A Fly and a Cockroach Shake Hands

I love the way my friend Rachael Welt sees the world, and the way she tells stories.

We learn together once a week, and our conversations always weave our Torah learning through the text of our life stories. Today’s stories illustrate one of my favorite principles.

"This is what the Holy One said to Israel: My children, what do I seek from you? I seek no more than that you love one another and honor one another; and that you have awe and reverence for one another." -- Tanna d'Bei Eliyahu Rabba, 26:6

Rachael recounts a recent trip to the Mahane Yehuda shuk.

“I have never seen at one time so many people using walkers, walking on crutches, walking with canes,” she said. “And the shuk was packed with people. And of course, walking behind all these people with walkers and so on made it very slow going. Still, not one person started screaming ‘Why are you moving so slowly? Why did you come to the shuk? Don’t you know you could fall down? Why don’t you move out of the way?’

“This is the shuk I’m talking about, where people regularly yell and scream at each other – and not one person rushed these people. Not even the shuk workers with the heavy pallets they carry everywhere. Those guys never have any patience! But that day, they did. Everyone waited patiently for the old and infirm to make their way through the shuk. It was amazing!”

Rachael’s face glows when she tells stories about the good in her fellow humans.

She tells another “only in Israel” story.

“I was in Jerusalem, getting the car repaired. I was feeling a little faint, because I hadn’t eaten enough before leaving the house; so I decided to go to a nearby supermarket. As I started in the door, the guard, a man in his sixties, put up a hand and stopped me. ‘We don’t open until ten,’ he said to me. I checked my watch and saw there would be a bit of a wait. And then I saw the line of people with shopping carts. I’m thinking, I don’t need a big shopping cart. I only need a few items.” Nonetheless, she joined the line, prepared to wait with everyone else until the guard allowed entry.

“People started to say to the guard, ‘Nu? It’s ten minutes to ten. Let us in already! It’s five minutes till. C’mon, let us in! See my watch? Let us in!’ But the guard had his orders, and he was used to this. He held his ground. ‘Ten o’clock,’ he insisted calmly.

“This one guy ahead of me, but still pretty far back in the line, decided he’d had enough. He pulled out of the line, pushed to the front, and tried to get by the guard. The guard stopped him, and the guy started yelling at him.

“The guard, still calm, said to the guy, ‘You know what? You’re a zvoov,’ a fly. And the guy yells at him, really angry now, ‘And you’re a juke!’ a cockroach.”

As Rachael tells the story, I am laughing a little, because I am convinced that these conversations, with this much invective, could never happen in America. People might yell at each other, but it is never this colorful. The two men went at this for several seconds, the guard speaking calmly, the enraged customer getting so upset, and louder and louder, to the point that Rachael was praying he didn’t have a knife. She could just see herself being witness to a terrible incident.

“The man kept yelling, and saying he was going to complain about the guard, and not only complain about him, he was going to write a letter, and he went on and on, getting more and more excited.

"The guard told him, without raising his voice, to step back. The man stepped back only a step or two. ‘Only this far,’ he said. ‘No further. I’m staying right here.’

“Suddenly, the guard walked over to the man, and stuck out his hand, and the other fellow took it. ‘Please forgive me, my friend. It will all be okay. I ask forgiveness.’ And the other guy calmed down. A moment later, at ten o’clock on the dot, the guard allowed the stream of people with their carts into the store.

“But that’s not the end of the story,” says Rachael, with her patented Rachael smile.

“Later, as I was going through the aisles, the guy came up to me. ‘You see?’ he said, ‘He apologized to me. He admitted he was wrong, and I was right.’ I said to him, ‘I think you were both a little bit wrong, and a little bit right.’ (After all, calling someone a fly was not a nice thing to do, and certainly calling someone a cockroach and threatening him is wrong.) ‘The main thing is, you made peace.’ I don’t think he really understood me, because he really thought he was right and the guard was wrong. But I saw that the guard kept calm, offered his hand, and the man took it! And the guard asked for forgiveness. What an amazing People!”

I believe that Hashem teaches us to see Him as a Parent so that we can know how to behave toward each other. As a mother, nothing makes me more distressed – dare I say enraged? – than when my kids are unkind to each other. Conversely, nothing causes me to feel more overjoyed and elated than when they get along and speak well of each other.

Rachael and I learned a lot today. But I am convinced that the holiest moments of our learning were when Rachael spoke aloud words of validation about the behavior of God’s children toward one another. If our learning together doesn’t bring Mashiach closer by itself, surely the stories of Jews rising above their pettiness to respect one another inches the Geula just a bit closer.

15 Iyar 2018.

One small kindness. And another. And another...

Yom revi'i, 12 Cheshvan 5772.

I have often thought about the human need for acceptance, and our reticence to give acceptance to others.

Since we all need it, you would think we'd be sensitized to the same need in our fellow man.  Right?

Yet we gather in our little groups and decry other groups.  We let slip careless and hurtful remarks behind each other's backs.  We make assumptions that an accusation we hear is true, even without first-hand experience of the evidence.  We fail to acknowledge those around us, totally oblivious to cries for help or the simple need for a smile.

Anyone who risks rejection by saying "Good morning" to a neighbor ought to always be greeted in return -- because the object of his greeting would also hate to feel rejected.  Instead, day after day, he must exercise the muscle called Benefit of the Doubt, until it wears out, or until it is the strongest muscle in his body.  Of course, there are plenty of reasons Ploni didn't smile at our brave soul.  He may not have heard or seen him.  His mind may have been on his own troubles, as small as a missing key or as great as catastrophic loss.  But what if we all went out of our way, every day, to put out the smile welcome mat for people we pass on the street?  (And no, o ye single minded straw man attackers: Of course I don't mean that six-year-old girls should smile at scary mugger types.  Consider your cautious tone already acknowledged, and attend to my main point.)

I always told my boys:  "There is no pareve encounter with another human being possible.  You have the opportunity to do a kiddush Hashem or -- chas v'chalila -- a chilul Hashem."  Translation: No encounter with another human being is meaningless.  You can either advertise G-d in a positive way through your actions, or -- G-d forbid -- you indicate that people in skull caps and ritual fringes don't care about other people.

Please enjoy the following short video.  It is a celebration of the concept of "pay it forward," how one small kindness begets another small kindness, and another, and another...  (Hat tip to Mare Newcome-Beill.  This is my kind of movie, Mare.  Thank you!)

I don't care what my children and my grandchildren choose to do for a living.  But I will feel that  the Mizrachi Family Mission is accomplished if they string together lifetimes filled with small acts of kindness.

"See me, feel me, touch me, heal me!"

Yom shishi, 20 Tamuz 5771.

I mentioned on Shiv'a Asar b'Tamuz that I had a friend who was feeling literally rejected by the people around her, simply because they would not smile at her, nor respond to her greeting of "Shabbat shalom."

Since then, I have heard other stories that cause me much pain, from around Israel and outside Israel.

• A young newlywed I know tells me she will never become religious.  "I went to an Orthodox shul a few times, to try to learn about Judaism.  I had stopped wearing pants; but I couldn't get used to the idea of covering my hair.  I asked the way to the women's section.  A man in a big black velvet yarmulke looked at my hair, and said 'You're probably the type who is more comfortable sitting next to her husband in shul.'"  Clearly, he judged her by what was not on her head, just as I find myself judging him by what was on his.
• A rabbi gives a shiur on a controversial subject.  Only a handful of people bother to show up.  As they are all Anglos, and one elderly woman has trouble understanding Hebrew, the rabbi chooses to break his usual pattern, and give the lesson in English.  Fifteen minutes into his lecture, a native Israeli (who is fluent in both languages, and who also disagrees with the rabbi's stand on the issue under discussion), walks in, and demands that the shiur be given in Hebrew, since we're all in Israel.
• A boy asks a philosophical question in class; and his rebbi -- followed by the students -- laughs at him.  The boy resolves never again to ask another question, because his questions are stupid.  It takes him years to develop self-confidence.  He still lacks confidence in the Torah educational system -- because of one moment and one rabbi.

There are many more stories like these; but my objective in writing them here is not to tell titillating tales about my people's failings.  The stories are meant to shake us up, to shake me up!  To remind us to listen to ourselves, to look at ourselves.

Do I get so wrapped up in my own thoughts and worries, or in a call on a cell phone, that I fail to notice the Jew passing by long enough to smile?

Do I decide that someone is "less Jewish" because of how she is dressed?  Is she somehow less worthy of dan l'chaf zechut, or at least of me guarding my tongue, than someone who has mastered wearing "the uniform"?

Do I sometimes forget that I represent Torah, and must think before I speak, lest I cause a Jew to think badly of people who "know more Torah"?

Do I show rabbis the respect that they are due?  Am I careful to criticize an opinion with respect, and never the person?

Do I remember to look around me at all of the people in the room, and think of what their needs might be?  Or do I only concentrate on my own needs?

Do I remember to make bridges between Jews?  Or do I carelessly, flippantly, put stones in the walls between us?

Do I encourage people to speak?  Or do I spend too much time filling the airwaves with my own words?

Do I pursue truth?  Or do I only spout platitudes or verses that others have stated before me, without thoughtful analysis? 

Do I listen to the searching question of a child or a ba'al tshuva or a friend with my whole self, or only with my ears, waiting for an opportunity to show them how much more I know than they (chas v'shalom)?

The world is in a terrible crisis right now.  We are all lost, alone, frightened, desperately needful of acceptance from each other.

I cannot say that by smiling at every random Jew I meet on the street I will save the lives of my friends who are suffering life-threatening illnesses, or that the answer will come from listening patiently or doing a kindness or living in Israel (for anyone who thinks that is the answer) or doing more mitzvot more diligently (for anyone who thinks G-d is mad at us for lacking attentiveness to His laws).

But Torah and our Sages -- both ancient and modern -- stress the need for kindness to each other.  We cannot know the mind of G-d.  I have a hard time relating to G-d as a King, or as something fear-inspiring.  (I'm working on it...)  But I can begin to relate to G-d Our Father, from my standpoint as a parent.

When my children are mean to one another, it enrages me.  I come as close as possible to "losing it," when they are hurtful to each other.

But when my children are kind to each other, when they "cover" for each other or help each other -- I can forgive them any slight against me.  

I think Hashem must be like this toward us.  While we must certainly do His mitzvot to the very best of our ability, while it is a shandeh if we ignore His gift of this holy and amazing Land, I cannot help but think that wherever we are in the world, treating each other much, much better than we do now might cause Him to change how nature and nations are treating us.

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of fasting for the Churban.  I'm tired of watching the world crumbling around me.  Most of all, I'm tired of saying goodbye to friends, and fearing more goodbyes.

I'm going to smile more, listen more closely, think about the wisdom of my words before I say them.  Please help me.

%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@

Stella's Sunrise (taken on an early walk with my friend)

I have found that it's easier to daven with kavana for people when I know them.  Please feel free to get to know my friend Tzuriya Kochevet bat Sara in this lovely interview, posted at her husband Yarden's blog Crossing the Yarden.  I think you will love her as much as I do.  And that can only help your davening, and help to save the world.

Glossary:

Shiv'a Asar b'Tamuz: the 17th of Tamuz: a fast day commemorating the Destruction of the Temple

Shiur: lesson (esp. in Torah studies)

Dan l'chaf zechut: the commandment to judge favorably

Ba'al tshuva: individual becoming more religious

Chas v'shalom: Heaven forbid

Mitzvot: commandments, good deeds

Shandeh: a shame [Yiddish]

Churban: destruction of the Holy Temple in 586 BCE

Shana Tova!

Yom chamishi, 28 Elul 5769.

While we are busy cleaning and shopping and cooking, there is some other work to be done.  I don't know about you -- but I keep waking up in the middle of the night with the guilty feeling that I am not really getting anywhere spiritually.  Maybe it was glancing at last year's list of midot I was so determined to change...  and seeing that I could pretty much make the same list again this year.

(Sigh.)

The guys at aish.com are getting better and better at making short films that get to the heart of the matter.  Please enjoy this one.  Let it help you to get closer and higher in that climb we each are trying to make toward a perfect relationship with our Creator.

May you be inscribed and sealed for Good!  May we share the imminent Geula.  (Let's see now...  where did I put that tamborine?

Hat tip to Elka.  Thanks, dear friend.

Geula on My Mind

Yom rishon, 26 Adar 5769.

A friend sent me the following remarkable letter.

Dear Friends,

There are no words for the gratitude and awe Bracha Elisheva and I feel for your incredible tefilla and zrizus for mitzvahs.

When this all began, I wanted to know what the spiritual implications of the disease are.  As it turns out, Rav Avraham Schorr writes in the Lekach Levav that Cancer's nature is for cells to grow seemingly without reason, to the point that they kill the cells around them.  He says that this is the essence of Sinas Hinam, baseless hatred.  When people do not maintain an Ayin Tov, a good eye, for one another, they end up hating each other for no reason.

It seems fitting, then, that the tikkun for this insanity is Ahavas Hinam, love without reason.

Anyone who has observed the tremendous love between friends and community across the globe will see that this tikkun is taking place as we speak.  From where I sit, the experience is indescribable, and feels at times as if we're living the lives of two other people--not ourselves.

In any event, please know that your love and support is well needed and welcome in our home, as are you.

Good Shabbos,

Jordan

Cancer is a terrifying disease.  Is it just my impression, or have you also noticed that it seems to be growing like – well – like a cancer???

I am moved and shaken by what Jordan shares with us, in his quote from Rav Schorr.

Many years ago, I had a chavruta.  She came to my door, the guest of a guest.  She sported a black leather mini-skirt and shockingly red, very short hair.  Only much later did I learn that her costume was part of her campaign of shaking her fist at the Malach haMavet (the Angel of Death).  She had been fighting cancer for 18 years; and up until now, it looked like she just might win.

We began to learn together, because she struck me as very intelligent, and I answered her questions without glossing over anything I didn’t understand.  Over the year we learned together, she made me prove that I really believed everything I said I believed.  It was an education and a pleasure to watch her grow in her respect for the concepts in the Torah.

As Marla got sicker and sicker, the community around her said Tehillim on her behalf.  Her favorite perek was 51, which spoke about the kind of repentance she hoped to attain before she left the world. 

In her last battle, she taught me more about love and giving from a Torah perspective than I had yet learned from texts or even from my beloved rabbis.

Right now, I have a friend who is fighting cancer.

I have only been privileged to meet her in person once; but through her writing, I have come to know and to respect her.  She writes a blog sharing what it is like for a young mother, living in Israel, to fight this terrible disease day to day.  She calls it “Coffee and Chemo,” in honor of the friends who come to sit with her during her chemotherapy, to take her mind off of the rigors of the experience.  RivkA (with a capital A at the end of her name) ends each of her blog posts with the words “Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.”  It feels like a great honor to be among the many readers who have added RivkA to their prayers.  May we share great news!

Often I hear from well-meaning individuals their concern that the sufferer of the disease is somehow to “blame” for the disease.  But I have empirical evidence that this is not the case.  Rather, this is a malady that we collectively must suffer, perhaps as a message that we must get our collective act together.  I believe that the victim is merely “carrying the ball for the team.”  Two years ago, a dear friend died of a particularly virulent form of cancer.  “Tante Dina,” as we all called her, was a very special neshama.  She gave joy to countless children, even though she was never blessed with children of her own.  She added music and dance to the world.  She was always there – more often than not anonymously – to help those in need.  Most characteristic of all, she refused to ever hear a breath of lashon hara about any person.  Tante Dina was the last person on Earth to be punished for the individual commission of the sin of baseless hatred.

We all have examples of people we know who are suffering from this dreaded disease.  The question, as the Israelis say, is “Ma la’asot?”  What is one to do?

Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo offers an insight in his book For the Love of Israel and the Jewish People: Essays and Studies on Israel, Jews and Judaism.  In his chapter entitled “Jewish Tradition and the Intifada,” Rabbi Cardozo suggests the following:

"Israel should start a national campaign to promote the commandments between human beings.  National outreach programs that use radio and television broadcasts, websites, email, CDs and educational videos could reach hundreds of thousands of people.  We should flood Israeli society and the Jewish world at large with uplifting literature, presented in an attractive way in order to inspire people to show the highest sensitivity to the feelings of our fellow human beings.  Advertisements on billboards at bus and train stations and in shopping centers sponsored by major industries, should call on readers to be more patient with each other, greet passerby with a smile, show courtesy, help wherever possible and make it a matter of honor and pride to be a real mensh."

Any grassroots project has to start small.  But if something as small as the smiley face of the 1970s could make a big impact, surely acts of kindness within Jewish society could start small, and snowball into an avalanche of decency.  My husband always says to our sons – all very different individuals – that “world peace begins at the Eastman table.”  Each family, each individual, can make being nice to our fellow Jews a personal campaign.  If we truly want the Geula, the Great and Final Redemption, isn’t treating each person well just as important as the other mitzvot G-d asks of us?  If you knew that being patient with the person on line ahead of you had the potential to kill two million cancer cells, would it be worth it?  If you knew that treating a harried bureaucrat with compassion would save the life of a Jew, would you give it a try?

Rabbi Cardozo quotes the Talmud (Yoma 9a, b) to drive home the point.

“While the first Temple was destroyed because of idol worship and sexual immorality, the second was destroyed because of sinat chinam – groundless hatred – even though many people studied Torah then… the construction of the second Temple took only several years… Yet once the second Temple was destroyed two thousand years ago, no third one as yet been built.  This shows us that God considers groundless hatred between fellow Jews much worse than idol worship or sexual immorality.” 

There are women's groups springing up all over Israel whose focus is to increase Ahavat Yisrael collectively.  May their efforts be crowned with success.  May we help to bring about a refua shelaima m’heira for Bracha Elisheva bat Kayla and RivkA bat Teirtzel, among all of our precious, holy cholim.

Glossary:
Tefilla:  prayer
Zrizus for mitzvahs:  alacrity in perfoming G-d's commandments, as well as good deeds in general
Tikkun:  repair, remedy
Chavruta:  study partner
Tehillim:  Psalms
Perek:  chapter
Tante:  Aunt
Neshama:  soul
Lashon hara:  gossip; evil, hurtful talk
Mensh:  decent, upright human being
Ahavat Yisrael:  love of a (fellow) Jew -- It is understood that the process of loving the world starts small, like a pebble dropped into a pool of water, and that the ripples eventually will spread throughout the world.
Refua shelaima m'heira:  complete and speedy recovery
Cholim:  sick people

A response to a heart-sick friend (with a few postcard hugs)

Yom revi'i, 10 Shevat 5769.

                 
My dear friend, "Bat Aliyah,"

You know I love your writing, and your nearly palpable longing for the move to Israel.  When I read your most recent post, "Not in Kansas Anymore OR Grieving for Leaving," I thought -- no, I remembered how hard it is to be you right now. 

How do you explain your love for Israel without sounding to those around you a little mawkish and silly?  After all, they are worried about the global financial crisis.  How will they afford tuition for their five kids, and the mortgage on that house they thought they could afford a few months ago?  Israel is a nice dream -- for after the kids grow up.  Unless they don't want to move with the grand-kids, of course...  Israel is something we pray for at Pesach, with all our hearts.  But as a day-to-day actual, physical longing?  Maybe after the Moshiach comes...

There is no way to write a big sigh of sympathy/empathy...  so you'll just have to hear it in your mind.

My heart hurts for you (and for my memories of exactly the feelings you describe, back in the day when I was walking around in your tennies).

My neshama is glad for one more island of proof for the Ribono shel Olam to see that there are those who love His gifts with all their souls.  (See, Tatte!  Don't You think THIS is the last of the cumulative mitzvot You have been waiting for?  Can we have the Geula now, please?)

My heart leaps with joy for you, because few people know the pleasure you will feel when you finally, finally get your wish.  Maybe people who have waited a decade or two to have their first child.  Maybe they can understand what it feels like, when Hashem finally says yes.

 

 

Can't fix it.  But I can hold your hand.    

               
Love,
Ruti

Glossary:
neshama:  soul
Ribono shel Olam:  Master of the Universe
Tatte:  Papa
mitzvot:  commandments
Geula:  Final Redemption

Geula b'Rachamim

Yom shishi, 13 Tevet 5769.

Give your neshama a little soul food just before the Holy Shabbat.  The words and music of this beautiful piece will soothe the tired guf, and energize the neshama for its important work of bringing the Geula.  B'rachamim.  May it be soon!

Please daven for a refua shelaima for the brave soldiers who have been injured in their effort to protect and defend this holy People.  Among them are:

Dvir ben Leah
Noam ben Aliza
Li-El Hoshea ben Miriam
Nerya ben Rivka
Yitzchak ben Naava
Netanel ben Naava
Maxim ben Olga
Yisrael ben Ilana
Yoad Ido ben Freida Rivka
Idan ben Leora
Nadav ben Miriam
Raphael ben Nina
Netanel ben Mazal
Yosef Chaim ben Ziva
May we and they hear b'sorot tovot!  Shabbat shalom u'mevorach.

Daven well. Bring Moshiach.

Yom revi'i, 11 Tevet 5769.

For years, I have sent my guys out the door with those cheerful words.  "Daven well.  Bring Moshiach!"

It's been a way of centering them.

Of course, being (sometimes) serious young men, they were often daunted by this assignment.  Back in the States, I would get doubtful feedback.

"Sure, Ema.  No pressure." 

"Uh, maybe you could task me with something a little more up my alley.  Say, cleaning the entire house for Pesach by myself?"

"Geez, Ema.  You really know how to depress a guy."

Then, Yeshiva Bochur came back to Baltimore for a visit.  In the morning, I sent them out the door with my usual, "Daven well.  Bring Moshiach."

"Pack your bags," he said, as he went out the door.

Now THAT is the kind of confidence this generation needs.  You go, boy!

(Now that we're living in Israel, The Dearly Beloved will sometimes respond, "'Pack your bags!'  Oh, yeah.  That's right.  You're already here.  I crack myself up...")

A Cornucopia of Commentary

Yom rishon, 25 Cheshvan 5769.

This week's rich harvest of opinion and reportage is in.  Look at some of the wonderful writing for which we can be grateful.  Heveil Havalim #192: The Thanks and Giving Edition is up at Ima on (and off) the Bima.

A hearty welcome aboard to my dear friend, "Dr. Aliyah."  Her writing about her love for Eretz Yisrael and her longing for the Geula always inspires me.  If you haven't yet visited her blog, now is a chance to do so.  "Waiting For The Other Shoe To Drop" puts some perspective on the global financial crisis, and how it effects at least one family's outlook on aliyah.

Whether Thanksgiving is your thing or not, it never hurts to be reminded that hoda'ah is the key to contentment.  Hodu Lashem ki Tov, ki l'Olam Chasdo!