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The Covid-Chanukah Miracle of Lights

Fri, 3 Dec 2021 1:53:00 AM

Though some time has passed, this story remains linked here because it is illustrative of some of the impact of our activities and the type of interactions that take place through the year - many of which are personal, or recognizable. In this case, Marti was happy to have her story recorded and shared.

Dear Friend,

It was at the height of Covid-19 in California.

Vaccines were still a hope away, lockdowns had come and gone, and local color-code guidelines had taken their place. Fear of the unknown was still rampant.

But Chanukah was here, and Chanukah had to be celebrated—together, if at all possible.

The restaurants, back to operating at full-steam outdoors, had overtaken our regular space at the plaza over the lake, so we searched for a new, large, open-spaced location that could allow for a safe gathering.

Thank G-d we found a perfect place: The Grand Terrace at Central Park, right in front of City Hall and the Bell Tower. We packaged Chanukah goodies in individual bags to distribute to the children, and prepared for a distanced, masked, small but happy crowd.

But then, just a few days before Chanukah, the statewide numbers spiked. The county tier was elevated, and strong recommendations were issued. For us, it was the first time in the 10 months of the pandemic that we actually knew people in our immediate community—three families and a developing fourth—who were quarantining and trying to recover after having tested positive for the virus.

The prudent choice seemed to be to take all Chanukah services and events into virtual space, and that’s what we did: we offered three separate zoom events—a lighting, a musical performance, and a Moroccan doughnut-making show—on three nights of Chanukah.

But what to do with all the kids’ bags, packed with love, party favors, and freshly-baked dreidel cookies? And what about all those people at home who were craving some real, non-virtual, connection?

We decided to dedicate a few nights to driving around to visit individual homes to deliver the “party bags” and bring Chanukah joy from the outside. As Chanukah comes from the word “Chinuch” – education – we decided to try and prioritize families with children and then visit others as time allowed.

We knocked on the doors, delivered the party bags, sang and danced from afar, and brought many smiles. Additionally, both of our cars now had electrical menorahs on the roofs, so this created a great photo-op for the kids and a car-menorah parade of sorts.

Little did we know what those car menorahs would do.

As this project was more of a “let’s grab the opportunity” type of thing, we didn’t have a major route planned. As we left each location, my wife (Rochel) and I consulted about where to go next.

I couldn’t understand why she kept mentioning Esther. Esther was a grandmother whose children were long grown, and from past experience I knew that her prime “visiting hours” usually waned by early evening. Yes, she had grandchildren with whom she could share the Chanukah bags, but why not drop them by sometime in the day? Why not use the precious evening hours to instead bring our Chanukah procession to someone whose kids would actually be there to see the menorah parade and have possible life-long memories created by the visit?

Nevertheless, on the second night of our procession, after Rochel asked about Esther again, that’s where we went.

I rang Esther’s bell and left the bags at the door. True to my prediction, Esther wasn’t up for visitors. She waved from the second-story window and confirmed by text that she would collect the bags later.

But apparently G-d had better plans in store, that somehow my wife had sensed.

As we were parked in front of the house, I stood on the road outside the car waiting for the text back-and-forth with Esther to be completed. A woman, out walking her dog, passed by and said, “Happy Chanukah!”

I responded in kind, and then, knowing that a friendly Chanukah greeting doesn’t necessarily mean Jewish, I followed up with, “Do you celebrate Chanukah?”

When she said yes, I asked, “Do you have candles?”

She didn’t.

But I did.

Bingo.

Maybe that’s why G-d brought us here now.

I was delighted to share a box from the stock that we try to keep in the car during Chanukah in case of such opportunities, and she was delighted to receive it.

We exchanged a few words, but the time or mood didn’t seem ripe for much further discussion so we just noted her house number—she lived right across the street from Esther—and planned a future visit.

A few days later, on Friday afternoon, Rochel stopped by with a welcome package of a fresh home-baked challah for Shabbos, one of her trademark dips, and Shabbat candles with local candle-lighting time. The woman wasn’t home, so Rochel left it with a note at the front door.

It took about a week or two, but finally we received an acknowledgement email: Marti had been pleased to meet us on Chanukah and to receive the Shabbos package, but she wasn’t up to socializing much yet—her husband had passed away just a few months earlier.

An email like that can be taken at face value—perhaps she is asking for a bit of time to heal first?—but Rochel in her wisdom saw this sad news as all the more reason for trying to reach out immediately, and now at least we had Marti’s name and contact information.

Rochel visited her, spoke, and invited her for an outdoor Shabbos meal. She was delighted to take up the offer, even as the rain drove us indoors.

Here, for the first time, I heard her side of the story:

When she and her late husband, Michael, had moved from the Valley to Rancho S. Margarita some eight years prior, they had a certain sense of doubt and discomfort in this new town so distant from the Jewish surroundings they had been used to.

And then they saw the Menorah on the corner.

While the Menorah didn’t inspire an interest in them to look for an active Jewish community—for inexplicable reasons, we may not even have had a sign up in those first years—it did bring a sense of belonging and comfort and it settled all doubt: Rancho was a place to call home*.

Eight pleasant years passed, then suddenly, without much warning, Michael passed away.

Every day without Michael was difficult, and Chanukah was no different.

No matter that they had never actually lit the menorah before. It was a Jewish holiday, and they knew all the Yiddish foods and phrases that cultural Jews know, and the lacking of her life’s partner on this special holiday was deeply felt.

Marti’s friend from the Valley encouraged her to get a menorah and to light the candles.

“But it’s already deep into Chanukah and where will I find a menorah?” Marti asked.

Her friend persisted, so Marti went searching. Finally she found one at TJ Max, but there were no candles to be had anywhere.

“Order candles on Amazon,” instructed her friend.

“But tonight’s already the sixth night, and they won’t come until after Chanukah?”

“Order them anyway,” said the friend.

So Marti left the comfort of her front room couch and went to her late husband’s home office at the back of the house.

As soon as she had made her order, she walked back to her front room, but from this angle something caught her eye through the blinds: there was a strange white light** coming from outside, and she knew it hadn’t been there before.

She opened the blinds, and to her pleasant shock, there she saw two Menorah cars, right across the street, and a rabbi standing right there!

She got the leash on Hanky and quickly walked outside. Mustering all her strength and excitement she shouted gleefully, “Happy Chanukah!”

The rabbi responded in kind, and asked if she celebrated Chanukah, and did she need candles.

Talk about the fastest Amazon delivery in the history of mankind!

She went inside and lit the candles, warmed by the special, Heaven-sent encounter.

A few days later, Marti was out walking her dog, feeling down and dejected. She was also hungry, but just didn’t feel up to having to prepare herself food. When she got home, there, at her front doorstep, was Chabad RSM’s Challah welcome package that Rochel had delivered.

As she lit the Shabbat candles for the first time in many years, tears of joy streamed down her face. At a time when she had needed it most, G-d had sent her a local family.

Ever since that time, Marti has been involved in the community – coming to events, joining us at our Shabbat table, volunteering for various holiday deliveries (she might have delivered your Passover shmurah matzah or Purim package, if it wasn’t me or Simcha) and even discovering a new friend in her across-the-street neighbor. The blessing is mutual.

This Chanukah-Covid miracle was a small peek into G-d’s own constant Divine Providence, over the entire universe, over each individual, and down to the minutest of specks of His creation.

The ways of G-d are mysterious and beyond our understanding, but G-d is good and kind. Our job as humans is to do our best at practicing and sharing His goodness and kindness in the best way we know (since her own discovery, Marti herself has connected several of her unaffiliated friends to their local Chabad communities).

May G-d finally reveal His plan and remove the pain and challenge and darkness, for so many, on so many levels, and reveal His goodness and kindness and presence to the world at large, bringing back the lights of the Menorah in His Bais-Hamikdash rebuilt, the Third Temple, and brightness and blessing to entire world.

***

Wishing you much blessing and success, and a good Shabbos, and a bright and happy Chanukah!

ברכה והצלחה - שבת שלום ומבורך!

*This part of the story brought me particular joy. The Menorah on the corner of Fundadores and RSM Parkway is a beautiful opportunity and project that we are thankful for, and that we know brings light to the community in a broad way. But hearing the personal impact it made on someone’s life gives extra meaning to all the effort involved in putting it up, storing it, and “babysitting” it—making sure that a bulb hasn’t gone out, that the electricity is working properly after a rain, that the dreidel sign is still standing after a ferocious wind storm, etc. Miraculously, of all years, last year was possibly the first year that everything worked perfectly, from the time the Menorah went up until the day it was taken down. Thank G-d, and to the many volunteers over the years, including Morris, Gary, Tomer, Scott & Alexa, and Doug and whoever else I am forgetting now.

**The strange white light was from the new LED powered car menorah. That in itself is a story: Our other car menorah is years old, made of warm-light incandescent bulbs that have more of a candle or flame-like feel to them. For years I have tried to get another one like it for our second vehicle. Every year another story happened – once I forgot to order until it was too late, another year they were sold out especially early, another time they took my order then canceled it last minute because they had chosen not to make them that year – but I couldn’t bring myself to buy the Vegas-taxi-like lit menorah-box that was available, a menorah shape with no individual branches and an artificial white light that I didn’t go for. This past year, apparently due to Covid, the market was flooded with versions that had branches but still used white LED. With excitement, but some sense of resignation, I bought that new version—the type that is used all over Israel by Chabad Youth Organization—and mounted it on my car.

After this story I have new insight into the whole history of this purchase: Had I succeeded in buying the candle-like version, Marti may never have noticed the lights through the slats. Perhaps, year-after-year, Hashem specifically made sure I would not be successful in buying the incandescent one, so that eventually I would just buy a white-lighted one, and this way Marti would see it from the window and be able to find some comfort and much-needed connection – all at the right time.

A Cousin From Israel

Fri, 8 Nov 2019 9:12:00 AM

Lech-Lecha Email

Dear Friend,

Do you have a cousin (or another relative) from Israel?

The reactions to my sharing last week that “my cousin from Israel will be here for Shabbat” brought out invariable reactions of interest, admiration, camaraderie, excitement, a certain something indefinable.

Was it pride and solidarity? A sense of connection? Wishfulness or prayer?

He came with his wife thanks to a “dare” made at a recent family wedding, an upcoming milestone birthday, and his penchant for getting deals on cheap tickets to anywhere. (And, apparently, to be the 10th man at our monthly Shabbos family service.)

It was a great surprise and pleasure to host him and his wife, and they, for their part, discovered that Orange County isn’t just anywhere.

It’s not.

And not just because of the easy shopping and scenery.

Ever since G-d promised the Holy Land to our Father Abraham (in this week’s parshah) the Land of Israel became a central basis for the Holy nation.

Avraham traveled, and taught, and instilled the land with soul and spirit for the future habitations of his progeny.

It was and is the Jewish homeland, and, till today, we turn toward Jerusalem in prayer three times a day.

But the beating heart and basis for our existence as a people is not location oriented but covenant oriented (also in this week’s parshah).

The covenant is the eternal bond with G-d for us as a people, with a unique mission of dedication to Him in a way that affects our physical lives, the society and world around us, lighting the way by living by His laws and transforming the earth and air around us into a Holy Land of itself.

Orange County is no Israel, and RSM is no Jerusalem.

But if we’re living here, then it’s to make it one. Not as a separate entity but as an extension of it—the holiness, the connection, the transformation, the proud rush of excitement and the dulcet wistfulness for something ethereal, along with the realness of G-d in everyday life.

And we’re doing it. Each one of us, in the way that we know and that we are learning to do.

My cousin and his wife detected some of that here, and then they went back home, alone.

But Hashem is a better detector – He’s seen more of the Holy Land-extension in play and He’s more than ready to already bring us all along.

Let it be today.

When Pinchas Visited Hospice

Thu, 25 Jul 2019 9:35:00 PM

Pinchas 5779

Standing outside the door of the hospice home, in the hot evening sun of late-July, we were waiting for someone to answer our multiple knocks—on the door, on the patio slider with the drawn curtains, and even on the garage windows where we had detected movement moments earlier.

We were later than usual and were already familiar with the staff’s preference for no visits after six, but it wasn’t an unreasonable hour so I persisted, thinking, “Why should Leon* miss out on his regular visit and prayer just because of my oversight and the minuscule inconvenience for the staff?”

Earlier that afternoon I had been preparing for and recording our weekly Parshah podcast (finding lessons about judgment, motivation, and even kindness, in Pinchas’s acts of zealotry) and before I knew it the clock had circled around to 6:55, the departure-time for a much-anticipated summer-camp airport drop-off.

After a quick chagrined-reaction and assessment of possibilities, we had decided to load the car and make a quick stop-in to Leon on the way to the freeway.

Now, our plans were meeting resistance.

“We’ll ring the bell for a final time and count to five,” I told my son. “If no one opens, I guess we’ll have to leave.”

I rang, began to back down the stairs, and counted without too much expectation:

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

….6, 7, 8…”

“The door’s opening!”

A scowl. An apology and promise to make it quick. Acquiescence. We’re in!

Leon got his visit. And Leon got his prayer.

(Since his neurological incident a couple of months earlier, Leon had missed only two days of laying tefillin, keeping up his prior daily commitment with our help and that of two dedicated, amazing friends. He wasn’t keen on missing a third.)

Later, in the car, I heard the rest of the story.

“Watching from the car, it looked like you were really trying hard to get in, so we started to recite Tehillim (Psalms) and the 12 Torah Pesukim-verses…. We were almost up to the end when the door opened,” said my wife and daughters.

Talk about team effort!

And then my son pointed out another detail I had missed.

“You said we’ll count to 5 and if nothing happens we’re done, but then you just continued to count 6, 7, 8….”

Indeed I had.

Why?

I can’t tell you for sure, but I think it had something to do with zealotry.

Standing on those steps, I thought about Pinchas.

“I can’t just back down here because of my discomfort." (Believe me, it’s way easier to just shrug your shoulders and say, I tried, what else can I do?) “Let me at least count till 10, then it’s in Hashem’s hands.”

And perhaps I thought about another type of zealotry – the type the Rebbe taught us about and exemplified, a zealotry for “Love of fellow as yourself” in the way that actually looks, smells, and tastes like kindness and love, a zealotry that calls for going beyond yourself in order to deliver care, compassion, and acceptance.

It was radical care, concern, commitment, and courage, for the material and spiritual welfare of the Jewish people and world at large, that led the Rebbe to send messengers—against all conventional wisdom—to near and distant locations around the globe to nurture and tend to communities and individuals with dedication and love.

It was extreme appreciation for the preciousness of each soul that was so obvious in his standing hours upon hours every Sunday, even in his late eighties, handing out dollars to encourage charity and speaking blessings for each visitor, giving each his or her full, in-the-moment attention.

And it was an intense belief in my power and your power in bringing about a better world for us, a world that stands ready to emerge from behind crumbling walls of darkness and obfuscation into light and harmony, just waiting for us to open our eyes and accept it, with every possible positive and G-dly thought speech or action gifted to our hands to accomplish.

This is a zealotry of love that has special connection to this period on the Jewish calendar – the Three Weeks - when our increase in "baseless love" counteracts one of the less positive causes of this period.

This is a zealotry that I witnessed, was inspired by, and that we can all easily embrace and embody.

Sound radical?

It’s easier than you think.

Try it and you’ll see.

A happy and healthy summer, a good Shabbat, and extreme, radical blessings and success and sweetness all around,

In the Big City or the Burbs - A Nation That Dwells Alone

Thu, 18 Jul 2019 10:00:00 PM

Balak Email - 5779

Where do you think it’s easier to be Jewishly observant - New York or California?

If you answered New York you could be forgiven. One borough can contain more Jews, more kosher restaurants, more synagogues, more schools and study halls and religious-social opportunities than most states in the union. With such a supportive environment, what could be easier than living, eating, praying, and celebrating as the Torah teaches?

But, as I discovered in an enlightening talk I had with a young man this week, somehow the plethora of Jewish opportunity can also come with a downside: in the busy city there is often also a profuse availability and accessibility of debasement and debauchery that is less apparent in the suburbs. In the city a young man could easily be brought down the wrong path and meet other challenges to honing a refined and caring character.

While there are many elements one should consider when choosing a place to live and raise a family-–social environment and religious conveniences should certainly be one of them, especially once one is more settled and less prone to allurement, along with realistic self-awareness and an honest appraisal of the pros and cons in each location—the discussion highlighted an important message reinforced in our Parsha:

A successful Jew (or, really, any moral human) is a fortified one, strong and ready to live by his or her principles as guided by Hashem regardless of situation or circumstance. There is no location in the world that will free someone of challenge and inner temptation—those generally come at birth and leave in the hearse.

“A nation that dwells alone,” observed Bil’am, the wicked prophet-sorcerer in our parshah.

"Dwelling alone" means character--to be ready to refrain when the food’s not kosher, ready to make effort to stand by an unpopular friend, ready to give up leisure time to pray, or set solid times for study, or to pay for children’s Jewish education, or take off work on Jewish holidays, or to be kind and compassionate, or to avoid situations that invite vice and weakness, or to give of hard-earned wages to tzedakah, and the list goes on and on.

Dwelling alone means doing the right thing even when no one else around is doing it and when your inner cynical voice offers its own hearty disdain.

Dwelling alone, but not aloof, since to the contrary—the aloneness itself demands positive engagement, sensitivity and compassion for others, that in the long run should only garner respect and imitation.

Bil’am’s observation is actually not described in the Torah as an observation.

G-d calls it a blessing.

Let’s embrace the blessing.

Let’s own that definition of aloneness, not the one desired and promoted by haters and persecutors.

And ultimately, it will be a blessing for all nations of the earth as well, with the coming of Moshiach speedily.

A Night of Surf and Soul at LAX

Fri, 5 Aug 2016 4:03:00 PM

A Night of Soul and Surf at LAX*

*Names have been changed to protect privacy

It was expected to be routine drop-off to the airport. But when is a summer’s night trip to LAX ever routine?

We set out early. To the west, a large, round sun glowed egg-yolk orange as it dipped beneath the horizon, while ahead, dark clouds hung low and dirtied the skies, marking the way to LA.

Waze promised a travel time of one hour and four minutes. Sure enough, exactly one hour and three minutes later the airport was in sight, but a long line of stationary cars blocked our entrance. A quick turn-off on a potholed side-road brought us to another airport approach, but we were met again by a line of glaring red hind-lights, moving forward languorously, if at all, like a clock’s hour hand in no rush to get anywhere.

The blockage cleared and traffic began to flow. Air Canada is right at Terminal 2 so we reached the counter in good time. Boarding passes printed, luggage checked in, car parked—all that was left to do now was to wait for Mrs. Gold and her two daughters, who would be accompanying our daughter L. on her trip to overnight camp near Montreal.

The clock read 9:00 pm. No word from the Golds yet, but no worries—another hour and a half still remained till boarding. We looked for a place to sit and found two empty seats for the three of us. As I sat down, the youngish man at the edge of the row grunted. I took it as a hello and responded in kind, pulling out my Likutei Sichos, ready to immerse myself in some Parshah study.

“French Canadian,” I thought to myself, noticing his olive skin and scraggly beard. (The romantic spell of international travel made me ignorantly presumptive.)

“On my way to Israel.”

“Huh?”

“I flew in from Oregon today and had to walk here from a different terminal. I’m meeting up with a Birthright group on the 6:15 am flight. I don’t have a ticket yet. Is this the right place?”

“Wow. Yeah, it’s the right place.”

Now he had my attention.

“Are you Jewish?”

“I was raised Jewish. I went to a Jewish school back East. We moved to Oregon five years ago, when I was about fifteen.”

“Raised Jewish? What does that mean?”

“My mother’s Jewish, my father is Italian. But I’ve kind of left it behind.”

“Not the spiritual part – that I never even had. Just the observances, whatever we did of them.”

My book remained unopened and my senses sharpened. In the background I noticed my wife going to stand on line and my daughter sitting beside me, but all else began to fade.

“So what inspired your trip to Israel?

“To be honest, I’m not sure. It might be a mistake but I’m here already.”

“I’m Zalman, by the way.”

“Kyle.”

I gave him a hand, and noticed a knotty ponytail behind his lethargic smile. I didn’t envy him his long night ahead on the hard leather seat, burdened by baggage and ambivalence, but I didn’t realize yet just how far he was from his element.

“So… you’re in college?”

“Nope. Dropped out after six months. I live by the beach and surf all day. I have a van with a kitchen and a cot, and the public bathrooms are right there. I’m not afraid of sharks and I’ve even trained myself to be in the water a whole day without a wetsuit.”

“Fascinating. So is that what they call…a beach bum?”

A wide grin. “I guess that what’s I’m doing – beach-bumming…”

“So what draws you out there every day… Is it the the power of the surf, the quiet, the thrill, the loss of self into the largeness of nature?”

I was truly intrigued now to hear from the inside – is it some deep philosophical force or is it simply a personal choice of pleasure?

“It helps me forget. It keeps me balanced and at peace. Half a day out of the water and I begin to dry up.”

As he spoke, a hint of trauma flitted across his face or cracked in his voice, but it was so small and it disappeared so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to pinpoint it. I couldn’t tell if it was from an ordeal he’d suffered, an existential crisis, or accumulated angst from difficult family dynamics— his parents had divorced, his relationship with his older brother sounded cautious, his Mom is with a boyfriend who likes his own space with little tolerance for an extra boarder, and I didn’t hear whether he had a choice to live with his Dad or he was homeless. His planned surfing trip to Fiji after Israel suggested that it wasn’t the lack of finances that drove him to beach-side residence.

Something about his story and his full-time dependency on the sea sounded to me like: “I’m enjoying my life. But really I’m running away from something.”

He didn’t offer that information, it was my own surmise. Mostly, his leisurely grin and casual posture seemed to convey curious interest in what I might have to share. I decided to stick to safer grounds and backtrack to his comments on his relationship with Judaism.

I looked at my watch and thought: there are probably only five minutes till the Golds arrive and then we have to head back home. What can I say in five minutes that might inspire Kyle to discover the depth, relevance, and vibrancy of Judaism—and his own inner peace?

A quick communication with my wife, who had advanced on the now expanding line, told me that the Golds were nowhere near the airport. While a faint concern crept into my heart – will my daughter have to travel alone? – I also relished the extra time to spend with this tender soul.

So I talked. With my hands, with my head, with my heart, with my humor. Every so often I stopped to check in with him, Is this too heavy? Are you still good with this? After all, all he had done was say hello but maybe he hadn’t meant to get so involved in discussion? Each time I asked he responded positively, so I continued.

We talked about the meaning of mitzvos.

“Good deeds?”

“ No, commandments by G-d, telling us what he needs from us. Those do include good deeds, mitzvos between human and other humans. But it also includes mitzvos that are pure ritual, interactions between man and G-d, where we don’t see the benefit to others but where we know that we are doing something big. Essentially, all of them are connections that forge and deepen our relationship with Him.”

We talked about the world and its purpose.

“This is the lowest of all worlds, where G-d hides Himself entirely. Can we find Him? It’s up to us to open our eyes and see. Maybe it’s obvious to you, in the endless rolling sea, in the crash of the breakers, in the thrill of gliding along the crest of a wave. But that’s still your choice to see it that way. Others could end up worshiping nature instead. Our job is to make the world a “dwelling place for G-d” – when we do a mitzvah, when we live a conscious life, we reveal Him here. The goal? The time of Moshiach, when only peace will reign, death and evil will cease, and G-d’s presence will be known to all. But now’s the time to do. We’ll see the full impact then. Pretty soon now.”

We talked about the soul, coming down from its heavenly bliss into the physical body.

“It’s enticed down, because here is where it can accomplish and get really close to G-d by doing the mitzvos. But then all is forgotten. The body’s needs are taken care of, but the soul? Often its neglected. Imagine the poor thing, locked inside, suffocating, begging for some air and nourishment – something holy, spiritual, altruistic, Jewish, anything that looks or smells remotely like a mitzvah.

“I don’t know if you have something going on inside—here I treaded lightly, but resolutely. If it’s trauma it might be a good idea to deal with it through therapy instead of running away. But beyond that, giving your soul a little freedom too can only be a good thing… It will help you find peace.”

It was already 10 o’clock. A good hour had passed. We had covered other topics as well—Israel and his trip for one, not all of them as weighty as others.

In the meantime, I had interrupted our conversation to take a call from home for a nightly bedtime routine with the other kids. My wife had found two older Chabad girls in Gan Israel sweaters—relatives of relatives!—traveling on the same flight, who took my daughter ahead through security and promised to connect her to the camp representatives. An announcement had already been made for final passengers for the flight, and suddenly I saw my wife, who had been holding a spot at the head of the line, dash out to the curb. I followed suit, grabbed the Golds’ bags, and hustled them in.

The Golds taken care of, I headed back to Kyle to say goodbye. I took out my wallet and looked for a business card to give him but all I had were cards from Kobi at SunSolarUS.

“Hey if you ever feel like it, feel free to contact me. I’m a rabbi, if you haven’t figured it out yet. A Chabad rabbi. You can find me at jewishrsm.com if you care to continue...Otherwise just consider this a one-time oddball experience on your way to Israel…”

He eyed me with a studied smile. Then I began to pull out a dollar.

“I can’t give you a card but I can give you a dol…”

His faced got serious and he stopped me quick.

“I don’t want (need?) your…”

I replied just as quick: “It’s not for you, it’s for you to take to Israel and…”

His face lit up as he held out his hand, took the dollar, and finished for me: “I see, you need me to give it there to someone else in need.”

“Exactly!”

Never mind that I didn’t get to tell him the significance of being a “messenger for a mitzvah” and the divine protection it offers.

Never mind that I really didn’t know if he’d appreciated our discussion or whether I had found the words he needed to hear or whether he was affected by the simple, friendly, human interactions that went on with him and around him that night.

His obvious joy at being part of a good deed – needed to do something to make me happy, to make the recipient happy, to participate in global G-dly change—was more than valuable enough.

He’d gotten the message:

“You’re needed.”

***

I thought of Kyle as I went downstairs to the snack bar to fuel up for the drive home, hoping he’d eventually find his way there too but unwilling to risk insulting him by bringing him something for free. I thought of him as we drove home, him sitting alone and waiting a whole night under white fluorescent lights, far away from the solace of a white-crested ocean. And I continue to think of him as I write this: How’s he doing today? Was the Divine Providence of our meeting for him to encounter Jewish inspiration and guidance? Was it a positive step toward him healing some inner wound? Or was the main point of it really a message intended for me? It could have been just the Divine joy of two people having a one-time pleasant interaction or studying Torah together.

I’ll never know the full reason for sure, but truthfully it’s not important to know. What is important is what we need to know and do going forward every day – go forward! Reach out to others, reach out to your inner divine self. We’re needed more than we can ever imagine.

And Moshe Saw - In Honor of 3 Tamuz 5775

Wed, 6 Jul 2016 3:21:00 PM

From Weekly Email, Korach 5775 - Gimmel Tamuz Yartzeit of the Rebbe

Most of this was written while hunched over my iPhone at the edge of bench in a crowded marquee near the Rebbe's Ohel Friday before Shabbos

Doomed by a Self-diagnosed Prophecy

Korach, a learned and prominent cousin of Moshe, rebels against Moshe’s leadership and choices of appointments in the sanctuary-including that of his brother Aaron as high priest. Korach brings along in his rebellion 250 prominent members of the tribe of Reuven and some other known rabble-rousers.

This becomes more than just grumbling about nepotism—it turns into a dangerous, full-blown challenge against Moshe’s credibility as reliable conveyer of G-d’s word, regarding more than just appointments (which eventually leads into Divine, unnatural retribution for the rebels and their families--Korach swallowed up by the earth, and the others by fire).

Moshe throughout the mutiny goes to extreme lengths to try and talk sense into them, make peace, and allow them to graciously back down. He offers a test to the 250 men: there is one service, the incense, that only one person may bring. Let them all offer the incense, together with Aaron, and “the man whom G-d will choose is the holy one.” Simply put, one man will remain standing and all others will perish (as indeed transpired).

Rashi, the famous pre-medieval Torah commentator, comments, from the Midrash: What did Korach, who was a clever (and righteous) man, see in this whole foolishness? How could he not know that the end wouldn’t be good?

Korach was a prophet of sorts. He saw the future, and acted upon it—but he misinterpreted what he saw. Korach saw that a great line would stem from him. He foresaw Shmuel the prophet, who was compared to Moshe and Aaron. He foresaw 24 units of Levites, all prophesying with divine inspiration. All this greatness will stem from me and I should be quiet? If only one person will survive for sure it will be me!

Korach was right – this greatness was going to stem from him. But what he didn’t see is that the greatness would all come directly through his sons, who did teshuva at the last minute and pulled out of the rebellion (fascinating story how they were saved). He saw but didn’t see well.

But, Rashi concludes, U’ Moshe Hoyo Roeh. Moshe saw. He knew what Korach didn’t, that the glory was destined to come from the children.

And Moshe Saw – The interpreter makes all the difference

These words seem extra: Why is it important to know that Moshe saw? Moshe knew he was acting directly on divine command, appointing exactly who he was told to appoint. Moshe knew that Aaron was meant to be the high-priest. So why is it important that he also had the same prophecy as Korach and also knew how to interpret it correctly? It’s hard to imagine that Moshe would have done anything different even if he didn’t see.

One answer that came to me that I feel is directly related to the idea of a Rebbe, and the day we are marking this weekend:

And Moshe saw.

A leader, a Moshe, sees. Rashi is teaching us an important moral of the whole story that applies to us in every generation.

According to the Torah we have to use our mind and hearts and all the resources we have been blessed with to try and do what is right in the eyes of G-d, as revealed to us in the Torah and our holy teachers and commentators authentic to its teachings.

But we are not left alone, to have to navigate in the dark. We have a Moshe, in every generation, who helps make sure we know what we are seeing, that we make sense of it all and follow the right path. That we emphasize the right things, that we keep secondary things secondary and the primary thing primary. That we understand how to best approach the specific challenges and opportunities of each generation. That we don’t use our cleverness or emotions to justify approaches to life that go counter to what is good and healthy, productive and moral, Jewish and G-dly – even if it may seem like its coming from a good place, or even a personal vision or prophecy.

A Moshe, who is humbly dedicated to the Torah and it’s precepts in the fullest way with no personal interest or motivation. And, especially, a Rebbe-Moshe, who lives his entire physical life on an entirely different plane, unhampered by personal materialistic desires, pleasures, or goals, infused with selflessness, holiness, fearlessness, and humbleness, a Moshe who cares and gives his whole life for the people—Moshe sees.

When he speaks we can be comfortable to know that we are doing the right thing. We don’t have to worry that we are seeing distortedly. There is clear direction and purely objective, prophetic vision.

And Moshe saw – and shared.

We were given the tremendous merit to have such a Moshe in our times. Post-holocaust Judaism and the challenges of secularism and assimilation, the age of modernity and rapid-speed advancements in technology, progressive thought and philosophy, personal freedom and rights, Israel in the face of oppression, and the list goes on--we merited to have the clear guidance through thousands of letters, talks, personal interactions--so many of which are available in English at Chabad.org and the learning section on jewishrsm.com.

Whether it be how to reach and care for another individual - the simple power of love and harmony -or the power of one moment, of one additional mitzvah, of one person to make global change. Or how to harness technology for advancement of good, utilize the freedoms of a free society to stand up for what’s right, to stand firm on important principles of Judaism and G-d-given morality for America and all of mankind, to increase Jewish pride and unabashed self-identity and observance, to disseminate Torah in all languages--not to mention the phenomenal Jewish scholarship, depth, light and inspiration he brought to so many topics in Torah.

There is so much more to write but my point is this:

A Moshe's main life on earth is in the spiritual and this continues without interruption.

And Moshe saw. And he still sees. And helps others see too.

Here I come to pray. To be re-inspired. To get clarity. For physical needs or spiritual ones.
People come to cry, people come to rejoice. But people come because they know that praying here to G-d, and asking the Rebbe to pray on our behalf--as the head of our one body of so many disparate but united parts of a whole--is the straightest way.

There is more I want to say but I'll end with this parable I just heard from my Australian fifth-grade teacher that I met this week here in NY:

Imagine young children in a car, traveling on a long and monotonous stretch highway. They can't read the signs yet, and the scenery doesn't change. After hours of driving the parent--who can read the signs exclaims happily: we're almost there. The kids don't get it - everything looks the same to them, how do you know we are any closer? Because the signs say so--and the driver can read the signs.

And Moshe saw. The Rebbe saw and shared with us that Moshiach is coming imminently. All the signs say so. And even though we can't read as well as he, we don't and shouldn't take it on faith alone--we can read and recognize what he pointed out, the tremendous changes in the world for the good (another article for that :), the many signs discussed in our tradition.

Let us take the commitment to open our eyes and live our lives on a plane a little higher then before, and ready ourselves for the coming of Moshiach, by doing more acts of kindness, morality, Jewish ritual; by speaking and even thinking better, kinder, in a more elevated refined way.

And then, we will see and perceive a new world of peace, harmony, abundance, and G-dliness.

Blessing and success and a good Shabbos to you and yours,

Yom Kippur and the Language of Sorry

Sun, 21 Sep 2014 10:55:00 PM

This Friday evening, October 3, begins the 25-hour Jewish biblical holiday of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

Yom Kippur observances include eating a celebratory pre-fast meal, lighting candles before sundown on Friday, fasting from food and drink from sundown on Friday till Saturday night after dark, communal and individual holiday prayers, avoiding weekday work and activity, and refraining from washing or applying lotions for pleasure, wearing leather shoes, and marital relations. It is considered the holiest day on the Jewish calendar, a special day for starting anew and Divine atonement.

The word atonement doesn’t have to conjure up the image of a child who has just been grounded for a week to atone for unruly behavior, or that of a stern disciplinarian staring you down and demanding contrition. In truth, it’s much simpler. Atonement means “at-one-ment,” as a wise man once said. Becoming one with G-d, one with our innate goodness, one with those around us. The formula is simple. You’ve soiled? G-d will help you clean up the mess. You want back in? Sure. But you’ve got to say sorry.

Saying sorry seems easy but how do you know it’s for real? This story, told by S. Monica Rabbi Avraham Levitanski of blessed memory about his grandfather, will edify.

It was the late 1800’s, in a town out in the Midwest. A hot sun had beaten down on the fields all summer long. For months, the blue cloudless skies had carried nary a hint of rain. The townsfolk did their best to go about their duties as regular, but the dry growth that crunched underfoot cast a constant pall of fear over them: fire. When Farmer John’s haystack went ablaze that night, they were all ready. Double-line to the river, dip, pass bucket, douse, switch, mutter prayers, repeat, keep those arms moving, don’t stop.

The excitement died down with the last glowing embers—the town had been saved, but Farmer John’s estate was gone. “Poor John,” they wailed. “Wish we could have helped.” Handkerchiefs and eye-dabbing. “We’re so sorry for you John.” Hugs and supportive pats on the back.

A diminutive man, in a dusty, tattered suit, pushed through the crowd. It was Yankel the peddler, a recent Jewish immigrant from Eastern Europe, who was passing through town.

In a thick accent and a voice that belied his size, he declared: “I too am sorry. I am sorry ten dollars.” He removed a ten dollar bill from his coat pocket—an exorbitant sum in those days—and put it down in front of him. “How much are you all sorry?”

Shocked, the farmers looked at each other in realization and shame. One-by-one hands went into pockets and the money began to pile up. A few pennies here, some crumpled dollar bills there—before long Farmer John had enough to rebuild and start out again.

You’re sorry? You care? Let’s see how much you’re good for. In this case it was money to help a pauper restart his life. But the message is far broader: You care about a friend who has been wronged or pained? Make sure the care or remorse goes beyond just words. We care about G-d? We have made up with him? Let’s show it in a real tangible way. This is a world of action, of deed. While the feelings are important, it’s what we do that expresses where we really stand.

That’s why, as the new year begins, look not to speak big or conquer mountains, but to simply incorporate one new change into your lifestyle.

It’s that easy.

"Rebbe": A Great Read and Even Better Guide

Mon, 23 Jun 2014 6:31:00 PM

As published in the Orange County Jewish Life magazine, July 2014

"I only hope that I have fairly and accurately conveyed a least a part of his essence. If I have, then of one thing I am confident: you will become a better person as a result of learning and reading about him…”

So read the last sentences of Rabbi Joseph Telushkin’s most recent book, Rebbe, a book that has just made the New York Times bestseller list and has enjoyed consistently positive reviews in news outlets from across the spectrum, including the Wall Street Journal, Huffington Post, USA Today, Publisher's Weekly, and Commentary.

Unusual as it might be to begin a book-review with the last sentences of a book (from the acknowledgement pages, yet), in this case it seems to me most judicious. The sentences express succinctly what you are likely to gain from investing in this 640-page book: you will become a better person.

Telushkin weaves together philosophy, narrative, and commentary to offer a fresh, endearing, honest, broad, and well-sourced look at the life of the Rebbe, whom he calls “the most influential rabbi in modern history.”

In clear and inviting prose he describes a world leader, recipient of the rare Congressional Gold Medal, who interacted with U.S. presidents (President Reagan would personally draft his responses to the Rebbe’s letters), Israeli prime ministers (his advice to Israeli PM Netanyahu, then Israel’s ambassador to the U.N., “You are going into a house of lies; light a candle for truth...” is famous by now), foreign leaders, and Jewish activists and scholars.

He shares with the reader the Rebbe’s unabashed philosophy on life; his pride, courage and vision of a thriving Judaism in America and the modern world; and his vital 10-point mitzvah campaign.

In story after story, Telushkin paints the image of a humble leader who was “more concerned about creating leaders than followers.” A leader who could encourage a reform rabbi not to leave his post, a law student to interest himself in unmet Jewish needs on campus, a director of the UJA (later to be a U.S. senator) to combine fundraising with raising Jewish awareness, and an African-American congresswoman to transform her unwelcome committee-appointment as a force for good.

Page after page of touching anecdotes draws the reader into the world of a caring teacher, a spiritual guide, and, more often than not, a father figure, who never lost sight of the trees for the forest—whether it entailed teaching an orphaned, starry-eyed girl about true love, a young boy the importance of prayer, or a seemingly insignificant Jew in a remote country how to view himself (“There is no such thing as a small Jew”).

What I found particularly insightful was Telushkin’s selection and presentation of various universal virtues and ethics that take on a whole new depth and meaning in the Rebbe’s world that all people can learn from—ideals like loving your neighbor, trading fear for growth, optimism, sensitivity, productiveness, prioritizing, and much more.

I trust you will walk away from this book with a renewed belief in humanity, a firmer belief in yourself, and the inspiration, tools—and urgency—to change your life and our world for the better. This is not just a book about the Rebbe. It's a book about you and me.

Rebbe: The Life and Teachings of Menachem M. Schneerson, the Most Influential Rabbi in Modern History, by Joseph Telushkin (HarperWave, 640 pages) is available for purchase at your favorite online or local bookstore.

Please join me at a special evening of tribute to the Rebbe on July 10. Information here.

Go Jump... It's Passover!

Fri, 4 Apr 2014 7:20:00 PM

For the OC Register and Rancho Canyon News

Passover is here again and since last year I’ve made a new discovery: not only do many young people not know the story of the exodus from the Torah, they don’t even know it from Hollywood. (How old were they when the Prince of Egypt came out?) Not that the latter is wholly a bad problem—it leaves less misconceptions to undo— but it does create a different challenge: Where do you start?

The basic story is easy enough: The Israelites are enslaved by Pharaoh in Egypt. G-d sends Moses, who brings the ten plagues, and leads them out to freedom. In their haste, they bake the dough before it has time to rise. It becomes matzah. The Israelites travel through desert and sea, and receive the Torah at Sinai. A celebration is divinely ordained for all generations: Remove and avoid all leavened food for eight days. Make the first and last days holy days of rest. On the first nights after dark—this year on the nights of April 14 and 15—eat matzah and bitter herbs. Tell and discuss the story. Include four cups of wine, good food, heaps of laughter, family, spirit and song.

There’s more to it, but that’s a good beginning. The online resource below is a great place to follow up. But there’s another question that’s no less important: Where do you end?

Truth is, you don’t. The story is ongoing, and is as relevant today as ever. How?

Here’s one idea: After the final plague, Pharaoh was reduced to a chicken-livered weakling. Why, then, did the Israelites have to rush so and sneak out like thieves? Actually, they didn’t. They marched out in broad daylight, at midday. Yet it says that they had no time to wait for the dough to rise?! And already from the night before, at the first seder, they were already dressed for the road, loins girded and staffs in hand, ready to travel in an instant?

Also, why choose the name Passover (Pesach in Hebrew), which refers only to a side detail in the last plague, how G-d passed (sprang) over the Israelite’s homes saving their firstborns from death. Surely there are more central themes. Why not call it Festival of Freedom, as indeed we do in the holiday liturgy?

One answer is that when you’re sinking in the quicksand you don’t wait. You run. You jump. You use all your power and energy to get yourself free and unstuck. You even find a strength that you never knew you had, to get out before it’s too late. On a spiritual level, the Israelites at that time had so descended into the pagan, immoral culture that surrounded them that they were in danger of being swallowed up and disappearing forever. Pharaoh aside, they needed out. G-d passed over—literally leaped—and so did they.

And that’s the key to redemption. When you’re in a rut, in a repressive negative cycle, or even just stricken by stagnation, reach into your inner core and jump. Go beyond yourself. Make a change in your lifestyle. Because as humans created in the image of G-d we have the infinite capacity to grow.

For additional holiday inspiration, insight, guidance and fun go to www.passover.net or www.jewishrsm.com/passover, where you can also find communal seders across the county.

When the Maccabees Celebrated Thanksgiving

Mon, 28 Oct 2013 8:10:00 PM

For the OC Register and Rancho Canyon News

Does cranberry applesauce go with turkey latkes? Should we try for two family gatherings or just one? The anticipated convergence of Chanukah and Thanksgiving this year has yielded an early bumper crop of commentary, as well as a flurry of fretful clucking over schedule conflicts and contented purring over culinary opportunities.

But is the timing just a chic calendrical coincidence—the last time this happened was in 1888—or does it bring any meat to the table?

Jewish tradition—and the belief in specific Divine Providence as taught by the Baal Shem Tov—teaches us that we can learn something from every encounter in life. Certainly when it pertains to a holiday we should be able to carve out a growth-spurring message without ruffling too many feathers.

There are two basic elements to the Chanukah story:

First, how small band of Jewish warriors triumphed against the mighty armies of their Syrian-Greek oppressors, bringing back to the Jewish people the freedom to worship freely. This was a miracle, of course, but not one that defied nature. An insistent atheist could credit their clawing out a victory to phenomenal daring, deftness, and determination.

To commemorate this miracle, the sages composed special words of gratitude to be added into the daily prayers throughout Chanukah. This part of Chanukah dovetails with the initial backdrop of Thanksgiving—the relief and thanks for being free to worship—and the blessing that is America.

The second element of Chanukah is how the Maccabees found one small uncontaminated cruse of oil that then burned for eight nights instead of one. This was a miracle that had no natural explanation; G-d’s love and interaction were obvious to all.

To commemorate this miracle, we recite the hallel praise daily and light candles or oil lamps for eight nights, starting with one on the first night—this year beginning on the night before Thanksgiving—and adding one each night until we have eight on the last night.

This second miracle seems to be pure gravy. What did it accomplish?

Like all miracles, it established a pecking order.

Nature doesn’t puff out its chest and strut around in full display saying, “Look at me. I am proof that G-d rules the roost.” If it did that, it would be running afoul of freedom of choice.

But a miracle does just that. A miracle is like a banner hung from the rafters that is meant to catch our attention and show us clearly “the hand of G-d.”

Its long term purpose? To illuminate our perspective and remind us that even the simple ordinary drumbeat of life is miraculous and comes from G-d.

Nature is really just a pullulating series of buried miracles.

Chanukah, then, reminds us not to take our lives for granted but to acknowledge and thank the Creator of all beings for the bounty He has bestowed upon us.

Sound familiar?

***

Thanksgiving in the daily Jewish prayer upon awakening goes like this: I offer thanks to You, living and eternal King, for You have mercifully restored my soul within me; Your faithfulness is great. Modify it as you choose, but keep it frequent.

Forgiveness of Whom? - Yom Kippur

Mon, 9 Sep 2013 8:36:00 PM

Rancho Canyon News, Friday 9/13/13

This Friday evening through Saturday is the Jewish biblical holiday of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

Yom Kippur observances include eating a festive meal and candle-lighting before sundown on Friday, holiday prayers, fasting from food and drink from sundown of Friday till Saturday night after dark, avoiding weekday work and activity, and refraining from washing or applying lotions for pleasure, wearing leather shoes, and marital relations.

On this day we are compared to angels, and many people wear white as an expression of this. It is a day when we come clean, as the Torah says, “On this day He will atone for you to purify you from you all your misdeeds….”

There are times in our life when we have to stop what we’re doing and simply take the time to do a spring cleaning. This might mean sorting through and discarding bad habits that have cluttered our lives, or dusting off neglected talents and good character traits that have become temporarily clouded by a layer of dirt. Usually it also entails scrubbing away some of the spiritual grime that has accumulated by too much indulgence and unbefitting behavior.

Yom Kippur is such a time, the culmination of the ten days that began with Rosh Hashana. The difference is that while a regular spring cleaning is dependent on you alone, here there is divine help. The day itself has been designated to cleanse if one participates in the process.

Participating in the process means showing a desire to change. The word in Hebrew is Teshuvah, commonly translated as repentance. The more complete translation, however, conveys more depth: return. Return, not recreate. Because in asking forgiveness and looking for atonement from G-d we are ultimately looking to return to a relationship that has always existed. We are returning to the well of goodness that we already possess deep down.

The day cleanses, but there is an exception: a sin against another person. If you created a mess by intentionally insulting or hurting another person you can’t get around just by appeasing G-d. If the hurt is still there, you need to make legitimate effort to gain the forgiveness from the injured person. And if you are the injured party, Yom Kippur might just be the time to forgive.

“Forgive,” by the way, doesn’t necessarily equal “invite back into your life.” True, often the spat was over something petty and a little humility can bring back a great friendship. Sometimes, though, if that person hasn’t displayed the change necessary to warrant your trust it can be foolhardy to open up the door again. And if the person is a real danger to others, prosecution might still be necessary.

But forgiveness means to leave behind the hurt in your heart, to wish the person no evil, and to move on with your life. To a believer, whatever happened was somehow destined, but whatever will happen is your choice.

It might not be easy, but trust me: it will leave you feeling a lot cleaner, freer, and lighter.

The Jewish New Year and the New You

Sun, 25 Aug 2013 9:41:00 PM

For OC Register (Sep 2) and Rancho Canyon News (Aug 30)

Ever since the days of old, new has been in. Obviously not for everything—think matured wines, cheeses, or minds, for instance—but for things like new opportunities or prospects that make the heart race with excitement, the lungs fill with the breath of expectancy, and the attitude flush with optimism.

A new year certainly falls into that category. This Wednesday evening, September 4, people around the world usher in the holiday of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year of 5774. Observances include candle-lighting, festive meals with foods like apple dipped in honey, communal services, hearing the Shofar, waterside Tashlich ceremony and more.

The New Year, in this case, is less a day to revel than to reflect. It is, after all, one of Days of Awe, a day when all inhabitants of the world come before G-d to be judged for the coming year. On this day we pray for all our needs and wishes, and resolve to do better in the coming year.

Yet, it also is a joyous holiday. On this day we are provided a new opportunity for growth, along with material blessings of all sorts and a hefty deposit into our oftentimes depleted reserves of energy and capability. It is a time of immense love and closeness from our Creator. And it is a day when we are reminded of how indispensible we each are to the success of His enterprise, the world.

The Talmud explains why the world that Adam saw before him on the first day of his life (Rosh Hashanah!) was empty of all other humans, and only afterwards did Eve come on the scene. This was to teach him and us that the world we see is ours alone to fix and it can’t be done without each individual’s personal contribution.

Think about what a gift this is: rather than overwhelming us with unbridled adoration into a state of dependency, impotence and uniformity, G-d actually empowers us by recruiting our help. He chose and needs you, with your unique personality, propensities, background, and baggage, as well as me, with my mishmash of foibles and fortes, to transform the world to good.

But changing the world starts at home. It starts by taking small steps and by refocusing our priorities to the important things in life. For this we listen to the shofar (a hollowed out ram’s horn), which is sounded at the height of the service or anytime during the day.

The shofar-blast awakens us from our complacency and spiritual oblivion and shakes us into action. Its primal call shatters the external barriers we have created and reaches deep down into that pristine, untarnished innocence and purity of soul, unleashing powers we never knew existed.

The powers are fresh and raring to go. Let’s harness them into real change, and make it a great year. I wish you much success and a Shana Tova, a good and sweet new year in all.

I invite you to check www.jewishrsm.com to learn about our community holiday dinner, free synagogue services, kids programs and more. For additional holiday inspiration, insight and guidance go to www.chabad.org/holidays.

She Told Me Not to Come

Wed, 24 Jul 2013 5:36:00 AM

Dear Friend,

Last night I returned from a visit to New York, where my mother had been in hospital for unexpected surgery and treatment.

It was not an emergency—at least not by the time I went. The emergency was a week earlier, when a routine doctor’s visit turned a lingering concern into an immediate need for surgery and hospitalization. Thank G-d other family members who live closer were able to mobilize and be there in time to help.

But now my mother had returned home to rest and recuperate, and after another sibling had to leave to go home she insisted that no one come to take over. So I came.

Sometimes you're not supposed to listen.

A week of doctor visits, errands, food prep, and support – my time wasn’t wasted, and my presence didn’t go unappreciated. Thank G-d the results are good, and the week of follow-up blood tests, x-rays, and consultations indicate that she is recovering well.

Did I really have to go?

Truth is, with my father’s help, together with that of my local aunt, cousins, and neighbors (who each already took out time from their own busy lives) couldn’t she have managed alone?

It was hard to find a decent ticket.

I had to reschedule meetings, a class and an event.

I slept very little before, during, and after, trying to cram in important Chabad work wherever possible.

I left my wife (what a wife!) and kids for a full week.

It wasn’t easy.

But it was the right thing to do: it was (is) my mother.

That Shabbat, we read in the Torah the repetition of the Ten Commandments. In it is the famous verse: “Honor your father and mother.” It doesn’t conclude: “If you like them...if it makes you feel good…if it is easy…if they express gratitude.”

It doesn’t even conclude, “If you respect their opinion or values.”

It simply says, “Honor.”

The Talmud explains this to mean: If they are hungry, serve them food. If they need to clothed, clothe them. If they need to be taken out, or brought home, do so. The list continues, but above all, you’ve got to give with a joyful face. It is not for nothing that this called one of the hardest mitzvahs.

I know I am still far from the target. But I have had a good teacher: I have seen my mother care for her parents.

May she—and we all—be blessed with the reward that the Torah explicitly attaches to this mitzvah: a long and healthy life.

On Becoming a Gold Medalist - In honor of 3 Tamuz

Fri, 7 Jun 2013 3:40:00 PM

Published in OC Register - Rancho Canyon News, June 14, 2013

On Becoming a Gold Medalist

This Tuesday, June 11, commemorates the 19^th anniversary of the passing of the legendary leader of the modern Jewish era, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (www.therebbe.com).

In January of 1994, Congress passed a resolution awarding him, posthumously, with a congressional gold medal, “for his outstanding and enduring contributions toward world education, morality, and acts of charity.” He founded the Chabad network of over 2,000 religious, educational and community centers in countries around the world.

But his influence went far beyond centers: He tirelessly dispensed kindness, encouraged leadership, and campaigned for universal awareness of G-d and ethics. His humble care for humanity and keen insight brought to his door senators and strategists, professors and professionals, rabbis, journalists, and world leaders alongside multitudes of children, students, and regular people. Including me.

A memory:

The line stretched across a full city block and wound around the next street. Thousands of people from around the world had come this morning to 770 Eastern Parkway to get a personal New Year’s blessing.

I, too, stood on line, my nose in a book of Psalms from which I prayed softly, oblivious to the honking cars, screeching tires, and sirens so endemic to this busy thoroughfare just down the road from Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Museum.

The year was 1989 and I was 16. I had worked 10-12 hours a week in order to be able to afford the ticket from my home in Australia to spend the High-Holiday month here with the Rebbe. Today I stood on line for the first time, preparing, anticipating. The line moved forward, through the doorway, up the stairs, into the corridor and I was there.

I don’t know who else came that day—the visitor list probably included dignitaries such as the mayor, an ambassador, a famous religious leader or two. But I came. And, in that chunk of frozen time that has remained unthawed in my memory to this day, for the few moments that I stood before him—seconds, really, because of the ever-growing line—I was the dignitary.

The Rebbe treated me as he did every person who visited: as an honorable guest, a special gift to mankind deserving of his complete attention, care, and wonder. But being a dignitary came with a cost. His eyes, gentle but ever so alive and alert, radiated an urgency, a subtle demand, a jolt out of complacency. “You are so capable. A piece of the Divine. What are you doing to make your world a better place? How far have you pushed yourself beyond your comfort zone?”

I have many memories and mementos of that month. But one thing in particular lives on: the implicit belief that I have what it takes, and the subtle request that, for my own sake as much as the world’s, I never become satisfied until the job is done.

Let’s leave the posthumous awards for Congress. The gold medal that is you is ready to shine today.

Passover: Humility, Freedom, and Tradition

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 3:43:00 PM

Published in the OC Register and Rancho Canyon News, spread over two weeks, April 2013

Passover: What’s it about?

As chirping frogs herald the advent of spring and newspapers tell of swarms of locusts descending upon the Middle East, you know that Passover is in the offing. Passover is the biblical holiday that celebrates the exodus of the Jewish people from Ancient Egypt and their miraculous deliverance from slavery under the Pharaoh and his bloodthirsty cohorts in the year 2448 from creation (1313 BCE).

This year Passover arrives on Monday evening, March 25. Observances include a variety of elements: There’s the traditional seder that includes matzah, bitter herbs, four cups of wine, reliving the story through the reading of the Haggadah-liturgy, a festive meal, the asking of the four questions, and so much more. Many a pleasant childhood memory has been created from this warm, spiritual, family-oriented tradition.

Preceding the holiday comes a spring-cleaning of sorts to remove from our homes even the slightest speck of chametz (leavened-grain from wheat and barley and the like, such as that found in bread, pasta, pretzels, or things like beer or vodka etc.).

And for eight and a half days, beginning mid-morning on Monday until nightfall on Tuesday April 2, we avoid chametz and its derivatives like the plague. For an amazing online Passover resource, with sections for all ages, go to www.passover.net or www.chabad.org/holidays.

Matzah Messages

Although Passover is strictly a Jewish holiday, it carries some timeless and universal messages. Take matzah, for example. It commemorates the haste in which the Jewish people left Egypt—they had to bake quick provisions but there was no time for the dough to rise—and the extraordinary faith they displayed by following the G-d-sent Moses into the desert, all without a survival plan.

Matzah—flat, crunchy, and unleavened—also represents humility and selflessness. It takes humility to believe, it takes humility to learn, it takes humility to think of others, and it takes humility to truly grow. Humility allows us to recognize when we louse up, and encourages us to improve rather than remain stuck in the dark, unready to admit fault or failure.

In other words, matzah provides an escape hatch. Fascinatingly, this is signified by one minor detail in the one Hebrew letter that differentiates the word from its undesired leavened counterpart. The hey in matzah, unlike the chet in chametz, leaves a small opening between the leg and the roof of the doorway-shaped letter that both words share.

Self-Esteem

Chametz is typically dough that has been allowed to rise and grow puffy—representing selfishness, arrogance and bloated self-awareness. These natural human vices have existed since time immemorial, but perhaps a refresher can be useful in our modern era, where the lines between self-esteem and self-absorbedness have often blurred.

With its eight-day focus on humility, Passover helps provide clarity and demarcation. Self-esteem is laudable when it contributes to a healthy foundation. This includes treating oneself with self-respect; not having unwarranted insecurity or an inferiority complex; having the confidence and courage to try new things and stand up for what’s right; and to recognize one’s infinite value as a human-being created by G-d. When it develops an appetite for vanity and personal gain, the self-esteem “miracle-staff” begins to turn serpentile.

A balanced self-esteem hails from selflessness and humility—which should not be confused with timidity or weakness. It takes profound humility to serve, and significant selflessness to recognize that you are here for a purpose other than self-perpetuation: namely, to make the world a kinder, better, more moral and divine place.

Moses was called “the most humble of people upon the face of the earth,” yet he stood up fearlessly to the Pharaoh, spoke and even argued with G-d, and led his people with love, compassion, and—when necessary—a firm hand. He was not self-indulgent but self-abnegating; he was not self-centered, but self-effacing; and he was also not self-conscious, but self-assured. Perhaps this is what allowed him the true freedom to soar.

Freedom

Much more can be said on the topic of humility, and about freedom, too (Passover being called the Holiday of our Freedom). It boils down to this: the price for freedom is the readiness to sacrifice certain conveniences for the sake of something larger and better. A caring and responsible parent knows that raising a child with completely unfettered boundaries will more likely produce a wild beast than a kind, productive, upstanding person.

A budding pianist knows that slave-like attention to repetition, technique, and practice is what produces the most freeing thrill of beautiful music. The examples abound, but the central point is that doing what you want, whenever you want, and however you want, does not necessarily equal true liberty—ask anyone recovering from the pestilence of addiction. “Let my people go,” the call that has spawned many a freedom movement, is only the first half of the phrase. The pivotal ending to that phrase is, “so that they may serve Me.”

Timing

Passover “service” goes beyond matzah-balls and brisket. Like our pianist, there is a songbook with notes to follow, the Haggadah, with guidelines on how to achieve the best results. There is the concert date and start time, when the spiritual divine Passover energy reigns. Tevye chalked it up to tradition, and traditions certainly die hard. But the details do have rhyme and reason too.

If you are making a seder this year let me suggest that you try and incorporate at least one key upgrade, particularly regarding timing. If you typically start your seder before dark, at least try and keep some of the crucial components going until after dark, when the gates of Heaven are open. If you were planning the main family seder get-together for another night, at least eat some matzah on Monday (and Tuesday) night. Same if you weren’t planning a seder at all. Trust me, you won’t regret it.

Because having a higher purpose to life; an objective guide to what is good, moral, and compassionate; and the humility and discipline and passion to do the best with the blessings we have been endowed, is the most freeing thing on earth.

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Did you find hints to the famous ten plagues hidden throughout this article? If not, time for a re-read.