Comfort, comfort my people...

Unfortunately, Tisha B'Av came and went as the sad, mournful day that it has been for so long. As we emerge from the Three Weeks into the weeks of Comfort, we have to remember to console each other as well as ourselves. Not only for the pain of yesteryear, but the pain of our continued endurance of this galut...

Storming the Barricade

You spread a canopy over heaven to cover my Temple;
You concealed Yourself and vanquished my strongmen. - Rabbi Elazar HaKalir, Kinah 6

In his commentary on the Kinot, Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik OBM compares the above stich to a similar verse in Megillat Eicha: "You have covered Yourself with a cloud, so that no prayer can pass through." (3:44) The implication of these verses is that God has effectively shut the Jewish Nation out; He has not only enshrouded the physical location of his Presence in an opaque cloud to block the supplication of the Prophet, but has concealed Himself as well, as it were.

Rav Soloveitchik expands upon this idea as the fulfillment of the kabbalistic notion of hester panim (Divine concealment). Hester panim is the signal of a new low for the Jewish people - the Jews have reached a spiritual nadir wherein the Master of the World does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked (Bava Kamma 60a). Essentially, hester panim is a fate far worse than the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash, as it symbolizes the converse of the Cloud of Glory, and the Cloud that descended upon Mount Sinai during the Divine Revelation. Those Clouds signified that the Presence of HaShem was among us, that we were worthy of the moniker "The Chosen Nation"; the paytan is lamenting the advent of a different sort of "cloud".

However, Rav Shimshon Pincus OBM presented a more positive element to this very theme.

He begins with a "novel" explanation about the nature of a mechitza, by reifying the very purpose of this structure. The common conception is that the mechitza is a barrier, something that is created into order to make a separation between people, to divide them. The truth is actually more sublime: the intent of the mechitza is not to separate, but rather to bring people closer. Halachically speaking, if there is no mechitza then men and women cannot be in the same room during prayer, or kriyat haTorah; with the presence of a mechitza, women are able to participate in the same services as the men. In this sense, the mechitza helps people achieve a closeness to God that is otherwise not possible, by bringing them into the prayer hall together with the congregation.

Similarly, when it seems like God is erecting something that separates us from Him, it is really serving the purpose of bringing us even closer to Him. The Cloud at Sinai was necessary for the Revelation; without it, we would never have been able to honor our rendezvous with our Creator! HaShem's glory is too great for us to bear without something "filtering" the splendor and luminescence.

Hester panim works along similar lines. The fact that God has shrouded himself in an impenetrable barrier of thick cloud is not meant to be a deterrent for our attempts to draw close. It is a sign that we must try harder, and that he wants us to strive to draw ever nearer to Him. Like a father who dresses up in a scary costume to frighten his children, the intended effect is that although the children are indeed scared by the horrid mask, they run into his outstretched arms!

Even in terrible moments of hester panim, in our darkest experiences of suffering and anguish, we must call out to Him in heartfelt prayer. Longing for the salvation, we beg with tearful eyes turned toward that very cloud, for we know that He is just on the other side, listening intently. The Gates of Prayer can sometimes be closed, but the Gates of Tears will never be locked.

Although the cloud seems to be thick, seems to be made of a unnatural density that swallows up sound entirely, it is not. Every prayer has immense power, and carries with it the capacity to break through the barrier, causing the rest of the cloud to dissipate like fog. This is true even in our generation, the Ikvisa d'Meshicha, when we are at our weakest; common sense would dictate that if our great predecessors were unable to bring the Redemption, then what can we possibly do?

Rav Moshe Weinberger likens this to the stronghold of a Kingdom that has successfully rebuffed numerous campaigns to infiltrate its fortress, led by some of the greatest military minds in the world. At one point, a small kingdom gathers its men and prepares to make an attempt on this bastion of security. Scoffers mock the men of this modest campaign - if the greatest armies could not prevail, then what chance do these civilian warriors have? But the general reassures his troops: according to his calculations, the previous onslaughts have seriously weakened the barricade of the fortress. With just one more strategic push, they can break through and overtake the city.

Tisha b'Av usually falls out on the week that we read Va'Eschanan, when Moshe relates his attempts to pray for a chance to enter the Holy Land. The commentaries explain that the word Va'Eschanan alludes to the 515 separate, distinct prayers that Moshe offered, pleading for God to allow him entry into Eretz Yisrael. They continue with the note that had Moshe offered just one more prayer, his request would have been granted. We must learn from this a most important lesson about our prayer - we can never know just how much is "enough", so we must always make an effort to pray, consistently and constantly.

HaShem is listening; our prayers can pierce the veil, and bring about the final redemption, so that this 9th of Av can be a real holiday.

When the city of Brisk was looking for a new rabbi, they sent a delegation to Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (author of the Beis HaLevi and former Rov of Slutsk) to offer him the position. When they met with him in his study, Rav Yisroel Meir HaKohen Kagan (author of the Chofetz Chaim, Mishna Berura, and numerous other works) was visiting as well. The Chofetz Chaim related how the delegation presented Rav Soloveitchik with a deed and promised him the world - which was why they were astounded when the Rav flat out refused their offer!

No matter what they said to try and convince him, Rav Soloveitchik maintained his position. "I had enough of the rabbinate when I was in Slutsk," he declared. "From now on, I want to sit and learn in peace."

The Chofetz Chaim watched the whole matter, waiting to see what would happen. Being the Rov of Brisk was a very prestigious position; aside from the size of the community itself, the citizens of Brisk were known to be very intelligent, learned people.

As the delegation was getting ready to leave, one of the members - who had as yet remained silent - stepped forward. "Rabbi - there are 25,000 people in Brisk waiting for you. We know that we need someone to guide us, and we know that it must be you."

When Rav Soloveitchik heard this, he started to shake. He called to his wife "Get me my hat and my cane - we're moving to Brisk!" He recognized that if there a that many Jews waiting for him to come, he was compelled to go.

The Chofetz Chaim used to relate this story to his students, concluding with the message that if this was how the Beis HaLevi reacted to the need of 25,000 Jews, how much more so would Moshiach react if he knew that we all need him!

The work, then, is reaching the point where it becomes clear to us that we need Moshiach. Then, we need to ask for it truthfully.

These three weeks are especially potent times for true accentuated prayer. We can still merit that this coming Ninth of Av should be turned into a real holiday...

For these, I cry...

I always dread this time of year. I know that most people do: the fasting, the discomfort, the whole theme of this season, seemingly mismatched with the climate of this point in the year...but I have other things on my mind, that probably bother others as well.

It is so hard to conjure up any true feelings of sadness for the 9th of Av. What are we mourning for? I know that I don't understand what it means to be in exile. For my entire life, this existence is all I have ever known! What does it mean to not have a Beis HaMikdash? Do we really understand that? Does any of us really have any appreciation for what we're missing? I don't.

Like Ne'ila on Yom Kippur, we are supposed to at least try and bring ourselves to tears on the 9th of Av; our tears have tremendous spiritual power in Heaven and arouse God's mercy.

How am I supposed to cry when we read Eicha? How am I supposed to stir up an emotional response to the many kinot that will be said tomorrow?

I have discussed this with people in the past, but they always respond with the same platitudes. They offer up abstract ideas to consider, observations that are saddening, but don't carry the emotional weight that they ought to, at least not with me. This might sound harsh, but while the myriads of unaffiliated Jews who don't know how to even recite the Shema is sad, in the grand scheme of things - it is still a very difficult thing to relate to. Those countless Jews have no faces, no names, I don't know their favorite colors, dishes, or anything about them that should cause me to care more about them than anyone else. Don't get me wrong - anyone who reads this blog often knows how important kiruv is to me. And yet, it's not enough to enable me to mourn.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik once explained this idea, citing a story wherein Rabbi Akiva was going from town to town, raising funds to support the revolution. In one particular village, he was relating horrific tales of death, destruction and chaos that was occurring in the Holy Land, and no one responded to his reports. Switching tracks, Rabbi Akiva started telling them the story of Iyov, a wealthy businessman who had it all. Success, prominence, a healthy family, piety - the man who had it all. Until one day, he lost his fortune, and then is livestock, and then his family started to die. At this point, the villagers were stricken with grief and started opening up their coffers to give to Rabbi Akiva's cause.

Rabbi Soloveitchik summed up this phenomenon by stating "The story of the annihilation of mankind didn't move them. What moved them was the story of an individual tragedy...It is easier to be touched by a private, personal tragedy; it is impossible to think of six million graves."

So the idea is to somehow find something closer to home, something that we can relate to on an individual level. If we can arouse some feelings, that may open the doorway for us to create more relevant feelings for the churban.

So tomorrow, I'm going to think of my good friend who has been married nearly twice as long as I have, and still has not been blessed with children.

I will think about that tzaddik in shul, who never knows his son's whereabouts, or whether he'll come home safely, every night.

I'll mourn over the fact that an institution that I know and love - a place where I have invested much emotional, spiritual, and physical energy and called home for many years - may be forced to leave their home of many years. Forced to leave because of a few individuals who's financial concerns and blase attitude toward halacha and tzniut outweigh their debt to us for ensuring their endurance.

But most of all, I will mourn over the fact that I have to try so hard - the fact that the more "global" issues don't bother me because I fail to recognize their significance in my daily life. That indeed is a churban that we are experiencing in our times...

May this 9th of Av become a day of celebration, quickly...

The Bobover Rebbe (1907 - 2000)

Tonight is the yahrtzeit (anniversary of death) of Rabbi Shlomo Halberstam, the third rebbe of Bobov. The rebbe was a holocaust survivor; after witnessing the death of his first wife and several of their children, he and his surviving son came to America to rebuild their dynasty. The Rebbe's wartime efforts and subsequent relocation to the States are chronicled in the book Nor The Moon By Night.


The Bobov community in New York, under the rebbe's tutelage, is also featured prominently in the 1987 documentary A Life Apart - Hasidism in America, narrated by Leonard Nimoy.


A regal figure with a shining countenance, the rebbe had a dazzling smile for everyone and piercing eyes that could barely be contained behind a pair of glasses. He exuded joy, and did everything with vigor and exuberance.

He was also extremely sensitive to people's needs, especially when it came to holocaust survivors. It goes without saying that the Shoah had a profound impact on his life; the rebbe composed a kinah (elegy) for the holocaust that has been accepted by all into the canon of the kinot of the Ninth of Av.

As I have mentioned earlier, I had the special z'chus (merit) to lay tefillin for the first time with the rebbe. Unfortunately, I didn't quite appreciate the significance of that event until later; at that point, I was more enamored by the fact that Mr. Spock was doing the voice-over in a movie about Chassidim than the rebbe actually featured in that movie. Still, the memory of that day is fresh in my mind, because of what happened after we prayed.

It was a cold, wintry morning, and I was nervous that I was going to get sick from my still-damp hair from the mikvah. I was all dressed up in a suit, and my father showed me how to button my jacket in a way that allowed me to have my shirtsleeve exposed to accommodate the tefillin. We were waiting for the rebbe to arrive in shul; the rebbe was still making his special preparations for the morning prayer. My father stressed the fact that the rebbe was a very holy man, and that I shouldn't be frightened by his intensity. Within a few minutes, the rebbe swept into the shul with a small entourage. He was already unwell at the time, so he had several people helping him move about. Even so, he carried himself with a certain dignity that I have not witnessed since.

While my father stood by proudly, and my grandfather (he should live and be well), stoic as ever, looked on, the rebbe took my hand in his, and helped me roll up my sleeve. He made sure that I knew the berachot on the tefillin, and the proceeded to show me how to wrap them, binding them to my head and arm in the tradition of our ancestors. My tefillin have never been wrapped as tightly around my arm as that first time when the rebbe helped me with them. When I close my eyes, I can still remember how it felt...

After shacharis, the rebbe's assistant informed us that we could have an audience with the rebbe in his study, but for only a few short minutes; the rebbe had many duties, as well as health concerns, and we could not expect to take up too much of his time. After receiving us, the rebbe gave me a large walnut covered in glitter.  He explained that it was used as an ornament in his father's succah, and that it had certain esoteric significance. After another minute or so of pleasantries, we rose to leave, when the rebbe suddenly put out his hand to stop us. My grandfather had been rolling down his sleeve when the rebbe noticed the familiar tattoo on his left arm. The rebbe signaled to his assistant to escort my father and I out of the office, and motioned my grandfather to sit back down.

We waited outside for an hour, while my grandfather and the rebbe spoke. When they came out, they were arm in arm, the two of them weeping together. I had never seen my grandfather so emotive; I don't believe my father ever had, either. Although my grandfather refused to reveal exactly what they had spoken about, it was pretty obvious, and that is where part of the rebbe's greatness lay: despite myriads of obligations, with all sorts of issues jockeying for the rebbe's attention, the rebbe could not let a Jew who had gone through the holocaust leave him without sharing his story. It's almost as if the rebbe needed to hear every testimony, every trial, every tale of hope and sorrow. His empathy was boundless; it enabled him - racked with illness and fatigue - to lend an ear to a Jew he had never met before in his life, and share in his pain.

What a tzaddik.


Z'chuso yagein aleinu (may his merit shield us all).

War on two fronts...

Last week, I saw a very encouraging thought in the sefer Nesivos Shalom, from the late rebbe Reb Sholom Noach of Slonim. 

Concerning the story of Pinchas, the rebbe establishes that there were two disparate sins: 1) the sin of worshiping Ba'al Pe'or and 2) the sin involving the Moabite women. The implication from the text is that the plague that struck the Jews was related to the sin of Ba'al Pe'or, specifically, whereas Pinchas' act (an act of mesiras nefesh - risking his own life by rising up against a prominent member of the tribe, and taking the law into his own hands) was in response to the sin of the Moabite women. 

The rebbe poses a two-pronged question: why was Pinchas' act related to the sin of immorality, and not on the actual sin of Ba'al Pe'or (which was the main sin, after all)? The sin of Ba'al Pe'or was a considerably more severe sin that actually requires capital punishment, as opposed to the sin of immorality, whose punishment is lashes! In addition, why was the rectification (i.e. the justice meted out by this Nasi's death, and subsequent halting of the plague) of this sin done through Pinchas, and not through Moshe? Up until this point Moshe was the savior in every situation, so why did Pinchas have to be the one to carry out this deed?

The rebbe answers that Emunah (belief) and Kedusha (holiness) are two foundations in serving God; when one elevates himself through them, he enhances and raises up his own actions and the Torah itself. Conversely, if he does something that diminishes either of these two foundations vis-a-vis his own service of God, the whole Torah is diminished, God forbid. The source of emunah is embedded within a person; it is an integral part of his being, his nature, his essence. This is an inheritance from the patriarch Avraham, as shown in the medrash: "my children are believers, the sons of believers". It follows that even at a time when a Jew doesn't feel this emunah, we must believe that it is there - albeit buried deeply within him - hidden by the many shortcomings that come along with the human experience. 

When a person is plagued by doubts and questions that chip away at his faith and resolve, those crises can be traced to the diminished effect of kedusha; the satisfaction of base desires for pleasure's sake (the antithesis of holiness) begins with the intellect, and once the mind is corrupted with licentious thoughts, the basis of emunah falls prey as well. This concept is found by the primordial Snake, when God tells it "[man] will pound your head, and you will hiss at his heel" (Gen. 3:15): the destruction of the snake comes through the force of emunah, which is found in the mind, the head. But the downfall of man comes through the attack on holiness (represented by the heel - the lower part of the body where the reproductive organs are found), in which the Evil Inclination possesses greater strength.

In our case, we find that the sin of immorality allowed for the sin of Ba'al Pe'or. Therefore, Pinchas risked himself to root out the source of the evil. When a Jew has issues of faith, their roots lay in issues of holiness, and Pinchas realized that he would have to stop the immorality in order to properly bring an end to the sin of Ba'al Pe'or.

So why Pinchas?

We know that Bilaam and Balak names contain the name of the Jewish People's arch-enemy, Amalek. Amalek's modus operandi is to weaken our resolve with questions of belief and by cooling our enthusiasm for fulfilling the directives of the Torah. To do this, they wage a multi-front battle, bombarding us with attacks on our emunah and kedusha. During the epic war with Amalek, Moshe directs Yehoshua to gather men and fight against Amalek; Yehoshua was a descendant of Yosef haTzaddik. Yosef's defining characteristic is his ability to withstand the most trying temptations, in spite of his surroundings and his station in life.

The war with Amalek, therefore, was waged on several fronts, as well. Moshe led the Jews in matters of emunah, while Yehoshua led them in matters of kedusha, channeling his ancestor's strength.

The same concept applies here, as well. Pinchas, channeling the trait of Yosef haTzaddik (the gemara [Sota 43a] tells us that Pinchas' maternal grandfather was Yosef) was able to challenge and defeat the spiritual blemish that the sin with the Moabite women caused, thereby rectifying the aspect of kedusha, which was in peril. This is why it had to be Pinchas, why he had to risk his own safety in a true act of mesiras nefesh.

The rebbe concludes with an observation that is very pertinent to us, especially in this time of the year, with the Three Weeks upon us:

This is also the challenge of the generation of Ikvus d'Meshicha, in these two subjects (i.e. belief and holiness). 

The closer we draw near to the final redemption and the great revelation of the Messiah, the Evil Inclination's power increases as well, in these matters. The rectification for this is through the aspects of Moshiach ben Yosef and Moshiach ben Dovid; Moshiach ben Yosef will first mend the blemishes of the Covenant (i.e. diminished holiness through immorality), and afterward Moshiach ben Dovid, who exemplifies the trait of Malchut, of Emunah, will arrive and mend the diminished emunah.

It is incumbent upon the Jew to learn from Pinchas, who was one man, and sacrificed himself for the sake of all Israel, for all of Israel is responsible for one another. Similarly, when a Jew strengthens himself in these matters, and withstands trial [of faith and holiness], he brings the salvation to Israel!

May we all gird ourselves in preparation for battle; when we feel a sense of responsibility toward one another, and we wage battle shoulder to shoulder, we can bring Moshiach! I bless us all that this year we should merit to observe the Ninth of Av as the festive holy day that it is destined to be, when we stand on the solid foundations of belief and holiness!

Rivers of Babylon 2007

This is a little sad, but I think it's appropos for the times.
I've been worrying about this for a long time. How can we properly mourn? How can we actually bring ourselves to tears, when most of us think we have it all?


I feel
so
numb
in the face
of my own
complacence

I'd gladly
fill my
mouth
with the
bitter taste of
ash
if it would show me
what it is
that we're missing

I try to
move myself
shake myself from this haze
at this point
even
dissociation from my
point of view
would be welcome...

Am I apathetic?
Or should I just
drop the "A"?
But in these times
I do not
I can not
possibly know
how to
mourn

When we think
we have
everything
how can we
honestly realize
we have nothing?

This is my
funeral dirge.
Not just for the
Holocausts
of the past
but for the
one
in the
present...

17th of Tammuz, 5765.....

Today is the 17th of Tammuz, marking the beginning of the three weeks until the 9th of Av, otherwise known as Bein Hametzarim. On this day in history, several events occurred, causing this day to be commemorated as a fast day, meant to mourn over the past events, and pray for the future. On this day, the first set of Luchos from Har Sinai were smashed, after the Children of Israel fashioned the Golden Calf. Another thong that happened on this day was that the walls of Jerusalem were finally breached by invading forces after a long and grueling siege. This eventually led to an idol being put up in the Beis Hamikdash, and the subsequent end of burnt offerings. It goes with out saying that obviously, we need to feel the proper amount of remorse.
It is no coincidence that these three weeks of mourning fall out during the summer months. Indeed, right in the middle of the most relaxed time of the year for the world in general, our vacation is seemingly interrupted by this time when no music should be listened to, no one gets haircuts or shaves, and toward the end, during the nine days, we don't even eat meat or bathe ( unless there is a seudas mitzvah, of course...). It's possible that the reason it falls out in such a way is as a lesson, more like a reminder, that despite what pleasures we may be experiencing, we are still, in essence, lacking. We are still in Golus, and no amount of creature comfort should ever allow us to forget that. We are not at home, nor should we think so. To forget is to repeat, and we know what happens when one forgets who he is, or from where he came....
So, during this time, when everyone is on vacation, and everyone's laid back, and the world seems to be as hedonistic as ever, God sends us a little reminder.
I remember when I was forteen, and I was spending the summer in Israel, the camp I went to took us for a tour of the underground sections of the Kotel. Our guide was a grizzled old woman, who seemed to have lived there for so long, her pallor was almost the same shade as the Yerushalmi stone at night. She was no ordinary guide. From the first minute, we could tell that she wasn't interested in kissing a bunch of american kids' asses. She was more interested in relating to us the importance of our heritage, both as individuals, and as a nation. Every time we stopped near the holy stones, she would caress it, and say a short prayer. We were joking around, and as this was during the three weeks, she found this intolerable. She sat us down, and for the next half hour, gave us such mussar, it would make the biggest Rosh Yeshiva blush. One of the things she said was that when she speaks to someone before a fast she never wishes them an easy fast. In fact, she wishes them a bad fast! She went on to explain that the point of a fast is to remind us of what we're missing, and indeed, it should be miserable, in order for us to appreciate what pain and discomfort is, and to inspire us to yearn and pray, every day, to be brought home.
At the time, my friends and I agreed that this was just a loopy old bat who had an opportunity to get on her soapbox, and we laughed it off (albeit, not in front of her, as we didn't want a personal shmooze...). However, as I get older, and I realize what the fasts are all about, I realize that she was in fact right. The fact that I can't forget what she said is a testimony to that, and if I could, I would thank her for it.....
So, although I won't tell you to have a terrible fast, or a miserable one, I can bless you that you should have a meaningful fast, and that we should all realize what's real in this world. And may we merit that this time next year, we shouldn't be fasting, but rather be rejoicing in the Holy City, bemehaira, amen.
Originally posted Monday, 25 July 2005