified in order to provide an opportunity for a single person with free will to choose to fulfill Hashem’s commandments (1). Rav Hirsch describes the “sublime mission and lofty purpose of man” that “The Law to which all powers submit unconsciously and involuntarily, to it you shall also subordinate yourself, but consciously and of your own free will (2).”

Rav Soloveitchick writes that “Halakhic Man is engaged in self creation, in creating a new “I” . . . Choice forms the base of creation . . . then man becomes a creator of worlds (3).” The Ramchal tells us that Hashem created man to give him ultimate goodness and perfection. Yet Hashem didn’t simply grant this to man. Only by actualizing himself through making choices could the goodness be perfect and Hashem’s will fulfilled (4).

It is commonly known that the Torah teaches us that the purpose of our existence is to strive for perfection in our service of and connection to Hashem. These sources emphasize that only through people freely making choices can this purpose be realized.

However, the ability to make decisions is not automatic. Rav Dessler writes that only a person who has successfully overcome his natural tendencies perceives his power to make choices. Someone who has never exercised self control has learned from his experiences to think that he is controlled by outside forces (5). A person must learn, as Stephen Covey writes, that “between stimulus and response, man has the freedom to choose (6).” We must discover that freedom.

We can sometimes feel powerless against external forces. There are many things which are, in fact, outside of our control or influence. Yet we often don’t perceive the opportunities we have to be proactive and exert our influence. I’ll cite seven illustrations of this principle which I hope people will find meaningful.

We often blame other people for problems that exist. Blaming other people is natural and easy. It is also self defeating. When we take responsibility for ourselves and our decisions we are empowered because we’ve put ourselves in control. Rachel Imeinu turned to Hashem in prayer only when she saw that she couldn’t rely on Yaakov to pray for her. Relying on Yaakov to take the initiative and then blaming Yaakov stymied her whereas by taking responsibility for herself she was able to come closer to Hashem (7).

When we have difficulties in interpersonal relationships we again often blame the other person. It is often possible, however, to unilaterally change the dynamics of the interaction by changing the way that we act and react. This is particularly true for parents and teachers. Changing our attitude and approach can dramatically impact our relationships.

People can feel overwhelmed by emotions. Many psychologists maintain that our emotions result from the way that we think. We can become more aware of our own thinking and thus exercise greater control over the emotions we experience. This requires becoming aware of our inner dialogue and examining the way in which we look at the world. In the words of Aaron Beck, a person “is generally aware of the following sequence: event or stimulus — affect. He must be trained to fill in the link between the stimulus and the affect: stimulus — cognition — affect.” (8).

Exposure to an outside value system can rob us of the ability to truly make decisions. For example, our attitudes to money and career are influenced by our exposure to the prevailing mentality which equates our worth with our achievements (9). We’re not truly free to make decisions until we shape our own world view. Otherwise we are pressured to conform to norms which are imposed on us.

Similarly, people who strongly depend on the validation of others curtail their own freedom to choose. The pressure to conform to other people’s expectations precludes free choice. Growth requires one to learn not to depend on the approval of other people (10).

As Torah Jews, there are aspects of our Jewish contemporary culture that can hamper our ability to make choices. Young people, especially, can feel pressured by communal expectations to conform and thus be stifled. Rav Wolbe writes, “Both planting and building are essential to the development of our children and students. We must build them. We cannot rely exclusively on their spontaneous, independent growth . . . However, if we only build our children by inserting behaviors into their personality, without providing time and space for them to sprout, then their ability to grow on their own degenerates and they turn into robots . . . they will lack initiative. Initiative flows from vivacity, but that quality rotted away long ago (11).” When we block legitimate avenues of self expression for our children or students we interfere with their proper development. And we ourselves need to develop the ability to think issues through carefully and seek the appropriate guidance where necessary. And we must learn to do that which is right because it is right – not because of what others will think.

We are justifiably proud of our Torah weltanschauung. But when improperly understood our ideology can interfere with people assuming proper responsibility for their decisions. We legitimately emphasize the importance of consulting Talmidei Chachamim when making decisions. People must, however, develop their own independent judgment. We should never relinquish responsibility for what we do. We don’t cede control of our medical decisions to our doctors though we seek to benefit from their expertise. We are the ones affected by the results of our decisions and we must be willing to stick with our choices when the going gets tough. To do this we need to feel ownership of our decisions. In the final analysis we must answer for ourselves.

There are two sources that essentially make this point. Rabbeinu Yonah says that ultimately we bear responsibility for our own spiritual growth. Receiving advice and inspiration from others is valuable. “But if we don’t inspire ourselves – what will mussarim accomplish (12) ?” Only we can change ourselves. And the Seforno explains the pesukim in Netzavim that teshuva is unlike other mitzvos. Recognizing the way to move forward in our personal growth doesn’t require the input of great scholars (13). We ourselves can and should determine where we need to improve and how to approach Hashem– it is “within our own mouths and within our own hearts to do.”

Fundamental to Slobodka Mussar is that only by appreciating our potential for greatness are we empowered to achieve greatness. Only by understanding that we have the capacity to grow can we truly grow. Let us all feel empowered to make the necessary choices.

Sources

(1) Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel (The Alter of Slobodka), Ohr Hatzafun, Sefer Toldos Adam: Part B

(2) Rav Hirsch, The Nineteen Letters (Spring Valley, NY 1988), Letter Four

(3) Rav Soloveitchick, Halakhic Man (Philadelphia 1993), Part Two: IV

(4) Ramchal, Derech Hashem, 1:2

(5) Rav Dessler, Michtav M’Eliyahu,Vol 1: Kuntras Habechira

(6) Covey, Stephen, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (New York 1990), page70

(7) Ramban, Pirush al HaTorah, Breishis 30:2

(8) Beck, Dr Aaron, Depression: Causes and Treatment (Philadelphia 1967), page 322. See also Burns, Dr David, Feeling Good (New York 1999)

(9) see Burns chapter 13, and Twerski, Rabbi Dr Abraham, Ten Steps To Being Your Best (Brooklyn, NY 2004), chapter 2

(10) see Burns chapter 11, R Twerski chapter 3

(11) Wolbe, Rav Shlomo, Planting & Building (Jerusalem 1999), page 16

(12) Rabbeinu Yonah, Shaarei Teshuva 2:26

(13) Seforno, Devarim 30:11-15

Is it a Fair Goal to Expect a Baal Teshuva to Strive for a Level of Greatness?

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Is it a fair goal to expect a baal teshuva to strive for a level of Greatness?

Is that realistic?

Or should we be content thinking, “we know what we know, which is a heckuva lot more than the average Jew and it’s a world different (if not two!) than how I myself used to be, and I am content with the fact that I am radically different than how I was growing up.”

Or should the approach be, now that you are a frummeh Yid, you carry all the obligations of a regular frum Yid and that means working toward greatness in mitzvah performance and greater levels of middos tovos.

From a guest contributor

Dealing With the Loneliness of an Older BT Mother.

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My wife is in her late forties and finds that she has no one to relate to.

We have a 3, 5, 7 , 11 , 13 and 15 year old.

She finds that all of the ladies her age are grandmas and all of the ladies in her situation are much younger.

How do women deal with the special challenges and difficulties of the BT Mommy and housewife?

In addition, how do you deal with the difficulties of coming from a small secular family to trying to raise your own large orthodox family?

Thank
Dovid

A Glimpse of Redemption

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By Michael Freund

This past Tuesday night, at the Western Wall plaza in Jerusalem, I think I may have witnessed a foretaste of the Messianic era.

It was the eve of Yom Yerushalayim, the day marking the liberation and reunification of Jerusalem during the 1967 Six Day War, when young Jewish paratroopers armed as much with faith as with firearms stormed through the enemy’s positions and unshackled the Temple Mount from nearly two millennia of incarceration under foreign control.

From across the country, thousands of Israelis streamed into the square in front of the Wall, anxious to commemorate the 43rd anniversary of this historic event and to bask in the aura of this holy place.

Some wore jeans, others wore dark suits or black caftans. But whatever their choice of outer attire, all were drawn to this spot for the same inner reason: to affirm our indestructible bond to Jewish history as well as our unshakeable faith in Jewish destiny.

The Wall stood there in all its grandeur and I could only marvel at the thought of all the despair and dreams, the hopes and the horrors that it must have beheld over the course of the centuries.

Indeed, the jagged grooves and soft cool crevices in the Wall seem to have been chiseled not by the hands of ancient workmen, but by the generations of tears that surely streamed down its façade.

But on this very special night, the massive stones would shine with sheer delight, as a remarkable and uplifting scene rapidly unfolded.

A large group of yeshiva students hailing from the Maarava high school near Modi’in swayed back and forth, deeply ensconced in the evening prayers with their black hats deftly perched atop their heads and dress jackets clinging tenaciously to their shoulders.

At the conclusion of the service, they began to sing, forming a series of concentric circles which slowly shuffled about, revolving in loop-like fashion with solemn intensity.

Nearby, a crowd of students from the capital’s religious-Zionist Horev school made their way towards the Wall, and the contrast between the two could not have been more striking.

With their knitted kipot and sandals, and slightly disheveled teenage look, the Horev boys looked ever so informal. They proudly sported white T-shirts with slogans on the back in Hebrew that said, “there is no Zionism without Zion”, and they were aflame with patriotic fervor.

The Maarava students, by contrast, projected formality and reserve, with their dress shoes, white button-down shirts and dark slacks conveying a seriousness of purpose and resolve.

And then, it happened.

As if by some unexplainable force, the two groups were drawn together. Enlarging the circles and joining hands, they proceeded to dance, and sing, and celebrate in unison.

All the ideological and theological disagreements, all the politics and mutual suspicion were cast aside, as the young scholars of Horev and Maarava joined arms – literally and figuratively – to thank G-d and rejoice in Jerusalem.

Faster and faster they went, picking up speed with each circuit, as their voices rose in a thunderous crescendo. “May this be an hour of mercy,” they pleaded with the Creator, “and a moment of acceptance before You”, as the seemingly myriad schisms that routinely divide our people melted away in the heat of Jewish harmony.

Onlookers stared in amazement at this scene, as Haredim and Religious Zionists, “black hats” and “knitted yarmulkes”, held onto each other firmly and with a familial grip, revealing the brotherly instinct that lay within.

Suddenly, the circles converged, enveloping two men at their center: Rabbi Baruch Chait, the founder of Maarava, and Rabbi Yitzhak Dor, the Rosh Yeshiva of Horev.

They reached across the divide, and toward one another, and started dancing with all the passion and zeal of two young grooms on their wedding day.

Their faces ablaze with joy, these two spiritual teachers gave all those present a tangible lesson in Jewish unity.

Inspired by the scene, their students began chanting a paraphrase of the words traditionally recited in the Sabbath Mussaf prayers by Sephardim: “Together, together, all of them together, shall thrice repeat with one accord the holy praise unto Thee”, with a clear and very vocal emphasis on the word “together”.

The purity of the moment was overwhelming, and I have no doubt that G-d looked down from Heaven like a proud Father enjoying the sight of His children bonding collectively in one accord.

Herein lies one of Jerusalem’s greatest and most intimate of secrets: its ability to unite Jews from across the widest of spectrums.

In just a few years from now, the bulk of those Horev students will be donning green uniforms and taking up arms to defend the state, while many of those in Maarava devote themselves to the study of our people’s ancient texts.

They will vote for different parties, live in different communities, and largely refrain from marrying into one another’s families.

But for a brief instant this past Tuesday, all that seemed very remote.

At the sight of such overwhelming Jewish fraternity, I was sure that the long-awaited Redeemer was about to arrive. Senseless love took the place of senseless hatred beneath the silhouette of where our Temple once stood.

Yet there was no sounding of the great Shofar that night, nor did the Messiah abruptly appear. The dancing eventually faded out, and people inevitably went home, going their separate ways.

But that evening, I am certain, I caught a powerful glimpse of our redemption, when all Jews will unite to serve G-d and embrace one another as brothers.

If we could just translate that moment from passing to permanent, if we could simply gaze beyond all the disparities. Then, perhaps, that glimpse just might finally become transformed into the enduring fixture we all long to see.

Originally posted in The Jerusalem Post, May 13, 2010

Memories to Truly Cherish

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Seth Clyman
Jerusalem

I will never forget it. As I was driving that early Jerusalem morning I noticed the roads were empty. Where was everyone at eight thirty in the morning? The air was clean and crisp and it was strangely quiet. No one was on the streets, no buses, trucks or taxis. What a breeze. If only it was like this all the time. Then it hit me that this must be what it feels like for someone driving their car early in the morning on Shabbat.

But it wasn’t Shabbat. It was Yom Ha’atzma’ut, Israel’s Independence Day, the 5th of Iyar. Everyone was sleeping. They were all up till the wee hours of the night celebrating. That’s why the roads were empty.

I remember those “all night” bonfires we would have on Yom Ha’atzma’ut thirty some odd years ago. Those great teen years, the good old ’70’s. I can still taste the potatoes and onions that we dug out from under the coals before the sun came up.

One day after all those years I finally went back to that field with the cave where we would spend those nights. I was met with disappointment. I found instead that someone had built a housing complex and a parking lot. No more field, no more cave. Just left with the memories.

I did three years in the army. I was in Lebanon before these precious kids who are in the army today were born. Buried my best friend. Gave them “the best years” of my life. Three good years, the best of friends, and truly many unforgettable moments. I wouldn’t give them back for anything.

The only things I have left from those years are the memories, a country to live in and my cracked army boots.

Traveled through Europe way back when, but didn’t make it to South America, New Zealand or India like they do today. Got married, have children and grandchildren. Can’t get enough of them.

I’ve changed over the years…we all do. Life sort of does it to you.

My father told me that before going off to World War II he proudly stated to his parents, “we are going to straighten out the mess your generation made”. Yes, he fought for four years. His theatre of war makes Lebanon, Gaza, Iraq and Afghanistan all together look like a playground. Now look at the mess his generation left us!

Who is going to straighten things up now? Who is going to fix up our mess? One thing I know for sure is that I don’t think we can do it alone. Humanity hasn’t been able till now and I think we all may need the assistance of a Higher Authority.

Let me leave you with a thought.

The next time it is Shabbat/Saturday morning and you happen to notice how peaceful it all seems, consider this. I am home with my family and guests making kiddush over a cup of wine proclaiming an eternal deal that we the Jewish people made with God.

We will watch over Your Shabbat ….and You and Your Shabbat will watch over us.
That is definitely a memory worth cherishing.

Rabbi Shimon Green on Loving to Learn Torah

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Rabbi Shimon Green gave a unique shiur on loving Torah and helping our children love Torah. You can download it here.

True Torah is pleasant to learn. Locking our children into Torah is not a true path. Torah is sweet and pleasant when properly taught and understood.

Humility is the starting point of learning. When somebody disagrees with our ideas, our starting must be to try and understand that person’s point of view. A true ben Torah is always interested in what the other person has to say.

Torah has the ability to connect us with that which is greater than us, namely Hashem. Torah can constantly expand us.

Please listen to the entire shiur.

Would You Consider Praying for Your Fellow Baalei Teshuva?

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From Derech Emet

Most Baalei Teshuvah do not have relatives to pray for them.
But they can pray for each other.

Why not pray for Baalei Teshuvah as a group or as individuals?

Every weekday Shemone Esrei includes a petition on behalf of righteous converts.
So why not pray for Baalei Teshuvah also?

Pray that Baalei Teshuvah should be happy and healthy.
Pray that Baalei Teshuvah should have success in parnassah, shiduchim and everything.
Pray that Baalei Teshuvah should continue to ascend in Torah and not fall.

Pray for Baalei Teshuvah, not only for their sakes, but for the sake of the Name of G_d. Making a comparison to Tehillim 115:2 (Why should the nations say: Where is their G_d?) Why should the relatives of Baalei Teshuvah say, or even think:

Why does their G_d not help them with health?
Why does their G_d not help them with happiness?
Why does their G_d not help them with marriage?
Why does their G_d not help them earn a living?
Why does their G_d not help them with _______?

Embracing my Own Intrepid Spirit

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By Varda Branfman
Varda blogs at http://writingforhealing.blogspot.com/

Where I walk
The angels fear to tread

At three a.m.
I’m alone
On East 2nd Avenue
While junkies climb
The fire escapes

I pull all-nighters
When others sleep
Safely in their beds

That’s not
The half of it

I push the limits
Riding stick-shift
For three days and nights
To reach the other coast

I’m a drop-out
From Library Science School

I could have learned
The information
Could have landed the account
For cold lozenges
Could have delivered
Those speeches

I’ve left many promising futures

I’m always leaving
Their harbors of safety
And hearing their invectives
Flung at my back
“You’re a flake”
“You’ll never have money”
“You’ll be sorry,”

And they’re right–
My sorrow does grow
Day by day
And I’m always digging
Myself out
With bare hands

I climb for hours
I walk for miles
And never get there

I’m always missing the last boat
And don’t know when I’ll be lifted
Off my islands

I speak into the microphone
As the regulars drift off to sleep
Over their beers
And the other poets hackle

I empty the pipes before winter
So they don’t freeze and burst
I pay the bills
But don’t leave a forwarding address

Once when I’m driving alone
On an icy road
The wheels start spinning
And I see trees
On the side of the road
racing towards me
I think “Dead”
My whole life sucked
Into that wave of trees

I wait for impact
Wait to pass through those trees
A changed person

But a force in my hands
Not me
Grasps the wheel
And turns against the skid
Which is sure disaster

The car is lifting
Up in the air and landing
Back on course
Without skipping a beat
I’m driving as if nothing happened

I don’t belong
Alive
I hear applause from those angels
Assigned to me

I get the feeling
That Someone up there
Loves me

He’s the One
Who makes the redwood forests
And grand canyons
Who never plays it safe
Never sleeps
Or slumbers

If I weren’t so intrepid
And didn’t keep moving
I would still be installed
In place
And easily missed Him
I could have been successful
At doing what they do
And living what they live

I would have never followed Him
Into the desert
Or forfeited a return plane ticket
To stay
Or found my soul mate
By following a slender lead
To a hotel lobby

Or lived in a tiny 3-room apartment
Without central heating
Or had all those beautiful children
On a salary that didn’t exist

I would have never
Crouched on hands and knees
To check the house before Pesach

Or stood guard
Over
candlelight

Or
waited an hour and
Balanced on a ledge
To see a holy face

Or looked into a goblet of wine
As I hung on
Every word of blessing

If I weren’t so intrepid
I would have never
Followed that trail of crumbs
In the forest

Advice for the Seder Guest

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Pesach is around the corner and many people will be guests at other people’s sedarim, which raises a number of questions.

1) Since there is great variance in sedarim and some of them might include tens of Divrei Torah from grade-schoolers, is it proper to probe and get a sense of what the seder will be like before accepting an invitation?

2) Is it proper to offer your own Divrei Torah or should you wait until asked?

3) How do you check on the level of Kashrus since some people are more careful on Pesach because of the stringencies regarding Chametz?

4) If the hosts aren’t careful giving out the shiurim for the various mitzvos of the evening, how can you tactfully ask – “please sir, can I have some more?”

What are some of the problems and solutions that you’ve come across?

How to Deal With a Rabbi with Issues?

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How would you handle or react to your Rabbi who is often rude and has weak people interacting skills. He suggested that I need to give more to charity (the shul) after he asked you how much my wife and I make together and I told him we are giving what we can. When I ask a question, he always has an attitude when answering.

I am not the only one who has witnessed this and who feels this way. I am told that this is how it is and I should just overlook it.

I want to continue to go to shul but he is rude and his shuirs are dry, but the members there are very friendly and warm.

This is the only orthodox Rabbi in the area.

I know what I should do and confront him of this, but it is nice to hear from an outside source. I am sure you have heard or seen this before.

Thanks in Advance,
Jeff

In Scandals, a Wake-Up Call for Orthodoxy

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By David Klinghoffer

For all its outward vigor, the Orthodox community, which is my own, appears to harbor a sickness. You don’t have to be an ideological critic of traditional Judaism to wonder if the cause should be sought in Orthodoxy itself.

The past year has brought what seems like a never-ending stream of financial or sexual scandals. Prominent rabbis have been charged with money-laundering. The scandal unleashed by accounts of mistreatment of workers and animals in a kosher meat facility continues to reverberate. An influential rabbi specializing in conversions allegedly conducted a squalid relationship with a woman wishing to convert. There have been repulsive accounts of molestation of boys in yeshivas. Most recently, a prominent rabbi and communal powerbroker was charged with trying to extort money from a hedge fund.

Of course, not every allegation turns out to be true (and you certainly cannot believe everything you read, especially on the Internet with its bias in favor of grudges and witch-hunts). Yet the pattern of accusations can’t be coincidental.

For a convert or a baal teshuvah, like me, the greatest stumbling block to faith may indeed be the Orthodox community itself. If Torah is true, why do Torah Jews not stand out as particularly impressive? Deuteronomy says of our Torah observance: “It is your wisdom and discernment in the eyes of the peoples, who shall hear all these decrees and who shall say, ‘Surely a wise and discerning people is this great nation’” (4:6). No one would say such a thing of us today. How can this be?

The answer, I think, lies in the nature of Torah that has allowed its adherents to persist for millennia. While liberal Jewish movements inevitably fade into the broader gentile society, traditional Judaism survives thanks to a hedge of religious laws that keep Jews somewhat separate from others: “Behold! It is a nation that will dwell in solitude and not be reckoned among the nations” (Numbers 23:9). Paradoxically, our ministering to and illuminating humanity as the “kingdom of priests” (Exodus 19:6) that God calls us to be is conditioned on this apartness from other people.

But insularity also has its risks. For communities, as for individual human beings, there’s a madness that often goes with spending too much time by yourself. Reality becomes a little unreal. So too, alas, in our Orthodox world.

At times you feel you are on Planet Frum, where eccentricities and trivialities — “Orthodox” jargon and accents, minutely observed quirks of attire, tribal foods — loom large, as if reflected in a funhouse mirror. This is pronouncedly so on the East Coast (which is one reason I moved to Seattle). For example, not long ago I was talking with a young woman who grew up in a Hasidic community. I was trying to get clear what exactly distinguished her former community from other Hasidic groups. Her answer kept coming back not to beliefs but to styles of socks and hats.

I recall another conversation with a New York woman, Modern Orthodox, who was seeking to locate another woman along the spectrum of religiosity. “Basically, she wears pants and eats fish out,” was her summary statement that would sound insane to any outsider. (She meant the other woman doesn’t strictly observe rules regarding modesty in attire or not eating in non-kosher restaurants.)

In an insular community, Torah can easily be reduced to cosa nostra — merely “our thing,” a game of chess with arcane rules that bear no meaning outside a narrow context. The serious danger lies in Judaism becoming a hermetically sealed environment, irrelevant and indifferent to the world. The highest ethics and values to be found in the wider society — which Judaism praises as derech eretz — are then minimized or even discarded as somehow goyish.

The visionary spokesman of Modern Orthodoxy in 19th-century Germany, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, warned of the peril Jews face in living up to our calling. In his Torah commentary, Hirsch wrote, “The sanctification of certain persons, things, times or places can very easily result in the pernicious idea that holiness and sanctification are limited to these persons, things, times and places. With the giving over of these things to holiness, the tribute has been paid, and the demand of holiness for everything else has been bought off.”

If you have “bought off” the Torah’s call to be holy by sanctifying yourself and your community, while ignoring all else, it becomes easier to overlook behaviors that run the gamut from silly to grotesque or worse.

When I lived in New York, I saw countless instances of Orthodox Jews behaving in public with little refinement or dignity. Visit the Kiddush table on Shabbos morning at many a shul. Grown men and women push and grab for food with all the manners and elegance that I regularly observe in my 2-year-old twins. Isolation from outsiders has something to do with it. In our bubble floating undisturbed through the world, we forget how to behave.

With our childishness goes a naiveté that may also explain how abusers are able to get away with it. Rabbis are regarded with childlike reverence. There is a guileless, ingenuous failure to confront reality.

The picture of a tragedy is complete when you consider how our unimpressiveness, our mediocrity, assures that even if we suddenly decided to accept the priestly role that God commanded us to fill, the world would hardly take us seriously. The credibility we might have, we have squandered.

I note this in sadness and frustration, not because I have any immediate remedy to propose. However, we can at least put the matter into its proper spiritual context, understanding that God appears to have built directly into the Torah the dilemma in which we’re caught. There is a necessary separation between clergy and congregation — the Jews and other men and women. Without it, there can be no priesthood. But isolation carries with it a risk that must be vigilantly guarded against.

By our observing Shabbat or kashrut, the Torah intends to remind us of our high calling, not to dispense us from it. It’s hard to avoid the impression that this year has been, as a rabbi friend suggested to me, a wake-up call from God.

David Klinghoffer is a senior fellow at the Discovery Institute and the author of “The Lord Will Gather Me In: My Journey to Jewish Orthodoxy” (Free Press, 1998). He writes the Kingdom of Priests blog on Beliefnet.
—
Originally published in the Forward

They Don’t Make Anti Semites Like They Used To

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By Rabbi Benzion Shaffier

“In the third year of his reign, he made a party for all of his officers and servants, the rulers of Paras and Madai, the Partamim and rulers in front of him.” – Esther 1:2

The Megillah opens with a description of Achashverosh’s vast empire, “He ruled over one hundred and twenty seven nations.” The common assumption is that he was in the height of his glory. However, Chazal tell us that shortly before this, he had ruled over an additional one hundred and nineteen nations. At this point in time, he was still a powerful ruler, but almost half of his kingdom had been taken from him.

In his commentary on the Megillah, the Nesivos (Megilas Sisarim) explains that by all rights, Achashverosh should have been in mourning. He had just suffered a striking loss. He had been the ruler of the earth, and now his power and glory were stolen from him. Yet he was joyful and made a party because he understood the ways of HASHEM, and he had a sign from the heaven.

Chazal tell us that throughout our long exile, HASHEM has kept the Jewish people scattered across the globe so that if an evil king would come to power and attempt to kill us, a portion of the nation would be living in other parts of the world not under his control. Never are all the Jews under one ruler.

Yet that rule was clearly broken. When Achashverosh reigned over the entire world, every Jew alive had been under his sovereignty. Even now that he ruled over only half of the world, every Jew was still under his dominion. Whether he would keep or lose a province seemed to have been based on whether Jews were living there. It was almost as if a laser beam were carving out his monarchy. If there were Jews in a region, it remained under his control. If not, it was taken from him. When the rebellion was finished, every Jew was still under his control. Achashverosh took this as a sign that HASHEM was delivering His people into his hands and therefore he was joyful and made a party.

This concept becomes very difficult when we focus on who this man was.

Achashverosh wasn’t the Pillsbury doughboy
If you were to ask a school age child to describe Achashverosh, you would likely get an image of a short, roly-poly, fun loving guy who liked to drink – the Pillsbury doughboy. Chazal tell us that is not quite an accurate description. In fact, it couldn’t be more off-base.

Rashi tells us that Achashverosh wasn’t born to nobility. He was an ego-driven lout who kicked, clubbed, and clawed his way into power. His ambition was nothing short of world dominion, and he had recently achieved his dream – Emperor of the Earth. When the Megillah opens, his honor and glory have been ripped out from under his feet. How is it possible that he made a party? How could he possibly be filled with joy?

The answer to this question comes from a better understanding of what actually drove this man.

Achashverosh was evil
In the first posuk of the Megillah, Rashi explains that Achashverosh was consistent – consistently wicked from the first verse until the very end. Make no mistake; this man hated the Jews as much as anyone in his times. But he knew why he hated the Jews: the Jews represented HASHEM, and he was engaged in a war against holiness.

As an example, the Nesivos explains why the Megillah delineates the details of the party that Achashverosh threw. We are told about the tapestries on the walls, the food served, and what the guests drank. Why, nearly twenty five hundred years later, do we need to know that the golden benches were covered with butz and agraman?

The Nesivos explains that this was all part of the plan. The focus of the party was the last seven days when the “people of Shushan” were invited. Shushan then was the center of Jewish life. Mordechai met with the Sanhedrin there daily. It was the epicenter of religious Jewry, and that was Achashverosh’s target. He invited the Jews to his palace to get them to sin. Everything in the party was focused towards that goal.

The benches were covered with butz and argaman, wool and linen, which is shatnez. The tapestries on the walls were placed there to get the Torah sages of the generation distracted. Maybe their eye would be caught and they would look at something inappropriate. The food at this affair was “according to each man as he wished.” It was kosher by design. Achashverosh knew that if he forced the Jews to eat treif food, it wouldn’t be considered a transgression; he needed to get them to sin willingly. So each invitee was given a private waiter and could ask for exactly what he wanted.

Achashverosh even eliminated the ancient Persian custom of forced drinking. At this party the drinking was done willingly. No one was forced. Achashverosh knew that if the Jews were drunk, there would be much less of a complaint against them. He did everything in his power to get them to sin in as an egregious manner as possible. He knew that if he got them to sin, they would be his for the taking.

The farmer with the dirt, the farmer with the ditch
When Haman came with his “plan” to kill the Jews, it wasn’t a difficult sell. Chazal give a parable: imagine two farmers with adjoining fields. One says to his friend, “I have this large pile of dirt in my field. Because of it, I can’t plow. You have a large ditch in your field. Because of it, you can’t plow. I would like to take my pile of dirt and put it in your ditch. For this, I will pay you handsomely.” The second farmer responds, “Pay me? You don’t have to pay me. I will gladly let you do it. You benefit, I benefit; there is no need to pay me. Go ahead with my blessings.”

When Haman offered the ten thousand talents of silver to “pay for the killing of the Jews,” Achashverorsh’s response was, “The money is yours to keep. As to the Jews, do with them what you please.” He didn’t even accept the fortune of money being offered to him.

The key to understanding this man is to recognize that as much as he was set on world conquest, he was engaged in an ideological war; a war against holiness, the Jews, and G-d.

This seems to be the answer to the question. Granted Achashverosh had just recently suffered a great personal setback, the loss of half his empire. But he had been given something even sweeter – he was given the Jews. He had the ability to eliminate the ultimate source of holiness in the world – G-d’s people – and therefore he was joyful and celebrated. This man was a real Anti- Semite.

They don’t make Anti- Semites like they used to
This concept is eye opening because for thousands of years, everyone has hated the Jews, yet the vast majority of our modern Anti-Semites couldn’t tell you why. If you were to ask one of them, “Why do you hate the Jews? You would likely see him take on the glassy-eyed look of the semi-conscious. “Why? Why do I hate the Jew? I hate him so much that I would drink his blood!” His hatred is quite clear, based on his fury and drive. But what is his reason? Your run-of-the-mill Anti-Semite can’t answer the question intelligently.

Once upon a time, the Jews faced a different sort of enemy, men who hated them and could tell you why. “I hate the Jew because he represents everything holy. I hate the Jew because he stands for everything good. He has introduced conscience to mankind. But more than anything, I hate the Jew because he represents G-d.” Such a man was Achashverosh, and such men were common in earlier times.

It is ironic that through the eyes of our enemies, we can come to understand the significance of the Jew, and the pivotal role that he plays in world history – that of G-d’s Chosen People.

May HASHEM quickly redeem us, and may we regain our unique status of the Exalted Nation.

“The Shmuz” an engaging and motivating series of Torah lectures, that deals with real life issues ,is available FREE at www.theShmuz.com.

The BT and the SuperBowl

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The NY Times has a good article about Alan Shlomo Veingrad, the Professional Football Player who won a Superbowl with the Dallas Cowboys and became an observant Jew afterwards.

The Ba’al Guf and the Ba’al Teshuva

A promotional flier announced the evening’s subject as “Super Bowl to Super Jew.” There was truth in that advertising. Mr. Veingrad goes these days by his Hebrew name, Shlomo. He wore a black skullcap and the ritual fringes called tzitzit; he wore the Super Bowl ring he won in 1992 with the Dallas Cowboys and the Rolex watch that was a gift from Emmitt Smith, the team’s star running back.

Within his 6-foot-5 frame, Mr. Veingrad embodies two Jewish archetypes that do not often meet. He is the ba’al guf, the Jewish strongman, and the ba’al teshuva, the returnee to the faith. While two Jewish boxers on the scene now — Yuri Foreman and Dimitriy Salita — also are prominently observant, Mr. Veingrad may well be the only Orthodox athlete from the United States’ hugely popular team sports.

“I believe I played in the N.F.L. and have that ring so I can share my story with other Jews,” Mr. Veingrad, 46, said shortly before the U.S.C. event.

During it, he told a spellbound capacity audience, “The Torah is a playbook for how someone can live their life.”

Sports, America and the Golus Yid

For Jews, abundant as fans but uncommon as top players, the visibility of a Shlomo Veingrad serves both reassuring and cathartic roles. Having a Jew to root for — whether Hank Greenberg, Sandy Koufax or the Israeli N.B.A. rookie Omri Casspi — “has a lot to do with our desire to define ourselves as Americans in the most American way, which is sports,” said Jeffrey S. Gurock, a history professor at Yeshiva University and the author of “Judaism’s Encounter With American Sports.”

At a deeper and more anxious level, American Jews continue to grapple with the stereotypical view of the Jew as egghead, nerd, weakling. That dismissive portrayal was a staple not only of anti-Semites, but also of early Zionists, who envisioned their “new man” with his plow and rifle as the antidote to the “golus Yid,” the exilic Jew unable even to defend himself.

“I don’t think those feelings are as conscious as in prior generations, but they still have some resonance,” Professor Gurock said in a telephone interview. “So there’s a residual pride of someone achieving in this very secular world of sports.”

Read the whole article here.

Question of the Week: Is Different Always Better?

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Rivka writes:

I have, thank G-d, children of varying ages. I often find that I’m placed in a situation where I have to approve/disapprove or allow/permit certain activities that my children’s friends are engaging in. For example, we do not permit our children to attend movies. From time to time, my 11 year old will ask if he can go to a movie with his friends. This, despite, the fact that he knows that we will not allow it. My question is not how to deal with this issue or when to say yes or no. My question is how to explain things to a smart kid in a manner that doesn’t put down others who engage in an activity which we don’t permit. When I try to explain to him the differences in hashkafa, he asks things like “does that mean our hashkafa is better” or “if their hashkafa is legitimate, why isn’t it good for us?” Now, I understand that a kid will often say anything when frustrated or trying to get his way but how do I explain these matters in a way that doesn’t denigrate others? Thanks.

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Making Sure the Slow Path Remains a Path

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Reading this great advice from Friedman’s Get Deeper Into Torah Without Going Off The Deep End raises the question that perhaps at some point we no longer have our sight on a goal and we’re basically content with where we are holding despite the fact that we have much room to grow in our Torah and mitzvot observance.

There is the intellectual and emotional commitment to a life of Torah. There is also the practical realignment of a thousand details in your daily life. Your commitment may happen in months or even in an hour. The nitty-gritty rearrangements of how you live should be grown into gradually over several years. It is enough to know you are heading towards total observance. Don’t lose sight of your goal, but pace yourself as you travel towards it. This pacing varies from person to person. If mitzvot are becoming a guilty burden, you have gone forward too fast. If you are depressed, cranky, or anxious about your religious life, or just unbelievably unenthusiastic, you have probably taken on too much too quickly.

A possible suggestion:

Women: just growing into kashrus, growing into Shabbos observance, continuing to learn, dressing more or less modestly, and finding your way around the prayers may be more than enough the first two years.

Men: Just growing into kashrus, growing into Shabbos observance, putting on tefillin, praying three times a day, and daily learning may be more than enough for the first two years. It’s not necessary to pressure yourself now to say all the prayers in the
prayerbook, to dress and speak like a tenth-generation Ben or Bat Torah, to learn every Rashi in Tanach, to become the school expert in checking bugs in vegetables, to study until midnight, to be especially stringent about which kosher labels you accept, to say psalms every day, etc. etc. It’s true that you should eventually create as rich a religious life for yourself as you can, but DON’T take it on all in one year.