Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts

Monday, January 27, 2014

The Fifth Night of Chanukah


Normally, I would post this on my Facebook account, but this story is too long, so I'll do it here. I just heard a story from Rabbi Yossi Paltiel about a Jew (he was a nephew of someone called Rav Zemba) who came to the Rebbe's wedding in Warsaw.

At the farbrenging of the wedding, the Rebbe asked this Jew: "Why do we make such a big deal about Chanukah?" The Jew said he didn't know. The Rebbe said: "Because the fifth night of Chanukah cannot ever be Shabbos. So, it is the greatest darkness. And yet, the light of Chanukah is such that even the greatest darkness can be converted into the light — wherever you are, in Warsaw or in London."

So, this was a nice dvar Torah. The Jew went through the Holocaust and lost all his family. After the war, he came to New York and re-married to start a family anew. He met with the Previous Rebbe and told him: "You know, I've been by your middle son-in-law's wedding in Warsaw." The Previous Rebbe smiled and said: "Oh yeah? He is downstairs, you should go talk to him."

So, the Jew went and met the Rebbe, who, when he saw him, smiled and said: "Well, we meet again after twenty years. When two Jews who hadn't seen each other for a long time meet, they should say a dvar Torah. Now, do you know why we make such a big deal about the fifth night of Chanukah?"

The Jew almost fell from the surprise. The Rebbe continued: "Because the fifth night of Chanukah cannot ever be Shabbos. So, it is the greatest darkness. And yet, the light of Chanukah is such that even the greatest darkness can be converted into the light — wherever you are, in New York or in London."

After this meeting, the Jew moved to Canada and joined a Satmar community. He had children. And, living in Satmar community during the machloikes times, he heard the locals say that the Lubavitcher Rebbe mekarevs rishoim, and how terrible it is, etc. When it was time for his daughter to get married, he went to New York, to get a brocho from the Rebbe. The Rebbe's secretary didn't want to let him in, but the Jew insisted; he said he had already met the Rebbe twice, and that the Rebbe knew him and would be happy to see him. The secretary told him he can go in for one minute, but he should not ask any questions. Just get a brocho and leave.

So, the Jew comes in. And the Rebbe gives him a brocho for his daughter's wedding. The Jew then said that even though he was asked not to ask any questions, he had one question. The Rebbe replied: "Der Shver [the Previous Rebbe] sent you to me, so I have to answer any question you have." He wanted to know about what the Satmar Chassidim said about the Rebbe mekareving rishoim.

So, the Rebbe answered: "Look, if your neighbor's daughter does an aveira, will he abandon her, or will he say that she is his flesh and blood? All the Jews are the [Previous] Rebbe's children."

The Rebbe continued: "We meet again after twenty years. When two Jews who hadn't seen each other for a long time meet, they should say a dvar Torah. Now, do you know why we make such a big deal about the fifth night of Chanukah? Because the fifth night of Chanukah cannot ever be Shabbos. So, it is the greatest darkness. And yet, the light of Chanukah is such that even the greatest darkness can be converted into the light — wherever you are, in Toronto or in London."

The Jew returned to Canada. Some years later, he was planning to go to London to attend a wedding. And his neighbor came to him and told him that his daughter had ran away from the house and was living in London with someone not Jewish. So, when the Jew went to London, he contacted the local shliach, who got in touch with the daughter. She eventually replied that she wanted to come back, and wanted to get in touch with the Jew from Canada. He came in to the shliach's house and met the daughter, who was sitting there in a very emotional state. And when he looked up — he saw five Chanukah candles burning.

Ten years later, he went to the Rebbe, by the dollars, to get a brocho for his grand-daughter's wedding. He told the Rebbe the whole story. The Rebbe smiled and answered: "Der Shver [the Previous Rebbe] was looking far ahead."

Monday, July 11, 2011

Meriting Eliyahu



(a re-post)

The cartoon above is interesting, because it’s possible to interpret it in a number of ways. If you’re an eidel Jew, you can take what the cartoon says, and what the message of Baal Shem Tov was, literally: there is G-d (and Eliyahu) not just in sitting on your bench the whole day learning Gemara, but also in doing a mitzva, out there in the world. In other words, ein od milvado, without exceptions.

On the other hand, if you’re a grub apikores, it’s possible to say that revelation of Eliyahu and all that holy stuff is merely a metaphor for doing a good deed. As I was thinking while driving just now (incidentally, to do a mitzva), a religious scientist tries hard to see G-d in the world. A secular scientists thinks what he is studying is G-d. A chassidic scientist knows both of them are right. (A Lubavitcher scientists knows why and how they are both right.)

And so the lesson is (going back to the cartoon) that this is why Alter Rebbe created Chassidus Chabad. Because Ba’al Shem Tov’s Torah and its message, ein od milvado, are too eidel for a regular grub person. They need to be chewed; they need to be explained such that a person sees not Martin Buber’s version of Ba’al Shem Tov’s Chassidus, but, lehavdil, Torah version.

But another point is that there is an advantage in Talmud Bavli over Talmud Yerushalmi, even though that advantage comes as a result of a lower spiritual level. When a person comes into a lit room, he sees where the exit it and goes straight towards it. When a person comes into a dark room, he has to tap his way towards the exist. He taps, he taps, he taps. He gets to know every object in the room, intimately, by touch. Sure, it takes him longer to go through the room, but once he is through, he knows more about this room than about the lit one.

Therefore: when you have a question about something that the Rebbe did, don't hesitate to ask it.

More on the topic:
Love is Not Enough
Uniqueness of Chassidus Chabad

Thursday, April 15, 2010

In tandem



Recently, I have quoted to you a story about a young couple so engrossed in a conversation that they lost track of their surroundings. Here is a similar story, but with different details.

I just want to remark on the effect that marriage has on one. Before marriage, it is likely to be so focused on one’s date as to lose sense of one’s boat. After the marriage, it becomes more likely to become focused on one’s bicycle and ignore the loss of one’s wife.

Other remarks, such as one regarding men and female dresses, are also true.

Actually, last summer, when I was in Catskill Mountains, I saw a young Breslover couple (a man and a woman) on a tandem bike. They seemed to be enjoying themselves quite a bit. As I continued going downhill (this was in the Lake Minewaska area), I saw another, slightly less enthusiastic couple: a large yeshivish-looking fellow, in a suit, going up the hill, accompanied by another yeshivish man of much thinner complexion. The men were eying people coming down the hill suspiciously, but seeing a kindred spirit in me (I was wearing my beard that day), asked me how far to the top.

And now the story:

Common sense is most uncommon...

... and eidelkeit is even more so.

I've heard recently that the Frierdiker Rebbe wrote in the description of his grandmother, Rebbetzin Rivka, the wife of Rebbe Maharash, that she had six children, and nobody in the home ever raised a voice. The parents never raised their voices at the children, the children never raised their voiced at their parents, and the children never raised their voices at each other. [Saying that the parents never raised their voices at each other is unnecessary.] Why? Because they were afraid? Because they were refined people.

This is what is fascinating about this parsha. Parshas Tazria talks about the concept of ritual impurity. It is a very eidel subject. To understand this subject, a person must be above viewing the world and Yiddishkeit in purely physical terms. And “physical” doesn't mean just physical pleasures or physical phenomena. “Physical” also means interpreting something spiritual as a metaphor only, without seeing the ruchnius in the concept — the literal, “mamosh”, ruchnius.

To appreciate these concepts, a person needs to be refined. And one thing about a person who is not refined is: he doesn’t know he is not refined. You tell such a person that listening to a certain kind of music, reading certain kind of literature, consuming certain food or drink makes him less refined, and he says: “Why? Where? I don’t see it.” Of course he doesn’t see it. A person who is used to eating at McDonalds doesn’t appreciate the difference between fast food and fine food anymore.

Rabbi Paltiel says: an eidel person speaks softly. Someone who speaks loudly and makes grub jokes doesn’t understand what is wrong with him. He doesn’t understand why it makes the other person uncomfortable. He says: “You’re afraid of your own shadow.” The other person is not afraid; he just finds grubkeit distasteful.

This is the difference between tikkun ha’middos through derech of Chassidus and through other means. By learning Chassidus, through exposure to G-dliness, the person becomes more refined himself and gains a deeper insight into eidelkeit, on all levels. To such a person saying that one should be sensitive to another human being is not necessary. Such a person doesn’t need to force himself to stop over-indulging in physical pleasures or to stay away from a bad company: he is naturally repulsed by such things.

I find this story, which I received today through e-mail, fascinating:
The chossid Reb Peretz Chein would often use the following משל at farbrengens: The chefs in the Czar's royal kitchen were busy preparing a lavish meal of stuffed calf for the visiting Kaiser William of Germany, the Czar's relative. Their efforts were very successful, and the Kaiser highly praised the dish, asking for the recipe so that his cooks would be able to serve him this extraordinary delicacy. The Czar ordered the chief chef to write a detailed list of ingredients and instructions, and Kaiser William left Russia for Germany looking forward to having such a delightful meal again. As soon as he arrived home, the Kaiser handed the recipe to his chef, asking him to prepare it for dinner. When the kitchen doors opened and the carefully prepared dish was served to the eagerly waiting Kaiser, he cried out, "What an unpleasant odor is coming from the food!" and the platter was quickly removed from the table.

Quite disappointed, Kaiser William wrote to the Czar demanding to know why his chefs could not produce the same delicacy, although they had carefully followed the recipe. The Czar asked his chef for a possible explanation, and after thinking for a moment, the chef burst out laughing: "It's quite simple! I hadn't included in my instructions that the intestines be burned inside out and washed thoroughly before being spiced and stuffed. It seemed unnecessary to mention something so obvious, but apparently it wasn't so obvious to the German chefs."
Of course, it is possible for a person to learn Chassidus for 25 years or more and still remain unrefined. Regarding this, the e-mail says:
The Frierdiker Rebbe said: Chassidus must make one into a chossid with chassidishe middos; otherwise, it can be called "חכמה" but not "חסידות". The path of chassidus is a broad and paved path; it is the fault of those young chassidim who learn chassidus in self made ways, that the clear path of chassidus is blocked. This is the result of learning without עבודה. [...]

Reb Lazer, one of the Alter Rebbe's chassidim, once stopped a yungerman who was walking down the street holding his tallis bag. "What are you thinking about now?" he asked. When the young man did not answer, he continued, "I'll tell you. You are thinking that though currently you are not conducting yourself in a manner that chassidus expects of you, when you will grow older, you will surely live up to those expectations. Well, I too entertained such thoughts when I was young, but experience has taught me that I was wrong! One must put effort into ’עבודת ה from a young age."

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Be balanced; importance of emunas tzaddikim


(Frierdiker Rebbe)

I am reminded this morning of the following statement by the Kotzker Rebbe:

“A gutter iz a nar. A klugger iz an appikores. Un a frummer iz a rasha. Alle drei tsuzammen — a shtikel mentch.” — “A good person is a fool. A smart person is a heretic. And a religious person is cruel. All three together — you got yourself a mentch.”

Meaning, if you’re a kind person without intelligence or piety, you’ll be taken advantage of. If you’re a smart person without piety or kindness, you’ll analyze everything to the point of every idea crumbling into ashes and become a heretic, and if you’re pious, but not kind or intelligent, you’ll judge everyone and everything too severely. Combine them — and you have a chance to pass as a functional Jew.

* * *

 Another story which I am reminded of this morning is about talmidim of Baal Shem Tov, sitting around the table, listening to him giving kavanos for tkias ha’shoifer (blowing of the shofar) and mikveh. Then the students realized that what Baal Shem Tov was teaching contradicted the teachings of Arizal. None of them said anything, of course, and Baal Shem Tov himself didn’t say anything. One of Baal Shem Tov students, Reb Nochum (incidentally, a grandfather of Rav Nachman Breslover), who was a tzaddik gomur, found himself falling asleep. (The reason it’s mentioned that he was a tzaddik gommur, is that if normally he wanted to stay awake, his body could not tell him otherwise. So, this was not a normal occasion.)

As he fell asleep, he saw a dream. He was in Gan Eiden, and all the souls were running. He stopped one and asked: “Where is everyone running?”, and the soul answered: “What do you mean? Reb Yisroel Baal Shem Tov is going to give a chiddush in Torah.” So, Reb Nochum followed the souls and arrived at the place, where his teacher was standing and giving a lesson identical to the one Reb Nochum saw in the physical world.

Then, a young man with a black beard stood up and started arguing with Baal Shem Tov. And Baal Shem Tov argued back. After a while, the young man said: “You are right” and sat down.

At that moment, Reb Nochum woke up. Baal Shem Tov looked at him, smiled, and asked: “Nu? Ver iz gerekht?” (“Nu? Who is right?”)

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Something in the air

As is well known, Alter Rebbe had three cheiderim: from Aleph to Gimmel. Cheider Aleph was more complicated than Beis, and Beis than Gimmel. Talmidim from a lower cheider were naturally not allowed to sit on the classes of a higher cheider. But the opposite was  also true.

One chossid from the cheider Aleph really wanted to hear what Alter Rebbe was teaching in the cheider Gimmel. So, he bribed some of the talmidim there (with promises of Chassidus) to sneak him in. He hid under a table. Then it turned out that Alter Rebbe was being delayed. So, he said: “I am going to sleep here in the corner; when the Rebbe enters the building, wake me up.”

After a while, Alter Rebbe suddenly entered the building, and the talmidim hurriedly woke the chossid up. He didn’t have time to wash nigleh vasser, but since one is not necessarily obligated to do so after having slept during the day, he just went back to his hiding place under the table. Alter Rebbe came in and immediately said: “Oy, there is ruach tumah in here.” The chossid jumped out from under the table and ran out.

* * *

A similar story had happened to Alter Rebbe himself. One year in Mezeritch, he didn’t have a metal cup for the seider. So, he kashered a glass cup by filling it up with water and letting it sit for a day and then repeating it two more times. According to most opinions — but not all — that is ok.

Then, when the seider was about to start, the Maggid was hesitant. He was waiting and waiting, and finally got up and started walking around. He came to Alter Rebbe and asked him about the origins of the cup. Alter Rebbe told him. The Maggid said: “There is a malach standing next to me and not allowing me to start the seider. He says that according to some, there is chometz on my table. Please throw this cup away — I will share my cup with you.”

This part of the story is my favorite: “According to some, there is chometz on my table.”

Friday, April 2, 2010

The hat

From here:
In the last years, when the health of the Rebbe [Rayatz] was far from perfect, a certain public functionary once arrived in the middle of the week, not at the regular time for yechidus, in order to speak with the Rebbe. When I entered the Rebbe [Rayatz]'s study in order to inform him of his arrival, the Rebbe stretched out his hand to put on his hat, an effort which cost him considerable exertion. I assured the Rebbe that it would not matter to that functionary if he would receive him with only a yarmulke on his head.

“But to me it does matter,” replied the Rebbe.
I think there are multiple ways of understanding this story and multiple lessons that can be drawn from it. One of which is: Hashem may be ok with you saying a brocho or davening to Him without a second head covering (He will still accept you prayers). But you shouldn’t be.

(This reminds me of a story about the Kotzker Rebbe, iirc. He always knew what his chassidim’s thoughts were, and if someone at his tish had bad thoughts, the Rebbe would scream at him. So, one time a chossid had a bad thought in the presence of the Kotzker Rebbe and immediately regretted it, anticipating being screamed at. But then he thought: “Hashem surely knows my thoughts too. And yet He seems not to mind. Why then does the Rebbe mind?” The Kotzker Rebbe answered: “Hashem can take it. I can’t.”)

This does not just apply to the hat, by the way (and also with the hat, it’s not about the “shtick”, but about what stands behind the hat). And not just to davening. Hashem is rachamim, merciful. He will tolerate all kinds of behavior. But each one of us should be disgusted with himself for taking advantage of that.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Listen to the Rebbe

Thanks to TRS for sending me this link. Interesting story there:
When the Alter Rebbe sent the manuscripts of the Tanya to be printed, he instructed the chassidim charged with that mission not to show the text to anyone. The chassidim, however, met a very great sage (his name was forgotten), and showed him the manuscripts. He perused them and was overcome with awe. Holding them in his hand, he exclaimed: “How illuminating! How illuminating!” Chassidim would say that with these words, he removed the light from the Tanya. Its inner G-dly power did not shine forth as forcefully and its intellectual dimension was emphasized.
While I don’t necessarily object the intellectual dimension being emphasized, this is a cautionary tale for those who reveal something (even if it’s true) that the Rebbe asked not to reveal. This should suffice for those of understanding.

For those without understanding who wear yellow flags: I am talking about you.

(Recently I was asked if I was “neutral”. I answered that I was “drive”.)

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A pretty cool story

It has a Canadian rabbi, a Russian Jewish taxi driver, and a Czech dynasty called Uzhik. What could be better?

Read here.

Friday, May 1, 2009

Of branches, Galileo, and overcoats

http://www.bloomsbury.com/images/Authors/Small/1844.jpg

One my favorite pieces of literature. Not for those afflicted with ADD.

From: Die Geschichte von Herrn Sommer (The Story of Mr Sommer) by Patrick Süskind, translated to English by yours truly (I preserved the grammar, punctuation, style and the sentence structure — or what passes for it in this piece).


In the times when I still climbed trees — it was a long time ago, years and decades back, and I was barely above one meter tall, wore shoes of the twenty eighth size [my shoes are of the fortieth size — CA] and was so light that I could fly — no, I am not lying, I really could fly — or, at least, almost could fly, or let’s say it better: at that time it was certainly within my power to do so, if I were to very firmly desire it and try to do it, because... because I remember vividly how one day I almost flew, how it was in autumn, the same very year I started school and was returning on that day home, and the wind was so strong that I, without spreading my arms, could lean against it at the same angle as a skier, or even a larger angle, without fear of falling... and when I then ran against the wind, down the hill from the school mountain — for the school was on a small hill by the village — and slightly pushed away from the ground and spread my arms, the wind immediately caught me, and I could make without slightest effort jumps two-to-three meters high and ten-to-twenty meters long — or, perhaps, not quite so long and not quite so high, but what difference does it really make? — in any event, I was almost flying, and if only I unbuttoned my overcoat and took its tails in my hands and spread them out as wings, the wind would fully pick me up in the air, and I would with absolute ease glide down from the school mountain over the valley towards the forest, and then over the forest down to the lake, near which our house was standing, to the utter amazement of my father, my mother, my sister and my brother, who were already too old and too heavy to fly, then make an elegant turn over the garden only to glide back over the lake, almost reaching the opposite shore, and, finally, calmly coast back over the air and still be home in time for dinner.

But, I did not unbutton my overcoat and did not fly up in reality. Not because I was afraid to fly, but because I did not know how and where I would be able to land, and whether I really could land. The lawn in front of our house was too hard for landing, the garden was too small, the water in the lake was too cold. To lift off — that was no problem. But what about coming back down?

With climbing trees I had the same situation: climbing up was not problematic in the least way. I saw the branches in front of myself, I felt them in my hands and could test their hardness even before I lifted myself and then put my foot on them. But when I was climbing down, I did not see everything and was forced to find, more or less blindly, the branches below me, until I found a proper support — except, oftentimes, the support was not so firm, but rotten and slippery, and then I would slip or fall through, and if I did not have a chance to catch some branch with both hands, I would fall down as a stone does, according to the so-called laws of falling bodies, discovered already almost four hundred years ago by an Italian scientist Galileo but still acting even today.
[...]

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

A story about James Joyce

http://englishfootballpost.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/james_joyce.jpg

At a certain point in his life, the Irish writer James Joyce became disillusioned with Catholic Christianity and had a crisis of faith (mostly spiked by him finding a certain ritual involving crackers, wine and other bodily fluids very silly), as a result of which he left the church (yes, I know it’s supposed to be capitalized, but not on my blog).

A friend of his asked him then: “So, are you going to become a Protestant?” Joyce answered: “I told you that I’d lost my faith. I did not say I’d lost self-respect.”

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Of cookies and red-blooded Englishmen


(The man who first made me an atheist and then a chossid)

A story by Douglas Adams that I particularly like:

Cookies

This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person is me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I’d gotten the time of the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table. I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase. It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies. You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know… But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do aclue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought: What am I going to do?

In the end I thought: Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought: That settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie. Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice…” I mean, it doesn’t really work.

We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back.

A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies. The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who’s had the same exact story, only he doesn’t have the punch line.

— From The Salmon of Doubt

Monday, April 20, 2009

Of shoes, corkscrews and bittul



A friend of mine said: “Shoes are directly related to self-esteem”.

In Lubavitch, we spit at self-esteem. Who are you? You are a nobody. You are a vessel for Hashem’s work in this world. Sure, a vessel must be fitting. A shoichet’s knife must be sharp. A writer’s keyboard must be crisp. An electrophysiologist’s pipettes must be well-pulled. A Jew must not look like a shlepper. But to go beyond that and give a special touch to one’s look where it goes beyond your mission? The external looks are for beheimos. For the beheima within yourself (your nefesh ha’bahamis) and for the beheimos outside who look at you and whom you are trying to influence. It is important not to identify with either of them.

A story from Frierdiker Rebbe’s diary:
For Passover of 5650 [1890] — I was several months short of my tenth birthday at the time — a new suit of clothes was made up for me, together with a brand new pair of shoes.

In my hometown of Lubavitch, the preparations for the festival were conducted in a meticulous and thorough manner. On the day before Passover, a strict procedure was followed: first, all chametz was searched out and eradicated from the yard, chicken coop, and stable. The caretaker, Reb Mendel, was busy with this for a good part of the night before and followed up with a double-check in the morning. Then, the chametz was burned, following which we would go immerse ourselves in the mikvah, dress for the festival, and bake the matzas mitzvah for the seder. Finally, there were always the last-minute preparations to be taken care of.

Among these final odds and ends was a job entrusted to me: to remove the seals from the wine bottles and to partially pull out the corks. The latter was a most challenging task, for one had to take care that the metal of the corkscrew should not come in contact with the wine.

That year, I was busy at my appointed task in my father’s room. I went about my work with great caution, careful not to dirty my new suit and, most importantly, not to dull the shine on my new shoes.

My father noticed what was uppermost in my mind and said to me: “The Alter Rebbe cites the following metaphor: A great nobleman sits at a table laden with all sorts of gourmet dishes and delicacies. Under the table lies a dog, gnawing a bone. Can you imagine the nobleman climbing down from his chair and joining the dog under the table to chew on a luscious bone?”

My father’s words so affected me that I was ashamed to even look at my new clothes.

This is education.
There is another story about bittul. A few old men are sitting and repeating: “Ich bin gürnischt, Ich bin gürnischt.” (“I am nothing, I am nothing”). A young man walks in and starts mocking them: “Ich bin gürnischt, Ich bin gürnischt”. One of the old men looks up and says to the young man: “Du bist takeh gürnischt” (“You really are a nothing”).

It is important to be ayin, one with G-d and not giving any significance to one’s existence. But, at the same time, not to be takeh gürnischt. If Hashem cares about your existence, it means you must care too. But for the same reason that Hashem cares.

The saying “Ein am ha’aretz chassid” (“An ignoramus cannot be a chossid”) is well known. One has to be a scholar of Torah, an intelligent, educated and wise person (besides being humble) to be a chossid. One must, however, also be a mentch.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Of shidduchim, conversations and musketeers



A horror story to some, a funny story to others.

A friend of mine told me a story about his grandparents. His grandmother was a chatterbox. When she was going through a shidduch with his grandfather, he was very talkative too — so, the bride-to-be was happy: she had finally found someone she can have a nice talk with.

After they got married, the husband stopped talking. Initially she thought he was shy, or it was a shock from the wedding, new responsibilities, etc. But as the time passed on, the husband was talking as much as Grimaud (the servant of Athos from The Three Musketeers).

Eventually she asked him: why wasn’t he so talkative anymore? The husband answered: “I said everything I had to say.”

Update (for le7): And after that they lived for the rest of their happy lives in comfortable silence.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

A parable about geometric figures

A triangle and a circle were arguing what the leading geometric figure of the future will be.

They agreed that triangle has advantages, but so does the circle. One problem is: although superficially more attractive, the triangle is less stable. On the other hand, circle is, well, way too round. So, it was agreed that even though the circle will lose its current fundamentalism and become somewhat of an oval, the triangle will certainly not survive, at least in its current shape (no pun intended… I think).

Now, a complex 11-dimensional figure which was sitting nearby, overhearing the conversation, mumbled something like: “Don’t you guys realize that you both are flat and two-dimensional? I mean, three hundred years ago, such a conversation would be somewhat interesting, but today it’s just silly. No matter which one of you survives and in what shape, you will still remain flat.”

The two figures heard that and said: “This is why nobody likes you. You don’t even think of other geometric figures as geometric figures.”

The complex 11-dimensional figure responded: “Of course I do. I just think you lack some depth. (And maybe some more dimensions.)”

But, it was too late. The other two figures left to tell their friends of yet another example of a hating complex 11-dimensional figure.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

“Every year, before the New Year, we go to bath”

A funny story by Mrakobez, a Jewish variation of a famous Russian movie. About jealousy, mikveh, New Year and hippies.

Well, a somewhat sad story actually. One woman in my family was never jealous of her husband. Why? It was said that you could leave him in a dark room alone with three women and nothing would happen.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka

In the honor of the Rebbetzin’s yortzeit, a nice collection of stories about her.
A bochur once saw the Rebbetzin carrying bags and and took them for her. When he brought them in, the Rebbetzin gave him a bar of chocolate. To which he said: “I was raised in a chassidic home and was taught to do a mitzvah bishlaimus and not take a reward.” The rebbetzin replied: “Mir hot men oich gehodevet in a chassidishe shtub, un men hot mir gelernt az men git nemt men ubifrat shokolad [I was also raised in a chassidic home and I was taught that when given something one should take it, especially chocolate]”.

Monday, February 9, 2009

What do you have in your hand?

A few weeks ago, my rabbi talked about a story he read in one journal about a Rosh-yeshiva who always had some dirt in his pocket to remind him where he came from and where he is going to.

A couple thoughts regarding this:

1. That’s wonderful. Oftentimes we get so fixated on the personalities of the gedoilim, tzaddikim and rebbeim that we forget that their greatest achievement was to be battul to Eibeshter. (And don’t make a mistake now. We are takeh gürnischt. They were ayin.)

2. There is a picture (which I couldn’t find unfortunately) of the Rebbe walking out of 770 on the way to his car. He is holding something in his hand. It’s not dirt. It’s coins for the little children to put in tzedakah.

Your avoidah is important. But there is something else besides your personal growth in Yiddishkeit, in your learning, observience of mitzvos, davening, middois. There is the goal. “עלה במח' ורצון הפשוט: אנא אמלוך” — “It arose in His simple though and desire: I will be King”.

Our goal is make it happen.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Dead pages of Gemara

http://www.ashvilart.com/High%20Resolution/46.jpg

It is amazing how Frierdiker Rebbe’s stories are no less important and poignant today than they were 100 years ago in his time, or 300 years ago in Baal Shem Tov’s time.

There are two types of people who learn Gemara on a subway. Those who elevate the subway and those that lower the Gemara. How do you know which one you belong to? Are you learning Hashem’s Will and Wisdom or are you learning a detective story about oxes and cows?

Alter Rebbe writes in one of his letters that one who lacks bittul, whenever he doesn’t understand something in a work of nigleh — he is right, and the seifer is wrong. When a chossid doesn’t understand something — he is wrong, and the seifer is right. This, the Rebbe says, is what Ramac (Reb Moiseh Cardovero) meant that someone who doesn’t learn pnimiyus of Torah (Kabbala — and, in our times, Chassidus) is a heretic. What he meant is that he has a very good chance of becoming a heretic.

Knowing Shas be’al’peh never prevented someone from becoming an apikoires. It is very difficult to see how someone can learn in depth and understand Chassidus Chabad and not see Hashem in Torah and in the world.

Now, on with The Making of Chassidim:

They had been singing for quite some time when Reb Mordechai reached a high level of excitement and began to deliver a fiery lecture on the subject of "a mitzvah done without its inner intent is like a body without a soul."

In concise terms, Reb Mordechai explained to them what avodah is all about; for without avodah, all the Torah that they studied and all the mitzvos that they did amounted to no more than lifeless corpses.

"A vast cemetery!" declared Reb Mordechai, looking at the young scholars, including Reb Sholom Ivansker's sons-in-law, and particularly at the foremost scholars among them. "A vast cemetery filled with the corpses of your dead pages of Gemara is what you've built up in the World of Truth. You lead the sages of the Talmud around bound up in the chains of your vanity and arrogance.

"The only thing any one of you is concerned with is that people acknowledge that you are right; each one desires to be known as the foremost scholar; none of you cares about the true essence of Torah - that the Torah is the Word of G-d. How much longer will this sinful situation continue? Young fellows," the maggid cried out in a tearful voice, "take pity on yourselves and on your own souls that have entered your bodies to perfect the world around you.

"[It is written]: 'Bathe yourselves and purify yourselves, ... study well, seek out justice.' [The meaning is] 'bathe yourselves' - wash away your haughty spirits; 'purify yourselves' - become cleansed of your arrogance; 'study well' - put your soul into your study; 'seek out justice' - apply whatever you study in judging your own conduct, and determining whether your behavior conforms to the character traits demanded by the Torah you are studying."

Reb Mordechai related how the Baal Shem Tov had sent a great scholar and tzaddik, the Rabbi of a large congregation, to a butcher, to learn the trait of fearing G-d; another great scholar and tzaddik, who had lived a solitary and chaste life for many years, was sent to the shammes of a beis hamedrash to learn the trait of humility.

"The Rebbe," said Reb Mordechai, "is very fond of the simple Jews, with their unpretentious davening and Tehillim. The Rebbe, the Baal Shem Tov, says that the most unsophisticated Jew is an eternal, untapped treasury of faith and trust in G-d, and possesses the finest character traits."

All the while Reb Mordechai was speaking, Reb Chayim sat and wept silently. Reb Mordechai's lecture comparing mitzvos without their inner intent to a body without a soul affected him greatly. Having sat for so many years in the grave diggers' beis hamedrash, and having attended so many funerals (may we be spared), an image of the faces of several corpses had remained engraved upon his mind. Now when Reb Mordechai compared study without vitality to a corpse without a soul, and he spoke about the cemetery of the dead pages of Gemara that they had studied, Reb Chayim was deeply moved.

In his imagination he pictured the cemetery for the pages of the Gemara, and a chevrah kadishah of angels performing the funeral rites for the dead pages. As Reb Mordechai continued speaking, Reb Chayim, lost in the crowd and crammed among the people, continued to weep. The more Reb Mordechai spoke words of arousal, the more bitterly Reb Chayim cried. When Reb Mordechai reached the part about "take pity on yourselves and on your own souls, that have entered your bodies to perfect the world around you ... bathe yourselves ... purify yourselves," Reb Chayim began weeping violently; this made a deep impact upon all who were present in the beis hamedrash.

Most of the people assembled in the beis hamedrash took special delight in Reb Mordechai's stories about how the Baal Shem Tov held simple Jews in such high esteem, and even sent great scholars to simple Jews so they could learn good character traits from them. The Baal Shem Tov's saying, that "Every Jew, even the most unsophisticated, is an eternal untapped treasury of innocent faith and trust in G-d," became etched in everyone's mind and heart.

Suddenly, Reb Mordechai remembered where he had been at that same time a year earlier, and he began singing a passionate niggun, one of those that were regularly sung at the Baal Shem Tov's table. This particular niggun was called the "Search and Find" niggun. It consists of three movements, and each movement contains three themes. The first theme of the first movement of the "Search and Find" niggun depicts a mood of solitude, creating an image of someone sitting isolated in a field deeply hidden among the mountains, next to a blue stream of running water. In the distance, at the other end of this valley, appears a rocky precipice upon which a few sparse trees grow; here, the singer sits alone and sings his song of solitude.

The second theme depicts a mood of introspective meditation; the solitary singer becomes more introverted, debating with himself and subjecting himself to rigorous self-examination. The longer he sings, the more deeply introverted his thoughts become; he is dissatisfied with himself, and begins to discover certain flaws in his own character. Now comes the third theme, in which the singer breaks into weeping - at first silently, but becoming progressively more intense.

The niggun's second movement also contains three themes; although they differ in sequence and key, they possess a common motif: a song of searching and of longing. This movement creates an image of a person searching for some elusive object for which he longs. Suddenly, he perceives a ray of hope, a promise that he will eventually find the thing for which he seeks and craves; but this ray of hope evaporates, for it turns out that the object is not what he was hoping for after all. Once more, he becomes submerged in melancholy, until finally he finds the thing he has been seeking.

Then comes the niggun's third movement, also containing three themes. The overall mood of this movement begins in a joyous mode, with a beat that make one lift his feet to dance. As the niggun progresses, the beat becomes faster and more fervent, reaching a fiery crescendo that leaves the singer panting for breath. The music now consists of only a few isolated notes issuing forth from the depths of the heart, creating the impression of musical notes chasing after and desperately trying to keep up with the rapidly moving, feverishly dancing feet, and evoking images of the impassioned but content faces of the dancers.

This was the niggun that Reb Mordechai wished to teach the young folk and bochurim. To everyone's amazement, they assimilated the whole niggun after the first three repetitions, and by the fourth time the young folk were singing the song correctly by themselves. Some of the bystanders were able to join in with a few bars of the melody. When they came to the third movement, Reb Mordechai took hold of Reb Chayim and began to dance with him in earnest, requesting that everyone present join them in the dancing.

[Several generations later,] Reb Berel Ivansker related that whenever Hirshel, the son of Reb Sholom Ivansker, told the story of what happened in the large beis hamedrash on that night after Yom Kippur, it was a pleasure to listen. In spite of Reb Hirshel ben Reb Sholom's advanced age, he would demonstrate the brisk steps with which Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim had danced while singing the third movement of the "Search and Find" niggun.

Everyone was astounded that Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim were able to dance for so long, and with such a quick step that their slippers barely touched the floor. They were especially amazed by Reb Chayim's performance, for he was no more than skin and bones. It was obvious that they were possessed by some supernatural power. Everyone else, including the youngest, had collapsed like bundles of straw, and they lay there drenched with perspiration, without a drop of strength remaining, but Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim were still dancing. Their faces were flaming red, their eyes shut, and their hot breath - along with extremely rapid panting sounds - issued from their mouths. Finally, Reb Chayim began to waver and drop, and a few of the bystanders caught him and led him to a bench to rest.

Reb Mordechai managed to continue dancing a bit longer, but then he emerged from his deveikus and inquired what time it was. Upon learning that it was almost two o'clock in the morning, he sighed and went into to his private room, saying that it was time to recite Tikkun Chatzos.

Friday, February 6, 2009

“I envy you”

The famous story about the Rebbe and a guy who had a non-Jewish girlfriend. Parts 1 and 2.