Torah Portion Emor - Making the World a Brighter Place

I would like to write about one of the social commandments in this week's Portion: "And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corner of your field, neither shall you gather the gleaning of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor, and for the stranger: I am the LORD your God."

This commandment, from this week's Torah Portion, is to care for the poor: if you have a field, do not reap it completely. Leave a corner of it for the poor, so that they can come and take of it as much as they need. How does it apply to our days? Most of us do not own fields these days, and even if we did, poor people would most likely not go and reap sheaves of wheat there. They would rather go to the supermarket and buy a ready-made bread there. 
There are so many ways in which we can implement this commandment today: whenever I go out of my apartment, I try to have a few shekel coins. Whenever someone is begging (they do it most often in the market or near the Western Wall), I take a coin or two and give it to them. I usually try to do it with a smile, because it is SO important to treat them with dignity and warmth, to give them a good feeling, even more than just giving them the money. 
Another way of fulfilling this commandment, in my opinion, is to leave empty glass bottles that you finished drinking in a plastic bag near the recycling bins. The poor often walk around, gathering these bottles, and returning it to the supermarket. They get reimbursed for every bottle at the supermarket (this is how it works in Israel), and it becomes a source of livelihood for them. This is perhaps the closest you can get to not harvesting your field completely. Instead of returning these bottles yourself to the supermarket and get paid for it, you leave them out for the old and poor who need this money more than you do. 
It is promised in the Torah that there will always be poor people in the world: "For there will never cease to be poor in the land. Therefore I command you, ‘You shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land." (Deuteronomy 15:11). Our commentators say that the reason there will always be poor people in the world is to improve our own characters, to give us a chance to give to strangers, to open our hands and our hearts, to become better people by giving charity. By being better people, we also make the world a better place. 

I remember my last trip to Norway. I spent a Shabbat in Oslo. On my way from my Air BNB room to the Jewish community in the morning, I saw a man sitting on the sidewalk near a park, leaning on a fence. His clothes were worn-out, his hair disheveled, his face reddened and with a hardened skin. He was a beggar. Because it was Shabbat, I didn't carry any money on me (actually, on Shabbat we cannot carry anything when outside of Israel, not even a key! I had to hide my key in a pot of plants near my accommodation!). I felt so sorry that I didn't have anything to give him! I so wished to do that, to give him a few coins, or more, and to start a small talk, to tell him I'm from Jerusalem, etc. Having nothing on me to give him, I just smiled at him - he smiled warmly back - and I apologized for having nothing on me, I also showed him that I don't carry anything in my pockets. He smiled, and I felt that even this little exchange was something I was able to give him. If I wasn't hurrying to get to shul (to the synagogue) for the reading of the Torah, I would have sat by him for a few minutes, and asked him about him, about his life, and what made him give up on life like that. I do hope to have a chance to do it in the future. 

I also remember my trip to Japan a few years ago. The homeless people there are different than beggars anywhere else. I don't call them beggars, but rather homeless people, because they do not beg. They do not even expect to be given anything. I remember walking on a major street in Osaka, a big city, and seeing a homeless guy. Gently, I approached him with a few coins in my hand. He looked at me as if I fell from the sky, not understanding what I wanted from him, why I approached him. I showed him the coins. He didn't even reach out his hand. I had to motion with my hand that he can take the money, that it is OK. It took a few more moments, and then he hesitantly took the money, at last. He was very, very thankful and in a very respectful way. It touched my heart. This same scenario repeated itself again with every homeless person I saw there. They were all astonished that someone even notices them, not to mention gives them money or food. My dream, if I ever go back there again (not planning at all, but if I have to go), is to go to Osaka or Tokyo, take my tithes (10% of my income), buy a few take-away meals in restaurants, walk the main streets and give such a take-away box to every homeless person I see. And then sit and talk with them a little with my broken, insufficient Japanese. I want to see that expression on their faces again, the surprise that someone even notices you, that someone even cares. I do it in Israel, but here many, many people give, give, give, give, so the beggars are not surprised at all. They are happy and thankful, but they are not surprised. In Japan it is totally different, and I think that going on a "Giving Spree" to give food and some attention to these poor, destitute people, can add a lot of light to a corner in the world that needs more light. 
There is a story in our Jewish Scriptures that once a non-Jewish person went to Old Hillel (a famous ancient Rabbi) and asked him to teach him the whole Torah in an instant ("while standing on one foot"). Hillel told him: "You shall love your fellow man as yourself - and all the rest is commentary, go and learn", meaning: the most important thing is to treat others right, and the whole Torah just teaches how to do that. Caring for the poor is just one manifestation of the commandment to love our fellow human being like ourselves. No one expects us to give all we have. 10% of our net income is enough. We would still have 90% of it for ourselves. I like to think of it as if 10% of my net income is not mine - it is G-d's money. He gave it to me so that I can distribute it wisely on His behalf, and do good in His world. 

Thinking about my last post about how to make each day count, the Mitzvah (commandment) to give some coins ("the corner of our fields") to the poor is one way of making our days count, of making our existence in this world meaningful, by making the world a better place. 

Weekly Torah Portion: Emor (Leviticus 21:1 - 24:23)

It was raining hard today all over Israel. In Jerusalem it hailed hard. I know most people don't like it, but to me it is a blessing. I love rain, there is something cleansing, purifying, nourishing about it, something that makes you want to stay home, drink hot tea while covered in blankets in bed, looking outside, enjoying the sights, the sounds and sometimes even the smells. Rain in April, and so much of it, is very rare. Because it is so special, I feel there is a message to us from G-d in it. I think it is a good message. 
In this week's Torah Portion, a special commandment is given to us, a commandment that we still keep till today, thousands of years after it was given. "Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them: When you come into the land which I give to you, and shall reap the harvest thereof, then you shall bring the sheaf of the first-fruits of your harvest unto the priest... And you shall count unto you from the morrow after the day of rest, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the waving; seven weeks shall there be complete;even unto the morrow after the seventh week shall you number fifty days..." (Leviticus 23:10, 15-16)
This commandment basically asks us to count 50 days, 7 weeks, from right after the Passover holiday. At the end of these seven weeks we have another holiday, that of Shavuot ("The Holiday of Weeks"), in which, according to tradition, we celebrate the Giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. On the Holiday of Shavuot the synagogues are decorated with green branches and flowers all over. Why? Because according to tradition, during the Giving of the Torah, the dry desert mountain of Sinai bloomed and became green and full of flowers all of the sudden. Everything became green and flowery thanks to the Giving of the Torah. Even if you don't want to believe it as it is, the symbolic meaning of it is clear: when Torah came to the world, life came to the world, and made even the arid, dry life of human beings into a green, lush oasis. On Shavuot we read the Ten Commandments in synagogue, when the whole congregation stands in trepidation on its feet, feeling as if they are in Sinai all over again. 
So these days we count up every day. For example, "today is 26 days to the Omer, which are three weeks and five days to the Omer." It is done with anticipation to something great that is going to happen in the 50th day. Actually, today is exactly the mid point between Passover and Shavuot. 

Rabbi Moshe Zvi Neryah (1913-1995) wrote a beautiful excerpt about this commandment, which he titled "The Wholeness of Time": 
"Perfection is expressed first and foremost in time. The Torah commandment to count days comes to teach us about the value of time, the preciousness of days. Time has always had and will forever have just one hue, but the depth of the life of a human gives time its different hues. A man of Israel feels that the world of Shabbat does not resemble the world of a regular week day. Each day has its own hue, its own song... A day that nothing was renewed in it, not a new thought, not a new feeling, is a day without a unique hue. Torah life requires being active and having a thinking mind and a feeling heart. Everyday - a new Torah, in a new world, to a new person. The counting of the days serves, therefore, as a prelude to the Giving of the Torah: from now on your days are counted and are placed in the archives of eternity. A day that nothing was renewed in will not be counted, and you will lack it". 
I think these words should be etched in our hearts. Our time in this world is limited. Every day must count. Every day must be meaningful. A day that is wasted on watching cheap entertainment on the TV passively, or playing Solitaire (like I see so many adults do on their Smartphones) is a wasted day, a chance that a person wasted in this world to do something good, to benefit people around him, to improve himself or the world a bit, to grow spiritually. Whenever I see people wasting their time on computer games, I am shocked. People, read! Think! Pray! Reach out to others! Do something meaningful with your time, with your mind, with your mental and physical resources. The Torah was given to us so that we would make the world a better place. Not just us, all of humanity. Every day counts. A good question to ask yourself at the end of each day is: what did I do today that was meaningful? What did I do today to serve G-d? What good did I do to people around me? What benefit did I bring to the world today? It doesn't have to be something big. Even just smiling at an old person on the street, or calling a lonely friend to ask how they are doing - all of these count. 
Life is precious. And even if it is very painful at times, or all the time, it has meaning. A person is placed here in this world not necessarily to enjoy or have fun, but to serve G-d, to help people around him, to be good and improve oneself. So, how did you spend your day today?

Yom HaZikaron - Memorial Day for the Fallen Soldiers of Israel and Victims of Terrorism

Today is the Memorial Day for the fallen IDF soldiers. I'm sitting in my little apartment, in the living room. On the radio sad Israeli songs are being played. Working from home most of the time, these songs are constantly in the background. In between, the voices of family members of fallen soldiers are broadcasted. They talk about their dear ones, about the fight in which they fell, about their life after receiving that dreadful message that their father/son/brother are no longer with us. When you hear that, you can't hold back the tears. I'm easy to cry, no matter what, but I think that on this day, when we are all surrounded by these stories and these memories, even the toughest among us cry. We all know someone who lost a family member in wars or in terror attacks. My boss, a very tough woman when it comes to business and worldly things, choked yesterday when she was on the phone with me, when we started talking about this day. I think it is the first time I heard her cry. Her older son has already finished his military service. The younger one is still serving. But you don't need to serve in the army in order to be a target. Nowadays, and this is not new, civilians are being targeted too in hideous acts of terror.
I can talk about my own relatives (including a first circle relative) who were killed or wounded in wars, but I think today I would talk about two people that I never knew personally, but I feel that their stories should be told and known.
One of them has become a national hero, a name that everyone in Israel knows, a name that should be known worldwide. Ironically, I think that someone like him would really hate to be famous and to have people talk about him, so when I decided to write about him today, I asked forgiveness from him in my heart. Roi Klein (רועי קליין ז"ל) was an officer in the IDF. He served in the Golani brigade and fought a few battles, including the one in the Second Lebanon War, in which he found his death in 2006. He lived in the Eli settlement in Samaria and was part of the National Religious society, the most beautiful segment of population in Israel, and dare I say, in the whole world. They are the kind who combine Torah learning and actual service to society. Everywhere they go and whatever they do, they are always at the top, giving themselves and their needs up in order to serve others, and in order to serve G-d. Roi Klein was a father of two children, who are now left orphaned. During that fateful fight in the Second Lebanon War, a hand-grenade was thrown by the enemy on the military force he was commanding. Without thinking twice, Roi threw himself on the grenade in order to prevent it from exploding on his soldiers. By sacrificing himself, he saved his soldiers from being hurt. His soldiers told that while he was dying from his wounds, Roi shouted "Shema Israel" (Hear, O Israel, HaShem is our Lord, HaShem is one", Deut. 6:4), and gave his field-communication-device to the officer that took command of the force from that moment. And he died. In 2009, the Israel Supreme Court of Justice (a secular court, some like to call it 'the supreme court of injustice') was thinking of destroying the neighborhood in which Roi used to live in the Jewish Settlement of Eli, because it is behind the green line. After much protest from people in Israel, PM Netanyahu promised the people and the family, that Roi Klein's house will not be destroyed, and in fact, the whole neighborhood was saved thanks to this. Many things were done and established to commemorate Roi and his heroism. One of them was the building of a Bet Midrash (a Torah study institute) at the University of Ariel.

To learn more about Roi, you can read in the website that his family made in his memory: http://www.roiklein.co.il/roi.aspx?lang=eng

Or watch this short video, with English subtitles. Try not to cry:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HrAtif91gI8

Roi Klein of Blessed Memory

The second fallen soldier I want to write about is IDF officer Yochai (Juchah) Kalangel of blessed memory. Last year I listened to the radio one Saturday night, to an after-Shabbat program. The hosts of the program interviewed a man, the father of a fallen soldier. He wanted to invite the public to join the family in the settlement where they live to a special event: to celebrate with the family when they bring a new Torah Scroll to the local synagogue, in memory of his son. When he spoke, he was constantly choking with tears and could hardly finish his sentences. The pain was so palpable in his voice. I could feel his heart. I decided that I just have to go there, meet him and the family, and join them when they bring the Torah Scroll into the synagogue. I took a bus to their settlement in Gush Etzion (in Judea, not far from Hebron), and joined the long procession of people who were dancing with the Torah Scroll and passing it from hand to hand, kissing it. I stayed there for the meal and when people started leaving I talked with the parents. They told me the following incredible story about Yochai, their son:
When Yochai died, people started coming to the family house, where the family was sitting Shiv'a (a seven day period of mourning in Judaism, in which the family is at home and relatives and friends come to comfort them and mourn with them, sharing stories about the deceased person). When Yochai's soldiers came to the house to comfort the family, many of them told the family unbelievable stories about Yochai. It turned out that Yochai spent most of his military salary to buy food, electrical devices such as washing machines, etc., to the families of his poor soldiers. He used to go every Friday to these families, and without even knocking on the door just left a basket of food for Shabbat so that these families could celebrate Shabbat properly.
Yochai was married, father of two girls. His father asked him: "Nu, Yochai, when will you buy a house?" and Yochai just said: "Not now, father, not now", not telling his father what he was really doing with his money. When the family learned about the amazing acts of loving-kindness that their fallen son used to do, they started an NPO to continue his ways. This NPO buys and distributes food and other necessary products to poor families of IDF soldiers, just like their son used to do. They do it completely voluntarily, without taking even one Shekel to themselves - all the donations go to the poor families. For years I was looking for such an NPO, that gives all the money to the poor without taking anything to themselves, and I found it with them. This is the website of the NPO: https://uf-kadima.org.il. It is in Hebrew only. I offered them to translate it to English, but they asked me to wait with it until they change the contents of the website a bit. You can watch a video (with English subtitles) on Yochai here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=4&v=bRv6ODnlGKQ

Yochai Kalangel of Blessed Memory

I think we should think of these two soldiers, and many thousands more like them, who instead of thinking of themselves, thought of others, thought of us, and were willing to sacrifice their lives so that we would live. May their example shine as a beacon of light to Israel and to the whole world.

Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) is almost over. In an hour from now the celebrations of Israel's 70th independence day will start. I will celebrate, of course, but my heart is still with the families who gave the dearest to them so that we can enjoy independence in our G-d given land.

Thank you for reading.

'Next Year in Jerusalem' - by Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis

REBBETZIN'S JEWISH PRESS COLUMN

'Next Year In Jerusalem'

Editor's Note: Rebbetzin Jungreis, a"h, is no longer with us in a physical sense, but her message is eternal and The Jewish Press will continue to present the columns that for more than half a century have inspired countless readers around the world. ************ 'Next Year In Jerusalem'           At our Seders last week we all recited the ancient vow "Next year in Jerusalem." If you are a Jew, Jerusalem is in your blood. It's a city engraved upon your heart. Centuries ago Yehuda HaLevi wrote, "My heart is in the East while I am in the West."            No matter where life has taken us, our hearts have forever remained in the East, in Jerusalem.             When I was a little girl in Hungary I may not have known where Paris or Rome was but I did know the location of Jerusalem. My parents of blessed memory, HaRav HaGoan Avraham HaLevi Jungreis, zt"l, and Rebbetzin Miriam Jungreis, a"h, nurtured us with the milk and honey of Yerushalayim. Nowadays, few still thirst for that sweetness. And yet, with all the distractions of modern life, Yerushalayim tugs at our hearts.           Several years ago I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears the veracity of this connection between the Jew and this Holy City.             I was speaking at Jerusalem's Great Synagogue. There was no spare seat to be had and despite the lateness of the night people kept coming. Many lingered after I finished my speech. Some sought advice and guidance. Others just wanted to talk.            Above all they asked for berachos - for shidduchim, for health, for sustenance. And then a tall, lovely, blond-haired girl stood before me. She was crying. Something prompted me to ask, "Are you Jewish?" Her voice cracking with tears, she whispered, "I'm a convert. I came to Yerushalayim to become part of the Jewish people."           She explained that she came from a country where Jews had been beaten and tortured and maimed and killed during the Holocaust. But her soul whispered the message, "Go, join the people who stood at Sinai; go to Jerusalem!"           I naturally assumed she sought a blessing for a good shidduch. "No, no," she protested, "that's not why I'm here. You just related a story that entered my soul. Please bless me with the ability of not forgetting."            And then she repeated one of the stories I had told in my address.            The story was about a mother who lost her husband and eleven of her children in Auschwitz. She made aliyah but still had no peace. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't work. She couldn't come to terms with her fate.            She sought out a rebbe - perhaps he would offer her some consolation. She spilled out her heart and described each and every one of her children. The rebbe listened and wept with her. And then he said something amazing. "I think I saw someone among the newly arrived children now settled in a kibbutz who fits the description of your Dovidl."            The rebbe told her he would try to trace the lineage of that child.                A few days later the rebbe called. "I may have some good news for you," he said. Heart pounding, she returned to the rebbe's home - and there was her little boy.           "Dovidl, Dovidl," she shouted. "Mama, Mama" he sobbed as he ran into her arms. When the boy caught his breath he asked a painful question. "Whereis my father? Where are Moishele and Rochele?"  As Dovidl enumerated the names of all his brothers and sisters, he and his mother cried uncontrollably. They continued to weep long into the night.             As I told that story, I remarked to the audience that it occurred to me that Dovidl's children and grandchildren have no memory of those who preceded them. Similarly, we come to Israel, rush off the plane, pick up our luggage, and make our way to Jerusalem. And what do we think about?            We're busy asking ourselves and each other, "Where is a good place to eat?" "Any new restaurants around?" "Did you try out that new hotel?" Is it worth it the price?"            But do any of us ask, "Where is the Beis HaMikdash?" Does anyone really miss the Beis HaMikdash? Does anyone search for it? Does anyone even think about it? Does anyone even want to remember?           The girl who stood before me begged with tears, "Please, Rebbetzin, give me a berachah that I should never forget to cry for the Beis HaMikdash. I'm so afraid I will forget and become oblivious to its loss. I do not want to be like Dovidl's children."           I could only look at her. She had taken my breath away. I couldn't recall anyone ever asking me for such a berachah - to be able to remain constantly aware of the Beis HaMikdash and, yes, to weep for it.            For thousands of years we prayed, wept, and hoped for Yerushalayim. To see Yerushalayim again, to behold the rebuilt Beis HaMikdash, has always been the center of all our prayers. At our weddings, in the midst of our joy, we break a glass to remember our Temple that is no more. When painting our homes we would leave a small spot empty to remind us that no home can be complete if the Beis HaMikdash has not been rebuilt.            We have a thousand and one reminders in our prayers, in our traditions, in our observance, that constantly recall to us Jerusalem and the Holy Temple. And yet, now that we have Jerusalem again we have somehow forgotten our dream - our Beis HaMikdash that we prayed for and continue to pray for.            Sadly, our prayers for the Temple have become just words recited by rote. And here comes a young woman new to our faith and she seeks a blessing not for a shidduch, not for parnassah, not for good health, nor for personal happiness - but for the ability to shed tears and yearn to see the Beis HaMikdash rebuilt. Should that not give us all pause? Should that not make us think and consider?           Should we not ask again and again and still again, "Where is the Beis HaMikdash?" I know I miss it so. Even when I'm in Jerusalem my joy is not complete - and it won't be until the shinning crown of the Holy City is with us once again and I see its glory restored.

Words from the Heart / An article by Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis

REBBETZIN'S JEWISH PRESS COLUMN

Words From The Heart

Editor's Note: Rebbetzin Jungreis, a"h, is no longer with us in a physical sense, but her message is eternal and The Jewish Press will continue to present the columns that for more than half a century have inspired countless readers around the world. ************ Words From The Heart           Every Jew, if approached with the right attitude - i.e., with love and sincerity rather than judgment and condescension - can be touched and inspired. This truth is not magic, but rather based on the Divine revelation at Sinai when for all eternity the voice of G-d penetrated every Jewish neshamah.             Many years ago I was on a flight home from Portland, Oregon. My children were still small, and whenever I accepted an out-of town speaking engagement I made certain to catch a "red-eye" flight so that I could make it back in time to give them breakfast and see them off to school.           I always found those out-of-town talks exhilarating. To see people who were alienated and assimilated become involved and committed has always been to me a most electrifying and awesome experience. That night in Portland was no exception. There were many questions, and I tried to stay as long as I could before dashing off to the airport. By the time I boarded the plane, I felt drained and exhausted. I just wanted to close my eyes and catch some sleep. Luckily, the plane was half empty, so I asked the stewardess for an extra pillow and blanket.           I was on the verge of dozing off when a young man approached. I was really too tired to talk to anyone, but, then again, maybe he was someone who had to be reached.           "Are you from Portland?" he asked.           "No, I'm from New York," I replied, " but I was speaking there."           "Where were you speaking?"           "At a local synagogue."           "I don't get involved in any of that stuff."           "Are you Jewish?"            "I guess I am."           "You only guess?"           "It's an accident of birth. Doesn't affect my life one way or another."           Our conversation was interrupted by a stewardess who was distributing the midnight snacks.            "Jungreis," she said, reading the label. "I have you down for kosher. And what would you like to have?" she asked, turning to him.           "I'll take ham and cheese," was his answer.           "You can't have that," I interrupted.           "What do you mean, I can't have it?  It's my favorite sandwich."           "But you told me you're Jewish."           "So what!"           "So what? You must be kidding. You signed a contract - you sealed a covenant at Mount Sinai that you wouldn't eat that stuff. You were there. All Jewish souls that were ever to be born were there. As a matter of fact, looking at you now, I think I remember you. We all pledged to uphold the covenant."           He looked at me in disbelief. "Lady, you know something? You need help, and I mean serious help!"            And with that he picked himself up, walked back toward his seat, and told the stewardess as he passed her in the aisle, "That woman is off the wall!"           For the remainder of the flight, he didn't look my way.           At JFK we met once again at the baggage carousel and he said to me, "You know, what you said is nuts!"          "Listen," I told him. "My name is Esther Jungreis. Here is my card. I have an organization called Hineni, which means 'Here I am,' ready to serve my people and my G-d. We remind people of that covenant sealed at Sinai. You can check it out. It's all documented in a book called the Torah. The whole story can be found there. You will see. You really were there. If you need help in your search, let me know. I'd be more than happy to show you."          "I bet you would! But I'm running from you as fast as possible!" And with that, he turned his back and went to find his suitcase.           I returned to my home and daily routine. The children were waiting. My husband had just returned from the synagogue, and we caught up on the latest events. The phone rang. I had classes to prepare, the house had to be put in order, and I completely forgot that chance encounter in the sky.           Several years later, I was teaching my class at Hineni when in walked a man wearing a black rabbinic hat and coat.          "Rebbetzin," he said, "do you recognize me?"          "You look familiar" (my stock answer for anyone I don't really recognize and don't want to offend).          "We go back a long way," he said. "How about Portland, Oregon - the 'red eye'?"           It all came back to me. "You can't be that guy!"          "I am," he said, smiling. "I never forgot your words. As much as I wanted to dismiss them as pure insanity, they bothered me. It took me a while to work it out, but eventually I did check out the Torah, and you were right. I was there. I signed a contract, I sealed a covenant, and now I've come to you because I'd like you to find me a girl who was also there."          Today, my friend from the "red eye" is the proud father and grandfather of children who live by our Torah and mitzvos.          What is the secret behind this transformation? How does it all happen?          The answer is simple. It can be found in the eternal promise of G-d: "Zos brisi" - "This is My covenant with them," said Hashem, "My spirit that is upon you, and My words that I have placed upon your lips, shall not depart from your lips, nor from the lips of your children or your children's children from this moment and forevermore."          Thousands of years have passed since that promise was made. During that time, we have traversed the four corners of the world. We have experienced every form of oppression, torture, and slaughter. Many of us saw sons and daughters disappear through assimilation. Many of us forgot our past. But the covenant of G-d was more powerful than any material forces. Not only are we here, it can take just a second for the promise of G-d to transform us - and overnight our neshamahs soar to the loftiest heights.          So never remain silent. Reach out to your brothers and sisters, kindle the spark in their souls, and bring them home to our Heavenly Father.

Holocaust Memorial Day in Israel

Today is the Holocaust Memorial Day in Israel. Lots of sad songs on the radio; lots of videos and written testaments of survivors, who slowly perish from this world due to their old age. A sad day. Whenever I hear those testaments, I cannot help but thinking of the chilling verses from the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 28, verses that sadly came true not only during World War II, but also during our almost 2000 year long bitter, bitter exile: "The Lord will bring a nation against you from far away, from the ends of the earth, like an EAGLE swooping down, a nation whose language you will not understand, a fierce-looking nation without respect for the old or pity for the young... "

More chilling verses from this chapter here:

"If you do not obey the Lord your God and do not carefully follow all his commands... you will become a thing of horror to all the kingdoms on earth. Your carcasses will be food for all the birds and the wild animals, and there will be no one to frighten them away... day after day you will be oppressed and robbed, with no one to rescue you... You will build a house, but you will not live in it... Your sons and daughters will be given to another nation, and you will wear out your eyes watching for them day after day, powerless to lift a hand... A people that you do not know will eat what your land and labor produce, and you will have nothing but cruel oppression all your days. The sights you see will drive you mad... The Lord will drive you and the king you set over you to a nation unknown to you or your ancestors... You will become a thing of horror, a byword and an object of ridicule among all the peoples where the Lord will drive you... You will have sons and daughters but you will not keep them, because they will go into captivity... The Lord will bring a nation against you from far away, from the ends of the earth, like an eagle swooping down, a nation whose language you will not understand, a fierce-looking nation without respect for the old or pity for the young... You who were as numerous as the stars in the sky will be left but few in number... The Lord will scatter you among all nations, from one end of the earth to the other... Among those nations you will find no repose, no resting place for the sole of your foot. There the Lord will give you an anxious mind, eyes weary with longing, and a despairing heart. You will live in constant suspense, filled with dread both night and day, never sure of your life. In the morning you will say, “If only it were evening!” and in the evening, “If only it were morning!”—because of the terror that will fill your hearts and the sights that your eyes will see."

All these curses came about in the place and time where many Jews tried with all their might to discard their Judaism, their Jewish identity, the Torah, their covenant with G-d. It started in Germany in the beginning of the 20th century, a place and time where the Haskalah movement was at its peak strength (Haskalah - Jewish "enlightenment" movement calling on Jews to discard the Torah, to become more German than the Germans, to stop believing in G-d). Sadly, all the threats that G-d threatened us with if we leave Him, happened then and there. 

Gladly, there are verses prophesying our redemption and consolation - the fulfillment of which we thankfully see these days (Ezekiel 36: 8-11 and many, many more). If anyone needs more proof to the existence of G-d and to the truth of the Torah, I guess every day in the unique, strange, incredible, improbable history of the Nation of Israel can provide ample proof for that.

In their memory.

Passover in Samaria

Passover lasted for a week. A week of not eating leavened bread and instead eating Matzah (unleavened bread), a week of occupying ourselves with the story of the Exodus from Egypt even more so than on regular days, a week of celebrating our first redemption as a nation and being grateful for our current redemption, a process that is going on and developing in front of our very eyes, in our day and age - the return of the Jews from all corners of the world to their ancient, G-d promised homeland.
On the week of Pesach (Passover) I make it a point not to work. My boss knows it, and she knows it is a matter of principle with me - I take my free days during Pesach and Succot, and except for thanking HaShem (G-d) for the job that he gives me, which I love and which allows me to pay my rent and buy food, I try not to think about work at all. The weather is perfect, the sky is blue, the flowers are in full bloom and it is perfect time to travel around our beautiful land, the land of Israel.

So last week I went on a special tour with a group of Zionist Jews from different parts of the world to visit special people who live in outposts in our ancient heartland of Samaria.
We met with Yael Shevach, a young woman, mother of 6 children, whose husband was murdered by a Muslim terrorist a few weeks ago. She lives in the Havat Gil'ad outpost, trying to raise her children on her own. She met us at the local synagogue and spoke with us. We expected to meet a broken woman, with signs of crying on her face. But instead, we met a strong, beautiful woman, radiating so much light, and full of faith and optimism. She told us what it is like to live in Havat Gilad, an unauthorized outpost on Jewish lands in Samaria (the lands were bought from the Arab owners by a Jewish man named Moshe Zar): for many years they had no proper electricity system, and no proper water system. They had to coordinate with the entire community who is going to use the washing machine when, so that all the other families would not use any electricity or water at that time, etc. Her husband used to do all the Jewish functions in the outpost: he was the Rabbi, the Mohel (the man who does circumcision for 8-day-old male infants), Sofer Stam (a special scribe who writes Torah scrolls, Mezuzahs, etc.). Now that he is gone, it takes a few people to replace him.
She told us of his devotion to people: On the eve of Rosh HaShanah, a big family holiday, a family called him and asked him to come to their house in another settlement to do a Brith (circumcision). If he went, he had to stay there for the whole holiday, because we do not drive cars on holidays. He agreed. His wife, Yael, and the children spent the holiday with Yael's parents in Kfar Saba. He went alone, without them, and spent the entire holiday with strangers, not with his family, only to fulfill the important Mitzvah of circumcision and to help others. When they asked him if he has a family and where they are, he said he has a big family and they are celebrating with his wife's parents. "Why didn't you bring them along?", they asked him. The answer was that he didn't want to impose on them having to host such a big family. On the day of the murder he went to visit the circumcised baby. On his way back home he was murdered by a terrorist. Such was the man - putting the good of others and G-d's commandments before himself and his needs. And Yael, his wife, is just the same. I took her contact details. If any of you are planning to visit Samaria, visiting Yael and other women like her is an option you may want to consider. To read more about the Havat Gilad outpost: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Havat_Gilad

We later visited another outpost, Aish Kodesh. Both these outposts, Havat Gilad and Aish Kodesh are sadly named after Jewish men who were murdered by hate-filled terrorists. The people in Aish Kodesh also hold on to the land against all odds, and without government authorization. Our government is secular in big part (this is the main reason why I do not vote for Netanyahu), and the fact that these settlers occupy the land, making it flourish and bloom, and clinging to G-d's word and Mitzvot (commandments) is just awe-inspiring. If I didn't love Jerusalem so much, which makes it hard for me to live anywhere else, I would have loved to live in one of these outposts, just to help the effort and give my share in making the divine prophecies come true.
Surprisingly enough, many Arabs are actually FOR these settlements and the right of the Jews over the land, including and especially over Judea and Samaria. The leftist Media would never show them or let their words be published, but they live here and they are our friends.

After visiting the outposts and traveling in Samaria, we visited Shiloh, a modern community named after the ancient town of Shiloh. There we saw the local synagogue, built and designed to look a lot like the Tabernacle that used to be there: the ark in which the Torah scrolls are placed looks like the Ark with the Ten Commandments in the Tabernacle; the Bimah (a podium for reading the Torah) looks like the Golden Altar; there are even 12 drawers, to remind us of the 12 trays with loaves of the Showbread; the entrance to the women's section looks like the ramp on which the Kohanim (Jewish priests, descendants of Aharon) walked up to the Altar. The whole building looks like a Tabernacle from the outside, but also from the inside. There are a few other things there that were designed like the original tabernacle. I know I have to go back there to see it in more detail. Those of you who read Hebrew can read more about it here: https://he.wikipedia.org/wiki/בית_הכנסת_זיכרון_משכן_שילה

Pesach is over, and I am back to work, which is a delight for me. But I am already thinking about the next trip. When I go, I'll try to write about it here.

Shavua tov (have a nice week!)
Revital