In the early 1950's, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, dispatched a number of Rabbis and their families to go out into the world on a mission to help guide Jews, who had drifted away from their roots, back toward a more Torah-centered life. These first few emissaries planted the seeds of a movement that has blossomed into the largest Jewish outreach organization in the world. These selfless men and women have introduced countless educational programs throughout the world that have helped hundreds of thousands of Jews rediscover their Jewish roots and traditions. Little did I know that 50 years after the first Shluchim left the comfortable surroundings of Crown Heights, New York, that the Rebbe's hope and vision for the Jews of the world would help the spiritual seeds of Torah flourish in my own family.
As a young boy growing up in Connecticut my family didn't have a lot of money, but the one currency that was abundant was love and affection. My Dad and I have always had a strong, close knit relationship. From an early age we did everything together. He taught me to ride a bicycle on the front lawn of our home. He taught me the proper direction to push a lawn mower when mowing the grass. He nailed a basketball hoop to an old oak tree in the front yard and taught me the fine art of shooting a foul shot. Later in life, when I became a homeowner, he showed me how to fix a leaky faucet, install a garbage disposal and paint the outside of a house. Mine has been a life filled with numerous memories of my father teaching me the secrets a son needs to know in order to effectively navigate the seas of life. As I write this I just tuned 50 and Dad is about to turn 76. As I look back on our journey, the one thing I can't remember is Dad and I going to Shul on Shabbos. As a child I can remember going to Shul on Yom Kippur, I know I played a great Mordechai during a Purim play and Dad was certainly there on my bar mitzvah. But other than those cherished memories I don't remember Dad and I ever going to Shul on Shabbos.
In 1983 I moved to Palm Springs, California and a friend of mine introduced me to a young Chabad Rabbi named Yonason Denebeim. It was Rabbi Denebeim who first planted the spiritual seeds that would eventual grow and flourish within me many years later. During the entire time I lived in Palm Springs Dad and I never went to shul together. When I moved to Wilmington, Delaware Rabbi Chuni Vogel lovingly cultivated the spiritual seeds that Rabbi Denebeim had carefully nurtured for the better part of ten years. My journey in Delaware awakened a spiritual awareness and joy that I previously would have thought impossible. During that entire time Dad and I never went to shul together. When I asked him if he'd like to go with me he would tell me that he supported my spiritual journey but his experience in shul as a boy had left him with a negative memory and he just didn't want to go and he didn't want me to press him on the issue. Respecting my Dad's wishes, I didn't push him.
When we moved to Salem, Oregon I'd ask him if he wanted to go to shul with me in Portland and meet Rabbi Wilhelm. He once again politely declined. While I was disappointed, I recognized that life is a journey and things can dramatically change right around the next bend. If I've learned anything from the Chabad Rabbis I've met, it's everyone travels at their own speed and one has to have patience as well as commitment. So I waited for a time when my Dad and I could go to shul together and he could experience the joy and fulfillment I've discovered over the years.
When we moved to Reno, Nevada my journey took me to the steps of Chabad of Northern Nevada and I met Rabbi Mendel Cunin. Since my parents spend summers with us, they are exposed to many Chabad sponsored activities. Sometimes they go and other times they don't, but the Rabbi always invites them. In addition, by virtue of their presence in our home, they either actively or passively watch and or participate in the Jewish activities in our home, i.e., saying Kiddush before dinner on Friday night, putting on Teffilin in the morning, walking to Shul on Shabbos, lighting Shabbos candles and more.
During their last visit we were all sitting around the Shabbos table one Friday evening when my Dad said he'd like to go with me to Shul the next morning. He told me that he had only one condition and that was he did not want an Aliyah. He said he was glad to go but under no circumstance did he want to get up in front of the crowd and have to do anything. Figuring, this was all part of the journey, I quickly agreed. The next morning we left the house, walked down the mountain and arrived at the Shul a few minutes before the start of services. When we walked through the front entrance I shared my Dad's wish with the Rabbi and he also agreed. As the morning davening progressed I was dismayed to see that the service would be one of the longest of the year because not only was that morning's parsha the longest of the year, we were also going to bless the new month. Since this was Dad's first time in Shul in many years, I was concerned the long service would negate his experience and this visit would be his last. To top it off, the temperature as we walked home was a blistering 92 degrees.
I figured that was it, no more Shabbos services for Pops. During lunch, to my delight and surprise, he said he thought he did pretty well for the first time and was confident he'd feel more comfortable next week. "NEXT WEEK," my mind screamed out! I didn't think there'd be a next year, let alone a next week. To make a long story short, the next week turned into many weeks as the summer progressed. Every Saturday morning Dad and I walked down the mountain, walked into the shul and Dad greeted Morris with a good Shabbos, and Ken with a good Shabbos, and Aaron with a good Shabbos and then took his seat.
As the men would go up to the bema to say the blessing before the reading of the Torah, I'd look over and see Dad reading the blessings found in his Chumash. Several weeks later I overheard Dad practicing the blessings out loud in his room. I ran in and yelled, "You're a sandbagger, you're a sandbagger." His rendition of the blessings was perfect. He had led me to believe that he couldn't read them very well but his rendition was perfect. We laughed as my Mother came into the room and asked why I was raising my voice. I explained and she joined in on the laughter. I said, "Pops, you told me not to push you, but you just read those blessings as well as anyone in Shul, I really wish you would reconsider your position on the matter." He smiled and said, "let's go watch the Olympics on TV."
The next week, Reno celebrated a momentous occasion. Almost a year before, our congregation had commissioned the creation of a new Torah. The scribe was due to arrive in a few days with our brand new Torah and the entire Jewish community was a buzz with the thought of its pending arrival. The day the scribe and the Torah arrived was one I will never forget. When my family and I arrived at the Shul the place was packed, the local newspaper was present and you could cut the excitement with a knife. When the sofer wrote down the last letter of the Torah, blew on the ink, and stood up from the table, the entire congregation burst into a joyous song. The rest of the evening is a blur as we danced with the Torah, celebrated and came together as a community.
That night we returned home Dad looked at me and said, "I can't believe I had such a good time. I am almost 76 years old and I've never seen a night like this. I feel really comfortable with this congregation." I had to smile because if I've learned one thing from the Chabad Rabbis over the years, it's everyone travels at their own pace on their spiritual journeys and when it is time to go to the next level, they will know it. I looked at Dad and said, "Well maybe its time for your first Aliyah." He said, "Maybe you're right." That was good enough for me. I went to see Rabbi Cunin the next day and told him Dad was ready.
That Shabbos morning I awoke full of anticipation and excitement. As Dad and I walked down the mountain we talked about anything and everything but we never mentioned the Aliyah. When we walked through the front door of the shul, Dad greeted everyone with a good Shabbos and took what was now his regular seat. As we worked our way through the first part of the service my heart was racing. When it finally came time to read the Torah my heart was pounding in my ears. The first man went to the bema and said the blessings and the Rabbi read the first Aliyah. The second man went up and he too said the blessings and the rabbi read the next Aliyah. The next thing I heard was Rabbi Cunin calling Moishe Pincus ben Eleazer to the Torah. Pops looked at me, stood up and walked to the bema. I followed and stood a few inches away to provide moral support. Looking like an old pro, Dad took the end of his tallis, touched the first and last word of the Aliyah, grabbed the handles of the Torah and chanted the blessing Jewish men have been saying for the last 3200 years. After the Rabbi completed the Aliyah, Dad once again brought the handles together and chanted the last blessing. When he was done he leaned over, and with a twinkle in his eye he said, "Piece of Kugel!"
More than 50 years after the Rebbe sent his first emissaries to plant the seeds of Yidishkeit in the hearts of Jews around the world, on one special Shabbos, in the Biggest Little City in the World, one of the millions of spiritual seeds planted long ago burst forth and brought a loving family even closer to Torah. There is no doubt in my mind that somewhere on high in heaven, the Rebbe and my proud Grandpas Charlie, Fritz, and Lou raised a glass and said "l'chaim."
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
A 191 Year Old Reservation for Ten
Thirty-eight years after America won its independence from Britain, a publisher of Jewish books in Zurich Switzerland printed a book of Mishnias, the written account of the oral Torah, which defines the meaning of biblical laws. Printed in vivid colors and bound in a grand cover, it must have looked spectacular when it first rolled off the state of the art Gutenberg press.
At some point in time, over 191 years ago, a relative of mine bought this book and took it to his home to study. What happened to the book for the first one hundred and twenty-five years remains a mystery to my entire family to this very day. What we do know for sure is that at some point in his life, the book fell into the hands of my Great Uncle Ben. During his long lifetime my great uncle held myriad jobs, including working as a poultry farmer, a master mechanic and a sales person. Unfortunately life was difficult and challenging for Uncle Ben and he never pursued a life of Jewish study and scholarship and the book which must have been studied by countless individuals over it’s lifetime was stored away in a dark, dusty closet in the back of his home.
For more than 75 years this book, that is the basis for much of the legal systems around the secular world, remained hidden from view. Wars were fought, American President’s were elected, the state of Israel was established, children were born, young boys and girls had their bar and bas mitzvahs, and all the while the book sat patiently in the dark gathering dust and the present became the past.
At the ripe old age of 89 Uncle Ben passed away leaving behind his wife of 69 years and a modest home. My Uncle Mel and my Dad lovingly assisted their Aunt with pressing matters and eventually helped her find a beautiful place to live at a nearby assisted living community. When they went to her home to help her get her affairs in order they found the majestic old book in the back of the dark, dust-filled closet. Literally blowing the dust of the book, my Dad carefully examined the pages of the ancient manuscript. Since it was printed entirely in Hebrew it was a challenge to decipher.
His Aunt’s medical condition precluded him from questioning her about the book so he carefully packed it up and sent it to me, telling me to speak with the local Chabad Rabbi Mendel Cunin. When the box containing the treasure arrived at my home my wife Linda carefully cut through the yards of duct tape my Dad used to secure the box, and she carefully lifted it out of the container. Recognizing how frail it was she put it in a safe place and waited for me to return home later that day.
When I first saw the book I immediately thought it was a Chumash. But after a closer examination I realized it looked very much like the text we use in Shul when we study the Gemorah. Given the age of the book and its importance I looked forward to bringing it to the Rabbi for a closer inspection.
A day later I received an e-mail from the Rabbi informing our small but growing congregation that someone’s mother had passed away and he needed 10 men for a minion so he could say Kaddish. I decided to bring the book to Shul and show it to the Rabbi before the start of the Maariv service. When the Rabbi saw the book he of course knew that it was a book of Mishnias and told me it was at least 191 years old. He showed me how the pages were actually made from cloth, not paper, and that it was in remarkable shape for such an old manuscript.
A few minutes later the service began and we joined in to support our friend and neighbor in his time of need. Towards the end of the service the Rabbi stopped us and said it was a tradition to study from the Mishna when a member of the minion had to say Kaddish.
Catching my eye he said, “Rather than use a new book of Mishnias let’s use the one Steve brought with him tonight, a book that is over 191 years old.” And with that he picked up the book written just a few years after the signing of the American Declaration of Independence and discussed a passage about hunting for chametz before the start of Passover.
When he was done he slowly and tenderly closed the text and gingerly handed it back to me and we concluded the service. The next morning we met again so our friend could once again say Kaddish. Before we started we talked about the book and how wonderful it was that after all these years in seclusion it once again was used as a source of learning and inspiration. The Rabbi said the letters that make up the word Mishna are the exact same letters that make up the word Neshoma, the soul. He went on to say that both the Torah and the Neshoma are eternal.
His words tore through me like an electric charge, for each letter, word, sentence, paragraph, and chapter of the Torah are indeed eternal. The words we read today are the exact words our people heard when we all stood before Hashem at Mount Sinai and received the Torah. Handed down generation after generation these words that bring light to the world have never changed and never will. It is a constant that has united the Jewish people for centuries. And now hundreds of years after it was first printed, and at least three decades after it was stored away in a dark, dusty storage closet, the words of wisdom and enlightenment once again had an opportunity to illuminate the minds and souls of a congregation in the “Biggest Little City in the World” Reno, Nevada.
This exquisite book originally printed in 1814, has impacted many souls since a family member first acquired it so many years ago. Since that first printing it has passed from hand to hand, from relative to relative, it has been transported thousands and thousands of miles, it has resided in many different cities from Zurich, Switzerland, to Waterford, Connecticut and now Reno. And yet, more than 191 years, after the ink first caressed the pages of this very special book, it arrived just in the nick of time to comfort a grieving son and his friends in a little Shul in Reno, almost as if it had a pre-destined 191-year-old reservation to join a minyon of ten.
Coincidence, I think not.
At some point in time, over 191 years ago, a relative of mine bought this book and took it to his home to study. What happened to the book for the first one hundred and twenty-five years remains a mystery to my entire family to this very day. What we do know for sure is that at some point in his life, the book fell into the hands of my Great Uncle Ben. During his long lifetime my great uncle held myriad jobs, including working as a poultry farmer, a master mechanic and a sales person. Unfortunately life was difficult and challenging for Uncle Ben and he never pursued a life of Jewish study and scholarship and the book which must have been studied by countless individuals over it’s lifetime was stored away in a dark, dusty closet in the back of his home.
For more than 75 years this book, that is the basis for much of the legal systems around the secular world, remained hidden from view. Wars were fought, American President’s were elected, the state of Israel was established, children were born, young boys and girls had their bar and bas mitzvahs, and all the while the book sat patiently in the dark gathering dust and the present became the past.
At the ripe old age of 89 Uncle Ben passed away leaving behind his wife of 69 years and a modest home. My Uncle Mel and my Dad lovingly assisted their Aunt with pressing matters and eventually helped her find a beautiful place to live at a nearby assisted living community. When they went to her home to help her get her affairs in order they found the majestic old book in the back of the dark, dust-filled closet. Literally blowing the dust of the book, my Dad carefully examined the pages of the ancient manuscript. Since it was printed entirely in Hebrew it was a challenge to decipher.
His Aunt’s medical condition precluded him from questioning her about the book so he carefully packed it up and sent it to me, telling me to speak with the local Chabad Rabbi Mendel Cunin. When the box containing the treasure arrived at my home my wife Linda carefully cut through the yards of duct tape my Dad used to secure the box, and she carefully lifted it out of the container. Recognizing how frail it was she put it in a safe place and waited for me to return home later that day.
When I first saw the book I immediately thought it was a Chumash. But after a closer examination I realized it looked very much like the text we use in Shul when we study the Gemorah. Given the age of the book and its importance I looked forward to bringing it to the Rabbi for a closer inspection.
A day later I received an e-mail from the Rabbi informing our small but growing congregation that someone’s mother had passed away and he needed 10 men for a minion so he could say Kaddish. I decided to bring the book to Shul and show it to the Rabbi before the start of the Maariv service. When the Rabbi saw the book he of course knew that it was a book of Mishnias and told me it was at least 191 years old. He showed me how the pages were actually made from cloth, not paper, and that it was in remarkable shape for such an old manuscript.
A few minutes later the service began and we joined in to support our friend and neighbor in his time of need. Towards the end of the service the Rabbi stopped us and said it was a tradition to study from the Mishna when a member of the minion had to say Kaddish.
Catching my eye he said, “Rather than use a new book of Mishnias let’s use the one Steve brought with him tonight, a book that is over 191 years old.” And with that he picked up the book written just a few years after the signing of the American Declaration of Independence and discussed a passage about hunting for chametz before the start of Passover.
When he was done he slowly and tenderly closed the text and gingerly handed it back to me and we concluded the service. The next morning we met again so our friend could once again say Kaddish. Before we started we talked about the book and how wonderful it was that after all these years in seclusion it once again was used as a source of learning and inspiration. The Rabbi said the letters that make up the word Mishna are the exact same letters that make up the word Neshoma, the soul. He went on to say that both the Torah and the Neshoma are eternal.
His words tore through me like an electric charge, for each letter, word, sentence, paragraph, and chapter of the Torah are indeed eternal. The words we read today are the exact words our people heard when we all stood before Hashem at Mount Sinai and received the Torah. Handed down generation after generation these words that bring light to the world have never changed and never will. It is a constant that has united the Jewish people for centuries. And now hundreds of years after it was first printed, and at least three decades after it was stored away in a dark, dusty storage closet, the words of wisdom and enlightenment once again had an opportunity to illuminate the minds and souls of a congregation in the “Biggest Little City in the World” Reno, Nevada.
This exquisite book originally printed in 1814, has impacted many souls since a family member first acquired it so many years ago. Since that first printing it has passed from hand to hand, from relative to relative, it has been transported thousands and thousands of miles, it has resided in many different cities from Zurich, Switzerland, to Waterford, Connecticut and now Reno. And yet, more than 191 years, after the ink first caressed the pages of this very special book, it arrived just in the nick of time to comfort a grieving son and his friends in a little Shul in Reno, almost as if it had a pre-destined 191-year-old reservation to join a minyon of ten.
Coincidence, I think not.
Rain Couldn't Dampen the Joy of Shabbos
With elderly parents, every moment spent together should be treated as a wonderful and treasured gift. So it was with great anticipation that my wife Linda and I awaited the arrival of my parents for their annual three-month visit this past summer. Usually they come see us in December and January so they can escape the frigid winters of Connecticut. But this year Mom and Dad decided to come and see us in the summer so they could enjoy the cobalt blue skies, lush green mountains and awe inspiring beauty of the Reno/Lake Tahoe area.
Although I grew up in a very warm and loving home, our family wasn't very observant. Yes my parents made sure my brother Lou and I went to Hebrew school and yes we both struggled through our Bar Mitzvahs. But as soon as we uttered the last "Amen" at our Bar Mitzvahs, we were both out the door. Although it feels like I discovered Chabad of Delaware a lifetime ago, it really has only been eight years since Rabbi Vogel and his family helped me get started on my spiritual journey.
During that time my parents have visited Linda and me quite often. They've watched as I learned to put on Teffilin in the morning, daven three times a day, say Kiddush on Shabbos and walk to Shul on Shabbos morning. In the beginning they were a little concerned about the changes they saw in my life style. No more lobster bisque, no more cheeseburgers and no more tee times on Saturday mornings. But they also saw that I laughed more, I was much less stressed when I came home from work and I was a more loving husband and dad then in previous years. As I became more observant, I became a much more relaxed and happy person. As the years rolled by, Mom and Dad moved from sitting on the sidelines and watching from a distance, to asking questions about what I was doing and why I was doing it. Slowly but surely my parents became more and more comfortable with the changes in my life. Today they totally support my involvement with Chabad and the more observant lifestyle I've adopted. So it was with great anticipation that we awaited their arrival.
My parents arrived on a Wednesday afternoon. We picked them up and then promptly went off to see Lake Tahoe. After several days at the Lake we came home for Shabbos. That night I witnessed something I hadn't seen during the entire 49 years since I took my first breath of life. Shortly before sunset I called out to my wife Linda and said we had to light the Shabbos candles in a few minutes. She said, "Don't worry, Mom and I have them all ready." Now my Mom has stood beside Linda on numerous occasions and watched her light the candles and say the blessing welcoming in the Shabbos. On a number of occasions she has also lit candles and read the blessing in English. So I was absolutely stunned when I walked into the kitchen and handed my Mom a prayer book, so she could read the blessing in English, when she laughed and said, "I don't need that Son." And with that, she covered her head, lit the candles and chanted the blessing in Hebrew.
Now that might not be a big deal to most, but in my home it was nothing short of a Shabbos miracle. My Mom, who had never spent a minute of her life in Hebrew school, had taught herself the blessing in Hebrew and had been lighting candles every Friday night for the past year. When I asked her how this had happened, she just smiled and said, "What's the big deal? It's a piece of kugel!" That evening was the best Shabbos dinner I've ever had. The light that emanated from those Shabbos candles illuminated every corner of the house. They were the first candles I had ever seen my Mother light using the ancient and poetic language of Sarah, Rebecca and Miriam.
The next morning, my heart aflame with joy over my Mother's actions the night before, I walked down the mountain to Shul, thanking Hashem for allowing me to share this precious moment with my Mom. As I walked to shul the words of Rabbi Vogel echoed in my mind. He once told me that we never know who is watching and observing us when we fulfill a mitzvah. He said, "You might not think anyone is watching when you wear your tzitzit to shul, or you daven in an airport or you wear your kippa while pumping gas. But in many cases someone is watching and observing what you are doing and may be inspired to try something new based on your one simple act." He emphasized that, "You never know when a fellow Jew may be watching you complete a mitzvah. That one mitzvah may be enough to give them courage to take the next step on their own spiritual journey."
When I finally arrived at shul I told my friends about my Mom's actions the night before. They all agreed that it was a wonderful moment for my entire family. A few moments later our Rabbi Mendel Cunin called us together and we started davening. Several hours later, I began the journey back up the mountain road to my home. As I arrived at the half waypoint, the beautiful blue sky suddenly clouded up and became dark as night. The wind started to howl and the rain came down in violent sheets, seemingly from every direction at once. Within three short minutes I was soaked to the skin and absolutely miserable. The wind was blowing, I was wet and freezing and all I wanted to do was get home. Each step was a struggle. Suddenly out of nowhere a non-Jewish neighbor of mine drove by and waved. Seeing that I was soaked to the skin he motioned that he was going to turn around and come pick me up. For the first time in a very long time, I seriously contemplated getting into the car and accepting the ride home.
"Who'd know?" I asked myself. "Just this once," I rationalized. Just as I turned around to wait for my neighbor, a huge ten-wheeled truck pulled up next to me. On the side of the truck was an enormous sign that said, "Vogel Floors." As I stared up at the rolling billboard directly in front of me, my eyes locked on the words VOGEL. With the rain pouring off every part of my body my neighbor pulled up and said, "Steve, hop in and get out of the rain." Absent-mindedly I placed my hand on the door handle; all the while my eyes never left the word VOGEL. As if I had just touched a hot coal, I quickly pulled my hand away from the door and thanked my neighbor for their kindness and declined the offer. "I'll walk," I said. "It's only another mile."
He shook his head in wonderment and drove off. Simultaneously, the big truck fired up its engine and it too rolled off, disappearing into a blinding sheet of rain. "VOGEL Floors," I said over and over again as I walked through the rain. I couldn't help but think that this was either an incredible coincidence or a very special gift from Hashem. Since I don't believe in coincidence, I thanked Hashem for placing the name of my friend and spiritual mentor on the side of the truck and helping me make the right decision. Buoyed by this memorable experience I literally danced up the hill.
In the short span of about 18 hours I had seen and experienced two unforgettable moments. The first illustrated the long term results a simple but important Mitzvah like lightening the Shabbos candles can ultimately produce. The second reinforced some wise advice Rabbi Vogel once gave me. One night during a torrential downpour in his Succah, when all I wanted to do was get out of the rain and finish the meal in the house, he told me, "Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a Mitzvah had to be easy."
We are faced with numerous, and sometimes difficult decisions, each and every day of our lives. At the end of the day we also have to live with the resulting consequences of those decisions. Getting into the car and getting out of the rain would have provided momentary relief from an uncomfortable situation. But the warmth and joy generated from making difficult, and at times uncomfortable decisions, can illuminate ones life and refresh ones soul a thousand times over.
Coincidence...I think not!
Although I grew up in a very warm and loving home, our family wasn't very observant. Yes my parents made sure my brother Lou and I went to Hebrew school and yes we both struggled through our Bar Mitzvahs. But as soon as we uttered the last "Amen" at our Bar Mitzvahs, we were both out the door. Although it feels like I discovered Chabad of Delaware a lifetime ago, it really has only been eight years since Rabbi Vogel and his family helped me get started on my spiritual journey.
During that time my parents have visited Linda and me quite often. They've watched as I learned to put on Teffilin in the morning, daven three times a day, say Kiddush on Shabbos and walk to Shul on Shabbos morning. In the beginning they were a little concerned about the changes they saw in my life style. No more lobster bisque, no more cheeseburgers and no more tee times on Saturday mornings. But they also saw that I laughed more, I was much less stressed when I came home from work and I was a more loving husband and dad then in previous years. As I became more observant, I became a much more relaxed and happy person. As the years rolled by, Mom and Dad moved from sitting on the sidelines and watching from a distance, to asking questions about what I was doing and why I was doing it. Slowly but surely my parents became more and more comfortable with the changes in my life. Today they totally support my involvement with Chabad and the more observant lifestyle I've adopted. So it was with great anticipation that we awaited their arrival.
My parents arrived on a Wednesday afternoon. We picked them up and then promptly went off to see Lake Tahoe. After several days at the Lake we came home for Shabbos. That night I witnessed something I hadn't seen during the entire 49 years since I took my first breath of life. Shortly before sunset I called out to my wife Linda and said we had to light the Shabbos candles in a few minutes. She said, "Don't worry, Mom and I have them all ready." Now my Mom has stood beside Linda on numerous occasions and watched her light the candles and say the blessing welcoming in the Shabbos. On a number of occasions she has also lit candles and read the blessing in English. So I was absolutely stunned when I walked into the kitchen and handed my Mom a prayer book, so she could read the blessing in English, when she laughed and said, "I don't need that Son." And with that, she covered her head, lit the candles and chanted the blessing in Hebrew.
Now that might not be a big deal to most, but in my home it was nothing short of a Shabbos miracle. My Mom, who had never spent a minute of her life in Hebrew school, had taught herself the blessing in Hebrew and had been lighting candles every Friday night for the past year. When I asked her how this had happened, she just smiled and said, "What's the big deal? It's a piece of kugel!" That evening was the best Shabbos dinner I've ever had. The light that emanated from those Shabbos candles illuminated every corner of the house. They were the first candles I had ever seen my Mother light using the ancient and poetic language of Sarah, Rebecca and Miriam.
The next morning, my heart aflame with joy over my Mother's actions the night before, I walked down the mountain to Shul, thanking Hashem for allowing me to share this precious moment with my Mom. As I walked to shul the words of Rabbi Vogel echoed in my mind. He once told me that we never know who is watching and observing us when we fulfill a mitzvah. He said, "You might not think anyone is watching when you wear your tzitzit to shul, or you daven in an airport or you wear your kippa while pumping gas. But in many cases someone is watching and observing what you are doing and may be inspired to try something new based on your one simple act." He emphasized that, "You never know when a fellow Jew may be watching you complete a mitzvah. That one mitzvah may be enough to give them courage to take the next step on their own spiritual journey."
When I finally arrived at shul I told my friends about my Mom's actions the night before. They all agreed that it was a wonderful moment for my entire family. A few moments later our Rabbi Mendel Cunin called us together and we started davening. Several hours later, I began the journey back up the mountain road to my home. As I arrived at the half waypoint, the beautiful blue sky suddenly clouded up and became dark as night. The wind started to howl and the rain came down in violent sheets, seemingly from every direction at once. Within three short minutes I was soaked to the skin and absolutely miserable. The wind was blowing, I was wet and freezing and all I wanted to do was get home. Each step was a struggle. Suddenly out of nowhere a non-Jewish neighbor of mine drove by and waved. Seeing that I was soaked to the skin he motioned that he was going to turn around and come pick me up. For the first time in a very long time, I seriously contemplated getting into the car and accepting the ride home.
"Who'd know?" I asked myself. "Just this once," I rationalized. Just as I turned around to wait for my neighbor, a huge ten-wheeled truck pulled up next to me. On the side of the truck was an enormous sign that said, "Vogel Floors." As I stared up at the rolling billboard directly in front of me, my eyes locked on the words VOGEL. With the rain pouring off every part of my body my neighbor pulled up and said, "Steve, hop in and get out of the rain." Absent-mindedly I placed my hand on the door handle; all the while my eyes never left the word VOGEL. As if I had just touched a hot coal, I quickly pulled my hand away from the door and thanked my neighbor for their kindness and declined the offer. "I'll walk," I said. "It's only another mile."
He shook his head in wonderment and drove off. Simultaneously, the big truck fired up its engine and it too rolled off, disappearing into a blinding sheet of rain. "VOGEL Floors," I said over and over again as I walked through the rain. I couldn't help but think that this was either an incredible coincidence or a very special gift from Hashem. Since I don't believe in coincidence, I thanked Hashem for placing the name of my friend and spiritual mentor on the side of the truck and helping me make the right decision. Buoyed by this memorable experience I literally danced up the hill.
In the short span of about 18 hours I had seen and experienced two unforgettable moments. The first illustrated the long term results a simple but important Mitzvah like lightening the Shabbos candles can ultimately produce. The second reinforced some wise advice Rabbi Vogel once gave me. One night during a torrential downpour in his Succah, when all I wanted to do was get out of the rain and finish the meal in the house, he told me, "Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a Mitzvah had to be easy."
We are faced with numerous, and sometimes difficult decisions, each and every day of our lives. At the end of the day we also have to live with the resulting consequences of those decisions. Getting into the car and getting out of the rain would have provided momentary relief from an uncomfortable situation. But the warmth and joy generated from making difficult, and at times uncomfortable decisions, can illuminate ones life and refresh ones soul a thousand times over.
Coincidence...I think not!
Inspiration Times Three
Inspiration can come in all shapes and sizes. A few weeks ago, during a Fabrigin at Chabad of Northern Nevada, visiting Rabbi Shlomie Chein told us a story of a wagon driver who thought he had a mundane, uninspiring job. One day he went to his Rebbe for some words of inspiration, but when he finally met with the Rebbe he was so nervous, all he could say was, "I am a simple wagon driver." The Rebbe (Maharash) looked at the man and told him that his job affords him a unique opportunity each and every day to lift his eyes on high and see a reminder of G-d in everything he sees. Rabbi Chein went on to say that Synagogues have large windows so their congregations can easily see outside, and thus be consistently reminded of G-d whenever they are in Shul. Given the fact that our shul is located at the base of the magnificent Sierra Nevada Mountain range, the entire group seated around the table could relate to the Rebbe Maharash's insightful words. Despite the enormity of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range and the unmatched splendor of nearby Lake Tahoe, three of the most inspirational examples of Hashem's blessings in Northern Nevada may be Moshe, Chana and Rochel Cunin, four year old triplets and three of Rabbi Mendel and Rebbetzin Sarah Cunin's children.
Recently, on the first night of Pesach, when it came time for the Four Questions, the three popped up to stand on their chairs and beautifully and melodically chanted the questions that young Jewish children have been asking their parents for over 3315 years. The Cunin triplets are members of Northern Nevada's first-ever Jewish pre-school. Despite the fact that they cannot yet read or write, the triplets and their classmates have memorized myriad songs, prayers and passages as part of their daily lessons. Each member of this fledgling pre-school is an inspiration to their parents, friends and neighbors in our small Jewish community. Some of the parents of the students, who previously were uninterested or unaware of their Jewish heritage, have watched their children flourish in the warm embrace of the Gan Sierra Pre School and have started lighting Shabbos candles, eating kosher food and attending shul more frequently, as their tiny children inspire them to cultivate and build stronger Jewish roots at home.
During the Seder when the Cunin triplets stood up on their chairs, with smiles from ear to ear, and gleefully sang their songs and asked the Four Questions, I watched the reaction of the smiling adults around the packed room. It was as if each and everyone one of them were suddenly transported back in time, to a moment when they were the little ones standing on their chairs, singing for their Zaydes, Bobes, Moms and Dads. As Moshe, Chana and Rochel sang each question from memory, the adults at the table let their minds drift back to a much simpler, loving, inspirational time in their respective lives; a time when they were inspired to learn more about our Jewish roots, heritage and traditions. In today's busy world many of us think it is too late, too difficult, or to embarrassing to go back to our Jewish roots and explore and embrace the teachings of Torah, and to live more observant lives. But in reality, it is never too late to take the first step toward a more spiritual, Torah-based life. A simple call to any Chabad House in the world will be met with an open, sincere, accepting invitation to learn, at your own pace, information about your people, traditions, and rich heritage.
On the day before the first night of Pesach, a Reno resident sent a letter to our local newspaper, in which he questioned the ability of modern-day Jews to follow Torah mitzvahs in today's turbulent world. He made it clear that he felt the commandments Hashem gave to Moses and the Jewish people are simply too difficult, challenging and unrealistic for "modern" human beings to follow. He was arguing that people simply do not possess the capacity to follow 10 commandments, let alone 613. His letter made me realize that he obviously had never been to a Chabad House, that he had never sat down at a Shabbos table faintly illuminated by the ambient glow of burning candles, and that he had most definitely never seen three inspirational members of the Reno Jewish community, who because of their parents and wonderful teachers, demonstrate daily just how easily one can make Hashem's Commandments part of one's daily life.
The Cunin triplets serve as inspiration for our entire community. As I watched them at the Seder I asked myself, if three four year olds can learn to honor
Shabbat, eat Kosher food, say Kiddush, light Shabbos candles, celebrate Yom Tovs (holidays) wear tzitzit and a kippa and bench after meals, why is it so difficult for an adult to do so as well. If a four year old can see Hashem's wondrous hand in the world around them, why can't we? If a four year old can proudly jump up on their chair and belt out the Four Questions, why are we so frightened to let a boss know that we need several days off to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Pesach, Shavuous or Succoth? The truth is, a child rarely is embarrassed to try something new, listen to their parents or that little special voice inside their heads that begs them to do the right thing. It's only as adults that we stop listening to that little voice, our mentors, our parents and our families. We don't want to be embarrassed or admit our ignorance about subjects of which we are unfamiliar. Sometimes it takes a little inspiration to capture our attention, motivate us and refocus our efforts in the right direction.
As I said before, inspiration can come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes we can be inspired by the glories of nature. Sometimes by inspirational community leaders and sometimes by three small members of our community who live, breathe and sing the joys of their heritage. Over the course of the 90's, millions of people around the world watched Michael Jordan perform on the basketball court. Nike commercials proclaimed that everyone wanted to be "Just like Mike." I have to admit there were times when I too wanted to be just like Mike as well. But with all due respect to Mr. Jordan and the people at Nike, after spending time with, and watching the Cunin triplets this past Pesach, I think I'd like to be more like Moshe, Chana and Rochel!
Recently, on the first night of Pesach, when it came time for the Four Questions, the three popped up to stand on their chairs and beautifully and melodically chanted the questions that young Jewish children have been asking their parents for over 3315 years. The Cunin triplets are members of Northern Nevada's first-ever Jewish pre-school. Despite the fact that they cannot yet read or write, the triplets and their classmates have memorized myriad songs, prayers and passages as part of their daily lessons. Each member of this fledgling pre-school is an inspiration to their parents, friends and neighbors in our small Jewish community. Some of the parents of the students, who previously were uninterested or unaware of their Jewish heritage, have watched their children flourish in the warm embrace of the Gan Sierra Pre School and have started lighting Shabbos candles, eating kosher food and attending shul more frequently, as their tiny children inspire them to cultivate and build stronger Jewish roots at home.
During the Seder when the Cunin triplets stood up on their chairs, with smiles from ear to ear, and gleefully sang their songs and asked the Four Questions, I watched the reaction of the smiling adults around the packed room. It was as if each and everyone one of them were suddenly transported back in time, to a moment when they were the little ones standing on their chairs, singing for their Zaydes, Bobes, Moms and Dads. As Moshe, Chana and Rochel sang each question from memory, the adults at the table let their minds drift back to a much simpler, loving, inspirational time in their respective lives; a time when they were inspired to learn more about our Jewish roots, heritage and traditions. In today's busy world many of us think it is too late, too difficult, or to embarrassing to go back to our Jewish roots and explore and embrace the teachings of Torah, and to live more observant lives. But in reality, it is never too late to take the first step toward a more spiritual, Torah-based life. A simple call to any Chabad House in the world will be met with an open, sincere, accepting invitation to learn, at your own pace, information about your people, traditions, and rich heritage.
On the day before the first night of Pesach, a Reno resident sent a letter to our local newspaper, in which he questioned the ability of modern-day Jews to follow Torah mitzvahs in today's turbulent world. He made it clear that he felt the commandments Hashem gave to Moses and the Jewish people are simply too difficult, challenging and unrealistic for "modern" human beings to follow. He was arguing that people simply do not possess the capacity to follow 10 commandments, let alone 613. His letter made me realize that he obviously had never been to a Chabad House, that he had never sat down at a Shabbos table faintly illuminated by the ambient glow of burning candles, and that he had most definitely never seen three inspirational members of the Reno Jewish community, who because of their parents and wonderful teachers, demonstrate daily just how easily one can make Hashem's Commandments part of one's daily life.
The Cunin triplets serve as inspiration for our entire community. As I watched them at the Seder I asked myself, if three four year olds can learn to honor
Shabbat, eat Kosher food, say Kiddush, light Shabbos candles, celebrate Yom Tovs (holidays) wear tzitzit and a kippa and bench after meals, why is it so difficult for an adult to do so as well. If a four year old can see Hashem's wondrous hand in the world around them, why can't we? If a four year old can proudly jump up on their chair and belt out the Four Questions, why are we so frightened to let a boss know that we need several days off to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Pesach, Shavuous or Succoth? The truth is, a child rarely is embarrassed to try something new, listen to their parents or that little special voice inside their heads that begs them to do the right thing. It's only as adults that we stop listening to that little voice, our mentors, our parents and our families. We don't want to be embarrassed or admit our ignorance about subjects of which we are unfamiliar. Sometimes it takes a little inspiration to capture our attention, motivate us and refocus our efforts in the right direction.
As I said before, inspiration can come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes we can be inspired by the glories of nature. Sometimes by inspirational community leaders and sometimes by three small members of our community who live, breathe and sing the joys of their heritage. Over the course of the 90's, millions of people around the world watched Michael Jordan perform on the basketball court. Nike commercials proclaimed that everyone wanted to be "Just like Mike." I have to admit there were times when I too wanted to be just like Mike as well. But with all due respect to Mr. Jordan and the people at Nike, after spending time with, and watching the Cunin triplets this past Pesach, I think I'd like to be more like Moshe, Chana and Rochel!
Six miles: Just a Good Stretch of the Legs!
As I walked out the front door of our brand new house I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. I touched the mezuzah on the doorpost and strolled down the sidewalk leading to the road that runs by the front of my house. After traveling about three steps, my eyes began to tear up, my cheeks got bright red and my fingers felt like frozen hot dogs. “It must be 24 degrees out here,” I thought to myself.
When my wife Linda and I moved to Reno, Nevada we were fortunate to find a home that was located about two miles from the local Chabad Shul. Since we had never lived close to a Shul before, I was excited about the opportunity to enjoy a brisk Shabbos walk to Shul each week. Now it is not unusual for me to walk three and four miles when I exercise on my treadmill, so I knew a short two-mile walk to Shul on Shabbos would be a piece of kugel. However, I must admit, I never walk on my treadmill in 24 degree temperatures or when the wind is blowing like a small gale straight into my face. After walking another 100 yards I stopped and pondered the idea of turning around and driving to Shul. “Who’d know,” I asked myself. “You’d know,” I answered myself without hesitation.
As I paused to consider my situation my good friend Desmond Rothenberg suddenly popped into my mind. Des, as we like to call him, is the Gabbai of the Chabad Shul in Wilmington, Delaware. He’s the guy that gets to Shul early on Shabbos, makes sure all the seats are perfectly arranged, all the Siddurim are neatly stacked on the bookshelf and the Shul itself is ready for the minyon.
During my last visit to Wilmington, I attended the bar mitzvah of another good friend, young Dovi Vogel. It goes without saying that we had a wonderful time celebrating Dovi’s special day. Relatives and friends from around the world came to hear Dovi lead the davening, lane from the Torah and chant his Haftorah. After an afternoon of celebration and joy, the sun finally set, the stars illuminated the sky and those remaining at the Vogel home participated in the Havdalah ceremony to officially mark the conclusion of that Shabbos.
I had taken advantage of a great online deal and was scheduled to take a red-eye flight back to Nevada later that evening. As I was making my way to the front door I heard someone say, “It’s late, can someone give Des a ride home?” I had about four hours until my flight, so I gladly volunteered. I assumed he lived nearby, since he has been the Gabbai ever since I walked into the Chabad of Delaware Shul many years before.
Des and I jumped into my Ford Focus rental car and started our journey. The first mile went by and then the next. After three miles I said, “Des, have we missed a turnoff, we’ve gone more than three miles?” He laughed and said, “Steve its right up the road.” As we traveled through mile four I saw a sign on the side of the road that said. “Welcome to Pennsylvania.” “Welcome to Pennsylvania,” my mind shouted out! With the Delaware landscape rapidly disappearing in my rear view mirror I said, “Des where the heck do you actually live?” He replied, “I live about two more miles up the road. Go to the second street light and turn right and we’ll be there.”
Incredulously I asked, “You live six and a half miles from Shul and walk both ways every Shabbos?” “It’s just a good stretch of the legs Steve” he replied. When we finally pulled in front of his house I said, “Des, do you walk all this way, through two states, when it rains and snows as well?” He laughed and replied, “Well, when it rains or snows I just walk a little faster!” I looked at him and shook my head with astonishment and admiration. We shook hands goodbye, wished each other well and parted company. As he made his way to his front door I was awestruck by his commitment. Every Shabbos he walks 13 miles round trip, through two states and still manages to make sure the Shul is perfect before the rest of the congregation arrives. I on the other hand complain if my tea is a tad bit cold!
The memory of this encounter bombarded my brain, as I stood at the top of the hill in Reno feeling sorry for myself because my ears were a little frosty and the howling wind was mussing up my hair. I thought about Des and his unwavering commitment to his beliefs, his Shul and his friends. Des’ mantra “It’s just a good stretch of the legs,” was now my mantra. Inspired by his example I shrugged off the chill, blew on my hands and started down the hill. As inches became feet and feet became yards and yards became half miles, my body quickly warmed up. Arms and legs pumping like a member of the Chabad race-walk team, I found myself briskly covering the ground between my front door and the Shul.
Before you could say, “Please pass the kugel,” I was opening the door to the Shul. Standing there with a big smile on his face was Rabbi Mendel Cunin. He greeted me warmly and said, “Good Shabbos Steve. I looked out the side window and saw you walking briskly to Shul. Isn’t it a wonderful day for a good Shabbos walk?” Thinking of Des I said, “It was a good stretch of the legs Rabbi.”
After we concluded the Scharist davening Rebbetzin Sarah Cunin treated us to a sumptuous Kiddush. While munching on herring, a thick, steamy chulant and assorted other delights, Rabbi Cunin asked me to talk about my walk through the early morning frost. I related my story about my good friend Des and everyone marveled at his dedication. At the conclusion of the Kiddush I said Good Shabbos to one and all and made my way back up the hill.
I quickly found that walking down a two-mile hill is much easier than walking up a two-mile hill. Thanks to the spirit of Shabbos and my inspirational friend Des’ example, I eventually made it home. About two months later I was leaving Shul for my walk up the hill when a friend from our minyon stopped me and asked if there were any houses for sale in my neighborhood. I told him there were a number of very nice ones available at the moment. I reminded him that I lived about two miles away. He said that didn’t bother him and if he found the right place we could walk to Shul together. I wished him Good Shabbos and started up the hill.
As I made my way along the meandering streets that would eventually lead to my home, I marveled at the series of events that had recently transpired. A “chance” opportunity to drive a buddy home after a weekend of celebration and joy had, by its example, inspired friends and strangers thousands of miles away. Of course if you asked Des, he’d shrug it off and remind you that it’s nothing special, “Just a good stretch of the legs!”
When my wife Linda and I moved to Reno, Nevada we were fortunate to find a home that was located about two miles from the local Chabad Shul. Since we had never lived close to a Shul before, I was excited about the opportunity to enjoy a brisk Shabbos walk to Shul each week. Now it is not unusual for me to walk three and four miles when I exercise on my treadmill, so I knew a short two-mile walk to Shul on Shabbos would be a piece of kugel. However, I must admit, I never walk on my treadmill in 24 degree temperatures or when the wind is blowing like a small gale straight into my face. After walking another 100 yards I stopped and pondered the idea of turning around and driving to Shul. “Who’d know,” I asked myself. “You’d know,” I answered myself without hesitation.
As I paused to consider my situation my good friend Desmond Rothenberg suddenly popped into my mind. Des, as we like to call him, is the Gabbai of the Chabad Shul in Wilmington, Delaware. He’s the guy that gets to Shul early on Shabbos, makes sure all the seats are perfectly arranged, all the Siddurim are neatly stacked on the bookshelf and the Shul itself is ready for the minyon.
During my last visit to Wilmington, I attended the bar mitzvah of another good friend, young Dovi Vogel. It goes without saying that we had a wonderful time celebrating Dovi’s special day. Relatives and friends from around the world came to hear Dovi lead the davening, lane from the Torah and chant his Haftorah. After an afternoon of celebration and joy, the sun finally set, the stars illuminated the sky and those remaining at the Vogel home participated in the Havdalah ceremony to officially mark the conclusion of that Shabbos.
I had taken advantage of a great online deal and was scheduled to take a red-eye flight back to Nevada later that evening. As I was making my way to the front door I heard someone say, “It’s late, can someone give Des a ride home?” I had about four hours until my flight, so I gladly volunteered. I assumed he lived nearby, since he has been the Gabbai ever since I walked into the Chabad of Delaware Shul many years before.
Des and I jumped into my Ford Focus rental car and started our journey. The first mile went by and then the next. After three miles I said, “Des, have we missed a turnoff, we’ve gone more than three miles?” He laughed and said, “Steve its right up the road.” As we traveled through mile four I saw a sign on the side of the road that said. “Welcome to Pennsylvania.” “Welcome to Pennsylvania,” my mind shouted out! With the Delaware landscape rapidly disappearing in my rear view mirror I said, “Des where the heck do you actually live?” He replied, “I live about two more miles up the road. Go to the second street light and turn right and we’ll be there.”
Incredulously I asked, “You live six and a half miles from Shul and walk both ways every Shabbos?” “It’s just a good stretch of the legs Steve” he replied. When we finally pulled in front of his house I said, “Des, do you walk all this way, through two states, when it rains and snows as well?” He laughed and replied, “Well, when it rains or snows I just walk a little faster!” I looked at him and shook my head with astonishment and admiration. We shook hands goodbye, wished each other well and parted company. As he made his way to his front door I was awestruck by his commitment. Every Shabbos he walks 13 miles round trip, through two states and still manages to make sure the Shul is perfect before the rest of the congregation arrives. I on the other hand complain if my tea is a tad bit cold!
The memory of this encounter bombarded my brain, as I stood at the top of the hill in Reno feeling sorry for myself because my ears were a little frosty and the howling wind was mussing up my hair. I thought about Des and his unwavering commitment to his beliefs, his Shul and his friends. Des’ mantra “It’s just a good stretch of the legs,” was now my mantra. Inspired by his example I shrugged off the chill, blew on my hands and started down the hill. As inches became feet and feet became yards and yards became half miles, my body quickly warmed up. Arms and legs pumping like a member of the Chabad race-walk team, I found myself briskly covering the ground between my front door and the Shul.
Before you could say, “Please pass the kugel,” I was opening the door to the Shul. Standing there with a big smile on his face was Rabbi Mendel Cunin. He greeted me warmly and said, “Good Shabbos Steve. I looked out the side window and saw you walking briskly to Shul. Isn’t it a wonderful day for a good Shabbos walk?” Thinking of Des I said, “It was a good stretch of the legs Rabbi.”
After we concluded the Scharist davening Rebbetzin Sarah Cunin treated us to a sumptuous Kiddush. While munching on herring, a thick, steamy chulant and assorted other delights, Rabbi Cunin asked me to talk about my walk through the early morning frost. I related my story about my good friend Des and everyone marveled at his dedication. At the conclusion of the Kiddush I said Good Shabbos to one and all and made my way back up the hill.
I quickly found that walking down a two-mile hill is much easier than walking up a two-mile hill. Thanks to the spirit of Shabbos and my inspirational friend Des’ example, I eventually made it home. About two months later I was leaving Shul for my walk up the hill when a friend from our minyon stopped me and asked if there were any houses for sale in my neighborhood. I told him there were a number of very nice ones available at the moment. I reminded him that I lived about two miles away. He said that didn’t bother him and if he found the right place we could walk to Shul together. I wished him Good Shabbos and started up the hill.
As I made my way along the meandering streets that would eventually lead to my home, I marveled at the series of events that had recently transpired. A “chance” opportunity to drive a buddy home after a weekend of celebration and joy had, by its example, inspired friends and strangers thousands of miles away. Of course if you asked Des, he’d shrug it off and remind you that it’s nothing special, “Just a good stretch of the legs!”
A Yid with a Lid
There was a winter chill in the air when I stepped into the cab to make my way to the Reno/Tahoe Airport, to begin my daylong journey to my company's corporate headquarters in McLain, Virginia.
I had rushed out of the house so quickly that I had forgotten my coat and gloves. As the steamy breath flowed out of my mouth, I told myself this was not the way I wanted to start the day.
My plane was leaving at 6:00 am so it was way to early to start my morning davening. Since I had yet to daven on an airplane in front of strangers, I decided to wait until I arrived in Washington DC before davening. It would be a little late in the day but I figured it would be ok just this once.
Before boarding the plane I donned my kippa, pulled out my siddur and read the prayer for travelers, asking G-D's blessing during the trip. When I was done I noticed a rather smartly dressed fellow walk by wearing a brightly colored beret. I love wearing stylish looking hats but it is not every day that you see someone with such a “distinctive” looking chapeau on his head. As he walked through the terminal I noticed how proud he was of his beret and how he appeared to enjoy showing it off.
As I reached for my kippa, to tuck it away in my travel bag, I suddenly felt compelled to leave it on. I've had a lot of first since discovering Chabad, but I can honestly say I've never worn my kippa, outside of my home or shul, for any great length of time.
But watching the fella proudly wearing his beret made me think, “This was the day to wear it in public.” Filled with great trepidation over what my fellow passengers would think, I pushed my black kippa to the back of my head, like a confused cowboy, and boarded the plane. My plan was to wear it until I arrived in Denver and then take it off while running to my connecting flight.
The trip to Denver was a long two hours. I felt very self-conscious. I thought everyone was looking at me, judging me, laughing at me! In truth my fellow passengers were more interested in their morning copy of USA Today than they were about the "Yid with the Lid," but you don't always notice the truth when you are filled with anxiety.
As we approached the Denver airport a flight attendant informed us that the Denver to Washington DC flight was delayed 2 hours. Since it was only 9 am Denver time I suddenly had plenty of time for my morning prayers. After disembarking I strolled through the airport until I found a nice, quiet, private place to pray. When I was done, I carefully rewrapped my Teffilin, folded my tallis and put them away in my bag. As I reached up to grab my kippa and put it away, my friend with the brightly colored beret strolled by, walked over to the automated sidewalk and disappeared into the crowd.
I slowly withdrew my hand from my kippa and left it on my head. I figured if the guy still had his beret on, maybe I should leave my kippa on a little while longer as well. Walking to the gate I decided to leave it on until I arrived at my hotel room later that day. “Go for it Shlomo Yakov" I told myself, "make your dearly departed Great Grandfather Charlie proud.”
When I found my seat on my connecting flight there was an older, rather sad looking woman sitting in the seat next to mine. We exchanged "good mornings” and got ready for take off. As the flight attendant showed us how to buckle our seat belts, I quietly asked if there was anyone who has driven in a car built after 1963 that didn’t know how to buckle a seat belt.
For the first time since I sat down the woman next to me smiled. The ice broken, we started talking. As time passed she shared a sad tale about her son, who was mentally challenged, as a result of a surgery that went horribly wrong. Tearing up, she told me that he was in a special rehab center and would require care for the rest of his life. She told me she was terribly angry with the doctor and just didn't know if she believed in G-D anymore.
I asked her if she was praying to G-D while her son was in the operating room. She said she had. "So you do believe in G-D," I said" "You’re just angry at him right now because you don't understand why this happened." " I guess you're right" she said. " I just don't understand how this could happen or how he could let it happen.” Drawing upon the many lessons my good friend Rabbi Chuni Vogel has shared with me over the years, I spoke with my fellow traveler for over four hours. The time seemed to go by in the wink of an eye as we jetted across the country, talking about her feelings toward the surgeon who operated on her son, her husband who never wanted the surgery in the first place and her inability to do anything constructive for her son or about the situation.
We discussed how in some cases it takes time for the true blessings of a perceived negative experience to turn into a significant, life-altering blessing or learning experience. We also agreed that sometimes it is impossible to understand why bad things happen to good people, because as human beings, it is impossible to truly understand G-d’s plan.
As the hours rolled by my newfound friend began to brighten up and literally surge with energy. When the flight attendant announced that we were moments away from landing, my neighbor began to cry. I asked her why she was crying and she said that she never speaks to strangers when she travels but this time she felt it was okay to speak with me. I asked her why and she said she born into an observant Jewish family but had married a non-Jew and had lost her sense of Jewish identity. But when she saw the kippa on my head, she realized I was an observant Jew and felt compelled to speak with me. I started to smile and she asked what I thought was so funny. I told her that I have been on a spiritual journey for a number of years but this was the first time I had ever worn my kippa in public.
With a look of wonder she said she travels hundreds of thousands of miles every year on business and NEVER speaks with strangers. She asked me, “Why of all days did you decided to wear your kippa today.” I told her about the guy with the beret and she laughed a soft laughed. I went on to say that due to myriad problems, my seat on this flight had been changed at least four times in the past two days. “I guess it was meant to be,” she whispered. “I guess so,” I whispered back.
As we got up to leave the plane she said, “Steve this has been an enlightening experience. All of the pain and guilt I’ve carried around for the past six months is gone. When I leave here I am going to channel my energies into positive efforts. I am going home and become an advocate for mentally challenged patients like my son. The next time you see me I’ll be on C-SPAN talking to a congressional panel about benefits for the mentally disabled.”
And with that she said goodbye and disappeared into the undulating crowd moving through Dulles Airport. As I looked out the window at the setting sun I couldn’t help but marvel at the many separate and distinct events that had transpired that day, resulting in this memorable meeting. I never saw the guy with the beret again!
I had rushed out of the house so quickly that I had forgotten my coat and gloves. As the steamy breath flowed out of my mouth, I told myself this was not the way I wanted to start the day.
My plane was leaving at 6:00 am so it was way to early to start my morning davening. Since I had yet to daven on an airplane in front of strangers, I decided to wait until I arrived in Washington DC before davening. It would be a little late in the day but I figured it would be ok just this once.
Before boarding the plane I donned my kippa, pulled out my siddur and read the prayer for travelers, asking G-D's blessing during the trip. When I was done I noticed a rather smartly dressed fellow walk by wearing a brightly colored beret. I love wearing stylish looking hats but it is not every day that you see someone with such a “distinctive” looking chapeau on his head. As he walked through the terminal I noticed how proud he was of his beret and how he appeared to enjoy showing it off.
As I reached for my kippa, to tuck it away in my travel bag, I suddenly felt compelled to leave it on. I've had a lot of first since discovering Chabad, but I can honestly say I've never worn my kippa, outside of my home or shul, for any great length of time.
But watching the fella proudly wearing his beret made me think, “This was the day to wear it in public.” Filled with great trepidation over what my fellow passengers would think, I pushed my black kippa to the back of my head, like a confused cowboy, and boarded the plane. My plan was to wear it until I arrived in Denver and then take it off while running to my connecting flight.
The trip to Denver was a long two hours. I felt very self-conscious. I thought everyone was looking at me, judging me, laughing at me! In truth my fellow passengers were more interested in their morning copy of USA Today than they were about the "Yid with the Lid," but you don't always notice the truth when you are filled with anxiety.
As we approached the Denver airport a flight attendant informed us that the Denver to Washington DC flight was delayed 2 hours. Since it was only 9 am Denver time I suddenly had plenty of time for my morning prayers. After disembarking I strolled through the airport until I found a nice, quiet, private place to pray. When I was done, I carefully rewrapped my Teffilin, folded my tallis and put them away in my bag. As I reached up to grab my kippa and put it away, my friend with the brightly colored beret strolled by, walked over to the automated sidewalk and disappeared into the crowd.
I slowly withdrew my hand from my kippa and left it on my head. I figured if the guy still had his beret on, maybe I should leave my kippa on a little while longer as well. Walking to the gate I decided to leave it on until I arrived at my hotel room later that day. “Go for it Shlomo Yakov" I told myself, "make your dearly departed Great Grandfather Charlie proud.”
When I found my seat on my connecting flight there was an older, rather sad looking woman sitting in the seat next to mine. We exchanged "good mornings” and got ready for take off. As the flight attendant showed us how to buckle our seat belts, I quietly asked if there was anyone who has driven in a car built after 1963 that didn’t know how to buckle a seat belt.
For the first time since I sat down the woman next to me smiled. The ice broken, we started talking. As time passed she shared a sad tale about her son, who was mentally challenged, as a result of a surgery that went horribly wrong. Tearing up, she told me that he was in a special rehab center and would require care for the rest of his life. She told me she was terribly angry with the doctor and just didn't know if she believed in G-D anymore.
I asked her if she was praying to G-D while her son was in the operating room. She said she had. "So you do believe in G-D," I said" "You’re just angry at him right now because you don't understand why this happened." " I guess you're right" she said. " I just don't understand how this could happen or how he could let it happen.” Drawing upon the many lessons my good friend Rabbi Chuni Vogel has shared with me over the years, I spoke with my fellow traveler for over four hours. The time seemed to go by in the wink of an eye as we jetted across the country, talking about her feelings toward the surgeon who operated on her son, her husband who never wanted the surgery in the first place and her inability to do anything constructive for her son or about the situation.
We discussed how in some cases it takes time for the true blessings of a perceived negative experience to turn into a significant, life-altering blessing or learning experience. We also agreed that sometimes it is impossible to understand why bad things happen to good people, because as human beings, it is impossible to truly understand G-d’s plan.
As the hours rolled by my newfound friend began to brighten up and literally surge with energy. When the flight attendant announced that we were moments away from landing, my neighbor began to cry. I asked her why she was crying and she said that she never speaks to strangers when she travels but this time she felt it was okay to speak with me. I asked her why and she said she born into an observant Jewish family but had married a non-Jew and had lost her sense of Jewish identity. But when she saw the kippa on my head, she realized I was an observant Jew and felt compelled to speak with me. I started to smile and she asked what I thought was so funny. I told her that I have been on a spiritual journey for a number of years but this was the first time I had ever worn my kippa in public.
With a look of wonder she said she travels hundreds of thousands of miles every year on business and NEVER speaks with strangers. She asked me, “Why of all days did you decided to wear your kippa today.” I told her about the guy with the beret and she laughed a soft laughed. I went on to say that due to myriad problems, my seat on this flight had been changed at least four times in the past two days. “I guess it was meant to be,” she whispered. “I guess so,” I whispered back.
As we got up to leave the plane she said, “Steve this has been an enlightening experience. All of the pain and guilt I’ve carried around for the past six months is gone. When I leave here I am going to channel my energies into positive efforts. I am going home and become an advocate for mentally challenged patients like my son. The next time you see me I’ll be on C-SPAN talking to a congressional panel about benefits for the mentally disabled.”
And with that she said goodbye and disappeared into the undulating crowd moving through Dulles Airport. As I looked out the window at the setting sun I couldn’t help but marvel at the many separate and distinct events that had transpired that day, resulting in this memorable meeting. I never saw the guy with the beret again!
Wake Up and Smell the Davening
The morning sun was just moments away from making its spectacular debut over the silver-crested mountains surrounding my home of Reno, Nevada, as my wife Linda and I made our way through the cavernous walkway of the B terminal at the Reno-Tahoe International airport. On this particular morning we were getting ready to begin the daylong journey to Linda’s hometown of Pittsburgh, PA. Our ambitious travel schedule called for a 6:00 a.m. flight, giving us plenty of time to arrive in time for dinner with her family.
The day before the trip I had opened my newspaper and turned to the weather page to check out the next days’ weather forecast for Reno and Pittsburgh. As I scanned the page I was chagrined to discover that sunrise the next day wasn’t scheduled until 5:45 a.m. Feeling somewhat concerned I immediately picked up the phone and called my local Chabad Rabbi Mendel Cunin and asked him the Halacha governing how early in the morning one can start davening. He informed me that Jewish law dictates one cannot start davening until 52 minutes before sunrise. As I hung up and pondered his words, panic enveloped me. I did a quick calculation and realized our early morning departure would preclude me from davening within the comfortable confines of my home before leaving for the airport.
The realization that I might have to put my tallis and Teffilin on in front of hundreds if not thousands of strangers was almost more than I could endure. Concerned, I called Rabbi Cunnin again, pleading for some sort of special dispensation. He told me if I was going to do it right, I couldn’t begin davening until after I arrived at the airport. He said if I was uncomfortable doing so, I could always wait and daven on the plane. With sarcasm emanating from every pore of my body I thought, “Thanks Rabbi, that suggestion is a whole lot better.”
Now I am not a shy person by nature, but oy veh, I had a hard time coming to grips with this situation. As I sat in my home the night before the journey, wondering what I was going to do, the words of my good friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel of Chabad of Delaware sprang into my mind. On many, many occasions he has reminded me, “Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a mitzvah HAD to be easy!” My mind screamed out, “Yea but no one ever said you had to do it in front of a thousand stressed out business travelers, tired vacationers, screaming kids and no nonsense flight crews either.”
When we arrived at the airport the next morning we were greeted by what looked like a never-ending line of travelers waiting to check in at the front counter. By the time we finally made our way through security I had convinced myself that I’d just have to wait to daven until I arrived that afternoon at my Father-in-laws home in Pittsburgh. As I sat down in the crowded terminal to read my USA Today, Linda looked at me and said, “We’ve got about 90 minutes before we board the plane, aren’t you going to find a place to daven?”
Frankly, I didn’t know what to say. There she was looking at me with inquiring eyes, and all I wanted to do was run screaming from the airport because I was afraid of looking foolish in front of strangers. Once again Rabbi Vogel’s sagacious advice popped into my mind, “Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a mitzvah had to be easy.” I looked at my wife, I contemplated the Rabbi’s words once again, and after a deep sigh I reluctantly picked up my tallis bag and went to find a “quiet” spot in the airport. As I walked around the terminal I calculated that I was surrounded by more than 100,000 square feet of space. Yet as I gazed off into the distance there wasn’t a single area that wasn’t filled to the brim with people.
Walking on, I noticed that the terminal coffee shop hadn’t yet opened. To my astonishment and joy there was a large area adjacent to the shop that was totally unoccupied. Like a thirsty man sighting a cool stream, I bolted over to the vacant area. I said the morning brachas, put on my tallis, placed my Teffilin on my arm and head, and with a smile on my face and a prayer of thanks to Hashem for providing this spiritual oasis in the heart of the milling crowds, I started davening.
As I swayed back and forth with my tallis covering my head, I literally forgot where I was. I was no longer cognizant of what was going on around me and my self-consciousness had quickly dissipated. I kept turning the pages, reciting the familiar words and reveled in the opportunity to properly fulfill the mitzvah. “What was I so afraid of” I asked myself. This, as we like to say in the Hyatt household, was a piece of Kugel!
As I concluded my davening and lowered my tallis from my head I was shocked and surprised by what I saw. Apparently I was so focused on what I was doing, I had failed to notice that the coffee shop had opened for business and I was now completely surrounded by at least 100 early-morning pastry-munching, coffee-drinking, newspaper-reading patrons. Not only had I failed to find a quiet spot in the airport, I had somehow managed to find the busiest place, other than the security gate, in which to conduct my business.
As I stood there feeling like a statue in a museum, I couldn’t help noticing that not one of the patrons was paying the slightest bit of attention to me. While they probably had taken a quick glance when they first strolled in, it was immediately apparent that they were more interested in the morning’s headlines and the taste of their French-roast coffee than they were in me. Realizing that it was almost time to board the plane to Pittsburgh, I took off my tallis and Teffilin and made my way back to the gate.
As I walked through the crowded terminal, I couldn’t help but marvel that I had found the little vacant area when I did. I was convinced that if I had arrived even ten minutes later, I would have seen the huge coffee crowd and moved on. I probably would have given into my fears, never dovened that morning and felt guilty for the rest of the day. Instead, Hashem presented me with an opportunity to face my fears, overcome them, learn an important lesson and complete the mitzvah. I discovered that the only thing standing between me and my desire to live a more observant Jewish life was me. Since discovering Chabad I’ve had countless first-time spiritual experiences. Some were easy and others were more challenging. Yet in each case, the joy and satisfaction I felt after accomplishing something, that I had never dreamed I could do, was extraordinary. Obviously, davening in an airport is not easy. No one gets up in the morning and purposely looks for ways to make themselves feel uncomfortable. However, my experience in the coffee shop taught me that the joy of fulfilling the mitzvah far out distanced the momentary discomfort of the challenge.
With a smile on my face and a song in my heart I strolled up to the gate. Linda looked up from her newspaper and asked, “So did you have any trouble finding a quiet place to daven?” With grin and a wink I said, “No problem at all, it was a piece of Kugel. Now what time does that plane leave for Pittsburgh.”
The day before the trip I had opened my newspaper and turned to the weather page to check out the next days’ weather forecast for Reno and Pittsburgh. As I scanned the page I was chagrined to discover that sunrise the next day wasn’t scheduled until 5:45 a.m. Feeling somewhat concerned I immediately picked up the phone and called my local Chabad Rabbi Mendel Cunin and asked him the Halacha governing how early in the morning one can start davening. He informed me that Jewish law dictates one cannot start davening until 52 minutes before sunrise. As I hung up and pondered his words, panic enveloped me. I did a quick calculation and realized our early morning departure would preclude me from davening within the comfortable confines of my home before leaving for the airport.
The realization that I might have to put my tallis and Teffilin on in front of hundreds if not thousands of strangers was almost more than I could endure. Concerned, I called Rabbi Cunnin again, pleading for some sort of special dispensation. He told me if I was going to do it right, I couldn’t begin davening until after I arrived at the airport. He said if I was uncomfortable doing so, I could always wait and daven on the plane. With sarcasm emanating from every pore of my body I thought, “Thanks Rabbi, that suggestion is a whole lot better.”
Now I am not a shy person by nature, but oy veh, I had a hard time coming to grips with this situation. As I sat in my home the night before the journey, wondering what I was going to do, the words of my good friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel of Chabad of Delaware sprang into my mind. On many, many occasions he has reminded me, “Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a mitzvah HAD to be easy!” My mind screamed out, “Yea but no one ever said you had to do it in front of a thousand stressed out business travelers, tired vacationers, screaming kids and no nonsense flight crews either.”
When we arrived at the airport the next morning we were greeted by what looked like a never-ending line of travelers waiting to check in at the front counter. By the time we finally made our way through security I had convinced myself that I’d just have to wait to daven until I arrived that afternoon at my Father-in-laws home in Pittsburgh. As I sat down in the crowded terminal to read my USA Today, Linda looked at me and said, “We’ve got about 90 minutes before we board the plane, aren’t you going to find a place to daven?”
Frankly, I didn’t know what to say. There she was looking at me with inquiring eyes, and all I wanted to do was run screaming from the airport because I was afraid of looking foolish in front of strangers. Once again Rabbi Vogel’s sagacious advice popped into my mind, “Shlomo Yakov, no one ever said a mitzvah had to be easy.” I looked at my wife, I contemplated the Rabbi’s words once again, and after a deep sigh I reluctantly picked up my tallis bag and went to find a “quiet” spot in the airport. As I walked around the terminal I calculated that I was surrounded by more than 100,000 square feet of space. Yet as I gazed off into the distance there wasn’t a single area that wasn’t filled to the brim with people.
Walking on, I noticed that the terminal coffee shop hadn’t yet opened. To my astonishment and joy there was a large area adjacent to the shop that was totally unoccupied. Like a thirsty man sighting a cool stream, I bolted over to the vacant area. I said the morning brachas, put on my tallis, placed my Teffilin on my arm and head, and with a smile on my face and a prayer of thanks to Hashem for providing this spiritual oasis in the heart of the milling crowds, I started davening.
As I swayed back and forth with my tallis covering my head, I literally forgot where I was. I was no longer cognizant of what was going on around me and my self-consciousness had quickly dissipated. I kept turning the pages, reciting the familiar words and reveled in the opportunity to properly fulfill the mitzvah. “What was I so afraid of” I asked myself. This, as we like to say in the Hyatt household, was a piece of Kugel!
As I concluded my davening and lowered my tallis from my head I was shocked and surprised by what I saw. Apparently I was so focused on what I was doing, I had failed to notice that the coffee shop had opened for business and I was now completely surrounded by at least 100 early-morning pastry-munching, coffee-drinking, newspaper-reading patrons. Not only had I failed to find a quiet spot in the airport, I had somehow managed to find the busiest place, other than the security gate, in which to conduct my business.
As I stood there feeling like a statue in a museum, I couldn’t help noticing that not one of the patrons was paying the slightest bit of attention to me. While they probably had taken a quick glance when they first strolled in, it was immediately apparent that they were more interested in the morning’s headlines and the taste of their French-roast coffee than they were in me. Realizing that it was almost time to board the plane to Pittsburgh, I took off my tallis and Teffilin and made my way back to the gate.
As I walked through the crowded terminal, I couldn’t help but marvel that I had found the little vacant area when I did. I was convinced that if I had arrived even ten minutes later, I would have seen the huge coffee crowd and moved on. I probably would have given into my fears, never dovened that morning and felt guilty for the rest of the day. Instead, Hashem presented me with an opportunity to face my fears, overcome them, learn an important lesson and complete the mitzvah. I discovered that the only thing standing between me and my desire to live a more observant Jewish life was me. Since discovering Chabad I’ve had countless first-time spiritual experiences. Some were easy and others were more challenging. Yet in each case, the joy and satisfaction I felt after accomplishing something, that I had never dreamed I could do, was extraordinary. Obviously, davening in an airport is not easy. No one gets up in the morning and purposely looks for ways to make themselves feel uncomfortable. However, my experience in the coffee shop taught me that the joy of fulfilling the mitzvah far out distanced the momentary discomfort of the challenge.
With a smile on my face and a song in my heart I strolled up to the gate. Linda looked up from her newspaper and asked, “So did you have any trouble finding a quiet place to daven?” With grin and a wink I said, “No problem at all, it was a piece of Kugel. Now what time does that plane leave for Pittsburgh.”
Shabbos 'Lights' Dance for the First Time
Every Winter my parents leave the confines of their cold and snowy home in the East and come and visit my wife Linda and me for almost three months. They've been making this annual pilgrimage for the better part of fifteen years, and every time they come I have to laugh at the reaction of my friends and co-workers. To a person, each one is incredulous that we could stand being together, in one home, for that extended amount of time.
I smile every time I hear them gasp. Most of these people spent the largest portion of their youth living in their parent's homes and yet now as adults they can't imagine spending more than a few days with them. Although Linda and I are fast approaching fifty, my parents have never stopped teaching us lessons about life. From how to properly cut the lawn (yes, there is actually a good way and a bad way to cut the lawn but that is another story), to how to improve the kugel, my parents continue to share their wisdom, experience and love with us. On most occasions the three months go by in the bat of an eye.
One of the most rewarding aspects of this last visit was watching my wife Linda and my Mother light Shabbos candles each Friday night. Now that may not be a big deal in some homes but it was a big deal in mine. You see, I grew up in a warm and loving home, but I don't ever remember seeing my Mother light Shabbos candles on a Friday evening.
When I was a young boy, she would occasionally tell me stories of what Shabbos was like in her Grandmother Lena's home. Her eyes would drift off to images of a distant past, and I could almost smell the challa and taste the kugel as she shared her cherished memories with me. Unfortunately Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Lena Cooper passed away when I was very young and with them went the kugel, the challa and the lighting of the Shabbos candles.
Several years ago I attended a training seminar on Managing Change. The facilitator said something that has always stayed with me. She said, "It takes 90 days to make a habit and 90 days to break a habit." Another wards, it takes time and repetition to turn good intentions into consistent behaviors. Over the years, I have seen this ring true over and over again. Whether one is learning to put on Teffilin every morning, davening three times a day or lighting Shabbos candles, it takes time, commitment and repetition to make it part of a regularly scheduled event.
So it was with the lighting of Shabbos candles in our home. When my parents first arrived they kind of stood in the background and watched as Linda lit the candles, said the blessing and covered her eyes to welcome the Shabbos Queen into our home. But after a few weeks, to quote my children, my parents started to "Get into it!"
After a little encouragement Mom stood next to Linda and they lit the candles together. Several weeks later Mom asked for her own candles to light as Linda recited the blessing. And several weeks after that, Mom was bringing out the candles, setting them up, lighting her own, saying the blessing and extending her own personal greeting to the Shabbos Queen.
I also watched as my father "Got into it!" He watched with pride as Mom lit her candles. He later asked for his own Kiddush cup and chanted the blessing with me. He even joined me in a little l'chaim after the fish and for the first time in 72 years "relaxed" on Saturday, rather than going about his normal hard working routine.
In short, over the course of 90 days my Mother and Father learned some new "habits." When they finally left to return to their mountain home I figured they'd immediately abandon their new-found routines as soon as they settled back into their old ones. To my surprise and delight my Mother called me about a half hour before Shabbos was to begin at her home and asked me to repeat the candle lighting blessing again one more time to ensure she had it right. I repeated it slowly, she repeated it back to me and then she hurriedly said, "Okay, I have to go, it's almost time to light the candles."
As I put down the telephone I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Mom and Dad were excited about lighting Shabbos candles in their home! To my knowledge, it was the first time the heavenly glow of dancing Shabbos "lights" had ever illuminated their home.
There is an expression, "The longest journey begins with the first step." If that's true, my entire family took a gigantic first step this year. The exciting thing is none of us knows where it will end up. But one thing we know for sure; somewhere, some place Great Grandpa Charlie and Great Grandma Lena Cooper are smiling from ear to ear as their grand children and great grand children learn about the joys of Shabbos.
I smile every time I hear them gasp. Most of these people spent the largest portion of their youth living in their parent's homes and yet now as adults they can't imagine spending more than a few days with them. Although Linda and I are fast approaching fifty, my parents have never stopped teaching us lessons about life. From how to properly cut the lawn (yes, there is actually a good way and a bad way to cut the lawn but that is another story), to how to improve the kugel, my parents continue to share their wisdom, experience and love with us. On most occasions the three months go by in the bat of an eye.
One of the most rewarding aspects of this last visit was watching my wife Linda and my Mother light Shabbos candles each Friday night. Now that may not be a big deal in some homes but it was a big deal in mine. You see, I grew up in a warm and loving home, but I don't ever remember seeing my Mother light Shabbos candles on a Friday evening.
When I was a young boy, she would occasionally tell me stories of what Shabbos was like in her Grandmother Lena's home. Her eyes would drift off to images of a distant past, and I could almost smell the challa and taste the kugel as she shared her cherished memories with me. Unfortunately Grandpa Charlie and Grandma Lena Cooper passed away when I was very young and with them went the kugel, the challa and the lighting of the Shabbos candles.
Several years ago I attended a training seminar on Managing Change. The facilitator said something that has always stayed with me. She said, "It takes 90 days to make a habit and 90 days to break a habit." Another wards, it takes time and repetition to turn good intentions into consistent behaviors. Over the years, I have seen this ring true over and over again. Whether one is learning to put on Teffilin every morning, davening three times a day or lighting Shabbos candles, it takes time, commitment and repetition to make it part of a regularly scheduled event.
So it was with the lighting of Shabbos candles in our home. When my parents first arrived they kind of stood in the background and watched as Linda lit the candles, said the blessing and covered her eyes to welcome the Shabbos Queen into our home. But after a few weeks, to quote my children, my parents started to "Get into it!"
After a little encouragement Mom stood next to Linda and they lit the candles together. Several weeks later Mom asked for her own candles to light as Linda recited the blessing. And several weeks after that, Mom was bringing out the candles, setting them up, lighting her own, saying the blessing and extending her own personal greeting to the Shabbos Queen.
I also watched as my father "Got into it!" He watched with pride as Mom lit her candles. He later asked for his own Kiddush cup and chanted the blessing with me. He even joined me in a little l'chaim after the fish and for the first time in 72 years "relaxed" on Saturday, rather than going about his normal hard working routine.
In short, over the course of 90 days my Mother and Father learned some new "habits." When they finally left to return to their mountain home I figured they'd immediately abandon their new-found routines as soon as they settled back into their old ones. To my surprise and delight my Mother called me about a half hour before Shabbos was to begin at her home and asked me to repeat the candle lighting blessing again one more time to ensure she had it right. I repeated it slowly, she repeated it back to me and then she hurriedly said, "Okay, I have to go, it's almost time to light the candles."
As I put down the telephone I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Mom and Dad were excited about lighting Shabbos candles in their home! To my knowledge, it was the first time the heavenly glow of dancing Shabbos "lights" had ever illuminated their home.
There is an expression, "The longest journey begins with the first step." If that's true, my entire family took a gigantic first step this year. The exciting thing is none of us knows where it will end up. But one thing we know for sure; somewhere, some place Great Grandpa Charlie and Great Grandma Lena Cooper are smiling from ear to ear as their grand children and great grand children learn about the joys of Shabbos.
Shabbos, Kugel and a Lesson in High Finance
Shavuous at Chabad of Northern Nevada, located smack dab in the middle of “The Biggest Little City in the World,” Reno, Nevada, is always a festive and joyous occasion. This year’s celebration was no exception. From the plump potato blintzes bursting with flavor to the mouth-watering spinach kugel, our taste buds were treated to many of the great dairy delicacies associated with the glorious holiday of Shavuous. Rebetzzen Sarah Cunin and her Mother Nettie Lerner prepared a Shabbos/Shavuous feast that evoked continuous sounds of delight from their guests throughout the evening. Everyone left the Shabbos table with contented smiles on their faces and satisfied tummies.
The next day Rabbi Mendel Cunin led our growing congregation through a spirited morning Shabbos service. Filled with the awestruck wonder of the story of G-d presenting the Torah to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, the spirited congregation gathered together to share and enjoy a wonderful Kiddush together.
Between sumptuous bites of chocolate bobka and overflowing spoonfuls of the steaming chulent, we discussed the true joys of Shabbos and the laws pertaining to the prohibition of work on this special day. Most of us were confused about the definition of work, and what could and couldn’t be conducted on Shabbos. Between a number of l’chaims and several more bowls of the succulent chulent, we learned that work is defined as the chores or tasks associated with the building of the Mishkan in ancient times. After some intense discussion we all felt we had a better understanding of this basic and so important concept. Enjoying ourselves immensely we kept firing questions at the Rabbi and with the agility of a skilled short stop he fielded them all with grace and patience. Sometime that afternoon someone asked him if it was permissible to own a business that stays open on Shabbos, even if the Jewish owner didn’t work and observed Shabbos. The Rabbi made it clear that an observant Jew should disassociate himself from such business ventures and furthermore, shouldn’t derive any financial gain from money earned on Shabbos. I didn’t really pay much attention to this part of the discussion because I don’t own a business and I don’t do anything to earn money on Shabbos. Instead I popped another piece of bobka into my mouth and downed it with a cool glass of Coke!
We ended the afternoon with a wonderful discussion about the concept of random coincidence. We eagerly traded stories about some very curious, what some might call coincidental, spiritual events we had experienced since discovering Chabad. In the end we all agreed that there is no such thing as coincidence in life and that Hashem’s hand can be seen in many different ways if one simply opens their eyes and their hearts. We ended the afternoon with handshakes and heartfelt wishes for a continued good Shabbos and Shavuous and headed off to our respective homes.
Later that day I walked into my home and heard someone leaving a message on my telephone answering machine. As I listened to the message I could tell it was my realtor calling from Oregon. She was informing me that after five months of trying to sell my home, five months in which we hadn’t received one single offer, we finally had a legitimate offer on the house. She went on to tell me that the person was leaving the country for a four week vacation and it was imperative we closed the deal immediately.
I stood in the doorway paralyzed with fear. You see, we had moved from Oregon to Reno in January. Each day for five months I had prayed that “today” would be the day someone would place an offer to buy our home. As each month came and went, I grew less and less hopeful we would be able to sell our home at a fair price. The more time went by, the more concerned I became.
Now I was literally standing in the threshold of my new home and the realtor was saying we had to move immediately or we could lose the one and only deal on the table. A voice in my head started screaming at me to “Pick up the phone! Don’t blow the deal, pick up the phone right now!”
As I stepped through the door the realtor hung up. I must have stood and looked at that phone for more than hour. Part of me was aching to call her back and make the deal, but the other part of me kept reminding me that it was Shabbos and I should wait until tomorrow. As I fought this monumental internal battle Rabbi Cunins words came back to me. “Ultimately, nothing positive is ever derived from money earned on Shabbos. Somehow, it is eventually lost or goes to pay for a negative liability. No matter how you look at it, a financial transaction conducted on Shabbos NEVER pays off in the long run.”
Finally, I took a deep breath and slowly walked into the other room. I told myself that despite the panic in my heart, it was more important to embrace one’s values and faith, then to toss them aside when they appeared to be somewhat inconvenient.
I spent the rest of the day relaxing, reading a book and practicing the haftorah I plan to recite later this year on Shabbos Chanukah. Moments after I doused the flames of my Havdalah candle I calmly picked up the telephone and called my realtor in Oregon. After I identified myself she informed me that after she had called me she had discovered that we really couldn’t conduct business that day after all because the buyer’s realtor was out of town until Monday. She told me that she was sorry she left such an urgent message but she thought we only had a day to consummate the deal.
Feigning nonchalance I told her it was not a problem and asked what we needed to do to complete the deal. We discussed the offer, prepared a counter offer and agreed to talk the next day. Within the next thirty-six hours of my conversation with my realtor, the buyer and I agreed on a price and the deal was consummated.
As I slowly put the phone back in its cradle, I marveled at the series of events that had just transpired. Over the years, since finding Chabad, I have discovered that the quest to become more observant and more spiritual is a gradual journey that builds one step at a time. Sometimes the journey is easy and other times the lessons are difficult. But one thing is certain; the journey is always filled with wonder and excitement.
In the last six years I can recount numerous conversations about the joys and pleasures associated with Shabbos. But it wasn’t until this particular Shabbos, on this particular weekend, on this particular Yom Tov, in this particular Chabad House, that I found myself involved in this unique Shabbos discussion. A discussion that ultimately prevented me from compromising my values and doing something I’d regret later. And if that wasn’t enough, it wasn’t until I was faced with, and made the right decision, that I finally sold my home in Oregon.
Coincidence, I think not.
The next day Rabbi Mendel Cunin led our growing congregation through a spirited morning Shabbos service. Filled with the awestruck wonder of the story of G-d presenting the Torah to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, the spirited congregation gathered together to share and enjoy a wonderful Kiddush together.
Between sumptuous bites of chocolate bobka and overflowing spoonfuls of the steaming chulent, we discussed the true joys of Shabbos and the laws pertaining to the prohibition of work on this special day. Most of us were confused about the definition of work, and what could and couldn’t be conducted on Shabbos. Between a number of l’chaims and several more bowls of the succulent chulent, we learned that work is defined as the chores or tasks associated with the building of the Mishkan in ancient times. After some intense discussion we all felt we had a better understanding of this basic and so important concept. Enjoying ourselves immensely we kept firing questions at the Rabbi and with the agility of a skilled short stop he fielded them all with grace and patience. Sometime that afternoon someone asked him if it was permissible to own a business that stays open on Shabbos, even if the Jewish owner didn’t work and observed Shabbos. The Rabbi made it clear that an observant Jew should disassociate himself from such business ventures and furthermore, shouldn’t derive any financial gain from money earned on Shabbos. I didn’t really pay much attention to this part of the discussion because I don’t own a business and I don’t do anything to earn money on Shabbos. Instead I popped another piece of bobka into my mouth and downed it with a cool glass of Coke!
We ended the afternoon with a wonderful discussion about the concept of random coincidence. We eagerly traded stories about some very curious, what some might call coincidental, spiritual events we had experienced since discovering Chabad. In the end we all agreed that there is no such thing as coincidence in life and that Hashem’s hand can be seen in many different ways if one simply opens their eyes and their hearts. We ended the afternoon with handshakes and heartfelt wishes for a continued good Shabbos and Shavuous and headed off to our respective homes.
Later that day I walked into my home and heard someone leaving a message on my telephone answering machine. As I listened to the message I could tell it was my realtor calling from Oregon. She was informing me that after five months of trying to sell my home, five months in which we hadn’t received one single offer, we finally had a legitimate offer on the house. She went on to tell me that the person was leaving the country for a four week vacation and it was imperative we closed the deal immediately.
I stood in the doorway paralyzed with fear. You see, we had moved from Oregon to Reno in January. Each day for five months I had prayed that “today” would be the day someone would place an offer to buy our home. As each month came and went, I grew less and less hopeful we would be able to sell our home at a fair price. The more time went by, the more concerned I became.
Now I was literally standing in the threshold of my new home and the realtor was saying we had to move immediately or we could lose the one and only deal on the table. A voice in my head started screaming at me to “Pick up the phone! Don’t blow the deal, pick up the phone right now!”
As I stepped through the door the realtor hung up. I must have stood and looked at that phone for more than hour. Part of me was aching to call her back and make the deal, but the other part of me kept reminding me that it was Shabbos and I should wait until tomorrow. As I fought this monumental internal battle Rabbi Cunins words came back to me. “Ultimately, nothing positive is ever derived from money earned on Shabbos. Somehow, it is eventually lost or goes to pay for a negative liability. No matter how you look at it, a financial transaction conducted on Shabbos NEVER pays off in the long run.”
Finally, I took a deep breath and slowly walked into the other room. I told myself that despite the panic in my heart, it was more important to embrace one’s values and faith, then to toss them aside when they appeared to be somewhat inconvenient.
I spent the rest of the day relaxing, reading a book and practicing the haftorah I plan to recite later this year on Shabbos Chanukah. Moments after I doused the flames of my Havdalah candle I calmly picked up the telephone and called my realtor in Oregon. After I identified myself she informed me that after she had called me she had discovered that we really couldn’t conduct business that day after all because the buyer’s realtor was out of town until Monday. She told me that she was sorry she left such an urgent message but she thought we only had a day to consummate the deal.
Feigning nonchalance I told her it was not a problem and asked what we needed to do to complete the deal. We discussed the offer, prepared a counter offer and agreed to talk the next day. Within the next thirty-six hours of my conversation with my realtor, the buyer and I agreed on a price and the deal was consummated.
As I slowly put the phone back in its cradle, I marveled at the series of events that had just transpired. Over the years, since finding Chabad, I have discovered that the quest to become more observant and more spiritual is a gradual journey that builds one step at a time. Sometimes the journey is easy and other times the lessons are difficult. But one thing is certain; the journey is always filled with wonder and excitement.
In the last six years I can recount numerous conversations about the joys and pleasures associated with Shabbos. But it wasn’t until this particular Shabbos, on this particular weekend, on this particular Yom Tov, in this particular Chabad House, that I found myself involved in this unique Shabbos discussion. A discussion that ultimately prevented me from compromising my values and doing something I’d regret later. And if that wasn’t enough, it wasn’t until I was faced with, and made the right decision, that I finally sold my home in Oregon.
Coincidence, I think not.
Some Things are Worth the Wait
It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, due to my extremely poor study habits when I was a boy I never learned a haftorah for my bar mitzvah. So when Rabbi Vogel “suggested” I learn the haftorah I should have chanted in 1967, I figured I had plenty of time to master it. After all I was now older, wiser, more studious and much more dedicated than I was at thirteen. So without much prodding I readily agreed to his suggestion. I’d return to Delaware and chant my haftorah on June 9, 2001.
I figured how hard can it be, you learn the words, memorize the tune and quicker than you can say, “More kugel please!” you’re ready to go. At least that’s what I thought as I was dancing with the Torah and enjoying a few l’chaims with friends last Simchas Torah and made one of our traditional mitzvah pledges.
Suddenly a day that had seemed an eternity away a few months earlier was now a mere eight days away. Eight days! Ahhhhhhhhh! Although I put on a brave face, telling people I was ready for the big day, my insides were like mush. I had learned the words pretty well, but the tunes, oy veh, every time I chanted the tunes; it was a new adventure in futility. Despite my best efforts I simply could not remember the tunes for the haftorah and the accompanying blessings. Every time I practiced, I was mortified to hear a new version of the melodies come out of my mouth.
I was fine as long as I followed along with the tape cassette Rabbi Vogel had prepared for me. In my mind I sounded like a practiced Yeshiva student as long as I wore my headphones. But as soon as I turned off the tape player, oh was I in trouble.
In the months leading up to the big week, I had practiced at work during my lunch break, on airplanes flying on business and in my backyard as I mowed the lawn. I had even practiced while walking from shot to shot during my weekly Sunday morning golf game with my buddies. In short, I had practiced anywhere and everywhere and still couldn’t master the elusive tunes.
I kept telling Rabbi Vogel on the telephone, “I don’t think I can do this. I cannot for the life of me retain the tunes.” As the panic rose in my voice he’d tell me to relax while assuring me I’d do just fine. He told me he had helped lots of bar mitzvah boys through their haftorah and he’d help me as well.
Several days before the big event my wife Linda and I traveled to see my parents in Connecticut. It was there, in the confines of my boyhood home, that I was determined to finally get it right. Over the course of a week I sat out on their redwood deck, headphones in place, chanting my haftorah over and over again. My parents were very supportive, telling me I sounded great. I kept whining that I was fine until I took the headphones off and then I was lost. My Dad chuckled and said I’d be fine and to relax. With panic in my eyes I’d go back to my Chumash and study.
Finally the big day arrived. I had traveled for five hours the day before chanting my haftorah all the way from Connecticut to Delaware on an Amtrak train. I don’t know if it was my imagination but in the last hour or so before I arrived in Wilmington, Delaware I thought I sounded as if I was actually starting to get it right. I arrived at the Chabad House about three hours before the start of Shabbos. I immediately sat down in one of the learning areas and started to practice. I had to admit the first three or four practice sessions sounded pretty darn good!
At 7:00 p.m. I walked over to the Vogel’s for Shabbos. After davening and eating more Kugel than one human should ever attempt to eat, I walked back to the Chabad House to get in a little more practice. To my chagrin, without my headphones I was awful. Panic set in. What was I going to do?
That night I laid in bed staring at the ceiling listening to crickets chirp outside my window for what seemed like forever. As the sun rose above the horizon I found myself having a mental conversation with my departed Great Grandfather Charles Cooper. I told him I had been practicing my haftorah for months but wasn’t very confident in my abilities. I asked him if he could take a few moments from his own heavenly Shabbos table and send his great grandson a little assistance.
Finally, it was time to go to shul. When I walked through the door all of my Delaware friends were there. Although I was nervous, I realized I was among friends and I’d be all right even if my haftorah was a little off key. Before I knew it, the Rabbi was finished laining from the Torah and it was “game time.” I said a little prayer asking Hashem for help, I gave a little wink in Great Grandpa Charlie’s direction and anxiously walked to the bema.
Rabbi Vogel gave me the book containing the haftorah; I cleared my voice and began with the first blessing. As I chanted the first few words I heard an almost imperceptible tune emanating from my left. For a few startling moments I actually thought Great Grandpa Charlie was singing in my ear. Then I realized Rabbi Vogel was acting as my human cassette player, keeping me on track as I chanted my haftorah. Gaining confidence my voice started to get stronger and I heard the melody I had been practicing for months flow out of my mouth! Before I knew it I was half way through the reading. And then as unbelievable as it seemed, I was finished. What had seemed impossible only hours before was now complete. The rest of Shabbos was one of the most joyous of my life. When I left the shul that day I walked through the neighborhood, with a huge smile on my face, my feet barely touching the sidewalk.
A dream thirty-four years in the making had now become a reality. Thanks to Chabad I had overcome my fears, doubts and lack of confidence to accomplish something I thought was beyond my abilities. Between smiles I kept thinking, “If I could do this, what else could I accomplish if I just dared to try?”
As Shabbos drew to a close I felt empowered to take on the world. And I knew somewhere; someplace Great Grandpa Charlie was dancing with pride to a divine tune!
I figured how hard can it be, you learn the words, memorize the tune and quicker than you can say, “More kugel please!” you’re ready to go. At least that’s what I thought as I was dancing with the Torah and enjoying a few l’chaims with friends last Simchas Torah and made one of our traditional mitzvah pledges.
Suddenly a day that had seemed an eternity away a few months earlier was now a mere eight days away. Eight days! Ahhhhhhhhh! Although I put on a brave face, telling people I was ready for the big day, my insides were like mush. I had learned the words pretty well, but the tunes, oy veh, every time I chanted the tunes; it was a new adventure in futility. Despite my best efforts I simply could not remember the tunes for the haftorah and the accompanying blessings. Every time I practiced, I was mortified to hear a new version of the melodies come out of my mouth.
I was fine as long as I followed along with the tape cassette Rabbi Vogel had prepared for me. In my mind I sounded like a practiced Yeshiva student as long as I wore my headphones. But as soon as I turned off the tape player, oh was I in trouble.
In the months leading up to the big week, I had practiced at work during my lunch break, on airplanes flying on business and in my backyard as I mowed the lawn. I had even practiced while walking from shot to shot during my weekly Sunday morning golf game with my buddies. In short, I had practiced anywhere and everywhere and still couldn’t master the elusive tunes.
I kept telling Rabbi Vogel on the telephone, “I don’t think I can do this. I cannot for the life of me retain the tunes.” As the panic rose in my voice he’d tell me to relax while assuring me I’d do just fine. He told me he had helped lots of bar mitzvah boys through their haftorah and he’d help me as well.
Several days before the big event my wife Linda and I traveled to see my parents in Connecticut. It was there, in the confines of my boyhood home, that I was determined to finally get it right. Over the course of a week I sat out on their redwood deck, headphones in place, chanting my haftorah over and over again. My parents were very supportive, telling me I sounded great. I kept whining that I was fine until I took the headphones off and then I was lost. My Dad chuckled and said I’d be fine and to relax. With panic in my eyes I’d go back to my Chumash and study.
Finally the big day arrived. I had traveled for five hours the day before chanting my haftorah all the way from Connecticut to Delaware on an Amtrak train. I don’t know if it was my imagination but in the last hour or so before I arrived in Wilmington, Delaware I thought I sounded as if I was actually starting to get it right. I arrived at the Chabad House about three hours before the start of Shabbos. I immediately sat down in one of the learning areas and started to practice. I had to admit the first three or four practice sessions sounded pretty darn good!
At 7:00 p.m. I walked over to the Vogel’s for Shabbos. After davening and eating more Kugel than one human should ever attempt to eat, I walked back to the Chabad House to get in a little more practice. To my chagrin, without my headphones I was awful. Panic set in. What was I going to do?
That night I laid in bed staring at the ceiling listening to crickets chirp outside my window for what seemed like forever. As the sun rose above the horizon I found myself having a mental conversation with my departed Great Grandfather Charles Cooper. I told him I had been practicing my haftorah for months but wasn’t very confident in my abilities. I asked him if he could take a few moments from his own heavenly Shabbos table and send his great grandson a little assistance.
Finally, it was time to go to shul. When I walked through the door all of my Delaware friends were there. Although I was nervous, I realized I was among friends and I’d be all right even if my haftorah was a little off key. Before I knew it, the Rabbi was finished laining from the Torah and it was “game time.” I said a little prayer asking Hashem for help, I gave a little wink in Great Grandpa Charlie’s direction and anxiously walked to the bema.
Rabbi Vogel gave me the book containing the haftorah; I cleared my voice and began with the first blessing. As I chanted the first few words I heard an almost imperceptible tune emanating from my left. For a few startling moments I actually thought Great Grandpa Charlie was singing in my ear. Then I realized Rabbi Vogel was acting as my human cassette player, keeping me on track as I chanted my haftorah. Gaining confidence my voice started to get stronger and I heard the melody I had been practicing for months flow out of my mouth! Before I knew it I was half way through the reading. And then as unbelievable as it seemed, I was finished. What had seemed impossible only hours before was now complete. The rest of Shabbos was one of the most joyous of my life. When I left the shul that day I walked through the neighborhood, with a huge smile on my face, my feet barely touching the sidewalk.
A dream thirty-four years in the making had now become a reality. Thanks to Chabad I had overcome my fears, doubts and lack of confidence to accomplish something I thought was beyond my abilities. Between smiles I kept thinking, “If I could do this, what else could I accomplish if I just dared to try?”
As Shabbos drew to a close I felt empowered to take on the world. And I knew somewhere; someplace Great Grandpa Charlie was dancing with pride to a divine tune!
A Plane, a Boat and a Haftorah
The United flight to Philadelphia had barely cleared the runway in Portland when I took out my Chumash, put on my headphones and played the tape Rabbi Vogel had sent me to help me study for my upcoming haftorah. I couldn’t help but smile as I heard his first few words, “Okay Shloma Yakov, here is the tape, I am sure you are going to be FANTASTIC!”
Fantastic indeed. I had been studying for six months and no matter how much I tried, I simply could not retain the haftorah melodies. Six months before, during Simchas Torah, I had made a mitzvah pledge to learn and chant the haftorah that I should have presented at my bar mitzvah 33 years earlier. Unfortunately, back then; I was such a poor Hebrew school student that my merciful teacher Rabbi Lapedus had wisely limited my role to a morning Aliyah and leading the mincha service later that day. And even that had been an enormous challenge.
Of course life had changed since I discovered Chabad, and finally reciting the haftorah of my youth seemed like a great idea while I was dancing with the Torah and singing with my friends on Simchas Torah. But now it was almost “game time” and I simply was not ready. Even as I was practicing on the plane, subconsciously I was trying to find the right excuse to get me off the hook. “I had business in St Cloud, Minnesota and couldn’t get back to Delaware, or an elk ran into my car on the way to the airport and I missed my plane.” I was desperate to avoid looking foolish in front of friends and family in June.
As I sat in my seat wallowing in self-doubt an elderly woman strolled past, looked at my open Chumash, looked at me and then kept walking. A short while later she walked by again looked at my Chumash, then at me and kept walking. Repeating this for the better part of a half hour, she finally stopped in front of me and motioned for me to remove my headphones. She said, “It isn’t often you see someone reading from a Hebrew book on an airplane. What are you reading.”? I explained that I was practicing for my haftorah.
She smiled, and then uninvited, sat down in the seat next to mine and proceeded to tell me her life story. She was a retired Jewish doctor living in Los Angeles and she and her husband were on their way to Philadelphia to see their son. After about 45 minutes she walked back to her seat and started conversing with her husband. Several minutes later he got out of his seat and walked back to speak with me. He pulled an old newspaper article from his jacket pocket and gave it to me to read. He explained that the photo in the article was of his cousin’s school class back in Hungary during World War II. He pointed to his cousin and said he was the only member of the class that had escaped when the Nazis invaded his village. He thought since I was studying for my haftorah I would appreciate reading the article.
The story moved me but I was mystified why he thought it had a connection to my haftorah. When the plane landed, the doctor and her husband said goodbye and disappeared into the undulating crowd at the airport.
After picking up my luggage, I jumped into a rental car and pointed the car South on I-95 toward Chabad of Delaware, where Rabbi Vogel’s second son Areleh’s Bar Mitzvah celebration was about to begin. As I crossed the state line into Delaware I could almost smell the aroma of the Rebbetzin’s mouthwatering kugel cooking in the oven!
The next evening Shabbos got off to a joyous start as friends and family from around the world davened, made Kiddush, ate, laughed and sang together. The next morning Areleh made us all proud leading the davening, laning from the Torah and chanting a magnificent haftorah.
When davening was over the celebration began in earnest. After more food, and of course more kugel than I could eat, a full-fledged Fabriging began. Each participant at the table shared insights and wisdom about the parcha, the responsibilities a boy assumes on his bar mitzvah and numerous discussions of spirituality and commitment.
Midway through the festivities Rabbi Vogel asked his father, Reb Noson Vogel, to recount his miraculous escape from the Nazis, on the last boat out of Calais, France, before the Nazis overran the country. After much encouragement from family and friends Reb Vogel acquiesced and described how on that fateful day, which “coincidentally” was exactly 61 years to the day of Areleh’s bar mitzvah, his sister had convinced a guard to let she and her family secretly scale the wall of the ship and board before it sailed out of port. How in the end they were four of the less than seven hundred souls that finally escaped from the clutches of Hitler’s henchmen that day. He told of the anguish of leaving port, as thousands stood on the docks, their last hope of survival slowly disappearing below the horizon.
He explained that only through G-d’s blessing did he and his family escape the hands of the Nazis and how he had dedicated his life to foiling Hitler’s ultimate plan by promoting and supporting Jewish education throughout the world. Years after departing Calais, Reb Vogel established the Lubavitch Boys High School and eventually the Lubavitch Yeshiva in London, ultimately sending hundreds of boys to spread Yetiskeit to Jewish communities around the world. He went on to say that with every mitzvah performed, with every bar mitzvah celebrated ( including those of his wonderful grandchildren), and with every new Jewish boy or girl educated, he in some small way ensured that not only would the Jewish people survive spiritually, but thrive in the post Hitler world.
When Shabbos was over and it was time to return to Oregon, I returned with a new passion in my heart. When I first started this journey I was fearful of “looking foolish” in front of my friends because the tune of my haftorah was less than perfect. After meeting the engaging couple on the plane and then listening to Reb Vogel’s words of inspiration, I realized that learning and chanting the haftorah was more important than I had ever imagined.
I realized that no matter the final melodic quality of my haftorah, it was imperative to complete it. For every note of my haftorah and the millions that others have and will chant, serve to remind us that despite the evil intent of the Pharaohs, the Hamens and the Hitlers of history, the spirit of the Jewish people still burns brightly throughout the world. They ensure the tears, the lone surviving schoolboy from a middle school in Hungary; still carries in his heart 60 years later, were not shed in vain. That the determination and faith a young Jewish boy and his family displayed to climb aboard the last ship leaving Hitler’s Germany would now and forever serve as a beacon of enlightenment for Jewish boys and girls and deepen their commitment to Jewish learning and living.
As I sat back in my seat I couldn’t help but marvel at hearing two such painful, yet inspiring stories over the course of a few days. I thanked Hashem for these wondrous blessings, smiled, picked up my Chumash, slapped on my headphones and went back to work.
Fantastic indeed. I had been studying for six months and no matter how much I tried, I simply could not retain the haftorah melodies. Six months before, during Simchas Torah, I had made a mitzvah pledge to learn and chant the haftorah that I should have presented at my bar mitzvah 33 years earlier. Unfortunately, back then; I was such a poor Hebrew school student that my merciful teacher Rabbi Lapedus had wisely limited my role to a morning Aliyah and leading the mincha service later that day. And even that had been an enormous challenge.
Of course life had changed since I discovered Chabad, and finally reciting the haftorah of my youth seemed like a great idea while I was dancing with the Torah and singing with my friends on Simchas Torah. But now it was almost “game time” and I simply was not ready. Even as I was practicing on the plane, subconsciously I was trying to find the right excuse to get me off the hook. “I had business in St Cloud, Minnesota and couldn’t get back to Delaware, or an elk ran into my car on the way to the airport and I missed my plane.” I was desperate to avoid looking foolish in front of friends and family in June.
As I sat in my seat wallowing in self-doubt an elderly woman strolled past, looked at my open Chumash, looked at me and then kept walking. A short while later she walked by again looked at my Chumash, then at me and kept walking. Repeating this for the better part of a half hour, she finally stopped in front of me and motioned for me to remove my headphones. She said, “It isn’t often you see someone reading from a Hebrew book on an airplane. What are you reading.”? I explained that I was practicing for my haftorah.
She smiled, and then uninvited, sat down in the seat next to mine and proceeded to tell me her life story. She was a retired Jewish doctor living in Los Angeles and she and her husband were on their way to Philadelphia to see their son. After about 45 minutes she walked back to her seat and started conversing with her husband. Several minutes later he got out of his seat and walked back to speak with me. He pulled an old newspaper article from his jacket pocket and gave it to me to read. He explained that the photo in the article was of his cousin’s school class back in Hungary during World War II. He pointed to his cousin and said he was the only member of the class that had escaped when the Nazis invaded his village. He thought since I was studying for my haftorah I would appreciate reading the article.
The story moved me but I was mystified why he thought it had a connection to my haftorah. When the plane landed, the doctor and her husband said goodbye and disappeared into the undulating crowd at the airport.
After picking up my luggage, I jumped into a rental car and pointed the car South on I-95 toward Chabad of Delaware, where Rabbi Vogel’s second son Areleh’s Bar Mitzvah celebration was about to begin. As I crossed the state line into Delaware I could almost smell the aroma of the Rebbetzin’s mouthwatering kugel cooking in the oven!
The next evening Shabbos got off to a joyous start as friends and family from around the world davened, made Kiddush, ate, laughed and sang together. The next morning Areleh made us all proud leading the davening, laning from the Torah and chanting a magnificent haftorah.
When davening was over the celebration began in earnest. After more food, and of course more kugel than I could eat, a full-fledged Fabriging began. Each participant at the table shared insights and wisdom about the parcha, the responsibilities a boy assumes on his bar mitzvah and numerous discussions of spirituality and commitment.
Midway through the festivities Rabbi Vogel asked his father, Reb Noson Vogel, to recount his miraculous escape from the Nazis, on the last boat out of Calais, France, before the Nazis overran the country. After much encouragement from family and friends Reb Vogel acquiesced and described how on that fateful day, which “coincidentally” was exactly 61 years to the day of Areleh’s bar mitzvah, his sister had convinced a guard to let she and her family secretly scale the wall of the ship and board before it sailed out of port. How in the end they were four of the less than seven hundred souls that finally escaped from the clutches of Hitler’s henchmen that day. He told of the anguish of leaving port, as thousands stood on the docks, their last hope of survival slowly disappearing below the horizon.
He explained that only through G-d’s blessing did he and his family escape the hands of the Nazis and how he had dedicated his life to foiling Hitler’s ultimate plan by promoting and supporting Jewish education throughout the world. Years after departing Calais, Reb Vogel established the Lubavitch Boys High School and eventually the Lubavitch Yeshiva in London, ultimately sending hundreds of boys to spread Yetiskeit to Jewish communities around the world. He went on to say that with every mitzvah performed, with every bar mitzvah celebrated ( including those of his wonderful grandchildren), and with every new Jewish boy or girl educated, he in some small way ensured that not only would the Jewish people survive spiritually, but thrive in the post Hitler world.
When Shabbos was over and it was time to return to Oregon, I returned with a new passion in my heart. When I first started this journey I was fearful of “looking foolish” in front of my friends because the tune of my haftorah was less than perfect. After meeting the engaging couple on the plane and then listening to Reb Vogel’s words of inspiration, I realized that learning and chanting the haftorah was more important than I had ever imagined.
I realized that no matter the final melodic quality of my haftorah, it was imperative to complete it. For every note of my haftorah and the millions that others have and will chant, serve to remind us that despite the evil intent of the Pharaohs, the Hamens and the Hitlers of history, the spirit of the Jewish people still burns brightly throughout the world. They ensure the tears, the lone surviving schoolboy from a middle school in Hungary; still carries in his heart 60 years later, were not shed in vain. That the determination and faith a young Jewish boy and his family displayed to climb aboard the last ship leaving Hitler’s Germany would now and forever serve as a beacon of enlightenment for Jewish boys and girls and deepen their commitment to Jewish learning and living.
As I sat back in my seat I couldn’t help but marvel at hearing two such painful, yet inspiring stories over the course of a few days. I thanked Hashem for these wondrous blessings, smiled, picked up my Chumash, slapped on my headphones and went back to work.
A Day to Remember
When I was a young boy of six, my sister Nora was born three months premature. After months in the hospital our family was saddened to discover that she was severely disabled, both physically and mentally. Due to the severity of her challenges the doctors advised my family to place her in the loving hands of a local facility for the severely disabled. For reasons too numerous to go into, my sister Nora and I rarely saw one another over the course of the next 40 years.
One can only imagine the pain, guilt and anguish that results from this kind of situation. No matter where I went in the world, the sister I hardly knew always found her way into my thoughts and my heart. Throughout the last 40 years I have always felt an insatiable need to establish a relationship with Nora. But like many self-involved young people, I always found a selfish reason why something else took priority over her. When I finally felt ready to pursue a relationship, I didn't even know where to begin.
This past Rosh Hashanah, as I prayed at the Chabad of Oregon shul in Portland, I couldn't help but wonder that despite the joy and peace I had found in my life, there was always a deep, agonizing hurt that refused to go away. As I stood before G-d asking for a bright, sweet year, I realized that it was time to summon the courage to face my innermost fears and end the pain. It was time to go see my sister.
Before heading off for Connecticut I called my friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel of Chabad of Delaware and asked him how, even though my sister could barely hear and could hardly see, I could bring a little Yiddishkeit into her life. I knew that no matter what the circumstance, though she had never been exposed to any kind of Jewish experience in her life, she was a Jewish woman.
Without hesitation he instructed me to recite the Shema to her when I went to see her. He said that despite her disabilities, this most holy of Jewish prayers would speak directly to her Neshoma, her soul. He told me that Jewish teachings have always expressed the belief that physically and mentally challenged individuals have unique, elevated neshamot that have been purposely placed in their special bodies. He assured me the Shema would be a wonderful way to bring the first bits of Yiddishkeit into her life.
Shortly after I arrived in Connecticut I met with my cousin Jennifer, who has had a long term, loving relationship with my sister; together we went to see Nora. When we parked the car and stepped onto the steps leading to the group home where my sister resides, my heart was pumping like a bass drum in my chest. I was excited, nervous and electrified all
at the same time.
Before I knew what was happening we had walked through the front door, proceeded into the warm and comfortable living room and Jennifer was introducing me to my sister. In one explosive moment all of the guilt, all of the anguish, all of the pain flew out of my body as I put my arms around her and hugged her for the first time in 40 years!
It was amazing to see her. Despite her physical problems she looked instantly familiar. She was the spitting image of many of the women in my family; same face, same eyes, same smile. We spent the next hour and a half renewing a long-lost relationship. Communication was a challenge but where there is a will there is always a way. We took photographs together, sat next to each other and in general, enjoyed precious moments together. When it was time to go, my heart soared. After all these many years Nora and I had started on a new journey together, one that I was determined would last a lifetime.
As my cousin Jennifer was talking to the administrator of the facility I bent down next to Nora, who was watching television, and whispered the Shema into her ear.
"Shema Yisroel...Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One."
As I concluded this brief but oh so important prayer, my sister-a woman who can barely hear a sound-turned her head, looked me right in the eye, gently grabbed my face with her two hands and kissed me affectionately on the cheek.
When the moment had passed she gave me a gentle nudge and went back to watching the television show. I was absolutely stunned by her reaction. I was sure that deep inside, these powerful few words had reached the very essence of her being.
When I related this to my cousin Jennifer she told me that there was something else I might find interesting about my sister. She said that throughout the years, Nora would eat anything put on her plate, anything, that is, but pork. She said that no matter how it was
prepared, Nora would look at it, push it away, and refuse to eat it.
As I walked out the door it was clear to me that the spiritual journey I had embarked upon the day I walked into my first Chabad House had taken me to some incredible places. None, however, was more powerful, more meaningful and more satisfying than the journey to my sister's front door.
For 3311 years the Jewish people have survived whatever the world tried to throw at them. In a few short, powerful moments I saw first-hand how they've managed to do so. For in every Jew there burns a fire so bright that no matter the circumstance, no matter the obstacle, it cannot be extinguished. On one memorable day in Connecticut, in a little obscure house near the sea shore, I saw first-hand the power of the Jewish soul!
One can only imagine the pain, guilt and anguish that results from this kind of situation. No matter where I went in the world, the sister I hardly knew always found her way into my thoughts and my heart. Throughout the last 40 years I have always felt an insatiable need to establish a relationship with Nora. But like many self-involved young people, I always found a selfish reason why something else took priority over her. When I finally felt ready to pursue a relationship, I didn't even know where to begin.
This past Rosh Hashanah, as I prayed at the Chabad of Oregon shul in Portland, I couldn't help but wonder that despite the joy and peace I had found in my life, there was always a deep, agonizing hurt that refused to go away. As I stood before G-d asking for a bright, sweet year, I realized that it was time to summon the courage to face my innermost fears and end the pain. It was time to go see my sister.
Before heading off for Connecticut I called my friend and mentor Rabbi Chuni Vogel of Chabad of Delaware and asked him how, even though my sister could barely hear and could hardly see, I could bring a little Yiddishkeit into her life. I knew that no matter what the circumstance, though she had never been exposed to any kind of Jewish experience in her life, she was a Jewish woman.
Without hesitation he instructed me to recite the Shema to her when I went to see her. He said that despite her disabilities, this most holy of Jewish prayers would speak directly to her Neshoma, her soul. He told me that Jewish teachings have always expressed the belief that physically and mentally challenged individuals have unique, elevated neshamot that have been purposely placed in their special bodies. He assured me the Shema would be a wonderful way to bring the first bits of Yiddishkeit into her life.
Shortly after I arrived in Connecticut I met with my cousin Jennifer, who has had a long term, loving relationship with my sister; together we went to see Nora. When we parked the car and stepped onto the steps leading to the group home where my sister resides, my heart was pumping like a bass drum in my chest. I was excited, nervous and electrified all
at the same time.
Before I knew what was happening we had walked through the front door, proceeded into the warm and comfortable living room and Jennifer was introducing me to my sister. In one explosive moment all of the guilt, all of the anguish, all of the pain flew out of my body as I put my arms around her and hugged her for the first time in 40 years!
It was amazing to see her. Despite her physical problems she looked instantly familiar. She was the spitting image of many of the women in my family; same face, same eyes, same smile. We spent the next hour and a half renewing a long-lost relationship. Communication was a challenge but where there is a will there is always a way. We took photographs together, sat next to each other and in general, enjoyed precious moments together. When it was time to go, my heart soared. After all these many years Nora and I had started on a new journey together, one that I was determined would last a lifetime.
As my cousin Jennifer was talking to the administrator of the facility I bent down next to Nora, who was watching television, and whispered the Shema into her ear.
"Shema Yisroel...Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One."
As I concluded this brief but oh so important prayer, my sister-a woman who can barely hear a sound-turned her head, looked me right in the eye, gently grabbed my face with her two hands and kissed me affectionately on the cheek.
When the moment had passed she gave me a gentle nudge and went back to watching the television show. I was absolutely stunned by her reaction. I was sure that deep inside, these powerful few words had reached the very essence of her being.
When I related this to my cousin Jennifer she told me that there was something else I might find interesting about my sister. She said that throughout the years, Nora would eat anything put on her plate, anything, that is, but pork. She said that no matter how it was
prepared, Nora would look at it, push it away, and refuse to eat it.
As I walked out the door it was clear to me that the spiritual journey I had embarked upon the day I walked into my first Chabad House had taken me to some incredible places. None, however, was more powerful, more meaningful and more satisfying than the journey to my sister's front door.
For 3311 years the Jewish people have survived whatever the world tried to throw at them. In a few short, powerful moments I saw first-hand how they've managed to do so. For in every Jew there burns a fire so bright that no matter the circumstance, no matter the obstacle, it cannot be extinguished. On one memorable day in Connecticut, in a little obscure house near the sea shore, I saw first-hand the power of the Jewish soul!
"It's Never Too Late"
Over the years my professional life as a Human Resources professional has afforded me the opportunity to regularly visit the culturally-rich cities of New York City and Los Angeles. On more than one occasion I have witnessed energetic, young Lubavitch Yeshiva students standing on street corners, pleasantly asking male pedestrians if they were Jewish.
If the person walking by happened to answer in the affirmative, the boys would politely inquire if they'd like to put on Teffilin. Each and every time I saw this selfless act I was overwhelmed by their obvious passion about the mitzvah of Teffilin. I marveled how much they must love their fellow Jews, to continue to approach people, who many times clearly didn't want to be bothered. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't imagine possessing a tenth of the courage and enthusiasm these admirable young men demonstrate week in and week out on most Fridays before Shabbos.
Recently, I was facilitating a diversity training session at my newspaper in Salem, Oregon. I always begin these sessions by asking the participants to introduce themselves, and while doing so, to tell us something interesting about their names. I started the exercise by introducing myself and telling the audience that my Hebrew name is Shlomo Yakov Ben Moishe Pincus. As in most classes, it served as a catalyst for a very energetic exchange of information between me and the participants.
At the conclusion of the session Jeff Gerson, one of my co-workers, approached me and said, "I didn't know you were Jewish." He told me he was Jewish as well but didn't know much about Judaism. He went on to say that he grew up in Los Angeles but for a number of reasons he never had a Bar Mitzvah and always regretted it.
We spoke for quite a long time about my Jewish background, my experience with Chabad, and how my association with this wonderful organization had set me on a course of study and exploration that changed my life forever. I told him if he ever felt like exploring his Jewish heritage further, I would gladly introduce him to Rabbi Wilhelm, the Chabad Rabbi in Portland.
Before Jeff and I parted company I gave him a copy of a number of essays I had written chronicling my own experience with Chabad and my personal journey of discovery. The next morning I received a beautiful e-mail from him thanking me for the stories and expressing his disappointment about how much he didn't know about his people and faith and how he wished he was younger so he could get answers to his numerous questions.
As soon as I finished reading his touching e-mail I immediately clicked onto the Amazon.com wide site and ordered Jeff, Herman Wouk's extraordinary book, 'This is My G-d.' Mr. Wouk wrote this book over 40 years ago, and for me it is one of the greatest and most instructive guides to Judaism ever written.
To my amazement the book arrived the very next morning. I immediately called Jeff into my office and gave him the book. Two days later he came to see me. His eyes were ablaze with passion and excitement. He said, "Steve, I can't believe a man as learned as Mr. Wouk could write a book that explains the basics of Judaism so simply, clearly and concisely. How could a man who is on such a high level of knowledge, understand what a person like me, with no knowledge at all, needed in a book?" He said, "This is the book I've been looking for all my life."
I told him this is exactly the reaction I had when Rabbi Chuni Vogel, of Chabad of Delaware, presented the book to me five years ago. It is, and continues to be, an extraordinary primer for someone who wants to learn but has never had the opportunity to do so and has no idea where to start. It was obvious that Jeff was inspired to learn more so I asked him if he would like to go with me to the Chabad Shul in Portland and have his first Aliyah, an opportunity to say a blessing over the Torah . With an uncomfortable look on his face he told me that he would love to but he didn't think he could because he couldn't read Hebrew. I told him not to worry, together we would learn the words necessary to complete the Aliyah.
Jeff was so excited he could hardly contain himself. He wanted to know if his wife and son could accompany him. With a big smile I told him he could bring anyone he wanted and we'd even have a big party afterward. We agreed to start studying, and G-d willing, we'd go to Shul for his first Aliyah in January.
As we shook hands I was overwhelmed by the need to ask him a question. With my heart pounding in my ears like a bass drum I summoned all of my courage and said, "Jeff, would you like to put on Teffilin?" "What's that?" he asked. I explained Teffilin to him and without missing a beat he said he would be glad to as long as I'd help him. Before he left we made a "Teffilin date" for the next morning in my office.
When Jeff popped in the next morning he told me that he had called his Dad and Mom the night before and told them what he was about to do. He said they were both very excited for him. In fact his Dad told him that since he was about to take this wonderful step, he'd reward his action by sending him a pair of Teffilin Jeff's Grandfather used daily over fifty years ago!
Over the course of the next few minutes I helped Jeff put on the Teffilin I had brought from home. First he put on a Tallis and said the appropriate bracha. Then I helped him place the first Teffilin on his arm, after which he said the first bracha. Then we placed the second Teffilin on his head, he said the second bracha and then he read the Shema. When I told him he was done it was impossible to tell who had the bigger smile on his face, me or Jeff. We took a photo of him in full regalia, put the Tallis and Teffilin away and then spent the better part of the next half hour talking about the experience.
After Jeff went back to his office I couldn't help but think about what had just transpired. This brief but wonderful moment produced so much positive energy and joy. Both of us were walking on air. It was suddenly clear to me why those determined young Yeshiva students spend their pre-Shabbos afternoons trying to help their fellow Jews. Words are inadequate to express the joy of this mitzvah. Yes, sometimes it's uncomfortable to approach a stranger or an acquaintance and ask if they'd like to perform a mitzvah. But the rewards to everyone involved far outdistance the initial feelings of discomfort. This important, but simple mitzvah has energized Jeff and his entire family, hopefully for years and generations to come.
As you read this, Jeff and I are actively studying the brachas for his upcoming Aliyah. Every time we get together to study he is so excited he can hardly contain himself. When he finally steps up to the bema it will be a moment neither of us will ever forget. And afterward he will discover another hidden treasure I have yet to tell him about, the Rebbetzin Wilhelm's delicious Kugel!
If the person walking by happened to answer in the affirmative, the boys would politely inquire if they'd like to put on Teffilin. Each and every time I saw this selfless act I was overwhelmed by their obvious passion about the mitzvah of Teffilin. I marveled how much they must love their fellow Jews, to continue to approach people, who many times clearly didn't want to be bothered. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't imagine possessing a tenth of the courage and enthusiasm these admirable young men demonstrate week in and week out on most Fridays before Shabbos.
Recently, I was facilitating a diversity training session at my newspaper in Salem, Oregon. I always begin these sessions by asking the participants to introduce themselves, and while doing so, to tell us something interesting about their names. I started the exercise by introducing myself and telling the audience that my Hebrew name is Shlomo Yakov Ben Moishe Pincus. As in most classes, it served as a catalyst for a very energetic exchange of information between me and the participants.
At the conclusion of the session Jeff Gerson, one of my co-workers, approached me and said, "I didn't know you were Jewish." He told me he was Jewish as well but didn't know much about Judaism. He went on to say that he grew up in Los Angeles but for a number of reasons he never had a Bar Mitzvah and always regretted it.
We spoke for quite a long time about my Jewish background, my experience with Chabad, and how my association with this wonderful organization had set me on a course of study and exploration that changed my life forever. I told him if he ever felt like exploring his Jewish heritage further, I would gladly introduce him to Rabbi Wilhelm, the Chabad Rabbi in Portland.
Before Jeff and I parted company I gave him a copy of a number of essays I had written chronicling my own experience with Chabad and my personal journey of discovery. The next morning I received a beautiful e-mail from him thanking me for the stories and expressing his disappointment about how much he didn't know about his people and faith and how he wished he was younger so he could get answers to his numerous questions.
As soon as I finished reading his touching e-mail I immediately clicked onto the Amazon.com wide site and ordered Jeff, Herman Wouk's extraordinary book, 'This is My G-d.' Mr. Wouk wrote this book over 40 years ago, and for me it is one of the greatest and most instructive guides to Judaism ever written.
To my amazement the book arrived the very next morning. I immediately called Jeff into my office and gave him the book. Two days later he came to see me. His eyes were ablaze with passion and excitement. He said, "Steve, I can't believe a man as learned as Mr. Wouk could write a book that explains the basics of Judaism so simply, clearly and concisely. How could a man who is on such a high level of knowledge, understand what a person like me, with no knowledge at all, needed in a book?" He said, "This is the book I've been looking for all my life."
I told him this is exactly the reaction I had when Rabbi Chuni Vogel, of Chabad of Delaware, presented the book to me five years ago. It is, and continues to be, an extraordinary primer for someone who wants to learn but has never had the opportunity to do so and has no idea where to start. It was obvious that Jeff was inspired to learn more so I asked him if he would like to go with me to the Chabad Shul in Portland and have his first Aliyah, an opportunity to say a blessing over the Torah . With an uncomfortable look on his face he told me that he would love to but he didn't think he could because he couldn't read Hebrew. I told him not to worry, together we would learn the words necessary to complete the Aliyah.
Jeff was so excited he could hardly contain himself. He wanted to know if his wife and son could accompany him. With a big smile I told him he could bring anyone he wanted and we'd even have a big party afterward. We agreed to start studying, and G-d willing, we'd go to Shul for his first Aliyah in January.
As we shook hands I was overwhelmed by the need to ask him a question. With my heart pounding in my ears like a bass drum I summoned all of my courage and said, "Jeff, would you like to put on Teffilin?" "What's that?" he asked. I explained Teffilin to him and without missing a beat he said he would be glad to as long as I'd help him. Before he left we made a "Teffilin date" for the next morning in my office.
When Jeff popped in the next morning he told me that he had called his Dad and Mom the night before and told them what he was about to do. He said they were both very excited for him. In fact his Dad told him that since he was about to take this wonderful step, he'd reward his action by sending him a pair of Teffilin Jeff's Grandfather used daily over fifty years ago!
Over the course of the next few minutes I helped Jeff put on the Teffilin I had brought from home. First he put on a Tallis and said the appropriate bracha. Then I helped him place the first Teffilin on his arm, after which he said the first bracha. Then we placed the second Teffilin on his head, he said the second bracha and then he read the Shema. When I told him he was done it was impossible to tell who had the bigger smile on his face, me or Jeff. We took a photo of him in full regalia, put the Tallis and Teffilin away and then spent the better part of the next half hour talking about the experience.
After Jeff went back to his office I couldn't help but think about what had just transpired. This brief but wonderful moment produced so much positive energy and joy. Both of us were walking on air. It was suddenly clear to me why those determined young Yeshiva students spend their pre-Shabbos afternoons trying to help their fellow Jews. Words are inadequate to express the joy of this mitzvah. Yes, sometimes it's uncomfortable to approach a stranger or an acquaintance and ask if they'd like to perform a mitzvah. But the rewards to everyone involved far outdistance the initial feelings of discomfort. This important, but simple mitzvah has energized Jeff and his entire family, hopefully for years and generations to come.
As you read this, Jeff and I are actively studying the brachas for his upcoming Aliyah. Every time we get together to study he is so excited he can hardly contain himself. When he finally steps up to the bema it will be a moment neither of us will ever forget. And afterward he will discover another hidden treasure I have yet to tell him about, the Rebbetzin Wilhelm's delicious Kugel!
Teffilin, a Tallis, a Siddur and a roll of Duct Tape!
I can still remember the day when Rabbi Vogel walked into my office in Wilmington, Delaware with a large package under his arm. With a smile on his face he handed it to me and instructed me to open it.
With the joy of a young boy on the first night of Chanukah I tore open the paper and there before me was the most beautiful Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur I had ever seen. They were the most beautiful, because they were mine.
Four months earlier Rabbi Vogel had loaned me a Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur so I could doven Scharist at home. After dovening regularly, I approached the Rabbi and informed him that I thought I was ready to “solo” and asked him if he would help me buy my own. He told me that it would take a few weeks but he’d be honored to help me.
Oh what a beautiful sight. The Tallis was huge and an eye-popping white. The leather binding of the Siddur was shiny and new and the pages crackled as I turned them. And the Teffilin….ah the Teffilin were gorgeous. The leather smell was intoxicatingly beautiful! I couldn’t wait until the next morning when I could wrap myself in my Tallis and don my Teffilin for the first time.
I was so excited I hardly slept that night. I remember looking out the window waiting for the sun to poke its head above the horizon. When the time finally arrived, I dashed upstairs and slowly put them on, savoring every moment! After placing the Teffilin on my arm and head and saying the appropriate blessings I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I was startled for a moment because I looked just like my departed grandfather Fritz Lobenstein. Same high far head, same thick wavy hair, Teffilin positioned just so on my arm and head, I could have sworn I was looking at “Poppa.” Somehow the shear act of wearing my Tallis and Teffilin seemed to bring us closer together. I was filled with a warmth and satisfaction that was beyond description.
At first friends and family were a little skeptical that I could discipline myself to continue to put my Teffilin and Tallis on each morning. However, from the start “It was a piece of Kugel!” Disciplining myself to cut down on chocolate cake, potato chips and ice cream was difficult. But getting up a little earlier in the morning and dovening was never a challenge. I discovered that saying the Mode Ani when I first woke up in the morning, putting on my Teffilin and Tallis and dovening was an energizing experience. When you start your day, exactly like your ancestors have for the past 3311 years, you can’t help but feel connected to them as well as energized, excited and ready for the day! I’ve found a confidence and inner peace that I never thought possible.
One blessing in my life is my work. It affords me a wonderful opportunity to visit many diverse regions of the United States. And no matter where I go, be it Great Falls, Montana, Wilmington, DE or Waterford, Connecticut, my constant “companions” are my Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur. Over the years my “companions” have lost some of their original luster. Constant use has somewhat dulled the brightness of my Tallis. The straps of my Teffilin have lost some of their original sheen and the cover of my Siddur is so worn out that I have had to cover it with duct tape to keep it from falling off.
Yet these old “friends” provide more comfort and joy today than they did when the Rabbi first presented them to me. They’ve brought me comfort during perilous plane flights, given me confidence while dovening in bustling airports and brought me great satisfaction as I dovened with new-found friends at Chabad Houses around the country. Everyday use has eroded their original facade but their true beauty has only increased over time.
Every time I place another piece of duct tape on the cover of my Siddur, in one more futile attempt to keep it in tact, I am left with a powerful feeling of accomplishment. Every time I wake up in a new city and put on my Teffilin I know that Hashem is with me and with his help I can cope with whatever challenge that arises that day. The joy that results from the donning of two little black boxes in the morning is indescribably.
When I was young and helped my father pick weeds in the family garden, I would whine all day about how much work it was. Dad was, and still is, fond of saying, “It’s only work when you feel you have someplace else to go. If you’d rather be here, the work turns into fun.” Getting up and putting on one’s Teffilin and Tallis is just like being in the garden with Dad. It’s only difficult when you feel you’d rather be doing something else. Somehow the very act of putting them on connects with your Neshoma, your soul. From the first time you put them on you can feel that it is right and this is something you are meant to do. You can feel that it is something your Neshoma cries out for. The very act calms you down, helps you put life in perspective and brings a feeling of joy and satisfaction that is beyond compare.
But don’t take my word for it. I am a Human Resources Director by trade, not a sales person. Do something wonderful for yourself. Call your local Chabad Rabbi, ask him if you can borrow a pair of Teffilin, a Tallis and a Siddur. If you need help with the Teffilin he’ll be delighted to show you how to put them on. Then put them on each Sunday through Friday for two weeks. At the end of the second week you won’t want to give them back. You’ll be on the phone that next Monday asking the Rabbi to order you your own. And somewhere down the line, when you’re putting another piece of duct tape on the loose cover of your Siddur you’ll know exactly what I am talking about. Go ahead, make that call!
With the joy of a young boy on the first night of Chanukah I tore open the paper and there before me was the most beautiful Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur I had ever seen. They were the most beautiful, because they were mine.
Four months earlier Rabbi Vogel had loaned me a Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur so I could doven Scharist at home. After dovening regularly, I approached the Rabbi and informed him that I thought I was ready to “solo” and asked him if he would help me buy my own. He told me that it would take a few weeks but he’d be honored to help me.
Oh what a beautiful sight. The Tallis was huge and an eye-popping white. The leather binding of the Siddur was shiny and new and the pages crackled as I turned them. And the Teffilin….ah the Teffilin were gorgeous. The leather smell was intoxicatingly beautiful! I couldn’t wait until the next morning when I could wrap myself in my Tallis and don my Teffilin for the first time.
I was so excited I hardly slept that night. I remember looking out the window waiting for the sun to poke its head above the horizon. When the time finally arrived, I dashed upstairs and slowly put them on, savoring every moment! After placing the Teffilin on my arm and head and saying the appropriate blessings I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I was startled for a moment because I looked just like my departed grandfather Fritz Lobenstein. Same high far head, same thick wavy hair, Teffilin positioned just so on my arm and head, I could have sworn I was looking at “Poppa.” Somehow the shear act of wearing my Tallis and Teffilin seemed to bring us closer together. I was filled with a warmth and satisfaction that was beyond description.
At first friends and family were a little skeptical that I could discipline myself to continue to put my Teffilin and Tallis on each morning. However, from the start “It was a piece of Kugel!” Disciplining myself to cut down on chocolate cake, potato chips and ice cream was difficult. But getting up a little earlier in the morning and dovening was never a challenge. I discovered that saying the Mode Ani when I first woke up in the morning, putting on my Teffilin and Tallis and dovening was an energizing experience. When you start your day, exactly like your ancestors have for the past 3311 years, you can’t help but feel connected to them as well as energized, excited and ready for the day! I’ve found a confidence and inner peace that I never thought possible.
One blessing in my life is my work. It affords me a wonderful opportunity to visit many diverse regions of the United States. And no matter where I go, be it Great Falls, Montana, Wilmington, DE or Waterford, Connecticut, my constant “companions” are my Tallis, Teffilin and Siddur. Over the years my “companions” have lost some of their original luster. Constant use has somewhat dulled the brightness of my Tallis. The straps of my Teffilin have lost some of their original sheen and the cover of my Siddur is so worn out that I have had to cover it with duct tape to keep it from falling off.
Yet these old “friends” provide more comfort and joy today than they did when the Rabbi first presented them to me. They’ve brought me comfort during perilous plane flights, given me confidence while dovening in bustling airports and brought me great satisfaction as I dovened with new-found friends at Chabad Houses around the country. Everyday use has eroded their original facade but their true beauty has only increased over time.
Every time I place another piece of duct tape on the cover of my Siddur, in one more futile attempt to keep it in tact, I am left with a powerful feeling of accomplishment. Every time I wake up in a new city and put on my Teffilin I know that Hashem is with me and with his help I can cope with whatever challenge that arises that day. The joy that results from the donning of two little black boxes in the morning is indescribably.
When I was young and helped my father pick weeds in the family garden, I would whine all day about how much work it was. Dad was, and still is, fond of saying, “It’s only work when you feel you have someplace else to go. If you’d rather be here, the work turns into fun.” Getting up and putting on one’s Teffilin and Tallis is just like being in the garden with Dad. It’s only difficult when you feel you’d rather be doing something else. Somehow the very act of putting them on connects with your Neshoma, your soul. From the first time you put them on you can feel that it is right and this is something you are meant to do. You can feel that it is something your Neshoma cries out for. The very act calms you down, helps you put life in perspective and brings a feeling of joy and satisfaction that is beyond compare.
But don’t take my word for it. I am a Human Resources Director by trade, not a sales person. Do something wonderful for yourself. Call your local Chabad Rabbi, ask him if you can borrow a pair of Teffilin, a Tallis and a Siddur. If you need help with the Teffilin he’ll be delighted to show you how to put them on. Then put them on each Sunday through Friday for two weeks. At the end of the second week you won’t want to give them back. You’ll be on the phone that next Monday asking the Rabbi to order you your own. And somewhere down the line, when you’re putting another piece of duct tape on the loose cover of your Siddur you’ll know exactly what I am talking about. Go ahead, make that call!
A Pesach to Remember
Several years ago I returned from a lengthy business trip and found what appeared to be a pizza box on my desk at work. When I peered into the box, instead of a pizza, I was surprised to find the biggest matzo I had ever seen. I later learned that it was a Smura matzo, baked especially for Pesach. The matzo was a get-acquainted gift from the local Chabad Rabbi named Chuni Vogel. To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart that Matzo was “… the start of a beautiful relationship.”
Over the next several years Pesach marked the beginning of what has become a very exciting and satisfying spiritual journey. Each year I would commemorate the beginning of my “journey” seated at the Vogel’s joyous Seder table, singing, laughing, eating and drinking with friends.
Last year my career took me away from Delaware, and the Vogel’s Seder table, when my employer transferred me to the Statesman Journal, a newspaper located in the beautiful community of Salem, Oregon. Shortly after we arrived at our new home it was time for Pesach. After talking it over with my wife Linda we decided to spread our wings and see if we could conduct our own family Seder. The very thought of conducting our first Seder by ourselves was both exciting and nerve-racking.
As I prepared for the first Seder night, I could almost comprehend the combination of fear and exultation a student-pilot feels as he/she prepares for their first solo flight. They practice take-offs and landings hundreds of times, they review countless reams of written material and design intricate flight plans in their sleep. But sooner or later, even the best student pilot, must hug their instructor good bye and climb into the pilot seat for their first solo flight.
It was with similar trepidation and excitement that I got ready for Pesach. My wife Linda spent countless hours on the telephone beseeching the Matriarchs of the Hyatt and Lobenstein and Cooper families to part with their closely-guarded secret Pesach recipes. She spent days cooking numerous dishes, experimenting with the ingredients until each dish was just right. While Linda was conducting her “research,” I spent evenings reading and rereading the Hagadah. I wanted our first Seder to be one we’d remember for years to come and more importantly, one that would properly honor the mitzva of Pesach.
A few days before Pesach, just as we were gaining the confidence we could actually pull it off, we received word that my Mom and Dad were going to leave the cozy confines of their Connecticut home and come and visit us for Pesach. As soon as I could catch my breath and bring my heartbeat back below 120 beats per minute, I pulled the Hagadah out and started practicing again.
My parents arrived on schedule and that night we sat down for the first frume Seder that had taken place in a Hyatt, Lobenstein or Cooper home in more than 20 years. As the evening progressed and we saw that we could actually do this Linda and I began to relax and enjoy the evening. As the story of the exodus from Egypt unfolded a warm glow settled over the participants at the table. It was as if we had entered a time machine and all of our Zadies, Bubbies, cousins, uncles and aunts were with us. Like hundreds of generations before us we recounted the story of our ancestors and their journey from bondage. We drank wine, ate matzo, hid the aphikomon, asked the four questions, ate a magnificent dinner, sang songs, laughed and enjoyed being together.
Other than turning my Mom’s ears red when I put a little too much fresh horseradish in the Hillel sandwich, I think we did just fine. After we had drunk our last cup of wine, benched and sung our last song, Linda and I felt like that aforementioned rookie pilot who landed their plane safely. We trembled with joy knowing we had faced the unknown, overcome our own personal fears and accomplished our goal.
Was it the best Seder ever conducted. Probably not. Was it the most organized Seder ever put together. I don’t think so. But the true joy of the evening was discovering that anything is possible if you only take the time to try. For the Hyatt’s it was truly an evening to remember.
Over the next several years Pesach marked the beginning of what has become a very exciting and satisfying spiritual journey. Each year I would commemorate the beginning of my “journey” seated at the Vogel’s joyous Seder table, singing, laughing, eating and drinking with friends.
Last year my career took me away from Delaware, and the Vogel’s Seder table, when my employer transferred me to the Statesman Journal, a newspaper located in the beautiful community of Salem, Oregon. Shortly after we arrived at our new home it was time for Pesach. After talking it over with my wife Linda we decided to spread our wings and see if we could conduct our own family Seder. The very thought of conducting our first Seder by ourselves was both exciting and nerve-racking.
As I prepared for the first Seder night, I could almost comprehend the combination of fear and exultation a student-pilot feels as he/she prepares for their first solo flight. They practice take-offs and landings hundreds of times, they review countless reams of written material and design intricate flight plans in their sleep. But sooner or later, even the best student pilot, must hug their instructor good bye and climb into the pilot seat for their first solo flight.
It was with similar trepidation and excitement that I got ready for Pesach. My wife Linda spent countless hours on the telephone beseeching the Matriarchs of the Hyatt and Lobenstein and Cooper families to part with their closely-guarded secret Pesach recipes. She spent days cooking numerous dishes, experimenting with the ingredients until each dish was just right. While Linda was conducting her “research,” I spent evenings reading and rereading the Hagadah. I wanted our first Seder to be one we’d remember for years to come and more importantly, one that would properly honor the mitzva of Pesach.
A few days before Pesach, just as we were gaining the confidence we could actually pull it off, we received word that my Mom and Dad were going to leave the cozy confines of their Connecticut home and come and visit us for Pesach. As soon as I could catch my breath and bring my heartbeat back below 120 beats per minute, I pulled the Hagadah out and started practicing again.
My parents arrived on schedule and that night we sat down for the first frume Seder that had taken place in a Hyatt, Lobenstein or Cooper home in more than 20 years. As the evening progressed and we saw that we could actually do this Linda and I began to relax and enjoy the evening. As the story of the exodus from Egypt unfolded a warm glow settled over the participants at the table. It was as if we had entered a time machine and all of our Zadies, Bubbies, cousins, uncles and aunts were with us. Like hundreds of generations before us we recounted the story of our ancestors and their journey from bondage. We drank wine, ate matzo, hid the aphikomon, asked the four questions, ate a magnificent dinner, sang songs, laughed and enjoyed being together.
Other than turning my Mom’s ears red when I put a little too much fresh horseradish in the Hillel sandwich, I think we did just fine. After we had drunk our last cup of wine, benched and sung our last song, Linda and I felt like that aforementioned rookie pilot who landed their plane safely. We trembled with joy knowing we had faced the unknown, overcome our own personal fears and accomplished our goal.
Was it the best Seder ever conducted. Probably not. Was it the most organized Seder ever put together. I don’t think so. But the true joy of the evening was discovering that anything is possible if you only take the time to try. For the Hyatt’s it was truly an evening to remember.
Bais Medrash L’Tzeirim Yeshiva Captures the Hearts of Oregon Jewish Community
If you’ve never been to Portland, Oregon before you’ve missed one of the great visual delights in the world. Majestic mountains, beautiful blue bodies of water, giant fir trees and a vibrant city nestled comfortably near the Pacific Ocean. Since sunshine is a precious commodity in the great Northwest, local residents maximize every opportunity they get to spend quality time outdoors in the summer.
In the very center of the city is a curious place called ‘Pioneer Square.’ It is well known as a meeting and mingling place for people from all walks of life. On any given Friday this summer a casual visitor could find business leaders lunching in the park, young kids showing off their high-tech skateboard skills, food vendors hawking their wares and a number of energetic young boys, dressed in black suits and black felt hats .
Every once in awhile you’d hear one of these energetic young lads ask a passerby, “Excuse me sir but are you Jewish?” More times than not the answer was , “Why yes, why do you ask?” The boys would quickly follow up and ask them if they would like to put on a pair of Teffilin. After getting over their initial surprise, a lot of the individuals graciously accepted the invitation and right there, in the middle of Pioneer Square, put on Teffilin, many for the very first time!
One young man, Mendy Blau, from Crown Heights, NY, told me this was the first time he had ever successfully convinced someone to put on Teffilin right there on the street! He said he had asked men many times in New York but most were too embarrassed to put them on while standing on the sidewalk. He said he was amazed at the positive reception he and his friends received here in Oregon.
Getzel Rubashkin of Postville, Iowa told a story of meeting a rather intimidating looking fellow whose arms were covered in tattoos. With just abisul of encouragement the big burly tattooed man agreed to put on Teffilin, despite the taunts and jeers of his similarly-tattooed buddies. He went on to say that on that particular day a man dressed in a pink robe was standing near him distributing brochures for the cult he represented. After a few minutes Getzel felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, the pink-robed man asked him, “Excuse me sir but are you a Quaker?” Trying to suppress a laugh Getzel told him that he was not a Quaker, he was Jewish. They had a brief conversation in which Getzel told the man why he was there and what he was doing. The man went back to his business and continued to stop everyone and anyone who passed by. However, he soon modified his speech and he too started asking people if they were Jewish. When he finally got an affirmative answer he gave the man a brochure and told him to go see his new acquaintance Getzel because he had something to tell him. The gentleman in question was the previously mentioned tattooed man.
So who were these fearless young “Men in Black” you might ask. They were three of the sixteen students who attended the first-ever summer Bais Medrash L’Tzeirim Yeshiva that Rabbi Moshe Wilhelm and his team from Chabad of Oregon conducted this summer. Arriving from cities, states and countries from around the world, these sixteen, fourteen and fifteen year-olds spent seven weeks learning Talmud, Gemora , Maamorim Sichos, Halocho and Inyonei Moshiach Ugeula under the watchful eyes of a world-class group of teachers. The program was established in the name of Rabbi Wilhelm’s father-in-law the esteemed Rabbi Menachem Shmual Dovid HaLevi Raichik.
These were an inspired group of young men. When the bochrim finally closed their books, after a day of intense learning, they all volunteered an additional few hours to learn with local residents. It was inspirational to watch fourteen and fifteen year old boys huddled over books with ‘students’ who were three, four and sometimes five times their age. It was hard to know who had a better time, the ‘students’ or the ‘teachers.’
During their time in Portland the band of sixteen captured the hearts of everyone they came in contact with. While most of their time was spent advancing their knowledge of Torah, they still found time for fun with at trip to the Oregon coast, Vancouver, BC and Seattle. During the last Shabbos they spent in the ‘Rose City’ I asked one young man Mendel Levin of Palo Alto, California, “Where are you off to now Mendel?” he paused and said, “I am going to the Brunoy Yeshiva in Paris to continue my studies.” I smiled and said, “Remember, Paris will be interesting but it won’t be Portland and you won’t find a kugel to compare with Rebbetzin Wilhelm’s.”
Torah study, Pioneer Square and kugel, it was a summer the bochrim and the Jewish community of Portland will not soon forget!
In the very center of the city is a curious place called ‘Pioneer Square.’ It is well known as a meeting and mingling place for people from all walks of life. On any given Friday this summer a casual visitor could find business leaders lunching in the park, young kids showing off their high-tech skateboard skills, food vendors hawking their wares and a number of energetic young boys, dressed in black suits and black felt hats .
Every once in awhile you’d hear one of these energetic young lads ask a passerby, “Excuse me sir but are you Jewish?” More times than not the answer was , “Why yes, why do you ask?” The boys would quickly follow up and ask them if they would like to put on a pair of Teffilin. After getting over their initial surprise, a lot of the individuals graciously accepted the invitation and right there, in the middle of Pioneer Square, put on Teffilin, many for the very first time!
One young man, Mendy Blau, from Crown Heights, NY, told me this was the first time he had ever successfully convinced someone to put on Teffilin right there on the street! He said he had asked men many times in New York but most were too embarrassed to put them on while standing on the sidewalk. He said he was amazed at the positive reception he and his friends received here in Oregon.
Getzel Rubashkin of Postville, Iowa told a story of meeting a rather intimidating looking fellow whose arms were covered in tattoos. With just abisul of encouragement the big burly tattooed man agreed to put on Teffilin, despite the taunts and jeers of his similarly-tattooed buddies. He went on to say that on that particular day a man dressed in a pink robe was standing near him distributing brochures for the cult he represented. After a few minutes Getzel felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, the pink-robed man asked him, “Excuse me sir but are you a Quaker?” Trying to suppress a laugh Getzel told him that he was not a Quaker, he was Jewish. They had a brief conversation in which Getzel told the man why he was there and what he was doing. The man went back to his business and continued to stop everyone and anyone who passed by. However, he soon modified his speech and he too started asking people if they were Jewish. When he finally got an affirmative answer he gave the man a brochure and told him to go see his new acquaintance Getzel because he had something to tell him. The gentleman in question was the previously mentioned tattooed man.
So who were these fearless young “Men in Black” you might ask. They were three of the sixteen students who attended the first-ever summer Bais Medrash L’Tzeirim Yeshiva that Rabbi Moshe Wilhelm and his team from Chabad of Oregon conducted this summer. Arriving from cities, states and countries from around the world, these sixteen, fourteen and fifteen year-olds spent seven weeks learning Talmud, Gemora , Maamorim Sichos, Halocho and Inyonei Moshiach Ugeula under the watchful eyes of a world-class group of teachers. The program was established in the name of Rabbi Wilhelm’s father-in-law the esteemed Rabbi Menachem Shmual Dovid HaLevi Raichik.
These were an inspired group of young men. When the bochrim finally closed their books, after a day of intense learning, they all volunteered an additional few hours to learn with local residents. It was inspirational to watch fourteen and fifteen year old boys huddled over books with ‘students’ who were three, four and sometimes five times their age. It was hard to know who had a better time, the ‘students’ or the ‘teachers.’
During their time in Portland the band of sixteen captured the hearts of everyone they came in contact with. While most of their time was spent advancing their knowledge of Torah, they still found time for fun with at trip to the Oregon coast, Vancouver, BC and Seattle. During the last Shabbos they spent in the ‘Rose City’ I asked one young man Mendel Levin of Palo Alto, California, “Where are you off to now Mendel?” he paused and said, “I am going to the Brunoy Yeshiva in Paris to continue my studies.” I smiled and said, “Remember, Paris will be interesting but it won’t be Portland and you won’t find a kugel to compare with Rebbetzin Wilhelm’s.”
Torah study, Pioneer Square and kugel, it was a summer the bochrim and the Jewish community of Portland will not soon forget!
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