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The TorahAnytime Haggadah Companion 5778

orahAnytime is proud to present its latest special Haggadah About TorahAnytime Companion, sure to enhance TorahAnytime is an organizayour Pesach and fill your Seder tation started by two brothers ble with wisdom, inspiration and from Queens, New York, who insights. Culled from the lectures of saw a need for their friends renowned speakers far and wide, this and family to be able to expeCompanion provides a mix of illumirience Torah classes given in nating insights and stories for you and their community. TorahAnyyour family. TorahAnytime lectures time currently has more than can now be brought to life at your ta50,000 Torah videos from over ble and engage the hearts and minds 500+ different speakers. We reof you, your family and friends with cord and post up to 250 lectures the written word. Infusing meaning per week, and receive close to and joy to the Pesach aura, it is hoped 100,000 monthly visits from Thank youwillforleave reading edition of the that this compendium you this over 120 countries, and as you’re inspired longTorahAnyTimes after Pesach ends and Tishrei Companion reading this, these statistics are keep you growing as a dedicated Jew. growing rapidly. We’re proud to by TorahAnytime say that more than 6,000,000 Wishing you a Chag Kasher V’Sameach, hours of Torah are being Shimon Kolyakov learned every year through ToRubin Kolyakov rahAnytime’s website, mobile Yosef Davisinfo@torahanytime.com / 1-888-TORAH-613 app, and publications.

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‫לזכר נשמת‬ Bechor Ben Rivkah ‫לזכר נשמת‬ Esther Breindel bat Harav Yosef ‫לזכר נשמת‬ Manish ben Esther ‫לזכר נשמת‬ Meir Eilyahu ben Yaakov Dov ‫לזכר נשמת‬ R’ Elchonon Yaakov z”l ben R’ Shmuel Pinchos ‫לזכר נשמת‬ Irith bat Kalman ‫לזכר נשמת‬ Chaim ben Levi HaLevi

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‫לזכר נשמת‬ Yehuda ben Tzvi Sarah bat Shmuel Zev Levi Yitzchok ben Dovid Meir Bluma Enka bat Chaya Ita

‫לזכר נשמת‬

We love you and hold you in our hearts always. The Styler Family Nissan 5778

Shimon Nahary May his memory be an enormous blessing and may the merits he brought into this world stand strong for his family and friends, always.

‫לעלוי נשמת‬ Shlomo Dimikre Suleyman ben Nekadam and Slavik ben Rena By the Borukhov family

Contents Wishing you all a ‫חג כשר ושמח‬. May you and your families be blessed with happiness and great health now and forever. To find out more about Kangen Water, a revolutionary health product that can change your life, call 917-681-0003

Introduction 8 Transformative Cleaning

Rachtzah 49 A Lesson for Happiness

Kadesh 11 The Secret Meaning 11 The Transcendence of Wine

Motzi Matzah 50 A Life Lesson

Urchatz 13 Programming our Speed Dial Karpas 15 Paving Redemption with Kindness Yachatz 18 Broken with Hope

To my dear kallah Shani, Thank you for your tireless efforts in helping bring this publication to fruition. May we continue to serve all Klal Yisrael for many years to come. Elan Perchik

Maggid 19 A Golden Opportunity 22 Spiritualizing the Physical 23 Melting with Warmth 25 Observing with Empathy 26 One Decision, One Moment 28 Your Special Prayers 29 From Step to Leap 31 Leaving with Riches 33 An Extraordinary Opportunity 35 The Refining Crucible 36 Cry, Cry and Cry 38 Our Shifrah and Puah 40 Intersecting with Gratitude 41 The Greatest Symbol 44 Living Now 46 A Redeeming Vision 47 Our Personal Redemption

Maror 55 A Surprise Performance Korech 57 The Window of Hope Shulchan Orech 60 The Wondrous Seder Tzafun 61 Look in the Mirror Barech 63 Falling from the Sky Hallel 64 The Sunshine Nirtzah 65 Wealthy in Poverty 67 Connect the Dots Conclusion 69 A Superbowl Moment or Eternal Moment?

Introduction Rabbi Yonoson Roodyn Transformative Cleaning

n preparing for Pesach, a daunting task stands before us: Pesach cleaning. Going to incredible lengths to rid our homes and possessions of chametz, tireless hours are spent cleaning, scrubbing and dusting every nook and cranny in sight. We work to develop an aversion to chametz, and do everything possible to ensure we do not eat it, see it or have any connection to it whatsoever. While on a Biblical level, it is sufficient to simply renounce all ownership of chametz, the Rabbis have prescribed that we search and clean all places where it could be found. But why exactly is this so? From a philosophical standpoint, what are we meant to be achieving by making our homes chametz-free? Imagine a person decides to go on vacation. Finding himself an exotic resort, he looks forward to spending some time away from home and altering his daily schedule. Upon arriving at his destination, he heads to his room and begins planning for the many places he intends to see and many trips he wishes to take. And indeed, for the next week, he spends every waking moment traveling all over and seeing as much as he can. Reveling in the breathtaking sights, it ostensibly seems as if his week of vacation is more hectic than his week of work. Would we say he enjoyed a “vacation”? He most certainly did. And that is because what matters most to this individual is something greater than hours of rest and sleep. He most surely wishes to relax, but a change of mindset and attitude, scenery and routine is what he primarily wishes to accomplish for the next week. On Pesach we also go on vacation to a different planet. It is called “Planet Pesach.” The Torah demands that we remove the primary staple of bread from our lives and enter a new realm of existence. For a week our houses look and feel different. The scenery is changed and our attitude towards chametz is summarily transformed. Indefatigably working to alter the ambiance within our homes, we learn to relate differently to the world around us. With chametz representing the physical world, our rendering of it like the dust of the earth as dictated by our Sages ingrains a certain perspective within us. When we look at bread, cake and cookies, we do not see food, but dirt. Our relationship to such food items and commodities is redefined and transformed. In the words of the Ramban (commentary to Mesechet Pesa-

chim), “Therefore, nullifying chametz makes it insignificant and aligns our perspective to the view of the Torah.” We look at chametz products the way the Torah wishes us to. This is what bittul chametz, the nullification of all leaven products we own, is aimed at accomplishing. It is more than a mere failsafe which prevents our transgression of owning chametz; it inherently redefines what chametz is and changes the way we relate to it. That is the essence of Pesach. The servitude experienced in Egypt physically and emotionally broke us. Bitterly enslaved and bereft of all material comfort, the Jewish people learned to live with nothing more than the bare minimum. Yet when one lives with close to nothing, it becomes easier to appreciate that which one has. Our slavery taught us how to be in control of our interaction with the material world and subsist on that which we need, not what we want. The holiday of Pesach in this respect enables us to elevate our relationship with the physical world. We become free to control and define our connection with the world and live on an elevated, spiritual plane. We are capable of relishing in matzah, something so poor in physical terms yet so rich in spiritual quality. It nourishes us and sustains us. Pride is taken in the fact that we live a sublime existence and are part of the world of matzah, not the world of chametz. After living with such a mindset for seven days, when we resume eating chametz after Pesach, it is a completely different experience. We understand that it is our neshama which controls the way we live, not our bodies. A loaf of bread is no longer something to be avoided because we know how to properly deal with it and harness it. We know that we can take something very physical and sublimate it spiritually and not be worried that we will become its victim. The physical world no longer controls us; we control it. Picture a child hearing the tune of an ice cream truck any day of the year. Quite likely, he will begin running towards it. Yet on Pesach, something diametrically different occurs. I remember as a young boy attending a show for kids during Chol Hamoed Pesach, at which a non-Jewish clown was hired to put on a demonstration. As he dazzled the kids with all sorts of entertainment, his grand finale was firing a booming cannon full of candies and sweets. While such an experience is just about any child’s dream, that is not the case on Pesach. As all of the children excitedly stood mesmerized by the clown, we were in for a surprise when the cannon went off and countless candies came flying out. But we were even more surprised when we realized that there was only one problem: they were all chametz. And indeed, not one child took home any of the candy. Even as young children, we understood and appreciated that it was Pesach, and knew that no matter how delicious anything looked, it was off limits. Having learned about the severity of eating chametz, the candy did not entice us. The candy did not control us; we controlled it. In light of the above, our cleaning for Pesach ought to take on new meaning. We are engaging in much more than spring cleaning; we are elevating our homes and creating an environment akin to a miniature Beit Hamikdash 9

permeated by the presence of Hashem. By removing our chametz, we redefine ourselves as ennobled masters of the physical world, not its slaves. And after such a fact of life has been established, we will soon be able to delight in our cheesecake with the right perspective and offer a luscious bread offering in the Beis Hamikdash on Shavuos.

‫קַדֵ ּׁש‬

Kadesh Rabbi Avraham Kohan The Secret Meaning

Rabbi Mordechai Twerski A New Season, A New Perspective. One of the most important things we can do when reciting Modeh Ani in the morning is focusing on one simple thought. As the Torah tells us, after Hashem initially created Adam and Chava as one unified entity, He split them into two. In essence then, a husband and wife are two halves of the same neshama. When we therefore wake up in the morning, we ought to look over at our spouse and only then recite the words, “Thank you for returning my neshama.” It is only together with our spouse’s neshama that we are complete. With this attitude, much of the marital conflict which occurs will be diminished. For after all, we cannot be in conflict with two halves of the same self.

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‫ַסב ְִרי מ ָָרנָן‬ By your opinion, my masters

hy is it customary for the one making Kiddush to recite the words “‫ ַסב ְִרי מ ָָרנָן‬,” which literally mean “by your opinion, my masters…” and for those around to respond L’chaim in the process of making

Kiddush? Shlomo Hamelech tells us, “Give alcohol to one who is disheartened and wine to the dispirited” (Koheles 31:6). Based upon this verse, the Gemara (Sanhedrin 43a) states that before one who was sentenced to capital punishment would actually meet his fate, he would be provided with wine so as to minimize the shock and tremor of his demise. Despite the authorized need to administer capital punishment, which was very infrequently carried out, we are still bound to love our fellow Jew and ensure that his death come about with no more agony than absolutely necessary. On this account, at any setting in which wine is prominently used, the one reciting Kiddush says in reference to the wine, “by your opinion, my masters…” to which those around respond, “L’Chaim!” This cup of wine is L’Chaim, meant to be drunk to life and not to death, as otherwise done for those facing their demise. And that is the secret of L’Chaim.

Rabbi Akiva Tatz The Transcendence of Wine

‫ּבֹורא ְפ ִּרי ַהגָפֶן‬ ֵ ...‫ָבּרּוְך ַאתָ ה‬

Blessed are You… Who creates the fruit of the vine ave you ever wondered why wine is so prominent and important in Judaism? Every Jew faces a conflict. On the one hand, Judaism teaches the idea of perishut, detachment from the world; on the other hand, we are obliged to partake of it and engage it. The ultimate symbol of this dichotomy is wine. Wine is a substance which, when used correctly, is transcendent. However, when used incorrectly, it makes its victim part of the scenery. 11

At every moment of transition from the physical to the spiritual we take a cup of wine. When two people get married, the most transformative of all human experiences, there is a cup of wine accompanying the ceremony. When the week transcends into the holiness of Shabbat, we use a cup of wine. Havdalah is exactly the same. Havdalah is giving closure to Shabbat and ushering in a new week during which we can prepare to make the next Shabbat that much more spiritually energized. In Kabbalistic terminology, this is called yeridah l’tzorech aliyah, descent for the sake of ascent. The Vilna Gaon writes that wine is the only physical substance which obeys the rules of the spiritual. Spiritual matters improve with time, as is the case with wisdom and judgment. Physical matters, on the other hand, generally deteriorate with time. The one exception is wine. It is a physical substance with spiritual qualities for it improves over time. Wine is thus an avenue to accessing the spiritual world. But we are still conflicted. What proper measure of engagement and disengagement from the world are we meant to have? The answer is that we are required to engage the material world thoroughly and deeply. To what extent? To the exact degree necessary. Drinking wine for the right reasons or engaging in the pleasures of human experiences for mitzvah related purposes is absolute sanctity. How much food should we eat? As much as necessary. But when it becomes too much, we have become victims of the material world. It has mastered us. Perishut means limiting our engagement with the material world to what is deemed necessary. But to use it as much as needed is a mitzvah and is to be enjoyed. The physical world is thus a vehicle for elevating us to our highest purpose. Wine, in this respect, is the perfect medium for having us transcend physical constrictions and tapping into the greatest of spiritual energies.

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Urchatz

‫ּורחַץ‬ ְ

Rabbi Osher Weiss Programming our Speed Dial

‫זֵכֶר לִיצִיַאת ִמצ ְָרי ִם‬

A memorial of the Exodus from Egypt

s we approach the Seder night, we are faced with an interesting obligation. We are meant to engage in Sippur Yetzias Mitzrayim, telling over the story of the slavery and exodus from Egypt. But what is so unique about this mitzvah on this night? Every morning and every night, we are also commanded to remember the leaving of Egypt, as fulfilled in the third paragraph of Shema. What then is special about the night of Pesach, if every other night of the year we are also enjoined to remember the exodus from Egypt? Just about every phone has a special function called speed dial. After programming it, all that is needed is to hit one button and the phone automatically begins dialing that number it is set to call. The relationship between the mitzvah of recounting the Exodus on Pesach and remembering its occurrence every other night is that of programming the speed dial setting to actually using it once it’s installed. On the night of Pesach, we read through the manual of what took place in Egypt and discuss all the details and nuances. We become heavily involved in all that took place. Once we have installed the speed dial setting on the Seder night, during the rest of the year, all we must do is hit the speed dial button, and we can mentally reference back to that which we learned and ingrained during the Seder. We can quickly remind ourselves of what we discussed and move along with such an idea as part of our daily lives. How exactly do we set this motion into process though? Imagine the following. Every night, a mother would tell her son a light and amusing story until he would fall fast asleep. One night, however, overwhelmed with much to do, she asks her husband if he is able to tell their son a bedtime story. He readily agrees. “Eighteen years ago,” begins the father, “we decided to move to Israel.” The boy looks at his father, less than entertained and clearly not asleep yet. “Abba, that isn’t a story; that’s a statement.” The husband, not sure what to do, 13

calls over his wife and asks if she can take over. “Eighteen years ago, we thought to ourselves on a Friday night, ‘Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we could live in Israel, surrounded by such great Torah sages?’ So after Shabbos, we made a number of phone calls to this agency and that agency…” The mother doesn’t even finish her sentence before her son is sleeping. What is the difference between these two presentations? A statement is clear-cut and pointed, while a story is embellished with details and animation. The same is true of the difference between the night of Pesach and every other night of the year. On the night of Pesach, we embellish upon the story of the slavery and exodus from Egypt, and excitedly engage the children with all its many details. Throughout the rest of the nights of the year, we mention very shortly and succinctly about what occurred, and that is enough to carry us through and provide us with the remembrance of our history in Egypt. The Seder night is thus literally a night to remember for the rest of the year. Its details and story program our speed dial and keep us awake and alert until next year in Jerusalem. As we wash our hands and begin to embark on our journey through the Haggadah, it would behoove us to take a moment and realize that what we are doing tonight will not only remain with us for the moment, but will carry us throughout an entire year, and even further.

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‫ַכ ְּר ַפּס‬

Karpas Rabbi Paysach Krohn

Paving Redemption with Kindness ‫ּבֹורא ְפ ִּרי ָהאֲדָ מָה‬... ֵ ‫ָבּרּוְך ַאתָ ה‬

Blessed are You… Who creates the fruit of the earth

he Rambam (Hilchos Chametz U’Matzah 8:2) writes that we begin the Pesach seder by reciting the blessing over the Karpas vegetable and then dipping it. In explaining the words of the Rambam, the Rabbeinu Manoach states that we are accustomed to dipping the Karpas because the brothers of Yosef dipped his coat, the Ketones Pasim, into goat’s blood. Our dipping the Karpas vegetable into saltwater mirrors the brothers act of dipping his coat into blood. On the surface, the explanation of Rabbeinu Manoach is quite difficult. In what way does our dipping on the seder night have any relationship to the brothers dipping Yosef’s coat? Rav Isaac Bernstein explains the observation of the Rabbeinu Manoach by citing a comment of Rashi in Parshas Vayeshev (Bereishis 37:3), “And Yisrael loved Yosef more than all his sons… and he made him a Kesones Pasim (i.e. coat).” The word Kesones is commonly translated as coat, but what does Pasim, a more obscure word, mean? Rashi explains that it is a combination of two words – Kar (pillow) and Pas (silk). Yosef’s Kesones Pasim was essentially a fluffy silk coat. It is not coincidental, explains Rav Bernstein, that Yosef’s coat was composed of these materials, which in Hebrew forms the word Karpas. This is what the Rabbeinu Manoch means to reference. Throughout the seder, we focus on how we underwent the harsh slavery in Egypt and after many years were taken out by Hashem. But Karpas, the vegetable which we eat before beginning to talk about the exile and exodus, reminds us how we got there in the first place. We must remember that it was because the brothers and Yosef could not get along. Their discord and dissonance are what caused the brothers to scheme to kill Yosef and eventually pretend that he died by dipping his coat in blood. It was this brotherly hatred which laid down the bricks of slavery. When Jews do not get along, that is the beginning of exile. Before we therefore begin the seder, we highlight the underpinnings and background of it all. The dipping of our vegetable into saltwater thus forces us to take a moment and think of ways we can increase our friendships and harmony with our brothers and sisters. When there is dissension between members of the Jewish people, we pave our way into exile; but when there is 15

love and kindness, we pave our way into freedom. That is the remedy. When we act with compassion and thoughtfulness, we open the doors of exodus. Allow me to give you a small example of what we all can practically do to increase such compassion and love between us as a nation. When I was twenty-one years old learning in the yeshiva of Torah V’Daas in 1966, my father unfortunately passed away, leaving me as the oldest child of the family. Yet, before my father’s time came, he called me over one day and said, “You should know that when I am no longer around, you will need to support the family. I have been teaching you how to perform bris milahs now for some time, but I feel that we need to intensify your learning process because I do not know how much longer I myself can be a mohel.” And in fact, by June of that year, my father could no longer perform brisim, and months later, on Shemini Atzeres, he passed away. There I was, a young twenty-one-year-old with relatively few people who wanted to hire me as a mohel. Understandably so, I had less experience than other seasoned mohelim, and it was difficult to support my mother and younger brothers and sisters. One day, as I stood in shul, a man named Chaim Israel approached me. “Here,” he said, handing me an envelope, “this is for you.” I proceeded to open it up and count the money folded inside. It came out to $1500. In 1967, such money was considered a fortune. “Mr. Israel,” I said, “my family is not poor and we are not begging. Thank you very much, but we don’t need the money.” “No, no,” he reiterated, “this is a loan for you and your mother.” “What do you mean by a loan?” I curiously asked. “I will never ask you to pay me back,” he said. “Whenever you would like to do so, that is perfectly fine. I know, however, that you and your mother most probably could use this.” I was very touched to be the beneficiary of such largess, but I hesitated to take the envelope. “Mr. Israel, it is very kind of you to offer this to my family, but I cannot accept it without asking my mother.” I then continued on home, relating to my mother what had occurred. “We are not poor,” my mother exclaimed, “we are managing.” “Ma,” I said, “that is what I told Mr. Israel, but he said it is a loan. He clearly told me that he will never ask us for the money, and we can repay him whenever we want.” After hearing the entire story and facts, my mother acquiesced. “Under those conditions, we will accept it.” Two years later, after I had gained more experience and built a small reputation, I was able to put together $1500. And so, one day, I called Mr. Israel in his office. “Mr. Israel,” I said, “I would like to come and speak to you.” When I later arrived, I took out an envelope with the $1500 and laid it down on his desk. “I’m not taking this,” Mr. Israel said. I stood there confused. “What do you mean? You said it was a loan? We would not have taken this as charity.” But Mr. Israel would not budge. “Please sit down,” he said, “I want to tell you a story. “Do you remember how a couple of years ago I was very wealthy and I suddenly lost a tremendous amount of money?” “Yes, I do,” I said. “Well, there was another man in the neighborhood named Mr. Lewenstein who one 16

day came over to me and handed me an envelope full of money. ‘Mr. Lewenstein,’ I said, ‘I am not poor.’ ‘This is not a donation,’ he said, ‘it is a loan. You can repay me whenever you want.’ “Two years later, I returned to Mr. Lewenstein with the money. ‘I’m not taking it,’ he said. ‘What do you mean? You told me it was a loan!’ ‘It in fact was a loan,’ replied Mr. Lewenstein, ‘but I don’t want you to give it to me. Give it to another family. Someday you will find a family who is struggling financially, and you will help them by giving them this money. That is how you will pay me back. And when that family returns to repay you the loan, you tell them the same thing. ‘I will not accept the money, but give it to another family who needs it.’ That is how this act of chesed will continue.’ This great kindness which Mr. Israel learned from Mr. Lewenstein and in turn showed to me is something I carry with me to this very day. And in fact, two years later, my mother and I found a family who needed the money and we gave it to them on the condition that it was a loan. When they later returned to repay us, we declined as Mr. Israel and Mr. Lewenstein had done, telling them the same thing we had been told. Find another family in need and pass the money on to them. This is what true chesed is all about. It is done altruistically and without expectation of receiving something in return. It is about perpetuating more and more kindness in the world, and doing whatever possible to ensure that the entire Jewish people are taken care of. And when this becomes our attitude and perspective on chesed, there is no limit to the quality and quantity of love and care we can provide. This is the remedy to ending our current exile and leading us into redemption. With every act of compassion and thoughtfulness, we are pulling open the doors of Mashiach more and more, until he finally enters.

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Yachatz

‫יַחַץ‬

Rebbetzin Chaya Sora Gertzulin Broken with Hope

uring Yachatz, we break the middle matzah and put aside the larger half to later be eaten as the Afikoman. What is the significance of this? During the Seder, we are required to drink four cups of wine and make use of three matzahs. The four cups of wine represent the four Imahos (Matriarchs), namely Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel and Leah; while the three matzahs, on the other hand, symbolize the three Avos (Patriarchs), that of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. It is not coincidental that we break apart specifically the middle matzah, which corresponds to Yitzchak, the second of the Patriarchs. It was Yitzchak who was asked to sacrifice his life during the Akeidas Yitzchak and wholeheartedly readied himself to do so. Despite the difficulty involved, Yitzchak beckoned to the command of Hashem and displayed his total dedication. This is what is represented by the breaking of the middle matzah and storing away the larger piece to be used as the Afikoman. Even if we face challenges in life and feel broken, we can take comfort in the fact that we know it is for our best. There will come a time when the bigger piece will emerge, and we will understand how every difficulty was meant to be. Even amidst our challenges, we can never become despondent and give up hope, because the Afikoman dessert will eventually arrive. Everything will turn out alright when we place our commitment and faith in Hashem.

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‫ַמגִיד‬

Maggid Rabbi Zecharia Wallerstein A Golden Opportunity

‫ָכּל דִ ְכפִין י ֵיתֵ י ְוי ֵיכ ֹל‬

Whoever is hungry, let them come and eat…

n one of my recent trips to Israel, I had brought along a bag with something extremely expensive inside. I knew that carrying it around with me entailed keeping a close eye on it, but I wasn’t too worried that it would leave my care and get lost or stolen. I would watch over it carefully and keep it close to me. Some time after I arrived, a friend of mine and I planned to daven Mincha at Zichron Moshe, and from there continue on with our day’s schedule. We headed out onto the street and waved down a taxi. To our fortune, an Arab driver pulled up. The odd thing was that he had no sign or name advertising who he drives for. We were a bit unsure if we should enter the taxi under such unusual circumstances, though we figured that everything would likely be alright and we didn’t need to be overly worried. We told the driver that we wanted to go to Zichron Moshe, but all he gave us was a blank stare. He didn’t know where it was. That was unsettling. How now were we going to explain to an Arab where Zichron Moshe is? But then he handed us his phone and told us to input the address and he would simply follow the GPS and get us there as soon as possible. Shortly thereafter, we arrived in Zichron Moshe, and I took out my wallet and paid the requisite thirty shekalim. We thanked the driver and quickly made our way inside the shul. It wasn’t long after I entered inside that a man came up to me holding a sefer. “I just wrote this,” he said, “would you be interested in buying a copy.” I picked up the sefer and started flipping through the pages, liking what I saw. ‘How much is it?” I asked. “Twenty shekalim,” came the reply. I began reaching into my pocket, when all of a sudden, my heart fluttered. Something was missing. Not my wallet, but my bag. My bag with something unbelievably expensive was no longer at my side. “Where is it? Where is it?” I panicked to myself. I then realized that I must have left it in the taxi! I immediately shot out of the shul and burst out onto the sidewalk, amid the blazing heat. But the taxi was nowhere to be seen. He was long gone. My heart was racing as I stood still, thinking what I should do. I couldn’t think straight, so I just started running from Zichron Moshe to the main street. “Hashem, you have to help me!” I muttered. The taxi was gone, I had no phone number or identification of who the driver was, and the company which he drove for was also not known to me, as he didn’t have 19

one. Everything was set in place for losing something and never seeing it again. I could not imagine what I would tell my wife. I was done. There was no use chasing someone I didn’t know and could never locate. But then it hit me. “Maybe,” I thought to myself, “I didn’t leave it in the taxi. Maybe when the guy showed me his sefer, I put down my bag and didn’t realize.” Contemplating such a possibility, I ran back into the shul, and began looking at bags and everything in sight. All of a sudden, I heard a voice coming from behind me. “Wallerstein!” At that moment, my heart was beating faster than I could count, I was beside myself realizing that I had just lost something extremely expensive, and I was sweating. “Wallerstein!” came the call again. I quickly realized who it was. It was a tzedakah collector who had often come to visit me in my house in New York, and he was now here in Israel. If there was any perfect time he could have caught me, it was now. “How are you?” he called out. “You have any tzedakah for me?” All I was thinking was, “Just don’t bother me now! I’ll give you tzedakah later.” But then I realized that there was no reason to be upset with him. I was the one who left the bag in the taxi, not him. “You lost something?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said, “I lost something in a taxi and cannot locate the driver.” “Oh,” the collector replied, “Hashem will help.” By then, I needed to run to Mincha, so I quickly took out twenty dollars and handed it to the man. He wasn’t too happy, as he was hoping for more, but I rushed off to daven. As I went about davening, I began thinking of what I could do. For years, I had always been involved in Rabbi Meir Baal HaNes. A very holy sage who lived years ago, aside from the charity organizations associated with his name, one true and tried auspicious practice linked to his legacy is to recite various verses upon losing an object and pray that in his merit, Hashem help it be found. And so, I made a commitment. I would give $500 in tzedakah to the Rabbi Meir Baal HaNes fund and in that merit, perhaps I would find the bag with the item in it. Aside from this, the only sliver of hope I had was that the item was in a bag which had the name and phone number of the store I had purchased it from. I prayed that the Arab would be kind enough and call the store, mentioning that a customer of theirs had left something in his car and he wished to return it. But I had my doubts if that would ever happen. And with that, I returned to the apartment I was staying at. I was still in a daze, unsure what I could do. The fact that I was having so much trouble now was because the taxi driver was not under any company’s name, and he had no contact number to reach him. I was stuck. But then I thought to myself, “Maybe I should call the store that I walked out of before getting into the taxi. Maybe they have some idea which can help me.” “Well,” they said, “what we can do for you is look at our cameras and give you the license plate number of the car.” I took it down, thanking them very much for their help. Now I at least had his license plate number and proof of me entering the taxi with the bag, which I could pass on to the police. 20

I quickly headed to the police and provided them with the taxi’s license plate and relayed the story. “Could you please track him and ask him for the bag back?” But that question didn’t go far. “I’m sorry sir, but they passed a law two years ago in Israel that it is not allowed to track cars or taxis using their license plate for various reasons.” Now I was really stuck. I tried finagling my way through with a few ideas I thought would convince them to help me, but nothing worked. The police, though, did offer one solution. “Why don’t you go to the place where the driver dropped you off and see if they have cameras there. If so, we have proof that the bag went into the taxi but did not come out, and it must still be in his possession. If you can give us that information, we can try and track down the bag within ten days.” But I wasn’t too happy with that solution, as I was leaving Israel that night and had a plane to catch. “I need to bring the bag home,” I tried impressing upon the officers. I knew it wouldn’t take long for them to track him, but even with all my convincing, I was left the same way I came in. No bag. I decided that the best I could do was see if there were any cameras in Zichron Moshe. As it turned out, just about no store or shul I inquired about had a camera. At that point, I was finished. I had exhausted all my options, and there was nothing left for me to do. It was also getting late, and I had to daven Maariv and then return back to my apartment to get ready for my departing flight that night. I quickly located a shul I could daven Maariv in. By now, my mind was all over the place. But I did my best to pull myself together. I had little hope I would find the bag, as little progress had been made, though I did not completely give up. Instead, I decided to donate another $500 to Rabbi Meir Baal HaNes, for a total of $1,000, and hoped that things would start to pick up. As I got back to my apartment, I started gathering my belongings together as best as I could. I was without any energy and quite upset, when suddenly, the doorbell rang. I immediately realized that it must be a collector. No one else knew where I was. “Don’t go to the door,” I told my friends. “It’s someone in need of tzedakah and we’re in a rush now and need to leave soon.” But the bell kept on ringing. Finally, I gave in. “Okay,” I told my friend, “let’s answer the door.” Sure enough, my friend opened the door only to find a tzedakah collector. “It’s someone here for tzedakah!” my friend came back telling me. “Tell him that today is not good. I’ll catch him some other time.” I then resumed packing. But something began to bother me. In the back of my head, I wasn’t at peace with myself. “C’mon, when someone comes to ask for tzedakah, at least give him something.” With that thought in my head, I ran upstairs. And then I saw who exactly this collector was. He was the same guy I had given $20 to earlier in the day during Mincha time. “He just won’t give up,” I said to myself. Now I was getting uneasy. I needed to catch a plane and here this guy wouldn’t leave me alone! “Rabbi Wallerstein,” he said, “as you told me, you lost something earlier today. I know two religious policemen who are very high in the security department, and here are their numbers. I think they will be able to help you.” 21

I didn’t know what to say. “You didn’t come here for money?” I asked. “No, I saw how upset you were in shul, and I just wanted to help you. Here are two numbers that should help you find your bag.” I felt terrible having suspected him of wanting to eke more money out of me, and so I graciously thanked him and handed him another $80 in appreciation. I immediately called the first number he had given me. One of the heads of the security department answered, asking me how he could help. I told him the story and provided him with all the necessary information. Half an hour later, the phone rang. “Rabbi Wallerstein, we have your bag.” “What?” I said incredulously. “We tracked the man down and he is bringing us the bag at 11pm tonight.” I was shocked. I happened to be flying out from Israel at 11pm that night, so I asked my friend to bring it back to America, which he was only able to do because his flight was pushed off to the following morning. We as well gave $100 dollars to the Arab as a reward for coming forth with the bag and not discarding it. As I looked back at this unbelievable journey, I realized something profound. Had I not given that tzedakah collector $20 and instead told him that I am too busy to help him, he wouldn’t have known what happened to me and would never have been in position to later give me the phone number that would get me my bag. That act of helping the collector is what in turn helped me. As I boarded the plane back to America, I quietly muttered, “Hashem, You are always taking care of me. If not for that poor man who You brought my way, my bag would still be lost. Those $20 saved me thousands of other dollars. Thank you for giving me that opportunity.” No matter what mood you are in during the course of your day, always remember that when someone puts out their hand, do your utmost to put something back into that hand. Hashem will at times provide us with moments of opportunity, which if we grab onto, will work miracles. We may never find out the rest of the story or we in fact may. But, above all else, with every chance we are given to do a mitzvah, don’t let it pass. Those very few seconds are all you have. Seize them, maximize them, and turn them into a moment you will never forget.

Rabbi Benzion Twerski

Spiritualizing the Physical ‫שׁהֹוצִיא אֶת ַעצְמֹו מִן‬ ֶ ‫ ּו ְלפִי‬...‫שׁע מָה הּוא אֹומֵר מָה ָהעֲב ֹדָ ה הַז ֹּאת ָלכֶם‬ ָ ‫ָר‬ ‫ַה ְ ּכלָל ָכּפַר ְבּ ִע ָקּר‬ What does the wicked son say? What is this work to you? By excluding himself from the community of believers, he denies the basic principle of Judaism

magine the following scene. You walk into a Jewish home a few days before Pesach and notice the many preparations underway. You see the house being cleaned, the potatoes being sliced and vegetables being cut as

you inhale the myriad of aromas wafting through the air. And then you begin wondering and ask a series of questions. “Is this what Pesach, a holiday of sanctity and spirituality, is about? What is this obsession we Jews have with taking the physical world and involving it with G-d? Doesn’t G-d operate in the spiritual realm? Why not leave Hashem out of the kitchen?” That’s a good question. But there’s a good answer. If we would only examine a few lines in the Haggadah, this question will sound quite similar: “What does the wicked son say? ‘What is this work to you?’ By excluding himself from the community of believers, he denies the basic principle of Judaism.” Just exactly what principle of faith does the wicked son deny? Rav Yisrael of Kozhnitz, known as the Kozhnitzer Maggid, explains that the rasha denies the realm of man’s service to Hashem in a physical world. The rasha does not outright reject G-d; he only has difficulty incorporating G-dliness into the kitchen, the business office, recreational activities and all other areas of life that do not seem to be of “spiritual nature.” It is on this account, says the Kozhnitzer Maggid, that we respond by blunting the wicked son’s teeth, as the Haggadah continues to tell us. If he does not believe in elevating the physical world in the service of G-d, he might as well not have teeth with which to chew his food. Our physical bodies are meant to serve Hashem, and if such a premise is rejected, what purpose do his teeth have? The fundamental principal rejected by the rasha is, “In all your ways know Hashem,” a verse which the Shulchan Aruch deems to be, “A small section upon which the entire Torah is dependent.” Every aspect of our lives is to be infused with spirituality and used in service of our Creator. As the Kotzker Rebbe put it, “Hashem is looking for physically holy people to serve Him; He already has plenty of angels.” As we prepare for Pesach, a holiday when so much of what our time seems to be dedicated to is the material world and removed from G-dliness, we must realize that it is exactly the opposite. That which Hashem desires from us is to take the physical world and declare His mastery over it. And indeed, what leads much of the world into an abyss, the Jewish people sanctify and elevate. We utilize it to serve Hashem and create a dwelling place for Him in every crevice and corner of our life.

Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis a”h Melting with Warmth

‫שנָיו‬ ִ ‫ַה ְקהֵה אֶת‬

Blunt his teeth hat exactly does this mean? Is the Haggadah really instructing us to blunt the teeth of the wicked son? What would that accomplish?

In truth, the word Hak’he, typically translated as blunt or knock out, bears an alternative meaning, as seen from the book of Koheles. There, Shlomo Hamelech tells us, “If an axe is (hak’he) soft and one has not honed the edge…” (Koheles 10:10; see Metzudos Tzion, Yirmiyah 31:28). The word hak’he speaks to the act of softening. In the context of iron, this would be done by melting the iron with fire. As it relates to the rasha, what is the Haggadah telling us? Soften and melt his teeth. And how do you do that? With fire, with warmth. The wicked son comes with teeth ready to bite. He is angry and embittered. “What is all this work that you are doing?” he asks. He cannot stand it. But to him, you respond with the fire of compassion and love, bringing him close and making him feel warm and welcome. That is the way you approach such a child, and bring him to appreciate the Torah way of life. For many years, I would regularly give Torah classes at Hineni, an outreach organization intended at providing a Torah education to those coming closer to Judaism. As was the case, my father, Rabbi Avraham HaLevi Jungreis zt”l, would always make an effort to attend my classes. Even as he got on in his years, he would be at each class attentively listening. One day, I received a phone call from a worried mother who was audibly crying. Her son, a previous student at Columbia University, had become ill some time before, and was taken to a Catholic hospital. When he eventually woke up from surgery, he noticed a crucifix on the wall opposite him and began believing that he was saved by Christianity. He now wished to be baptized and become Christian. “What should I do Rebbetzin?” the mother cried. “Bring him to my Torah class,” I told her, “and we will see what we can do.” Sure enough, the woman was in attendance with her son the next time, as was my father. By then, my father was getting much older and had difficulty moving around. Although I told him that it was okay for him to stay home and not come hear me speak, he would always tell me, “I have to go; maybe I can give somebody a blessing.” That was how my father always was: looking to uplift and help people. When I eventually finished my class that night, I noticed that the mother was trying to get her son to come up to me. But the boy was very upset and clearly did not wish to do so. I then decided to intervene. “Hello,” I said softly, “you can come over here if you like. We can talk.” The boy, not wishing to refuse now after I called him up, began making his way over. In the meantime, my father noticed that something was going on and asked what needed to be done. “Tatty,” I said, “he is a non-Jew. He gave up his Judaism.” I began quickly detailing everything the mother had told me about her son. My father understood. Before the boy could even reach me, my father took him in his arms and started to cry. “You are a Jewish child,” he gently said to the boy, “you are a yiddishe child. The Torah was given at Mount Sinai, and you were at Mount Sinai. You are a child of G-d.” My father continued hugging the boy and 24

crying over him. The boy nearly fainted. But then the boy looked at my father with tears in his eyes and began saying, “Rabbi, Rabbi, teach me Torah… teach me Torah…” Right then and there, the boy decided to recommit himself to a Torah life. People later came up to me in amazement. “Rebbetzin, how did you do it? What did you do to turn this boy back around to Judaism within just a few minutes?” I didn’t need to say much. “I have a secret weapon,” I said. And with that, I held up my father’s hand. “This hand of love and warmth brought him back.” That is what it means to knock out the teeth of the rasha. Melt his teeth with love and warmth. My father didn’t even need to engage the boy in a discussion. He just reminded him that he was a Jew and showed him that he cared for him. When such love is transferred from one Jew to another, the results it can achieve are beyond all belief. It can turn something so hard and solid into something so soft and tender. Such is the power of love, of warmth and of caring.

Dr. David Pelcovitz Observing with Empathy

‫ְו ִהגַדְ תָ ְל ִבנְָך‬

And you shall speak to your children

s Moshe Rabbeinu grows up, the Torah tells us, “‫שׁה ַו ּי ֵצֵא אֶל ֶאחָיו‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ַויּ ִגְדַ ּל מ‬ ‫ – ַוי ַ ְּרא ְבּ ִסבְֹלתָ ם‬And Moshe grew up and went out to his brethren and observed their burdens” (Shemos 2:11). Rav Chaim Shmulevitz (Sichas Mussar, Maamar 67) notes that the Pasuk uses the verb “see” – ‫ – ַוי ַ ְּרא‬to connote how Moshe empathized with his fellow brethren. Rav Chaim explains that it is through vision and face-to-face contact that empathy is developed. Along these lines, research has proven something fascinating. When a person performs a movement, such as moving his hands, there is a very specific motor neuron that fires in the prefrontal cortex of the brain specifically designed for this movement. Research has shown that when an outsider sees the movements, the same motor neuron activity occurs in the viewer’s head. Observing the body language of one person triggers an identical reaction in the observer. This specific activated neuron is called the “mirror neuron.” The implications of this research are profound as it relates to human interaction. Human beings are hard-wired for what our Sages term “nosei b’ol im chaveiro,” bearing the burden of our friends. We are predisposed to empathizing and identifying with the emotions of another. However, as the above research has indicated, this happens through visual contact. It is when a person makes eye contact with another that the mirror neuron is activated. 25

This is what Moshe experienced when looking at the Jews in Egypt. He closely and carefully looked at their suffering and took their pain to heart. It is therefore most important that parents and children give their undivided attention to each other and make eye contact when attempting to efficiently communicate and emotionally empathize with each other’s feelings.

Rabbi Mordechai Becher One Decision, One Moment

‫י ָכֹול מֵר ֹאׁש ח ֹדֶ ׁש‬

One might think that the mitzvah to tell the story of the Exodus starts on the first day of the month of Nissan…

hy in fact was the mitzvah of Sanctifying the New Moon the very first commandment the Jews received while still in Egypt? What was so central about this mitzvah as it related to us becoming a free nation? The answer to this is embedded in the fundamental difference between the solar and lunar calendars, the former of which works on a yearly cycle, referred to in Hebrew as shanah. Most notably, shanah is cognate to the words shinun (repetition), yashan (old), yashein (sleep). The theme is that life under the framework of the sun is all the same. The sun does not grow smaller or bigger, but rather continues to exist in the same shape and form. As Shlomo Hamelech accurately articulates, “There is nothing new beneath the sun” (Koheles 1:9). On the other hand, the moon with its basis steeped in the monthly cycle represents newness and rebirth. A month (chodesh) bespeaks that which is new (chadash). This dichotomy is by no means coincidental, but rather reflects the essential difference between the way the Egyptians and Jews respectively view the world. The Egyptians, who worshipped the sun and lived according to its cycle, viewed life as predetermined and a matter of predestination. What was determines what will be. The circumstances of your genes, family and upbringing will govern who and what you will be for the rest of your life. The Egyptians would thus look at the Jews and say, “You were born into slavery and have been slaves for two hundred and ten years; of course you will be slaves forever!” Being indoctrinated with such a thought time after time, after hundreds of years, the Jews could understandably begin believing it was true. The very first thing Hashem therefore wished to convey to the Jews was in relation to the Solar Calendar. “No longer will you make use of the sun and solar cycle,” Hashem said. “That calendar tells you that the past deter-

mines the future and it is futile to change. But that is not true. From now on, you as a nation will live according to the moon and lunar calendar, which proclaims renewal and rebirth and the possibility to change.” The reason this was the very first commandment to be given to the Jews as a nation while they were still in Egypt was because it indeed is the most central teaching in Judaism. We are empowered with our own free will and the ability to change our lives, the world and the course of human history. But just how fast can we change and turn around our lives? A friend of mine named Marshal grew up in a street gang in Manchester, England. Unfortunately, he grew up in a very bad neighborhood and was surrounded by bad behaved friends. As it occurred, he got involved in a fight with his friends, which he lost and had him end up in a hospital. The first sight he noticed as he opened his eyes in the hospital was a picture of Jerusalem on the wall. It didn’t take much for him to realize, “This is not a life.” And so, at that very moment in the hospital room he made the decision to visit Israel. Gathering together all the money he had made as part of the gang, he booked a one-way ticket to Israel. Some time after arriving in Israel, he made his way over to the Jerusalem and the Kotel. As he looked around and took in the breathtaking scene, a man tapped him on the shoulder. It was Rabbi Meir Schuster. “Are you Jewish?” “Yes I am,” Marshal replied. “Are you interested in a hot lunch and Torah class?” Marshal accepted the offer, and before he knew it, he found himself in the yeshiva Ohr Somayach. It didn’t take long for Marshal to decide that he wished to stay on a little longer. Fast forward… Marshal is Moshe and married with a number of children teaching first and second grade at a school in Jerusalem. He is as well a scribe and teaches martial arts in the evening. His previous experience as a gang member is being put to good use. Where did it all begin? With that one decision at the one moment in the hospital room to leave Manchester and go to Israel. Life can change in a moment. The Jewish people had been enslaved for two hundred and ten years, and had practiced paganism for most of that time. We were on the cusp of giving up hope that we would ever be redeemed. Yet, right then and there, G-d came to us and told us to carry out one tremendous act of courage which would revolutionize us and serve as the bridge to redemption. The Jews were to take the lamb which the Egyptians worshipped, slaughter in, roast it over a spit and consume it. Just imagine what the scene must have looked like. Imhotep and Sophotep are one day taking a walk, when all of a sudden, Imhotep turns to Sophotep and says, “Do you smell that?” “Yeah, what is that?” Taking a few steps closer to the Goldberg residence, the scent only increases and pervades the air. And then Imhotep motions to Sophotep. “Look at that! Oh my g-d!” Right there on the spit was the lamb Imhotep and Sophotep worshipped. When the Jews decided to carry out Hashem’s command to roast over 27

an open fire the very g-d which the Egyptians worshipped, it was one revolutionary step forward which would change everything. It was that one decision which rejected the Egyptian form of idol worship and allowed the Jews to break free of their slave mentality and cultural identification with the Egyptians. They now demonstrated tremendous faith in Hashem, and proved their readiness to leave the shackles of slavery. The Jewish people changed in a moment. They went from no moon to a full moon. Such is one of the great lessons of our exodus from Egypt. One decision can change an entire life, an entire destiny and an entire world.

Why does the Haggadah wish to openly disclose our idolatrous history? Perhaps it is because our background is never to be viewed as a deterrent or limitation to our capabilities to rise to greatness. Despite Avraham Avinu’s idolatrous ancestry, he fearlessly looked to discover a Creator in the world and rally the masses to belief in Hashem. The same applies to us. We should never feel that our past will incontrovertibly dictate our future. Quite to the contrary, sometimes our past is our greatest source of strength and success.

Dayan Yonasan Abraham Mrs. Chani Juravel

From Step to Leap

Your Special Prayers

‫ְו ַע ְכשָיו ק ְֵרבָנּו ַהמָקֹום ַלעֲב ֹדָ תֹו‬

‫מִתְ ִחלָה עֹובְדֵ י עֲבֹודָ ה ז ָָרה הָיּו אֲבֹותֵ ינּו‬

Originally our ancestors were idol worshippers…

s I was once teaching a class years ago, we received news from the secretary about a distressing situation which had occurred in Israel. After informing us of the current conditions, the secretary added that perhaps we should keep it in mind during our davening and learning. After receiving this news, one of my students approached me. “Mrs. Juravel, why don’t you daven? We will wait in the meantime.” Wondering why I should pray and not the rest of the class, I asked her to explain. “What do you mean that only I should daven?” “You see,” continued the girl, “you have been Torah observant since you were born and must also have parents and grandparents who are very special. But who are we? We are just becoming religious now and we do not have much to show for ourselves that should warrant our prayers to be answered. That is why you alone should daven.” Listening to the logic of the girl, I said, “I would like to politely disagree. You have much more of a responsibility to davening than you believe. Considering where you have come from, you are especially dear to Hashem. You have gone beyond your natural environment and circumstances and chose to dedicate yourself to a life of Torah and mitzvos. You have left behind your family upbringing and previous lifestyle and chose to live as a religious Jew. In the merit of how far you have come and what you have achieved, you can say, ‘Hashem, I have gone above and beyond my natural limits; You too, please, go above and beyond and help the Jewish people.’” And with that, I concluded by telling her, “Never underestimate the potency of your prayers. They most certainly pierce the heavens and directly reach Hashem.”

And now, Hashem brought us close to His service

s the Jewish people stood at the threshold of leaving Egypt, the Torah relates that “The Children of Israel carried out the word of Moshe; they requested from the Egyptians silver vessels, gold vessels and garments” (Shemos 12:35). Commenting on this Pasuk, Rashi references the Pasuk a chapter earlier (ibid. 11:2), which states that Moshe said to the Jewish people, “Let each man request of his fellow and each woman from her fellow silver vessels and gold vessels.” It is odd, notes the Vilna Gaon, that Rashi cites a verse earlier in the Torah (11:2) which is essentially the very same as this later one (12:35). What did Rashi mean to add? Moreover, asks the Gaon, it would seem to be inaccurate to refer to the Egyptians with the term rey’ehu, friends. The Gemara (Bava Kama 37b) states that the word rey’ehu, friend, when mentioned in the Torah implies co-religionists, or those who similarly abide by Torah and mitzvos. It thereby excludes gentiles for they are not bound by the same code of Jewish laws. In this case then, how can the Torah use the phrase “borrow from your friends” to refer to the Egyptians? The Gaon’s answer lends tremendous insight into our lives as Jews. The objective of this command was that the Jews would borrow such expensive items from the Egyptians. But how were the Jews to create such grace and favor in the eyes of the Egyptians that they would unreservedly do so? It is in relation to this that Hashem said, “They should borrow silver, gold and garments from their friends.” Who were these friends? Not the Egyptians, but the Jews themselves. The Jews were to borrow and lend to each other. Reuven would lend to Shimon and Miriam would lend to Sarah. It was through this that an environment and atmosphere of feeling responsible and kind 29

to each other would develop, and the Egyptians would in turn learn from their example and feel more willing to lend their belongings to the Jews. If the Jews wanted to be the beneficiaries of compassion and kindness from the Egyptians, they were first to practice and exhibit behaviors of kindness between themselves. This is what Rashi means to fill in with his commentary. The Pasuk (12:35) states that the Jews were to borrow from the Egyptians. But how would they go about doing so? In relation to that, Rashi explains that they were first to display such kindness among themselves – their friends – and from there, they would be able to easily borrow from the Egyptians. In our relationship with Hashem and the nations of the world, it is we who are to take the first step. In order to be bestowed upon compassionately both by the nations of the world and Hashem, it must begin with us. As the Zohar coins the phrase, “An awakening from below engenders an awakening from on High.” We are to take the initiative and demonstrate such care, and that will pave the way for such similar care to be shown to us. In the words of the Midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 5:3), if we create “an opening the size of a needle, Hashem will open for us an opening the size of a large entryway.” But it all starts with our efforts. The Kli Yakar similar highlights that this is the explanation for the discrepancy between Hashem and Moshe’s command in placing the blood of the Paschal lamb on the doorposts and lintel. Moshe Rabbeinu commanded the Jewish people to “touch the lintel and the two doorposts with some of the blood…” (ibid. 12:22), whereas Hashem commanded Moshe to “take some of the blood and place it on the two doorposts and on the lintel…” (ibid. 12:7). Why did Hashem command that blood first be applied on the doorposts and only then on the lintel and Moshe reversed the order? The Kli Yakar explains that Hashem and Moshe’s instructions reflected two different approaches. The lintel symbolized Hashem who is up High, while the doorposts represented the Avos, forefathers, who are the foundation and support for the Jewish people. Moshe asked that the Jews first place the blood on the lintel for He wished that Hashem send down His blessing and inspiration first, which would then spur the Jewish people to higher spiritual plateaus and elevate them. Hashem, however, responded that life works in the opposite order. It is we as the Jewish nation, symbolized by the Avos, who must take the first step, after which He will come down to us and rest His presence. First we were to apply blood to the doorposts and do our part, and only then the lintel, wherein Hashem would come to assist us. The same theme is seen time and again throughout the Torah. When we first engage in kindness with one another and expend our efforts, such as in applying the blood on the doorposts, then Hashem and the nations of the world will respond in kind. Our actions create the impetus for all blessing and compassion to follow. If we only take one small step, Hashem will help us take one giant leap. 30

Rabbi Ari Bensoussan Leaving with Riches

‫וְַאח ֲֵרי כֵן יֵצְאּו ִב ְּרכֻׁש גָדֹול‬

And afterwards, they will go forth with great wealth

osson Dovid, as he eventually became known, did not always lead the life he does today. It took a journey of many years of ups and downs. But, in hindsight, it became clear that through it all, he was not alone. Nosson Dovid’s parents did not raise him religious nor send him to a Jewish school. Until 12th grade, he attended public school. There he struggled to obtain good grades and see any real success in his school. His parents thus decided to transfer him to an inner city public school, where students reportedly received more attention and typically excelled relative to their previous experiences. When Nosson Dovid first showed up at school, though, he did not see the usual outside yard, buildings with classrooms, lunchroom and so on. School was in a mall, quite literally. As for his first introduction to the other students, suffice it to say that it was less than comforting. But Nosson Dovid just kept on moving along and going with the flow. As a Jew, he was taunted and called names, but it didn’t deter him from putting his best forward. “Tuna fish!” they would say, “what are you doing here? You don’t belong here!” Nosson Dovid merely ignored them. One day, as Nosson Dovid stood by the train station, Leroy, one of the other students, came running over. “You’re not going to believe it!” Nosson Dovid raised his head in interest. “What happened?” “I was sitting next to someone whose wallet was sticking right out of his pocket. His wallet was saying to me, ‘You better take me because this guy doesn’t need me.’ That man didn’t even care that his wallet was sticking out, and so when the train pulled up, I took his wallet right out of his pocket. He went straight onto that train and headed off.” Nosson Dovid was shocked. “You mean you just took his wallet?” “No, no, he gave me his wallet! It was sticking right out of his pocket telling me to take it!” And with that, Leroy took out the nicely arranged stack of bills and threw the wallet onto the train tracks. “Why are you doing that?” asked Nosson Dovid. “I don’t need any policemen coming after me for somebody else’s wallet with ID and credit cards.” Nosson Dovid was appalled. Heading down into the train tracks, he picked up the wallet. “Tuna fish!” yelled out Leroy, “what are you going to do with that? It doesn’t have any money in it anymore!” “I’m going to give it back to its owner,” Nosson Dovid answered. “How are you going to do that? You have some satellite?” “No, I’m just going to look at his name on the driver’s license and call him to say I found his wallet.” Sure enough, Nosson 31

Dovid called the rightful owner and reported the lost wallet. Two days later in school, the principal announced over the loudspeaker, “Nosson Dovid, please come down to the office!” Despite Nosson Dovid being unsure why he was being called, he respectfully went. “Nosson David, I heard the craziest story about you today!” the principal said. “You returned someone’s wallet when it was sticking out of his pocket saying ‘Steal me!’” “I guess I did,” quietly replied Nosson Dovid. “I don’t know if you know this, but we are a government funded school. The government likes to give us money, and I’ll look good, you’ll look good and the school will look good if you write them a letter telling them what you did. Write a letter to the superintendent of the district and let them know about this. You’re graduating this year, and you never know if you’ll get some money to help you towards higher education.” Nosson Dovid listened carefully, agreeing to do so for the benefit of what appeared to be everyone. Years went by, with Nosson Dovid becoming more religious with the help of rabbis he came across and NCSY. It eventually was getting closer to graduation, and by then, Nosson Dovid had called just about anyone and everyone he could think of to help him get into a yeshiva in Israel. He threw together a few dollars from here and there, but his chances of purchasing a ticket and paying for tuition seemed bleak. This was besides the tension between him and his parents, who fought him tooth and nail about going to Israel altogether. And then came graduation day. The procession was held inside the food court of the mall, where aside from Nosson Dovid’s school, other schools joined in to graduate as well. The room was packed, with parents and other faculty members filling the room from wall to wall. Nosson Dovid was dressed in gold, consistent with his school’s colors, and looked both excited and relieved to move on with life. But before the proceedings continued, the principal got up to speak. “Before we continue, I would just like to acknowledge the presence of our government representative.” The crowd became all ears, eager to listen to the announcements. “In recognition of her excellence in advanced placement coursework, the government awards Jenny Washington with $3,000 towards higher education.” Jenny’s family was shocked, with yelling and screaming echoing throughout the room, thanks to her parents and siblings. “Another student, Dwain Brown, has been recognized by the government for his excellence in this year’s sports leagues. The government awards Dwain $3,000 towards higher education.” Dwain’s family likewise broke out in sheer surprise and excitement. And then the principal continued. “And now, the highest recognition from the government, awarding $40,000 for higher education to a boy who personifies what we stand for here in this school and whose deeds are a role model for us all. Please give a round of applause to none other than our very own Nosson David!” The crowd was stunned. “Tuna fish did it again!” wailed out the crowd. Nosson Dovid proudly walked over to the principal and smiled next to his $40,000 32

check. Proud to be the school which hosted such a reputable boy, the principal asked Nosson Dovid if she could keep the large, oversized check in her office. “I’m so proud of you!” she said. “I want to hang it in my office for everyone to see!” “That’s perfectly fine,” said Nosson Dovid, “as long as I receive a real miniature check.” Nosson Dovid was able to go to Ohr Somayach that year, where he continued to remain learning for a number of years. But the story doesn’t end there. The year after his graduation, Nosson Dovid received a phone call. “Nosson David, it’s your principal from high school.” Nosson Dovid was pleased to hear from her. “How’s your higher education going?” “It’s going great!” he replied. “I’ve got some unfortunate news to share,” the principal continued. “The government is shutting us down! Some of our immature high school boys broke into a store in the mall here one day, and the government isn’t going to support us anymore. I’m just calling you because I am clearing out my office and I was wondering if you would like me to send your big check to your parents’ house …” Who can know, but just maybe that school opened to provide Nosson Dovid with the opportunity to go to Israel, and closed down after it achieved its purpose. But there is more. Here was someone who did something so simple and small as returning a wallet to its rightful owner, and look what resulted. The Kiddush Hashem left an indelible impression on everyone involved and earned Nosson Dovid a ticket to Israel. He may have started out wondering how he would ever attain his dreams, but when he devoted himself to living in accordance with Torah values, Hashem handsomely repaid him. The same is true of us all. When we dedicate ourselves to Hashem and His Torah, we can never underestimate the tremendous results we will gain both materially and spiritually.

Rabbi Daniel Glatstein An Extraordinary Opportunity

‫וְַאתְ עֵר ֹם ְוע ְֶרי ָה‬

But you were bare and exposed [of good deeds]

s prescribed by our Sages, we cease praying for rain and begin praying for dew on the first day of Pesach. What in fact, though, is the correlation between the holiday of Pesach and dew? Rav Meir Shapiro cites the Gemara (Taanis 4a) which records a dialogue between Hashem and the Jewish people. The Jews ask Hashem, “Please be like the rain to us!” but Hashem responds, “I will be better than the rain; I will be like the dew.” What is meant with this exchange? What was the back 33

and forth between Hashem and the Jewish people about? Rav Shapiro explains that the Jews mean to tell Hashem, “We are aware that we cannot come close to You unless we make the initiative and take the first step towards You. But, once we do so, please be like the rain! Just as the rain is formed when water vapor rises through the atmosphere and cools down to form tiny water droplets and eventually clouds and falling rain in the process of condensation, You mimic such a process. We will rouse ourselves to draw near to You, but respond by coming down to us and drawing near to us in return. As the Zohar puts it, first there is an “awakening from below,” after which there is an “awakening from Above.” But Hashem has a different idea in mind. “I will even do more,” Hashem says. “There are times when My children might not be able to inspire and rouse themselves to come towards Me on their own. But then, I will be the like the dew. Dew is formed of liquid that has condensed from some of the water vapor in the air. It does not require the same process of water vapor rising through the air to the sky to form clouds. I, Hashem, will take the first step towards you and provide you with the inspiration to come closer to Me and My Torah.” This is why we pray for dew on Pesach, concludes Rav Shapiro. In Egypt, the Jewish nation was at the threshold of falling into a spiritual abyss with few mitzvos and merits. We were bare of good deeds, as the Haggadah states, and we should have remained enslaved in Egypt. But Hashem, in His great kindness, took the step towards us and freed us from the shackles of bondage. He took us out of Egypt and elevated us even though we were not worthy and deserving. If there is thus one time of the year when a Jew can cry out to Hashem for Heavenly assistance despite not being worthy, it is during Pesach. It is now that a Jew can say, “Hashem, I am having a hard time doing my part. Please be like the dew, and come to me first and help me along.” It is not coincidental that for this reason, explains Rav Baruch of Medzhybizh, grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, the Yom Tov is called Pesach. As stated in the Haggadah, the word Pesach derives from Hashem’s decision to jump over the Jewish homes and instead only kill the firstborn Egyptians. But why would we choose to name the entire holiday after this event? Was that really the primary feature and greatest miracle that happened throughout the entire slavery and exodus of Egypt? In truth, explains Rav Baruch of Medzhybizh, the symbolism of the word Pesach speaks to the very essence of the Yom Tov. As Chazal teach, Hashem tells us, “Open for Me an opening the size of a needle, and I will open for you in turn an opening the size of a large entryway” (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 5:3). Hashem generally asks that we take the first step towards Him and extend ourselves. It is us, the Jewish people, who are prompted to take charge and open the door to come close to Hashem. But, on the night of the seder, the reverse is true. Hashem “jumps over the Jewish homes,” and tells us that He will pass over the normal requirement that we open the door. He instead will 34

make the initiative and come to us, opening a large entryway for us to enter. Pesach affords us the extraordinary opportunity to ask Hashem, “Open for us the gates of Heaven,” give us dew and bring us closer to You. It is the holiday of dew, the holiday of Hashem opening the door for us, and the holiday when we can rise to the highest of spiritual heights and rejoice with Hashem.

Rabbi Chaim Rosenfeld The Refining Crucible

‫ַוי ִתְ נּו ָעלֵינּו עֲב ֹדָ ה ָקשָה‬

And they placed upon us harsh labor

midst the horrors of the Holocaust, the Klausenberger Rebbe was once asked, “How are you able to recite the blessing every single day of ‘Asher bachar banu,’ thanking G-d for making us His chosen nation, when so many of His children are being led to their deaths?” The Klausenberger Rebbe looked back at the man, not fazed in the least. “It’s very simple. You know why I am thanking Hashem for being Jewish? Because if not, we would be them. We would be the ones throwing other people into the gas chambers.” A similar question presents itself when analyzing the slavery and exodus of the Jews from Egypt. Why do we thank G-d for taking us out of Egypt if He is the One who put us there in the first place? Good question. Let’s first turn to Parshas Va’eschanan.“ But Hashem has taken you and withdrawn you from the iron crucible, from Egypt, to be a nation of heritage for Him...” (Devarim 4:20). Interestingly, the Torah refers to Egypt as an “iron crucible.” What exactly does that mean in reference to Egypt? Rashi explains that the purpose of a crucible is to refine and purge metal of its foreign elements. The same is thus true of Egypt. It refined the Jewish people and purified them, turning them into an elevated and special people. From the harsh slave labor to the witnessing of miraculous plagues, the experience of Egypt transformed the Jewish people’s attitude and lives. In what way though did it actually refine the Jewish nation? In formulating the mitzvah of rejoicing on Yom Tov, the Torah states dozens of times, “You shall rejoice before Hashem, your G-d – you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, the Levite in your cities, the convert… (Devarim 16:14). Why does the Torah command us to rejoice with the convert? The next Pasuk continues with the reason, “You shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and you shall observe and perform these decrees (ibid. v. 15). We are enjoined to rejoice with the convert, who feels estranged having joined a nation other than his native born, for we ourselves were once 35

in a strange land and understand what it feels like to feel alienated. We are specifically told to extend ourselves to the one who feels out of place and not at home. When considering this, all of a sudden, our perspective on our experience in Egypt changes. Hashem did not put us in Egypt to punish us, but rather for us to become refined and more attuned to human sensitivity. It is thus through the process of slavery in Egypt that we became positioned to positively impact the world. The Jewish nation is so philanthropic because we know what it means to be on the other side as an impoverished and berated nation. Our experiences have enriched and sensitized us, turning us into a people who view the world through the prisms of kindness and compassion to the downtrodden and needy. As a nation, we know what it means to be trampled upon in every which way. Starting with Egypt and moving forward in Jewish history, we have experienced mental, emotional, physical and financial suppression and persecution. If there is any nation so sensitive and kind to others, it is we, the Jewish people, for we understand what it means to experience pain and suffering. That is what Egypt provided and what the Klausenberger Rebbe meant. “You know why I am thanking Hashem for being Jewish? Because if not, we would be them.” As Jews, we are enriched with a heritage and history so expansive and robust that we are in position to give back to our brethren and the world at large and quite literally, make it a better place. Indeed, Egypt was an iron crucible which did far more than enslave us. It made us into the nation we are today.

Rabbi Fischel Schachter Cry, Cry and Cry

‘‫ַונִ ְצעַק אֶל ד‬

And we cried out to Hashem

have often been asked what my Pesach seder looks like in my home. While we certainly have our fair share of noise and ups and downs throughout, there is one part during which all of my family joins together. It is before the words in the Haggadah which describe how the Jews cried out to Hashem amid their pain. Every year without fail, I tell my family the same story. It was the Shabbos before Pesach, and to the chagrin of many families in the town, the landowner made his way over. “No rent?” he yelled. “Out!” “But, it is Passover…” “Out!” the landowner yelled again. After hearing this, one particular homeowner was very dejected. Where would he and his family go for Pesach? He didn’t have the means to pay

the rent at the moment, but he didn’t want to be evicted either. But upon the encouragement of his wife, he gathered himself together and traveled to hear the Apter Rav deliver his widely attended Shabbos HaGadol speech he gave every year before Pesach. Perhaps there he would gain some insight into solving his predicament. As he soon discovered, though, the shul was packed with people from wall to wall. There was no way to get in, let alone to find a place to stand. And so, with no other resort, the man put his head to the window just enough that he could hear something to repeat to his wife. “There are two blessings that we say: Go’el Yisrael and Ga’al Yisrael. The former is said every day, and refers to Hashem being our Redeemer on an ongoing basis. The latter, in contrast, refers to unique times during the year when Hashem opens certain doors of redemption, which we can grab hold of and slowly work our way in. We take the opportunity to look at the larger picture, the bigger door of geulah, and from there practically make our way inside on a daily basis.” The poor Jew was now even more despondent. “I’m going to tell this idea to my wife and the landowner as he throws me out? Hebrew grammar is the last thing he is interested in …” But then, just as the poor yid began walking away, he heard the Apter Rav loudly proclaim, “Suppose there’s a yid named Yankel who lives in a distant village, and suppose the landowner told him, ‘No rent? Out!’ The yid wants to give up on everything he has. But he is forgetting one simple thing. You can cry out to Hashem. Cry and cry. The Jews cried in Egypt, and roused the merits of all previous generations all the way back to our Avos. When we cry, we do the same. We invoke the merits of our fathers, grandfathers and so on, all the way to Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov.” The Ohr HaChaim further says that the words, “Hashem saw the Children of Israel, and G-d knew” (Shemos 2:25), refer to the greatest degree of connection between Hashem and the Jewish people. “And Hashem knew” speaks to the most intimate relationship possible. A person can cry a thousand times, until he cries one cry which is so sincere and pristine that, all of a sudden, Hashem turns to him in a way He never turned to him before in his life. When Hashem simply sees you screaming out to Him amid your pain, that itself helps to remove the agony. As the yid heard these words and explanation of the Apter Rav, he told his family, “During the night of the seder this year, we are going to cry and scream.” Sure enough, it was the night of the seder, and as they reached the words, “And the Jews cried out,” the entire family began screaming and yelling. The landlord came rushing in, flustered to see an entire family in what appeared to be a frenzied state. And as the story goes, he pitied the man and his family and gave the yid a new lease on life. If you scream, Hashem listens. And so, as is the custom in my home, as we reach the words of Va’nitzak during the seder, all of my children and grandchildren await their turn to tell us someone we should cry for. This one 37

needs a child, this one needs a shidduch, someone needs better health … and we daven for each and every one of them. We cry about a certain neighbor, about an elderly gentleman down the block, and someone sick in shul. We cry for the full gamut of people needing Hashem’s help. Well before Pesach, my family begins preparing names we will daven for. We write down everyone’s names and create lists of people we can cry our hearts out for. You may be surprised to know how many people have told us that that they’ve started doing this in their homes during the seder, and how many prayers have been answered. May Hashem help that we all find it within our hearts to cry out on this night, because all we need is to get His attention, and the refuah and yeshuah are around the corner.

Rabbi Shlomo Farhi Our Shifrah and Puah

...‫שלִיכֻהּו‬ ְ ַ‫ָכּל ַה ֵבּן ַהיִּלֹוד ַהי ְא ָֹרה ת‬

Every son that will be born – into the River you shall throw him

lmost every one of us has experienced what it feels like to be inspired by a role model. Take a moment and think about it. Who is yours? The greatest leader the Jewish people have ever known is Moshe Rabbeinu. He brought the Jewish people out of Egypt, led them through the desert and brought them to the precipice of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. But who was it that formed this amazing character? As we find in the Torah, there are two women in Moshe’s young life. His mother, Yocheved, and his sister, Miriam. But the Torah in the beginning of Parshas Shemos calls them by different names. Yocheved is called Shifra and Miriam is called Puah (Shemos 1:15). Rashi explains that these alternate names of Yocheved and Miriam spoke to their specific character traits vis-à-vis their positions as midwives. Shifra was called such because she was “m’shaperet et ha’vlad,” shaped and patted the baby as it was born to ensure its survival and health. Puah, on the other hand, would make cooing sounds to the newborn, putting it at ease and making it feel comforted. In truth, these two actions speak to much more than the mere process of childbirth and care for a newborn. They inform crucial processes in the stages of raising children, and in influencing and encouraging people on the whole. “M’shaperet” is when, as a parent or teacher, you take a hands-on approach and fix something about somebody, prodding them on. You may

remember a grandmother telling you it’s time to get up or a parent pushing you to get your first job, not giving you a choice in the matter. Years later, you graciously thank them and express your true appreciation, for they were the ones who pushed you, formed you and fashioned you. Yet there is another approach, that of Puah. It is the person who speaks the same language as you, mimics the sound of your voice, and gently encourages you. When we share our dreams with them, they echo them back to us. They never get overly involved, yet always remain that reassuring voice which carries us from one stage in our lives to the next. Think back to that teacher, parent or grandparent, and ask yourself if they empowered you to do something different, special or bold in your life. Were they “Shifras” or “Puahs”? Did they make you or did they encourage you? Interestingly, this is not just true about role models and people, but also about life situations. We experience moments in our lives that are “Shifra” moments. They don’t encourage us, but force us to change, and mold us in ways where we almost have no choice. They bring us to a new and better reality, which is sometimes good and positive, and other times quite challenging. But the aftermath of that circumstance is that we are undeniably changed. Then there are “Puah” moments in life, which softly and tenderly give us a certain sense of gratitude or reassurance that the way we are or that the path we are treading is the right one. Think about the moments in your life. Are they Shifras or are they Puahs? But just as important as it is to identify those people and times which call for either Shifrah or Puah, we must also recognize when it is not the right match. Let me give you an example. A young, distraught woman once came to speak with me. “My whole life I’ve struggled,” she began. “All of the people in my family have always been so clever and smart, except for me. But do you know what the worst thing is? Today when I returned home my mother said to me, ‘It’s okay if you don’t go to seminary, university, or any higher education. We will love you anyway.’ She was trying to be loving and supportive, but my own mother doesn’t believe in me. I am crushed.” My heart went out to this young woman feeling like she was inadequate and not as good as the rest of her family. But then suddenly, it hit me. I knew this girl; she had been in my class. In fact, she had been a student in my advanced class and always had the answers ready before other students. For that matter, the class had been full of brilliant students, some of whom went on to top universities. I then began wondering if the source of the problem had begun then. In my class, I read the passages aloud and we analyzed them before looking into the text itself. I gently asked her if she had ever been tested for difficulty with reading, to which she declined. “Tomorrow morning,” I told her, “go to school and ask for this test.” Before she finished school the next day, the results came back and indi39

cated that she was challenged in the way she reads. When that was discovered, it became quite clear. Of course, she was having a hard time. To her, the words appear as a jumbled mass which she needs to figure out before she can even analyze the ideas. On the other hand, with regard to anything that was read aloud to her, she excelled at. When she learned of this fact, she turned her life around almost overnight. That is the difference between needing a Shifra and receiving a Puah instead, or vice versa. We must ensure that we receive what we need at the right time from the right person. And that is the secret to the two people who we all need in our lives. There are Shifras and Puahs. Learn from them, grow from them and become the best person you possibly can become.

Mrs. Rivka Malka Perlman Intersecting with Gratitude

ּ‫ַכּמָה ַמעֲלֹות טֹובֹות ַלמָקֹום ָעלֵינּו‬

How many levels of goodness has Hashem given us

short while ago, I led a retreat in Oregon in an absolutely beautiful outdoor setting among grassy hills and trees. As we settled into our lodging, we were introduced to Robert, who managed the retreat center and himself lived on top of a hill nearby. “If you need anything,” he told us, “I am right here. I live in that little house up on top, and can help you with whatever you need.” His words were certainly comforting, with all of us newcomers having little familiarity with the area and terrain. After three days of deep and meaningful self-developmental seminars about emunah, we began to gather our belongings together. Before we left, though, I wanted to thank Robert one last time for all his help. “It was my pleasure to be of assistance,” he said. Standing there at the moment, I began reflecting aloud to Robert how wonderful I felt his work serviced the community. “You know,” I said, “you have a very special life. You live here and help anyone who comes through this retreat center year-round. You are helping people and doing kindness all the time.” Robert took in my kind words, and then added some of his own. “This has been my favorite group,” he said. “Why is that?” I asked. “Because, of all the people I have ever met, you folks are the most appreciative.” “Yeah,” I replied, “that is what it means to be a Jew.” I could tell that Robert was quite touched by our stay at the retreat over the past few days. “I have to tell you something else,” Robert said. “I grew up as part of the KKK. In my day, I saw a lot of rough and tough treatment of other people. I pretty much grew up disliking people. When

I was fourteen years old, I ran away from home and promised myself that I would start a life of kindness and undo the terrible legacy I had. That is why I have been running this retreat center. My intention is to provide a place where people can grow and work on themselves to becoming kinder, more caring and better human beings. And you’re the one who noticed it.” I was shocked and touched to hear this. All I could think to myself was how amazing it was for someone from the KKK to intersect with the Jewish people. But then I realized. How did we connect? Through gratitude. He noticed how gracious and appreciative we were, and I noticed the kindness he was providing and complimented him on it. It was through gratitude that our paths crossed, and we thereby shared in each other’s lives. But as soon as I experienced this profound interaction with Robert, I realized something else. It was an analogy to the way Hashem relates to us. We ought to thank Hashem for all the incredible gifts He bestows upon us every day, for after all, just as Robert lives on the premises, so does Hashem. He stands by the sideline and monitors our life, waiting to give to us and help us. And if we have any troubles, what does He say? Call me and I will answer. For anything you need, I am always there. How though do we connect with Hashem? When do we intersect? When we look at everything He does for us and say, “Thank you.” It is then that He pulls us aside and says, “Everything I do is because I love you and want this for you.” It is then that we, so to speak, begin a conversation and our relationship deepens and develops. Pesach is a time of gratitude, whereby we thank Hashem and recognize His involvement in our lives from the biggest to the smallest matters. It may be something so simple, yet it is something so powerful. Develop it, maintain it and express it. It is the surest way to deepen our connection with other people, ourselves and ultimately, our Father in Heaven.

Rabbi Avrum Mordche Malach The Greatest Symbol

‫שֶלא ִה ְס ִפּיק ְ ּב ֵצקָם שֶל אֲבֹותֵ ינּו ְל ַה ֲחמִיץ‬

For the dough our ancestors prepared did not have time to rise

hile we are all well aware that matzah serves as the quintessential symbol of the exodus from Egypt, upon further thought, it appears to be quite odd. Why is the fact that the dough didn’t have time to rise and ended up as matzah the way we remember the entirety of our slavery and exodus? Imagine a man sitting on a park bench eating a sandwich. Everything is going just about perfectly. It is a beautiful day, with no disturbances at 41

all. But then, all of a sudden, a car cruising along with the oncoming traffic swerves to the side and nearly smashes into the man sitting on the bench, nearly crushing him. Luckily, the man survives and decides that from then on, he will commemorate this near-accident by eating a sandwich every year on that day his life was spared. Strange, we would say. Let’s take another scene. A nationwide gathering is held in a colossal stadium regarding an important matter that will indelibly affect public policy. For everyone who entered the stadium and attended the event, they were given a brownie. Now, imagine a group of people decided to mark the anniversary of this important gathering by eating a brownie. In what way would that accurately epitomize the main theme of the event? To the contrary, the brownie is a mere trivial aspect of the event. Consider the following. Every once in a while, the king would traverse the countryside and take stock of the lives of his loyal subjects. He would inquire as to their wants and needs and listen to their burdens and problems. On one occasion, he chanced upon a simple shepherd. The shepherd was modest and unassuming, yet assiduous, industrious and faithful to the king. After observing him for some time, the king was particularly impressed. The shepherd spared no time taking care of his responsibilities and diligently attending to his flock. And so, the king decided to appoint him as his advisor. Within no time, the king confirmed the humble shepherd’s prudence and knack for strategic planning. Within a year, so much had been accomplished that the king deemed it worthy to even further promote the old shepherd and now current advisor to the post of chief financial officer. There too, the shepherd’s acumen shone forth and proved to be time and again an indispensable source of sound advice and management. But, as time progressed, and the townsfolk began to pick up on just how far the once familiar shepherd had gone in his relationship to the king and royalty, they began to grow jealous. Deliberating together, they contrived a plan which would undermine the gentleman’s integrity and deem him worthy of being ousted from his position. Slandering the financial advisor, they attempted to expose him as a fraud who discreetly pocketed large royal funds and withheld due payments to the treasury. The king, knowing his advisor well and trusting him, refused to hear of such news. He could not believe that such a responsible and kind man would deceive the king in any way. But as the days passed and more and more information as to the advisor’s mishandlings leaked in, the king began to grow uneasy. “Just maybe he is not what I assumed him to be…” wondered the king. And so, an investigation was launched, attempting to uncover some sort of misappropriation which would put an end to the advisor’s career and high position. Taking a number of his close officials to the home of the advisor, they began searching the grounds. But nothing appeared to be out of place. The home was modest-looking and no trace of secretive planning was detected. 42

Until they arrived at the man’s basement, which contained a small, padlocked room with a taped sign which read, “Do not enter.” The ministers turned to the king in eager suspicion and curiosity. The king, now suspicious himself, pulled aside the advisor. “Could you please tell me, why is there a sign on this door barring all entry?” The advisor paused. “Your majesty, please leave me at least a small degree of privacy and dignity and do not enter this room. I use it for private purposes.” This only aroused the king’s interest even further. In the name of maintaining royal integrity, the king had little choice than to order his guards to break down the door and expose the advisor’s fraudulent work. But, as soon as they opened it, nothing of the sort was discovered. All that was found in the room was a pair of shepherd clothing hanging on the wall. The king buried his eyebrows in confusion. “What’s this?” he asked. The advisor was silent for a moment, quite hesitant to reveal the story behind the simple and worn-out clothing which hung before them all. But, with no other resort, he went on to explain. “Allow me to tell you, your honor. Over the past two years, I have gone from being a lowly shepherd to being your right-hand financial advisor. I never believed I would rise to such a position of prestige, and I stand in awe and appreciation of having the opportunity to serve you. That being so, I never wish to forget my past and recognize from where I came. I have therefore held onto my shepherd clothing for all these years and put them on every day to remind myself of my privilege to serve you. I never want to overlook your graciousness and forget who I once was and who I am now.” The king could not believe it. The advisor was not only honest and loyal, but he was appreciative and awed by his honored position. When the king realized this, he was only more impressed by the advisor and immediately promoted him to an even higher position. Human nature is to attribute one’s successes to themselves. The notion of any nation instituting Independence Day is thus a demonstration of “Kochi v’otzem yadi,” “it is my strength and the power of my hand,” which highlights one’s personal victory and accomplishment. Pesach, however, is diametrically the opposite. It is the Jewish Independence Day, so to speak, but not because we simply became a free nation. While we did become free from slavery under the reign of Pharaoh, more importantly, we became free to serve Hashem without restrain. We therefore eat poor man’s bread in the form of matzah and highlight how we were once a lowly, impoverished nation and Hashem brought us to an elevated state as His pristine and prestigious people. Instead of attributing our success to ourselves, we attribute it to Hashem. Matzah is thus not a mere triviality in the grand scheme of our Exodus, but the perfect food to commemorate our Independence Day, for it bespeaks not our own grandeur and greatness, but Hashem’s. Similar to the shepherd, it places our promoted state of freedom into perspective. As we move throughout our lives, it only behooves us to appreciate from where we have come and how far we have gotten and understand that the 43

gap between those two points was bridged only with the help of Hashem. Our royal clothing should be set against the backdrop of our shepherd clothing. When this becomes our attitude in life, all that we have in life comes into focus as a gift and opportunity to better serve our families, our communities and ultimately the true King of Kings, our Father in Heaven.

Mr. Charlie Harary Living Now

‫וְֹלא יָכְלּו ְלהִתְ ַמ ְה ֵמ ַ ּה‬ And they could not delay

remember it perfectly. A few years ago, a friend of mine called me and rehashed his day’s events. “Just this morning, my father woke up and wasn’t feeling good. He called the doctor, and described his symptoms. Within minutes, his friend was at his side running numerous tests. It didn’t take long for the doctor to realize that he was having a heart attack. My father was completely shocked. ‘You need to be taken to the hospital,’ he was told. My father was driven there and wheeled into a room, where he was attended to by other nurses and doctors. “I myself arrived there a bit later,” continued my friend, “and caught up with the latest updates. It was a few hours later that my father was released from the hospital and returned home healthily after a traumatizing event.” Two months later, I met my friend again at a wedding and asked how his father was doing. “Charlie,” he said, “you should know that he is a different person today. He’s a completely changed person.” “Really?” I said. “What exactly prompted that?” “I am not actually sure,” my friend replied. “I’ve been meaning to ask him.” A few days later I received a call back. “I spoke to my dad and told him, ‘You’ve always been a great dad, but lately something has been different.’ It didn’t take much for him to open up and explain what it was that impacted him. “As I was being wheeled into the hospital room, I began thinking of all the things I always wished to do, but never did. I remembered all the calls I wanted to make; how I wanted to tell your mother that I am the luckiest man in the world to marry her; how I wanted to tell my parents how much I appreciated them coming to this country after the war with barely nothing, rebuilding a family and putting together nickels and dimes to put me through school; how I wanted to tell my kids that they were the greatest in the world; and how I wanted to call my friends and make up with them. All these little things which I had wished to do but never got around to went

flashing through my mind as I was pushed into the operating room. I didn’t know if I would return back through those doors. “It was then that I told myself one thing. If I would survive this all, I would live my life with three letters: N-O-W. I would not wait to tell my wife how much I loved her; I would not wait to hug my kids and give them a kiss; I would not wait to take my grandchildren out to the park, or retire to attend a Torah class. I would neither wait until tax season is over, or until it’s summer or winter. I would not wait any moment longer to live my life. I know what I want from my life and the person I can be. In the past, every time an opportunity would come my way, I would say, “Tomorrow.” Tomorrow it’s going to be easier, tomorrow will be a better day. No longer would I say that I was going to do it tomorrow. Never again. I would live my life in one way and one way only: Now. Powerful lesson. But it is not the first time you have heard it. Imagine the Jewish people sitting around the table thousands of years ago in Egypt. Looking at each other in their miserable state of slavery, one Jew turns to the others and wonders aloud, “Can you imagine what we would be able to accomplish if we would be free? If we didn’t have this problem, we could do so much for all of humanity!” And then it’s time for the Jewish nation to be freed and leave Egypt. And what does Hashem tell the Jews? “Now is the time to leave! Not tomorrow, not next week and not one minute later. Now! As My nation, you will rise to greatness not when you wake up in the morning and say, ‘I’ll do it later; it will happen when it will happen.’ The only way you will leave Egypt is now, not allowing the dough to rise when it’s ready. You sprint out of Egypt and overcome time, because that is how you accomplish!” On the seder night, as we take in this message, we wonder to ourselves. “I have always told myself, ‘If only I had the time, you know what I would do? If I didn’t have this problem, I wonder what life would be like? I would tell my wife how much I love her, talk to my parents and children more often, learn more Torah…” But then Hashem reminds us, “You know how you left Egypt and how you can achieve anything you put your mind to? Right now!” That is the key to life and what it means to be a Jew. But there’s more to the picture. When we adopt this life attitude, miracles happen. Literally. As the Jewish people began their journey out of Egypt, the Torah relates, “And the Children of Israel traveled from Ramses to Succoth…” (Shemos 12:37). Rashi, noting the vast distance between these cities, writes “They arrived in Succoth within a moment, as the verse says, ‘And I will carry you on the wings of eagles.’” The minute the Jews began taking their first steps out of Egypt, Hashem miraculously brought them miles away. Once the Jews said, “Let’s start moving,” Hashem responded, “Now watch what I am going to do. In a moment, you will travel hundreds of miles.” But that is how our relationship with Hashem works. When we put in the effort and begin making the movement, 45

Hashem lifts us up above time and space. This is what it means to be free. It is about living now. We realize what we can be and refuse to wait and do it later. As soon as we demonstrate this, Hashem says, “I will carry you forward in miraculous ways you never imagined. Give Me one day of oil, I will give you the rest; recommit yourselves to accepting the Torah, and I will perform the Purim miracle for you; start walking into the desert and the next minute, you will be in Succoth.” That is how the Jewish people live. Why on Pesach do we loath chametz and love matzah? Because chametz says, “Relax, wait, don’t work too hard. The dough will rise by itself.” But matzah says, “Now! Now! Now! Don’t stop moving, keep on working, every second is a lifetime!” This is what Pesach is about and ultimately life as a Jew: Living now. Those words of my friend’s father say it all: “Every single day when an opportunity would come my way, I would say, ‘Tomorrow.’ Tomorrow it’s going to be easier, tomorrow will be a better day. No longer would I say that I was going to do it tomorrow. Never again. I would live my life in one way and one way only: Now.” When we do our part, Hashem will do His. The only request is that we start at a specific time. And that time is…now.

Rebbetzin Tzipora Harris A Redeeming Vision

wherever in life we need to go. Although we may be unaware of the place Hashem wishes to lead us, we must nevertheless stay confident that it is for our best. And in order for us to reach our potential, we must often set aside our own personal idealistic plans and reasonably accept Hashem’s overarching plans for us. For one forty-seven-year-old accomplished lawyer who considered marrying a man she had been seeing for quite a while, questions of uncertainty began to set in. She remained unsure if she could commit to marrying someone who was not as accomplished as herself. But he told her, “If you have a wish list for your prospective husband, I probably will not make it. If you are willing to put your list aside, however, I will do everything I can to make you happy.” At that moment, she had the choice to decide what she would do with her future life. Would she put aside her idealistic agenda? Deciding that she would, she went on to happily marry the man. It is our choice to sideline our personal visions and expectations and be open to accepting Hashem’s bigger plan for us in life. While matters may seem obscured and clouded, if we only choose to follow in the ways of our Jewish ancestors who determinedly knew that Hashem was paving their way of redemption, we too will experience a personal redemption in our own lives.

Rebbetzin Ivy Kalazan Our Personal Redemption

‫לא אֶת אֲבֹותֵ ינּו ִ ּב ְלבָד גַָאל ַהקָדֹוׁש ָבּרּוְך הּוא ֶאלָא ַאף אֹותָ נּו גַָאל ִע ָמהֶם‬

s the Jewish people were readying to leave Egypt, the Jewish women were not preparing food or provisions for the long trek. They were instead gathering musical instruments together. Chazal (Sotah 12b) explain that this was done because the women were firmly confident that they would experience salvation and have reason to celebrate. While they may not have known how their redemption would exactly come about, they were convinced that Hashem would save them. Freedom is not merely determined by changing geographical location. It is rather seeing beyond what is in front of you and unrestrainedly pursuing your life’s purpose. In the process of liberating us, Hashem clearly demonstrated who He was, who we were and who He was to us. In Egypt, we learned that He is all-powerful and that we are an exalted nation with an incredible mission to accomplish. We then finally learned that He is not a distant Creator who pays no attention us, but to the contrary, He is our loving Father who always has our best interests in mind and will take us

‫ ּו ֵמ ֲא ֵפלָה לְאֹור גָּדֹוּל‬... ‫הֹוצִיָאנּו ֵמ ַעבְדּות ְלחֵרּות‬

It was not only our fathers whom Hashem redeemed; we too, were redeemed with them

He brought us forth from slavery to freedom… from darkness to great light…

he Gemara (Berachos 3a) records how R’ Yossi once entered into a churva, a demolished and uninhabited hovel to pray. Having noticed R’ Yossi’s entry, Eliyhau HaNavi chastised him for endangering his life by standing in a near-collapsing shack. “You should have prayed on the road!” said Eliyahu. “I acted as I did,” R’ Yossi explained, “because I was afraid of wayfarers distracting me.” “If you were worried about such disturbances,” replied Eliyahu, “you should have recited a short prayer instead.” What is the deeper meaning behind this Talmudic passage? R’ Yossi and Eliyahu HaNavi were delving into the philosophical issue of churban, destruction. While R’ Yossi prayed that Hashem extricate him from the troubles plaguing him in life, Eliyahu argued that he was taking the wrong approach. “If you are trying to understand why you feel stuck in life and constricted, the way to deal with it is not by asking Hashem why you are in 47

it. These very struggles are a road to your ultimate greatness and what you need is heavenly assistance to grow from them instead of being floundered by them.” Hearing Eliyahu HaNavi’s advice, R’ Yossi answered that he was afraid that living a life fraught with challenges and exposure to negative influences would prevent him from spiritually thriving. “If that is the case,” said Eliyahu, “you should have offered a small prayer to Hashem that He help you along your path of struggles. Ask Hashem to give you the strength and wisdom not to be overwhelmed by your surroundings, but grow from them.” We often wish that life would be care-free without so many challenges and impediments which derail us. Yet, in truth, those very difficulties do no less than form the path towards our ultimate destination. The extra effort we must make will bring us to attain our accomplishments, which we otherwise may have fallen short of. This is the story of the Jewish people in slavery and at the threshold of Exodus. The Jewish people’s exile in the land of Egypt mirrored their inner exile of constriction and limitation. Ensconced in a spiritual wasteland, they doubly struggled to spiritually develop and become the great Jewish nation. But those very trials and tribulations are what built them into Am Yisrael. The same applies to us all. When we are forced to tap into our inner resources and muster resilience to overcome our challenges, we discover our true potential which lead us down the road to greatness.

Did you know?

Rachtzah

‫ָר ְחצָה‬

Rabbi Yitzchok Fingerer A Lesson for Happiness

ave you ever wondered what the relationship between happiness and matzah is? As part of Hebrew grammar, certain letters are understood to be interchangeable. One pair is that of ‫ ש‬and ‫צ‬. In line with this, the word for being in a state of happiness – ‫ – שמח‬can alternatively be read as ‫צמח‬, the word for “growth.” What though is the connection? Happiness in life is achieved when there is growth. When one develops as a person in his relationship with Hashem, with others and with himself, one feels a deep sense of fulfilment. On the other hand, when one remains stagnant and does not experience growth in any significant way, unhappiness often sets in. What does this have to do with chametz and matzah? Not coincidentally, the nature in which chametz is formed is the mirror opposite of genuine growth. And indeed, this is reflected by their respective Hebrew words. ‫ צמח‬is spelled in the exact reverse order as ‫חמץ‬. Chametz is formed by doing nothing to prevent and impede the leavening of flour and water. It is through lack of action that chametz comes about. The same dynamic is true of growth in life. Merely allowing life to occur and not expending due effort and energy – as occurs when allowing chametz to form – will leave one stilted and stunted. Matzah, in contrast, is the result of constant activity. One must consistently work hard – as one does to matzah – to achieve growth and fulfillment. It is only through remaining vigilant and on guard that the flour and water do not leaven and one is left with matzah. And now we can appreciate the correlation between matzah and happiness. Matzah, in contrast to chametz, represents growth and meaningful work, which in turn leads to a genuine sense of happiness. It is through dedicatedly applying oneself that joy and satisfaction result and a life full of upwards growth and purpose is experienced each and every day.

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Motzi Matzah

‫מֹוצִיא ַמצָה‬

Dr. Jack Cohen A Life Lesson

‫ ֲאשֶר קִדְ ּשָנּו ְבּ ִמצְֹותָ יו ְו ִצוָנּו עַל ֲאכִילַת ַמ ָצּה‬... ‫ָבּרּוְך ַאתָ ה‬

Blessed are You… Who has sanctified us and commanded us concerning the eating of the matzah

ubby Shifra sat up at the table, her eyes and ears open wide, and attentive to everything her children and grandchildren were discussing. It was the night of the Pesach seder, and it certainly warmed Shifra’s heart to see such a wonderful sight of all her family happily gathered around the table, immensely enjoying the beautiful seder. But then Shifra’s eyes wandered to the side, where her granddaughter sat crossed-legged playing a game with her friend and her own sister. Shifra was well aware that her granddaughter was smart-witted and a quick thinker, but that was not the problem. Something else about her behavior deeply disturbed Shifra. She was driven to the extent that she couldn’t enjoy the game because she was so focused on one goal and one goal only – winning, winning, winning. She just about never lost a game to anyone else. But what really made Shifra realize that there was a problem was observing her granddaughter when she lost. Losing made her become argumentative, angry and irritated. And so, realizing that such an attitude could certainly develop into a less than complimentary habit, Shifra decided to have a little talk with her. For sixty years, Shifra had kept her story to herself. It was not until that night of Pesach that she decided it was the appropriate time to share with her granddaughter a story that had indelibly changed her life, and as she hoped, would change her granddaughter’s too. “It happened sixty-five years ago, when I was eight years old. We lived in a huge mansion in Poland with maids who cleaned the house and made us meals. I had everything a girl could want. But then, one day, the Nazis invaded Poland. Within a short time, they confiscated my father’s factory and ruined everything we owned. We were forced to wear yellow stars on our clothes and adhere to the ruthless laws issued by the Nazis. My father was quite worried about what would happen to us all. He warned us that the Nazis had every intention to kill the Jews. We didn’t believe him, though my father correctly knew what he was talking about, as we soon learned. No more than a week later, Nazi SS guards barged into our home as we

were eating dinner. Without asking a single question, they grabbed hold of my father and forced him out of the house. He said goodbye to me, whispered something into my mother’s ear and abruptly left our sight. I never saw him again. My family cried for days. Before we knew it, the Germans ordered for all the Jews to gather in the town square. We were told that from there, we would be transported to a work camp. But, as my mother disclosed to me, my father had instructed my mother otherwise. “Run to Anna’s house and pay her to hide you both.” Anna had been our maid ever since my parents had gotten married, and she had been treated very well. And so, my mother packed a suitcase with some clothing and rubels we had, and with that, we escaped to Anna’s house, while the rest of the Jews streamed into the central square. Anna lived in a working-class neighborhood on the top floor of a five-story building. We knocked on her door, and she opened, though she was shocked to see us standing there. My mother begged her to hide us, pleading along with huge amounts of money that she promised to pay every month. Anna acceded to let us stay, providing us with a tiny, one bedroom living space. Over the next few weeks, circumstances only worsened. The Germans declared that any Pole caught hiding a Jew would be killed on the spot. This not only made us worried, but Anna too. We knew that Anna could turn us in out of fear at any moment. We could no longer guarantee that she would be loyal to us, despite her history of being kind to us. My mother had no choice than to confront Anna about the matter. Anna explained that she didn’t mind hiding us, though she was afraid for her life. My mother, however, countered with a plan were the Germans to come searching in her building. My mother and I would jump down from the fifth story balcony to the second floor. Anna asked for some time to mull it over, after which she replied that she agreed to the arrangement, so long as we would jump to the second floor the minute the Germans had made it up to the third floor of the building. We both knew that doing this would be our end, but we had no other choice than to commit. During this time, my mother and I remained quietly hidden in our small room, with me being allowed every so often to play with Anna’s daughter, Julia, who was my age. We played all kinds of games, mostly chess. I was very good at chess, and had in fact played against all the girls in my class and won every game. The girls in older grades challenged me as well, and I beat them too. Naturally, Julia was no match for me and I won our games easily every time. About a week after we began regularly playing each other, my mother called me over. “Shifra, she said, “what you’re doing is not good. I want you to let Julia win.” I was surprised. “Let her win? Why?” “You need to understand,” my mother continued, “that every day we are living here, it is a miracle. Anna is being very kind to us, and we need to make every effort to 51

ensure that she and her daughter continue liking us. If you keep on winning, you may cause Anna’s daughter to grow jealous of you, and that may be the end of us. You need to restrain your desire to win, and instead let her feel the pride and satisfaction of beating you.” “But Mama,” I whined, “she’s my best friend, and I don’t think she will be jealous of me.” “Sometimes, my dear,” said my mother, “you cannot see jealousy. Besides, it’s not enough that she is not jealous; you have to make sure that she loves you. Shifra, please, just hear what I am saying. From now on, make sure you lose once in a while and do it in a such a way that she thinks she genuinely won.” I must say that I found it very hard to lose. It was one thing to let my friend win if she knew I was letting her win, but for her to think she was actually winning fair and square? I found it almost impossible. But still, that very same day, I lost a game for the first time in my life. And to be sure, I could not believe how happy Julia was that she won. She ran to her mother and began telling her with such excitement that she had beaten me. My mother and I received especially good care that day. Now Anna no longer had that irritated look on her face, as though she wished we would leave, which we had seen more frequently lately. The next day, I let Julia win a few times, and then I beat her twice so she would not be suspicious. The following day, I beat her once, and from then on, I let her win almost every game. Every so often, my mother would instruct me to win a game so Julia’s satisfaction in beating me wouldn’t diminish. The same was true of other games as well. I let her make up the rules and win to the extent that I forgot all about the possibility of me winning instead of her. And then it happened. One day, we heard the sound of trucks. The Nazis had come to search our street. The fateful day had arrived. Anna woke us up, her face white as chalk. “The Germans are here!” she panicked. “Don’t forget our arrangement!” My mother turned pale like I had never seen. “Let’s go,” my mother said to me, “get dressed…” I was scared to cry. My mother looked at Anna and saw in her face that it was hopeless to argue with her. My mother packed our few belongings quickly, as if that would help us after jumping from the fifth floor to the second floor. We would likely not survive; and even if we did, the Germans would probably catch us. We looked towards the window in the living room out of which we were supposed to jump. I can still remember the exact scene. We entered the living room, my mother holding our suitcase and me, clutching my doll, eight years old but smart enough to realize that we were jumping to our death. I didn’t know which was worse. Jumping to the second floor, or being caught by the Germans. I followed my mother, holding back my tears out of fear. We began walking towards the window, when all of a sudden, we encountered an obstacle. Julia, the girl I had allowed to beat me in all those games for the past two years, stood in our way. “I don’t want them to jump!” she yelled to her 52

mother. Anna didn’t say a word. She only ran over to Julia and started pulling her away. Julia, though, stood firm and started shouting in protest, forcing Anna to put her hand over her mouth to silence her. “Are you crazy?” she whispered to Julia. “You’ll give us away to the Germans!” “I don’t care!” she stammered. “I’m not letting Shifra and her mother jump.” Anna kept her hand over Julia’s mouth and tried dragging her away, but Julia continued to act out in a fit. She wiggled her way out of her mother’s grasp, grabbed hold of the window and started to scream. At that point, even I knew as a young girl that she was endangering all of us. Her mother finally relented, knowing that Julia was not going to remain quiet otherwise. “What do you want us to do?” Anna asked Julia. “Let them go to the roof. There is a wooden shed that Shifra and I built on top of the roof. They can hide there.” Anna was beside herself with fear. We could all hear the Germans coming up the stairs. Anna had no other choice. “Very well,” she said, “follow me.” She quickly walked over to the front door and peered downstairs to see where the Germans were currently situated. They were on the third floor by now, slowly making their way up to our floor. Anna led us to the ladder which headed up to the roof, which we quickly climbed and then pulled up towards ourselves. My mother closed the door behind us, just as the Germans exited the third floor and entered the stairwell towards the fourth floor. My mother and I remained in the shed saying Tehillim, begging Hashem that He save us. We stayed there for a few hours without knowing what was going on down below. We didn’t dare move or leave the shed to find out. Suddenly, we heard a girl singing. As we both listened in, we soon figured out that it wasn’t exactly a song, but more of a victory chant. It was Julia singing, as she often did when she won a game. We left the shed, pulled open the door, lowered the ladder and climbed down to the apartment. As soon as we walked in, Julia hugged me and started chanting again to the same tune, “We beat Hitler, we beat Hitler.” Back in our room, I hugged my mother. I didn’t need to say anything, as it was obvious to me that my mother’s wise advice had saved our lives. Those many times I had allowed Julia to win and I had swallowed by pride had given us our lives. Instead of being arrogant and stubborn, I capitulated and was humble. The Germans never came back. When the war ended, my mother and I made aliyah to Israel, whereupon my mother went on to remarry and begin a new family. As I myself grew up, I too got married and raised my own family. For forty years, Poland was under Communist regime, and we didn’t hear a word from Anna or Julia. With the fall of Communism, though, they contacted us and we were able to express our deepest gratitude by having them honored in Yad VaShem.” That is the story Shifra told her granddaughter that seder night. If you are determined to always win and have it your way, you are setting yourself up for frustration and disappointment, if not worse. It is in your best interest to be humble and recognize that other people have feelings and must be 53

cared for. Tell yourself, “If the other person wins, it is good.” The next day, I heard my granddaughter cry out in the middle of a game, “Sorry, you caught me! I’m out.” I think she learned the lesson. As we are familiar with, the concepts of the leavened chametz and flattened matzah respectively represent the inflated ego and humility. On Pesach, we are provided the opportunity to reflect upon the importance and benefit of leading a life of humility. It is true freedom from the insatiable drive to feel superior, vindicated and better than others. Matzah speaks to the purity of life free from the pursuit of jealousy, pleasure and personal glory. We are to instead turn our focus towards selflessness and thoughtfulness about others. It is the surest way to build close friendships and just sometimes, even pave the way to saving our life.

A Short Message from Rabbi Dovid Cohen Have you ever wondered where the Yiddish word for grandchild – einekel – comes from? In Parshas Shemos (3:2), as Moshe Rabbeinu notices the magnificent sight of the Burning Bush, the Torah tells us,‫ְו ִהנֵּה ַה ְ ּסנֶה בֹּעֵר ָבּאֵׁש ְו ַה ְ ּסנֶה אֵינֶּנּו‬ ‫ ֻא ָכּל‬- “And behold, the bush was burning in the fire, but the bush was not consumed.” The words ‫ – אֵינֶּנּו ֻא ָכּל‬was not consumed – bears resemblance to the word ‫איינקל‬, grandchild. The connection is exactly that. If you are fortunate to have a grandchild who is passionately learning and vibrantly connected to the fire of Torah, you can rest assured that such a flame will never be extinguished. It will last for generation after generation and continue to shine bigger and brighter than ever.

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Maror

‫מָרֹור‬

Rabbi Mashiach Kelaty A Surprise Performance

‫ָבּרּוְך ַאתָ ה … ֲאשֶר קִדְ שָנּו ְבּ ִמצְֹותָ יו ְו ִצוָנּו עַל ֲאכִילַת מָרֹור‬

Blessed are You… Who has sanctified us and commanded us concerning the eating of maror

or one mother, the graceful whisk over the black and white keys produced sounds that were no less than the proverbial music to her ears. Her son’s little fingers were at their finest, which for his young age was certainly promising of a successful future as a pianist. On one occasion, she brought her son along to hear the famous Polish pianist and composer, Ignacy Jan Paderewski, perform a concert recital. Filling the concert audience were respected men, women and children, whose taste for fine music would be satiated by the brilliance of Paderewski’s performance. As the mother charmingly entered the grand hall, she spotted a friend, and skirted over to lend her some long overdue greetings. Her little son too took advantage of the moment’s wait, and seized the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall. Curious and innocent, he maneuvered his way through a doorway marked no admittance. A few minutes later, the mother returned to her seat, only to recoil in surprise that her son was not seated. She looked all around, but he was nowhere in sight. She frantically panicked, wondering where he could possibly have gone. But then, before she had a chance to regain her composure, the lights dimmed and the curtains parted. The concert was about to begin. But instead of seeing Paderewski make his grand entrance and begin playing, a young boy was already innocently seated and playing none other than… Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The audience was stunned, holding their breaths and on the edge of their seats. They could not imagine how Paderewski was going to react. Paderewski took one look at the boy, and walked right up to him. “Don’t quit; keep playing,” he whispered into his ears. Then leaning over the young boy, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in additional notes. A few seconds later, he reached over with his right hand to the other side of the boy and played along as well. Together, the old master and young novice transformed an embarrassing scene into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was mesmerized, and after a lengthy performance, gave the dynamic duo a rousing ovation. 55

We must always remember that no matter our personal background or station in life, Hashem is always right there whispering deep within us, “Don’t quit; keep playing.” Even if a situation appears bitter and bleak, a Jew is never alone. With Hashem’s help, we can transform the broken patterns of our life into a masterwork of Divine art, which will uplift our life and the lives of all those around us.

Korech

‫ּכֹורְך‬ ֵ

Mrs. Devorah Stieglitz The Window of Hope

‫ּכֹורְך ֶפּסַח ַמצָה ּומָרֹור וְאֹוכֵל ְ ּביַחַד‬ ֵ ‫ ָהי ָה‬...‫שׂה ִהלֵל‬ ָ ‫ֵכּן ָע‬

So did Hillel: he would combine Pesach, matzah and maror in a sandwich and eat them together

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t was December 1987, when after many years of my family living in Israel, we decided to make the move to America. I was the youngest of four girls and only four years old at the time, making the transition to America harder for my sisters, considering their older age and long-time circle of friends, yet still challenging for me. After we settled in New York, I attended a public school next to my home, which turned out to be a rocky experience. Just outside the school building was a large courtyard, which was just about the same size as the building itself. It was there that I played during recess and spent time with my friends. On one side of the courtyard was a dugout, where students would often congregate. When it was time to be called back into class, the teacher would have us stand in a double-file line with our fingers over our mouths, indicating that we should remain quiet. I attended the school beginning with kindergarten, and I was currently in the middle of 4th grade. I still remember everything like today. It was a regular morning, just like many other mornings. I stood in the line, waiting to head back to class, when I suddenly felt this heavy breathing down my back. I turned around and saw, to my complete discomfort, a student standing just about on top of me. To me, as a fourth grader, she looked quite intimidating. “You’re Jewish?” she asked. At that point, my family’s identification with Judaism was more or less minimal, but still something for me to stand up for. “Yes, I am,” I replied. The girl then started chasing after me, which had me running all over the courtyard looking for a safe haven. I eventually found one, and school resumed. From then on, however, Payvan, as she was called, would just about chase me every day and call me names. I was a much faster runner than she was, so I easily got away every time, but it certainly created an uncomfortable and uneasy atmosphere in school. My only anchor were my three closest friends, with whom I was absolutely inseparable from. We all spent just about every hour of every day together, both in school and at home. We shared similar interests and hobbies, and looked after each other. One morning, as I made my way out into the courtyard, I noticed my 57

friends sitting in the dugout off to the side. “Dorit,” they called out to me, “come over here!” Happily prancing along, within moments, I was in the dugout alongside them. I didn’t think that we would end up doing anything particularly fun or special, but little did I know what would happen next. Before I knew it, I was thrust to the ground by my friends, with two of them holding my legs together and one holding my arms. I was then pushed around and banged and bruised, with trash placed on top of me. After doing this to me, they all ran away. When I finally realized what had happened and gained my composure, I picked myself up and ran over to a teacher. Explaining my situation, I asked if she could help me. But all I got was a cold and unhelpful stare. “Just go wash yourself off,” she said. At that point, I turned myself around, walked out of the school and said goodbye. Never again would I return there. I cried and cried and cried. Those were my best friends, and they had betrayed me. But it wasn’t for no reason. It was because I was Jewish. I then realized that I needed to detach from them and start anew. I needed to change schools and make new friends. And so I did. I went on to attend Jewish day schools over the course of my remaining middle and high school years, slowly becoming more and more religious, after which I eventually went on to attend seminary in Israel. After two years of seminary, I returned to New York. I searched for a teaching position, and eventually found a school meant for girls from irreligious homes who wished to receive a Jewish education and bolster their Jewish identity. It was just about my first day of teaching that the principal showed me around the school and brought me to the classroom that would be mine. I walked inside, noticing the nicely painted walls and spotless floor. I began musing over different options of what I could hang up around the classroom to enhance its appearance and give an exciting and educational appeal to it. And then I noticed the window. Naturally, I gravitated towards it, gazing outside at the view that was captured by my classroom. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I just started crying, crying and crying. My classroom was facing the exact same spot that I had gotten beaten up by my friends in fourth grade. The dugout in which I was pushed down to the floor and taunted because I was Jewish stood opposite my class. I couldn’t hold back my tears, as I realized that precisely because of that awful, nightmare of a day, I was standing exactly where I was, prepared to teach young Jewish girls about Torah and their lives. I couldn’t believe it. I was completely overwhelmed with a feeling of love from Hashem and for Hashem. I knew He had been with me then and continued to be with me until this very day. Every so often in our lives, we think that it is over. We may have lost our health, wealth, family member or the like or experienced a tragedy that we cannot put words to. It seems as if it is the darkest day in our life. But it is precisely during those darkest points that life begins to turn around and a new future sprouts. At that moment, we cannot see with a bird’s eye 58

view the entire scheme of things, and cannot make heads or tails of it. It seems terrible and hopeless. But everything which happens to us is for our best. The bitterest times of our life do not occur in a vacuum, but are there because Hashem knows it is for our good. Our difficult journey is taking us somewhere. We just need to put our faith in Hashem and realize that He is leading us to a specific destination. As prescribed by Hillel, we bring together the Paschal offering, matzah and maror and combine them to make a sandwich. The underlying message symbolized by this practice is that both the bitterness of slavery, represented by the maror, and grandeur of freedom, signified by the matzah, come from the same G-d. Never are we alone in life. Hashem is with us during our most difficult times and during our most joyous times. He will never leave us.

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ֵ ‫ש ְלחָן‬ ֻׁ Shulchan Orech ‫עֹורְך‬

Tzafun

Rabbi Mordechai Finkelman

Rabbi Moshe Tuvia Lieff

The Wondrous Seder

or years, my next-door neighbor has been an Italian couple with whom I share a wonderful relationship. On one Shabbos, their niece rang my doorbell and stood waiting with a basket full of fresh figs, which she had cut down from her own yard. She asked if I could hold onto them for her aunt as she was not home at the moment. Telling her that it was the Sabbath, I said that she could put the basket down on the kitchen counter and leave a note on her aunt’s door that we have the figs. Whenever her aunt would come over, I would direct her to take the basket. Half an hour later, our doorbell rang. It was our neighbor. Confirming that her niece had brought us fresh figs, I indicated that they were in the kitchen. I then returned to my seat at the Shabbos table with my family as she proceeded to walk towards the kitchen through our dining room. As she walked by our table and took note of the children dressed in their finest clothing, the table beautifully set and the wonderful meal being served, she began to cry. “Do you do this every week?” she asked. “Twice a week,” I replied, “Friday night and Saturday morning.” “That is so wonderful,” she said, “we do it twice a year.” She then continued to pick up the figs and leave the house. A few weeks later, I met her in the street. Without hesitating, she said, “I am still telling my friends about the Sabbath meal.” There is a lot to be said about the Jewish family unit and Shabbos. Twice a week we sit together and spend quality time with one another. And most certainly on the night of Pesach, we have the greatest opportunity to be together and discuss how Hashem took us out of Egypt and made us His chosen nation. The seder night is the Shabbos meal exponentially multiplied. One can only wonder the impression it would have made had this woman stepped into a Jewish home on the night of Pesach.

‫צָפּון‬

Look in the Mirror

f the many disciples of the Baal Shem Tov, there was one who had a particular desire to meet Eliyahu HaNavi. With little idea as to how he could go about this, though, the student approached the Baal Shem Tov. What was he to do in order to see him? And where could he find him? Rosh Hashanah was fast approaching, and with that in mind, the Baal Shem Tov advised him as such. “Go deep into the woods before Yom Tov and there you will find a widow and her children. Spend Rosh Hashanah with them, and there you will meet Eliyahu HaNavi.” The man was overjoyed with such news. Hastening along, he immediately set out on his journey to locate the home of the widow and her family. After hours of traveling, he arrived at a little home. Lightly tapping on the door, he was met by a woman and a number of small children. “I have been sent here to offer my help to you and your family,” the student said. But the widow was at a loss of where to place the man to sleep. “We have no room in here for you and neither do we have food. We have nothing. All we can offer is that you sleep in the barn, if that is comfortable for you.” “You need not worry,” said the man. “I have plenty of food to share with your family. I even have an extra knapsack with additional food.” And so, Rosh Hashanah continued along with the student sharing his small but nourishing meals with the family and spending time near their home praying. Upon the close of Rosh Hashanah, the man bid the widow and family goodbye, thanking them for their hospitality and wishing them the best. And with that, he returned back to the Baal Shem Tov. “Rebbe,” the student said entering inside, “I never saw Eliyahu HaNavi!” The Baal Shem Tov did not grow bothered by the news. “Go back to the same lodging for Yom Kippur, and there you will find Eliyahu HaNavi.” Sooner than later, the disciple was back on the road, heading back to the widow’s home. As he inched closer towards the home, he heard the sound of a little boy saying to his mother, “Mommy, Mommy, what is going to be? We have no food to eat before Yom Kippur. How are we going to manage?” “My beloved child,” replied the mother, “do you remember Rosh Hashanah? Just as Hashem sent Eliyahu HaNavi to be our guest on Rosh Hashanah and he provided food for us, He will send Eliyahu HaNavi again to take care of us for Yom Kippur.” After Yom Kippur finished, the man returned to the Baal Shem Tov. But 61

this time, he had no need to ask where Eliyahu HaNavi was. The Baal Shem Tov just gently said, “You want to find Eliyahu HaNavi? Look in the mirror!” On the Seder night, as Eliyahu HaNavi enters our homes, we would be wise to learn from his ways. And that is one simple message: look after others. If there is anywhere in which Eliyahu HaNavi finds himself welcome, it is in a home and with people who care for Hashem’s children. Such individuals and families who uplift the downtrodden hearts of the Jewish nation do no less than serve as a beacon of light and hope, and shine forth with a contour similar to Eliyahu. For indeed, they are following in his footsteps by heralding succor and support. And so, if you ever wonder, “Where can I find Eliyahu HaNavi?” the answer is not far. Look in the mirror.

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‫ָב ֵּרְך‬

Barech Dayan Yonasan Abraham Falling from the Sky

‫ִכּי אִם ְלי ָדְ ָך ַה ְמלֵָאה ַהפְתּוחָה‬ Of Your Hand that is full, open…

t was a matter of fact. Daniel Mednick was certainly Jewish by birth, but not much else. As a resident of East London, his life entailed daily responsibilities and activities, but not much was done in terms of connecting with his Jewish heritage. Until one day when he heard about a rabbi who was visiting from the Aish yeshiva in Israel for some time and was hosting Friday night gatherings in his home. Daniel, figuring that he did not have much to lose, gladly attended these Friday night dinners week after week, until it became a scheduled part of his week which he greatly anticipated. The demands at this Shabbos meal were scant, save the request that the attendees quietly listen to Kiddush being made and follow through afterwards with washing netillas yadayim and making the customary blessing over bread, Hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz. Aside from that, for Daniel, the remaining hours of Friday night were more or less spent having a good time with friends. But as Daniel eventually realized, he wanted to add a bit more spirituality to his life. He didn’t merely wish to attend a Friday night meal and then head off to his routine Friday night life. If only he could learn more about Judaism and become more identified as a Jew, perhaps he would discover the meaningful life he was looking for. And so, at the behest of the Aish rabbi, Daniel was asked if he was interested in attending a subsidized two-week long Aish Discovery program, which was taking place in Australia that year. Daniel readily agreed, after which he prepared himself for the trip Sooner than later, Daniel found himself in Australia with a number of other boys and madrichim (counselors). It was by far the most inspirational and informative couple of weeks Daniel had ever experienced, and he was loving every minute of it. As part of the activities planned over the course of the couple weeks spent in Australia, the program planned on taking the boys to Kardinia Park, formerly known as Shell Stadium, which serves as a sporting arena. With the capacity of Kardinia Park at 34,000, it is the largest Australian stadium in a regional city. Daniel and the rest of the group, however, were situated at the second to top tier, quite high up and a distance away from the field. Without notice, at one point during the match, Daniel turned aside to one of the madrichim and said, “Can G-d really hear me?” “Why do you ask?” 63

“Can G-d really hear me?” repeated Daniel. “Well,” replied the madrich, “ask Him.” Without further ado, Daniel got up and said, “G-d, if you can really hear me, I want to catch that ball!” Amid a stadium of 34,000 visitors, the likelihood of Daniel catching a ball where he was seated was close to nil. “Rabbi,” Daniel later repeated, “not more than five minutes later, one of the players kicked the ball and it went flying up to the very top of the stadium. It was unbelievable; it nearly shot out of the ground. But then, within seconds, the guy above at the top tier lobbed the ball forward and it landed right between my arms. Shocked, I immediately jumped up and shouted, ‘Hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz!’” Today, Daniel is married with a family and learning in a yeshiva in Israel. Daniel took the initiative to come close to Hashem, and G-d most certainly responded with a bang.

Hallel

‫ַה ֵלּל‬

Rebbetzin Slovie Jungreis-Wolff The Sunshine

‫ ִכּי לְעֹולָם ַחסְדֹו‬- ‫שלֶת ַבּיֹום‬ ֶ ‫שמֶׁש ְל ֶמ ְמ‬ ֶ ‫אֶת ַה‬

The sun for the reign of the day – His kindness endures forever

s we wake up every morning, the first words out of our mouth are, “Modeh Ani,” literally meaning, “Thankful am I.” It is interesting to note that we do not say “Ani Modeh,” “I am thankful,” as we would have expected the syntax to be structured. Yet this is for a very simple, yet essential reason. As Jews, never are the first words we utter about “I,” about ourselves. It is always about thankfulness. We are meant to live with an attitude of gratitude which permeates our lives every moment of every day. It was the Shabbos after my son was born that we were to host the bris milah in our home. My parents joined us, having decided to stay with us over the weekend. It was then Shabbos morning during the winter, as I awoke and found my father a”h gazing out the window, looking into the sun shining through the clouds. “Hodu la’Hashem ki tov… – Thank Hashem for He is good…” my father said, “even the sun is shining.” I stood alongside him, looking back and forth between the sunshine outside and his face. “But Abba,” I said, “it is just the sun.” My father then said words to me I will never forget. “Even for something like the sun shining, we need to be grateful.”

A year later, I found myself sitting at my father’s bedside at Sloan Kettering hospital center in New York. The window in the room wouldn’t open, prompting my father to ask if we go outside for a little bit. Acquiescing, I bundled him up and pushed him outdoors in his wheelchair. And then we saw, once again, the sun shining through the clouds. My father looked up to the sky and said, “My dear, I feel the presence of Hashem shining on my face. “Hodu la’Hashem ki tov… – Thank Hashem for He is good…” This is a message I will never forget. Whether it is spending time with family together, or sitting around a Shabbos table, or even seeing the sun shining, we have so much to be grateful for every moment. When we cherish and appreciate every person, every opportunity and every experience, we will begin to grow closer to Hashem, closer to ourselves, and closer to others in ways we never imagined.

Nirtzah

‫נ ְִרצָה‬

Rabbi Avi Wiesenfeld Wealthy in Poverty

‫ש ָלי ִם‬ ָ ‫שנָה ַה ָבָּאה ִבּירּו‬ ָ ‫ְל‬

Next Year in Jerusalem

or hours on end every day, Yankel went around collecting money for his family and himself. With the little funds he procured each day, he purchased crusty, dry bread which he and his wife and children ate. Day in and day out, he went along with the same schedule and ended up with the same result: crusty, dry bread. Eventually, a friend of his came up with an idea. “Yankel,” he said, “I think I can help you.” Yankel’s eyes glistened with excitement. “I have some extra money that I can lend you right now. Invest it and see what comes of it. I think it will help you.” Sure enough, Yankel happily accepted the offer and invested the money. To Yankel’s surprise, the money doubled, tripled and made him into the wealthy man he never dreamed of. Now, every day was quite different from his past. It no longer entailed searching around for the bare minimum, but enjoying the lap of luxury. However, despite being financially comfortable, Yankel never became conceited. At the end of every meal, Yankel would eat a dry piece of bread to remind himself of former times and whence he came. Yet, as money comes, money goes, and sooner than later, Yankel was back to his old ways as a poor man. He was forced to revert to his old schedule of begging from door to door. On one occasion, though, he chanced upon a very wealthy man who gra65

ciously opened his doors and provided Yankel with a warm, delicious meal. The wealthy gentleman wined and dined Yankel, whose mouth watered from the delectable tastes he had once before experienced. Yet, as the meal came to a close, Yankel called over the host. “If you’d please, would you happen to have a dry piece of bread?” “Sure,” he replied. And with that, the host summoned the waiter to bring out some crusty bread from the other’s day remaining scraps. But the wealthy man was perturbed. “If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly are you requesting a piece of dry bread? You have such delicious food in front of you; why would you want stale bread?” Yankel’s face cracked with a smile. “Allow me to explain,” said Yankel. “At one point, I used to be a very poor man, and every meal I ate was dry bread. But then, G-d brought fortune my way and I lived an extraordinarily affluent life. When I was wealthy, I continued to eat stale bread in order to always remind myself of my past. And now that I am poor, I do the same. At the end of every meal, I eat a small piece of old bread.” The rich man was now only more confused. “Listen Yankel, I understand that you wanted to eat old bread when you were wealthy to remind you of your years of poverty. But now that you are poor and all you eat is dry bread, why must you conclude your meal with yet another piece of dry bread? That is all you eat all the time anyway!” Yankel patiently heard out the wealthy man’s point, and then replied, “You’re absolutely right, but let me tell you what really happened. With all my fortune that I had, I lent half of it to a friend of mine who connived me and took the money all to himself and ran away. The other half I invested, but it is all lost now. The investment turned sour, leaving me with nothing. But I know that now, all I am doing is waiting until I reclaim my money again. I am not really poor right now; I am really rich. I may not have the money yet, but I am assured that it will soon come my way.” The same is true, says the Dubno Maggid, of the Jewish people on Pesach. We sit down to the seder and eat matzah. Why do we do so? It is to remind us of the hardship and slavery of Egypt, and how we were once an impoverished and enslaved nation. But why do we need to eat matzah for this reason? In our day and age right now, we are also in exile. There is no shortage of problems we live with in our world today. It is just like the poor man. He was eating dry bread when he was initially a poor man and he is eating dry bread now when he is also poor. What is the difference? The answer, explains the Dubno Maggid, is as the Haggadah concludes, “Leshanah ha’baa b’Yerushalayim – Next year in Jerusalem.” We are confident that next year we will celebrate in Jerusalem. Everything will be different next year. We will be enriched with a rebuilt Beis Hamikdash and Mashiach. In that respect, even right now as we live in exile as an impoverished nation, we are essentially akin to a rich man. We are just waiting to return back to our previous glory. We thus eat matzah now even in our exiled state for we live with the mental attitude that we are spiritually enriched. All we are 66

awaiting is for that time to come. Just as Hashem took the Jewish people out of Egypt despite them being on the brink of spiritual extinction, He can do the same to us now. All we must do is one more mitzvah, one more act of kindness, offer one more heartfelt prayer and we will tip the scales to warrant the ending of our exile and onset of redemption. The matzah that we eat thus demonstrates our emunah for we firmly believe that despite our current exiled state, we believe it will not last forever. Sooner than later, we will herald the long-awaited Messianic era when knowledge of G-d covers the world and we lead spiritually exalted lives. It is for this reason that we still eat matzah even today. For indeed, even right now amid the darkness of exile, we see the glimmering bright future of redemption up ahead.

Rabbi Benzion Klatzko Connect the Dots

‫שְׁך לְׁשּונ ְָרא דְ ָּא ְכלָה ְלגַדְ י ָּא‬ ַ ָ‫דְ ּ ִה ָכּה ְל ַכ ְל ָבּא דְ ּנ‬

That hit the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the kid… n 2010, I started what is the largest Jewish social networking website today, Shabbat.com. Through the site, members can host or be hosted on Shabbat, Jewish holidays or any other time during the year for meals and lodging. There are also employment opportunities posted and a platform for shidduchim to be made. With members in over six thousand cities and one hundred and thirty-three countries, Shabbat.com has become an amazing resource for countless Jews whenever needed. Allow me share to share with you one small example of what has come about from Shabbat.com. It was just weeks before Pesach years ago when I received a call from my wife. I was in Dallas, Texas at the time, and my wife asked me, “Is everything Hashem does for the best?” “Yes, of course,” I said, “why do you ask?” “Don’t worry,” she said, “everyone is fine. The children are safe, thank G-d. Our house just burned down.” While my students humorously remarked that we had easily gotten rid of all our chametz at once, our main concern was where we would go for Pesach. Our insurance offered to place us in a small motel, though I quickly reminded them that the Passover holiday was fast approaching, and we would need a place to have food kosher for Pesach and a synagogue to pray. “What do you have in mind?” they asked. “Well,” I said, “they have what are called Pesach hotels. For our family, it will probably cost around $20,000 for the next eight days.” The insurance just about hung up the phone. They thought I was joking. Thankfully, I was able to get a hold of the right people, and sooner than later, we found a Pesach hotel that was willing to take us all. “However,” they

told us, “we will have to scatter your family around. Some of you will have to be on the third floor, others on the fifth floor and still others on the eighth floor.” The problem was that I had little kids, and I needed to be with them to put them to sleep. “I think we need rooms that are all on the same floor,” I replied. That put them in a slightly more difficult situation, although they quickly came up with a solution. “If you agree to speak five times at our Pesach program over Yom Tov, we will put all of your family together on the third floor.” It was a great idea, which my family and I readily agreed to. We went on to have a phenomenal Yom Tov there, after which we began rebuilding our home, which took an entire year to complete. Some time after Peach, I received a phone call from someone who had been at the Pesach program and heard me speak. “I have an organization, and I would love for you to speak for us!” he said. I quickly agreed, and scheduled a time for one Motzei Shabbat. The week prior to my speech for this particular organization, I thought of the idea which would later grow into Shabbat.com. My vision was to connect Jews around the world via social media for the purpose of growing in their Judaism and Torah identity. But then I realized something. I had no money, and starting such a grassroots organization would take millions of dollars. I imagined that it would be one of those ideas which dies shortly. That Motzei Shabbat, amid my talk, I decided to share my most recent vision with them. I didn’t anticipate much coming from it, but I figured it was worth a try. As I finished, I mentioned that whoever liked the idea should approach me after the speech and we would work on connecting Jews all around the world using technology. Sure enough, after the speech, a man came over to me and introduced himself. His name was Lavi Needleman. He owned a landscaping company, but that was not what he wished to help me with. “Do you have a fundraiser?” he asked. “I really can’t afford one,” I replied. “Well,” Lavi said, “now you have one. I would like to fundraise for your project. I think it’s a great idea.” I was amazed. For the first year and a half, Lavi fundraised and got Shabbat.com off the ground. This progressed into helping me and my chief programmer launch the site and get it to where it is today. Some time later, a young girl from Scotland named Jemma wrote in to us. “I’ve never kept Shabbat,” she said, “but I would love to do so. If I would be invited out somewhere, I would certainly jump at the opportunity.” Jemma continued on with a letter for the ages. “I’ve never kept kosher, read from the Torah, or even met another Jew. Blind people cannot miss a sight they’ve never seen; how can I miss a life I’ve never had with people I’ve never known? Is it too late for me to discover Judaism?” I replied that it is absolutely never too late, and the fact that she so greatly wishes to discover her true roots only indicates that she has a special spark inside her. 68

After some back and forth, I suggested that Jemma go to Israel to gain some basic knowledge about life as a Jew. As it turned out, Jemma had planned a vacation to Greece with her mother. I told her, “Change your vacation destination to Israel, because I am giving you a free ticket!” Sure enough, she headed to Israel, where she spent a considerable amount of time. She eventually got sick, prompting her to return to Scotland, where a rabbi and his wife helped nurse her back to health, raising the necessary $2,000 in funds to pay for her hospital stay. She was so touched by the rabbi and rebbetzin’s kindness, that she ended up returning to Israel for another six months after recuperating. I then invited her to my home in Monsey for her first Pesach, which she absolutely loved. “I’d love to go back to Israel!” she said. “There is so much more that I thought I knew, but now I realize I don’t, and I want to learn more.” Jemma thus returned to Israel, and later that summer helped lead a trip I had with a number of college students. At the end of the summer, Jemma married a wonderful Jewish boy. Allow me to connect the dots for you. What started as a fire in my house…causing us to end up in a Pesach hotel… where a man heard me speak and asked that I speak for his own organization…where another gentleman heard about my startup website idea and decided to fundraise for me…which went on to inspire a Scottish girl who amid difficulty and challenges found her way back to Judaism…until at the end of that summer she got married to a Torah-observant boy… That boy was my son. Connect the dots. Hashem runs the world. We may think our world is burning down; the truth is that it is only being built up. Just as with the series of events in Chad Gadya, we must retrace our way back to the source and connect the dots, so too is it in life. Everything that happens from Hashem is calculated to precision and with a purpose. All we must do is look closely and see the connected dots.

Conclusion Rabbi Raphael Butler

A Superbowl Moment or Eternal Moment?

very year, on one Sunday in February, the world sits mesmerized by a sports game. As you might have guessed, it is called the Superbowl. Two teams play a football game in front of billions of people around the world. From the stadium where it is being played, to cities across the globe, to people in the own comfort of their homes, people sit for several hours and anticipate the next Superbowl champions. Thirty seconds of advertising on 69

television costs more than half a million dollars. Yet, comes Sunday night, and the game is over. The champions are announced and life reverts to normal. Monday morning is just another day at work. Billions of people can experience a Superbowl moment, yet allow it to fizzle away as fast as it came. Now, let us contrast this phenomenon with something else. A number of years ago, I hopped into a taxi cab in Israel. Taking a seat next to the driver, a few minutes after we pulled away from the curb, he looked at me and said, “Have you ever been to New York?” “Yes, I have,” I replied. “What about England?” “I have been there as well,” I continued to respond. Unsure where he was heading with this conversation, I sat there waiting for my next question. “Do you remember the 1967 war?” “Sure I do. Jerusalem was recaptured and the Kotel Ha’Maaravi was returned to Jewish hands.” “Do you remember,” continued the cabbie, “that iconic picture of three soldiers wearing their helmets and looking up at the Kotel?” “Sure I do.” “Well,” said the cabbie, “I was one of them. I was there at the moment of recapturing Jerusalem and when they snapped that picture. Afterwards, Israel Bonds flew me around the world and I traveled to New York and England. It was there that I spoke about my time spent in the army and the great experiences I had.” Hearing that my cabbie was not just any typical taxi driver, I said, “That is very nice. It is an honor to be in such a cab. Allow me to ask you, though, where now do you live?” Thinking that my question would just be a way of carrying the conversation along, I was surprised when I heard his reply. “For generations,” said the cabbie, “my family lived in Chaifa and was irreligious. But after that experience of being in Jerusalem, I told myself, ‘How can I have gone through such a momentous event in Jerusalem and not move there?’ And so, I picked myself up, moved to Jerusalem and become more committed to Torah and mitzvot. I now have children and grandchildren who are Torah observant and following the Jewish tradition.” We can have two kinds of moments in the world. We can have the Superbowl moment which is over Sunday night, or we can have the inspirational moment that lasts for eternity. The Seder night is a Superbowl moment. It is a night of inspiration, of transformation and of groundbreaking growth for us all. Yet it is up to each and every one of us to make it a life-lasting moment. The Seder offers us the tremendous opportunity to capture the moment and make something last for eternity. It is up to us to ensure that the next day is not like the day after the Superbowl, but rather, like the day after that cabbie stood by the Kotel. And we most certainly can all achieve this.

Instantly Enhance Your Pesach Seder Rebbetzin Tehila Jaeger Rav Moshe Shapiro zt”l insightfully explains that in light of the miraculous splitting of the Red Sea, the common term used to describe the Jewish people, or Hebrews – ‫ – עברים‬takes on new meaning. It can be read as a contraction of two words – ‫ – עבר ים‬cross the sea. The spectacular event of Kriat Yam Suf was not only experienced by the Jewish people, but defines us. We are a nation whose natural existence extends to the supernatural. We are a people who live above and beyond the confines of nature. Never have we been and never will we be locked into statistics and prognosis. We defy all odds and indomitably surge forward as an inextinguishable nation guided by the omnipotent hand of G-d. Rabbi Daniel Staum I once heard a beautiful line, which so accurately depicts the night of the Seder. “The world tells their children stories to put them to sleep; Jews tell their children stories to wake them up.” Rabbi Paysach Krohn The Ponovezher Rav once made a profound and startling statement, “An orphaned child is one who has no parents; an orphaned nation is one who has no children.” Our future rests in no less than our children’s hands.

Mrs. Shira Smiles As we prepare for Pesach, we will have numerous opportunities to, figuratively, live like matzah. If a child or sibling eats chametz in a room we have already cleaned, we may be inclined to loudly shout, “I told you it was cleaned already!” Or we can softly tell them, “You must not have heard me, but I already cleaned this room. Would it be possible to eat over there?” Before we can eat matzah on the Seder night, we would be wise to first make ourselves into a matzah.

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