Category: Lifeline

In this week’s reading, we are told that “Yisro heard all that G-d had done for Moshe and Israel his nation, for HaShem had taken Israel from Egypt” [18:1].

Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki) asks: what did Yisro hear? He answers, “the parting of the Reed Sea, and the war with Amalek.”

These two events were, to say the least, public knowledge. The Medrash says that at the moment that the sea parted for the Jews, every body of water, even every glass of water, also parted. This happened so that everyone would know about the miracle done for the Jews at that moment. So, yes, Yisro heard, and saw. He was sitting in his living room about to have his tea, and it split before his eyes. But this also happened for every other Midyanite, and every other person. So why does the Torah say that Yisro heard? Everyone heard!

We learn from Yisro the essence of “hearing.” A “shomea,” one who hears, does not merely have a functioning inner ear. Yisro, the “Kohen Midyan”, the priest of the Midyanites, dropped everything to go join the Nation of Israel. Why? Because he alone really heard the message. G-d sent the message to every person on earth — but Yisro heard.

While computers are doing a better and better job of automating this task, it is still important that we save our work frequently. Anyone with computer experience has experienced the unique frustration of spending an hour or more at the keyboard working on an important task, and then having the computer freeze up or power off without the opportunity to save one’s work. Whatever we do not commit to the computer’s memory, we lose.

We ourselves are not all that different. We often claim to “hear” something that goes “in one ear and out the other.” G-d sends us messages. He enters the data. But it is our responsibility to process and save that data. When something happens, when we receive a message, we can only say we have truly “heard” if we remember, understand, and learn from the experience. In the Torah, “hearing” means “Sh’ma Yisroel” [Hear, Israel, the L-rd our G-d, the L-rd is One], and “Naaseh V’Nishma” [We will do, and we will hear…].

Did we get the message?

[Based upon a class by Rav Asher Z. Rubenstein zt”l of Jerusalem.]

In this week’s reading, Yaakov parcels out blessings to his sons, based upon his prophetic understanding of their futures. He describes Yissachar as a strong-boned donkey, who saw that “rest” was good, yet “bent his shoulder to bear, and became a servant to tasks” [49:14-15].

The commentators universally understand that the tribe of Yissachar devoted itself to Torah study to an extraordinary extent: Rashi derives from a verse in Chronicles that the tribe produced 200 heads of the Sanhedrin, the supreme Rabbinic Court located in the Temple in Jerusalem.

That is but the first of three common threads in the understanding of these two verses. The second is that Torah study is seen as a burden, a monumental task. Rashi says that Yissachar received a fruitful portion of the Land of Israel, yet burdened himself with Torah. The Ohr HaChaim writes that the verse refers to the ultimate rest in the World to Come, leading Yissachar to toil in this one. And the Kli Yakar says that Yissachar was like a donkey tied to its load — his burden was always there.

And third, this task of Yissachar’s performed a critical service for the Jewish Nation. The verse referenced by Rashi (I Chronicles 12:33) is describing King David gathering military troops, yet says: “And of the children of Yissachar, men who understood the times, who knew what Israel should do; their heads were 200, and all their brothers acted on their words.” Torah guides Israel in all its affairs, so Israel’s best strategists were those who studied constantly.

Torah study is not meant to be a relaxing activity — enjoyable, yes, but not easy. Mort Zuckerman, the real estate magnate and editor-in-chief of US News and World Report, visited the famous yeshiva in Lakewood, NJ and called it “the single most intellectually active, energetic, fascinating environment I had ever witnessed.” He even said that Harvard Law School (which he attended) paled by comparison! When we study Torah, this must be our goal — to immerse ourselves, for our minds to be completely engaged with the material.

The phrase “became a servant to tasks” actually refers to “mas,” a tax. The Ohr HaChaim reads “servant to tasks” as applying to the rest of the Jewish nation, rather than Yissachar — meaning that everyone had to “tax themselves” to support those studying Torah, as the tribe of Zevulun did for Yissachar. “And so in every generation,” the Ohr HaChaim concludes, the rest of us claim a portion in the continuation of Torah scholarship, ensuring the Jewish future, by supporting schools and scholars.

In this week’s reading, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers as second-in-command over all of Egypt. Due to the famine, he encourages the entire family to join him, but does so with unusual language: “Hurry and go up to my father, and say to him, ‘so says your son, Yosef: G-d has placed me as Master over all of Egypt; come down to me, do not stand still'” [45:9]. Go up to my father, he says, and tell him to come down to me.

When they do, in fact, come to join him, the Torah tells us that “Yosef settled his father and brothers, and gave them a holding in the Land of Egypt, in the best of the land, in the land of Ramses, in accordance with Pharaoh’s command” [47:11].

Consider, then, what the brothers say to Pharaoh: “we have come to dwell in the land, because there is no grazing for the flocks that belong to your servants, for the hunger is heavy in the Land of Canaan; and now let your servants please settle in the Land of Goshen” [47:4]. The word for “to dwell,” lagur, comes from the root Ger, the word for stranger. The brothers are telling Pharaoh: we come simply to be strangers, to dwell here temporarily. We know this is not our home.

Remember that at the time, the Jewish Family comprised all of 70 people (see 46:27). All of them moved to Egypt, none were left behind in Canaan. They built new houses on the most valuable real estate. They built a House of Study (see Rashi on 46:28). One of them was the Viceroy of the entire country, which was, at the time, arguably the most powerful in the world. They had a new home, away from the famine — why would they plan to move back? Why would they want to move anywhere at all — and why would the tell Pharoah? It would be like Senator Marco Rubio announcing future plans to move his family back to Cuba: it seems to make no sense, and to be bad politics as well.

From the brothers, we learn two things. First of all, the connection of the People of Israel to the Land of Israel is unlike any other. G-d made a promise to Abraham: this, Canaan, will be your permanent Land. I am giving it to you. No matter where else in the world you may find yourself, you only have one homeland.

And second, the brothers knew that Pharaoh wanted to hear this. It wasn’t bad politics, it was good politics. “We’re Jews. We know we’re different. And despite current circumstances, we know we’re not going to settle here permanently, and simply be part of you, the Egyptian nation.”

Even as belief in the G-d of the Jews has spread around the world, other nations still regard the Jews as a different people. Whether given welcome or oppressed, we are different. And to that extent, we are not truly home in any other land. The brothers tell us: we must always look forward to going home.

What if I told you there was something you could do, right now, that could save a life in Israel? Would you do it?

In this week’s reading, Yaakov returns to the Land of Israel, only to meet his brother Esav — who years earlier tried to kill him. Yaakov prepared for this event, Rashi tells us, in three ways: with gifts, prayer, and preparation for war. All three were necessary.

Our Sages tell us that “maaseh avos siman l’banim” — the actions of the Fathers are signs for the children. Much of what we learn from the detailed accounts in Bereishis, the Book of Genesis, are principles derived from the accounts of the lives of our forebears, the fathers and mothers of the Jewish people.

Hatred of the children of Yaakov by the children of Esav and Yishmael is hardly new — it has been with us for thousands of years. The modern state of Israel is not facing a new challenge, but an ancient one; the children of Ishmael have aimed to destroy it since before it was created, simply because it is a state run by Jews. Today Ishmael is waging war with guns, knives, and “diplomacy” to gain world support against the Jews (as if that were difficult to garner).

Yes, we have to prepare for war, and fight back with diplomacy as well. But the Jews have a secret weapon: the Creator of Heaven and Earth is ready to help us.

Recently someone called my attention to a webpage (anti-Semitic, of course) purporting to translate content of the Talmud, to the effect that Judaism teaches that a non-Jew is not a human being, but rather a beast. It was a complete inversion of reality; the Talmud states that “the Righteous of all Nations have a share in the World to Come” [Sanhedrin 105a]. An animal cannot choose to be righteous; the Talmud is telling us that every human being has free will, and will be rewarded for making the right choices — and that this applies to every person, whether Jewish or not.

Of course, the “translation” was fictional. The part about non-Jews being beasts was whole-cloth fabrication; the rest, a distortion built upon a mistranslation. The Talmud does not use “Ish,” the word for man. Rather, it says that non-Jews are not called “Adam;” only Jews are called “Adam” [Bava Metziah 114b].

This is not a new anti-Semitic claim; it was used at the Dreyfus trial, when an innocent and loyal French Jewish soldier was accused of treason (in order to cover up the guilt of a pure-blood Frenchman). Several rabbis came from other European countries to support the defense, and they were confronted with this misrepresentation of Jewish teachings.

They explained as follows: Adam is not all of humanity. We are all the Children of Adam, and it is the Jews who brought the message that we are all brothers, all created in the Image of G-d, to the world. But Adam is one person, one body. We, the Jews, are all called “Israel,” the name given by G-d to Jacob — immediately prior to his family reunion with Esau. That is the meaning of being called “Adam” in the singular.

If a French person is hurt, a person of French descent living in another country is unlikely to be affected more than any other human being. But because a Jew was falsely accused, the rabbis explained, we were willing to come from other countries just to support him. That is what is different — all Jews are one. We are one unified body to an extent not shared by other nations, even in our dispersal. This is why the actions of Yaakov, one man, are taken as signs to guide all of his children, thousands of years later.

Like our forefather Yaakov, we have to fight in three ways: with diplomacy and offers of gifts, with preparation for war to defend ourselves, and with prayer and Torah study. As important as the first two of these are, only the third leverages our secret weapon, the key to our national defense.

Current events are a call to prayer and study. There is indeed something we can do right now, that can save lives.

It is as predictable as sunrise. At roughly this time of the year, someone claims the mantle of religious authority in order to announce that Avraham “failed” the test of the Akeidah, of sacrificing his son. Why? Because, the speaker insists, Avraham should have told G-d that murder is wrong, and refused to follow the Divine Command.

This neatly turns Judaism on its head.

The Torah teaches us that we are not at liberty to make our own judgments about what is morally justifiable or correct. Why? Because a person judging his or her own moral behavior is similar to the proverbial fox guarding the chicken coop. There is a famous adage about Aristotle deviating from his own philosophical principles, and defending his conduct by saying that “now I’m not Aristotle.” Whether or not the story is apocryphal, it is certainly logically consistent — temptation and personal bias can lead a person astray, even from his or her own teaching.

In Avraham’s time, child sacrifice was a common practice. He was the one who recognized the authority of a single G-d over Heaven and earth, rose to the level of prophecy, and, with his prophetic insight into G-d’s Will, taught humanity the principle that every life is sacred.

The supreme test of Avraham’s loyalty was to ask him, in one fell swoop, to do away with decades of teaching about proper moral behavior, a career encouraging belief in the one true G-d, the son who was following in his path, and the promise of generations of descendents. He was called upon to destroy everything he had worked for in his entire life, and what did he say? “Hineni,” I am here. He knew that what he thought about morals and virtue, and all his other biases and wants, must be set aside in favor of what G-d demands of him.

It is precisely that commitment to place G-d’s morality ahead of our own judgment that has enabled us to follow Jewish values under incredibly trying circumstances. Where did we get the strength necessary? We inherited it from our fathers!

Do you like your house? “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” It is human nature to find comfort in familiar surroundings, friends and neighbors, even habits.

What does G-d tell Abraham? Go. Leave your home, go out “from your land, from your birthplace, from the house of your fathers.” And to where will Abraham be going? “To the land which I will show you.” [Genesis 12:1]

All Abraham knows is that wherever he is going, it’s where G-d wants him to be. For Abraham, that is enough, which is what makes him the first of the forefathers of the Jewish people. His closeness to G-d, his spirituality, is his priority.

Have you heard the expression, “no pain, no gain?” It actually comes from the Chapters of the Fathers, at the end of the 5th chapter: “Ben Hei Hei says: according to the pain is the reward.”

People often use this expression with regards to sports and building muscle. But in that realm, this simple adage can often be terrible advice. It’s possible to strain and cause permanent injury by doing something until it’s painful.

Maimonides reminds us that the Chapters of the Fathers were written by Sages rather than personal trainers. Ben Hei Hei was talking about Torah. The more one tries to understand, the more one delves into learning in order to internalize Torah, the greater the reward.

This is part of what makes Torah unique. The reward is not based upon how much knowledge one acquires, how great one becomes. The reward is based upon how hard you try.

G-d tells Abraham: I need you to leave your comfort zone. I need you to make efforts to come to me. I need you to make changes in your life. And without a second thought, Abraham follows — so much so, that the Torah records Abraham as describing himself as “walking before G-d!” [see Gen. 24:40]

This is what spiritual growth is all about — leaving our comfort zone, to be closer to G-d. And thanks to the strength bestowed upon us by our forebears, G-d knows we are up to the task. We merely need to put one foot in front of the other, to make the effort to go towards Him.

When Ben-Tzion Davis, a Ger Tzedek and self-described electronics nerd, opened a standard Shabbos hotplate to help a friend, he was shocked to discover what was inside. His friend could easily have been more shocked than he was — literally.

Ben-Tzion set out to build a better model, founding a company called TechYid Co. His Shabbos Safe Hotplate uses a safe heating element and has a built-in fuse to protect from shocks or fire if anything goes wrong. This is a brilliant idea — but he needs funding to make his new hot plate a reality, and his KickStarter campaign has only three days remaining. But, on the other hand, he has already raised over $58,000 of the $60,500 he needs.

So if you use a hot plate and are concerned about the safety of these devices, I urge you to check out the video for his Shabbos Safe Hotplate, and sign up to receive yours.

This past January, the Jewish world lost a tremendous resource: Rabbi Dovid Winiarz zt”l, who was known online as the “Facebuker Rebbe.” For him, Jewish outreach was about one thing above all else: finding what he could do for you, and trying to do it. In any field of endeavor, it is typical for us to get into a certain pattern — we have a line of products or area of responsibility, and we do what fits into our “mold.” Dovid didn’t limit himself; he was just there to help.

His brother Reb Shmuel relates that if you would ask him, “how was your Rosh HaShanah?” or “how was your Yom Kippur,” he would respond with a smile and say — “I don’t know. Ask me next year!”

First and foremost, this is the time to be thinking about the fragility of life. We are hoping to be written for another year, and must keep in mind that a person never knows — Reb Dovid passed away extremely suddenly, when the car in which he was traveling slipped on black ice. Now, when the King is “close by,” is our opportunity to ask Him for another year.

And what shall that year bring? These days are also our opportunity to ask G-d for a year of blessing: for our health, for our families, for our income, for our spiritual growth. But in that last area in particular, we are also setting a pattern for the year ahead.

Taking the lesson encapsulated in Rabbi Winiarz’s words, let’s first think back over last year. How did we do? Did we grow? Did we meet our goals? Or did we quickly slip back into old patterns? Then we can think about what we should be asking for, praying for, and working towards — so that when we look back next year, we feel accomplished.

Now, where do we want to be next year? When it’s time to look back one year from now, we will be, in essence, answering “how was your Yom Kippur?” Where would we like to be? What are we asking HaShem to do for us this year?

With those questions answered in our mind, we will be better prepared for Yom Kippur. Let us keep in mind everything we are asking for, everything we hope to accomplish. And let us go through Yom Kippur asking Hashem for help in reaching those goals.

In this week’s reading, the verse says “Lo Sisgodedu” — “do not cut yourselves,” which was a mourning practice of idolators. But the Medrash tells us that the words give us another messages as well: “do not divide, do not split up.”

Someone once asked Rabbi Yisrael M. Kagan zt”l, the Chofetz Chaim, why the observant Jewish world was so divided. Why are there Chassidim and non-Chassidim, and even among Chassidim there are all different types. Some focus more on study, some more on prayer; some are mostly silent while others sing and dance. And that was in Poland in the early 20th century, when most Jews were at most marginally aware of the diversity of Sephardic and Yemenite Jewry. What would the world be missing, he asked, if there was simply one group of Jews, all praying the same way and following the same customs?

The Chofetz Chaim responded that before asking him this question, the questioner ought to go to the Czar of Russia with a similar one: why are there so many different types of soldiers? In their day they had infantry, cavalry and artillery — today that would just be the Army. Could we rationally question why there are different units, whether the world would lack anything if there was only one type of soldier? In order to win in battle, the military needs a variety of techniques, strategies, and strengths.

So too, says Rabbi Kagan, in our ongoing battle against the Evil Inclination. We are all in the same battle, trying to perfect ourselves and make better choices. As someone explained more recently, without the modern Yeshivos of Lithuanian Jewry, Torah learning would not be so strong, and without the impact of the Chassidic movement, Judaism would not be so strong. When we learn and benefit from each others’ strengths, we are united in serving our Father in Heaven.