Document 6588221

 ‫וירא‬
‫פרשת‬
published weekly by Anshei Lubavitch of Greater Miami
in memory of Dr. Steve Barton - ‫ישראל פרץ בן דוב‬
Leaf Collecting
Many folks from the East Coast to the Rocky Mountains
have been going on nature walks, drives through the
mountains, or strolls in parks these past few weeks to
enjoy the change of colors and scenery that autumn affords.
Kids in particular enjoy collecting the fallen autumn leaves.
Sometimes it's for a school project (having to identify
which leaves came from which trees?), an art project, or a
personal project (trying to find leaves in as many different
colors and shapes as possible?).
Do you remember one of those "nature/art projects" that
many of us did as kids? You took leaves and put them under a
sheet of paper. With the edge of a crayon you rubbed the
paper over the leaf and were able to recognize not only the
shape of the leaf but even its main stem and veins. You
couldn't rub it too lightly or too firmly, though, or it wouldn't
work.
Jewish life is like one big leaf collecting project if you
consider that mitzvot are very much like leaves. They come in
all different colors and shapes and sizes and textures. And, as
Jewish teachings explain, just as no two faces are exactly the
same neither are there two temperaments or opinions that are
exactly the same.
Thus, individuals are attracted to different mitzvot
(commandments). But, despite one's propensity for a certain
shaped or colored leaf, if the teacher said you had to collect
ten different leaves you had to collect TEN different leaves.
Similarly, though we might enjoy doing one mitzva over
another mitzva, or five mitzvot rather than 13 mitzvot, when
the Teacher says to collect 13, you gotta collect 13.
Similar to the way we execute the art project, we should be
neither too firm nor too light in doing these mitzvot, but should
follow the rules and tread the middle path; if we don't then the
project won't work. It's not a punishment either, it just won't
work.
Often people ask, "But isn't the main part of the mitzva the
intent? After all, G-d desires the heart!"
Intent and sincerity are a major part of the mitzva but not
the main thing. The actual doing of the mitzva, and doing it
according to the rules, is the major part.
If you do it wrong, you won't get punished, it just won't
come out right. Like the art project with the leaf which doesn't
work if you rub too hard or too soft (or not at all), there won't
be an image on the paper. And with the mitzva, if it's not done
right there won't be an image on your soul, or on the
environment, or on the world. That's not a punishment, it's
simply a fact. Too little or too much, too light or too hard, too
hot or too cold. If you don't do it right it just won't work.
But, there's always next time to try again.
Keep on collecting those leaves and those mitzvot. Enjoy
them. Appreciate them. Have favorites that you especially
treasure and look for at every opportunity. Eagerly anticipate
the times of year when certain mitzvot are more readily
available or easily discernible than at other times.
Take a stroll, or a walk or a drive through the glorious colors
and scents and textures of mitzvot every single day of your life.
CANDLE LIGHTING TIME
TORAH READING
Friday, Nov. 7, 2014
BERESHIS
5:17 P.M.
Vayera: 18:1-22:24
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This week's Luminary is sponsored in memory of
Harav Avrahom Yaakov ben Yisroel Mordechai Teitelbaum -
‫אברהם יעקב בן ישראל מרדכי‬
May his memory always serve as a great inspiration for his family,
Talmidim, and all those who knew him.
This week's Torah portion, Vayera, hints at a spiritual
yet mundane aspect of Abraham and Sara's relationship.
Our Sages of the Talmud teach: "How does a woman
help a man?...If a man brings wheat, does he chew the
wheat? If he brings flax, does he wear the flax? It follows,
then, that she brings light to his eyes and puts him on his
feet!"
A person's mission in life is to elevate and refine the
material aspects of the world, imbuing them with spiritual
content. But man brings only wheat and flax, he is
concerned with raw materials, with generalities. He is
somewhat removed from the down-to-earth realities, the
details. It is woman who transforms the wheat into food
and the flax into clothing, who tangibly implements our lifetime mission.
Abraham and Sara. Man and woman. When Abraham
found out that his wife, Sara, was to bear a child, he
prayed. From the lofty, detached viewpoint of his great
saintliness he asked, "Would that Ishmael might live before
You!" He hoped that Ishmael would continue to live in fear
of and worship G-d. Abraham saw in Ishmael, future father
of the Arab nations, the potential for living a G-d-fearing
life.
But Sara saw reality. She saw Ishmael's devastating
influence in the home, particularly over her son Isaac. She
demanded that Abraham remove the harmful influence of
Ishmael from the home.
Abraham could not find peace with the idea of sending
his oldest son away. Although G-d had already informed
Abraham that He would fulfill His covenant specifically and
exclusively through Isaac, from Abraham's perspective it
seemed that Ishmael should stay in the house. Only in his
own home could Abraham hope to influence Ishmael in a
positive manner.
But G-d declared to Abraham, "In all that Sara says to
you, listen to her voice, for in Isaac shall descendants be
called to you." The commentator Rashi explains that this
statement indicates that Sara's power of prophecy was
superior to Abraham's. It was Sara, the down-to-earth
woman, the foundation of the home, who recognized the
harmful influence.
And he sat at the opening of the tent in the heat of the
day (Gen. 18:1)
This is the mark of the true tzadik (righteous individual),
who always sees himself "at the opening," i.e., the very
beginning, along the path of righteousness. Considering
himself still "outside" and far from spiritual perfection, he
worries that his deeds haven't accomplished much...
(Toldot Yaakov Yosef)
For I know him, that he will command his children and
his household after him (Gen. 18:19)
According to Rashi, "For I know him" is "an expression of
love...for he who knows someone brings him near to himself,
and knows him and understands him." Why did G-d love
Abraham so much? Unlike other righteous people who lived
before his time, Abraham understood that the objective in
serving G-d is not to attain individual perfection through
contemplation, but to actually have a positive effect on the
world. G-d knew that Abraham would "command his children
and household after him" to go in the way of the Torah, and
thus loved him dearly.
(Our Sages)
And when he saw them, he ran to meet them
(Gen. 18:2)
"Receive every person with a cheerful countenance,"
declared Shammai, the great Torah Sage. Even if one
bestows all the treasures in the world on another, if his face
is angry, it is considered as if he gave him nothing. On the
other hand, if a person greets his fellow in a friendly
manner, even if he gives him nothing it is considered as if he
gave him a great fortune.
And Abraham drew near (Gen. 18:3)
Rashi notes that Abraham approached G-d "to speak [with
Him] in a harsh manner," to plead that He change His mind
and not destroy Sodom. Abraham, the epitome of lovingkindness, nonetheless saw fit to go against his natural
inclination and "speak harshly" with G-d! We learn from this
that when it comes to saving lives, either literally or in the
spiritual sense, a Jew must pull out all the stops and do all in
his power, even if it goes against his very nature.
(Likrat Shabbat)
G-d rained upon Sodom and Gomora brimstone and
fire...(Gen. 19:24)
At the present time Sodom is in its ruined state. However,
when Moshiach comes and evil will be completely removed
from the earth, Sodom will return to its original state of
blessing and beauty, as it says, (Ezek. 16) "And I will return
the captivity of Sodom."
(Sefer HaParshiot)
And Abraham called the name of his son...Isaac
(Yitzchak) (Gen. 21:3)
In the Messianic age, it is specifically of Isaac that we will
say "for you are our father" (a verse from the book of
Isaiah). According to Chasidut, the name Yitzchak is an
expression of laughter and delight; when Moshiach comes,
the supernal joy and delight of our present service of G-d
will be fully revealed.
(Likutei Sichot, Vol. I)
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In his voluminous writings, the Previous Rebbe,
Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak, has documented the profound
bond he had with his father, Rabbi Sholom Ber, known
as the Rebbe Rashab. The following excerpts afford us
a glimpse into the unusual childhood years which
formed his towering personality.
From the year 5647 (1887) [when the author was
seven years old] until 5649 (1889) I did not see my
parents, because throughout this time they visited
various health resorts abroad. Only occasionally did
they return home for a few days. My lifestyle during
those two years made me forget my earlier memories
of my father.
The warm closeness which my father showed me
from the summer of 5649 onwards erased all traces of
the suffering which I had undergone as a result of my
wanderings and difficulties in the preceding two years,
and once again I recollected everything that I had
seen and heard in the years before that period.
On the Sabbath my father would pray at
considerable length. He would go there when the
congregational prayers began at about 9:30 a.m. The
congregation finished at about 11:30 a.m. and he
would complete his private devotions at about three or
sometimes four.
Usually, even those individuals who prayed at
length had completed their prayers half an hour or at
most an hour after the congregation had finished.
At this age I recalled that when I had been a very
little boy, still taught by Reb Yekusiel, I used to run to
shul to hear my father at his prayers. At that time,
though, my heart was sad: Why didn't my father
daven fast like the whole congregation-like my uncles,
for example? Once, in answer to my question, my
uncle, Reb Zalman Aharon explained to me that my
father wasn't able to read all those letters so fast. This
made me really sad.
Once, when I was little, I came to shul and found
no one there but my father. He was facing the wall and
entreating G-d for compassion. I was utterly unable to
grasp why he entreated more than all other worshipers
and why he was more in need of compassion than
other people.
Suddenly, my father wept intensely. My heart fell
within me: no one was there in the House of G-d but
my father, and he was weeping. I listened carefully
and heard that he said "Shema Yisrael" and wept, and
said "Hashem Elokeinu" and wept. Then, still weeping,
he said from the fullness of his heart and in an
awesome voice, "Hashem Echad."
This time I could contain myself no longer. I went
and asked my mother tearfully: "Why does father
daven longer than everyone else? My uncle Reb
Zalman Aharon says that father can't pronounce the
letters quickly, but why can't he read quickly and
properly? Besides, today I saw and heard him crying.
Mother, come along with me and I'll show you that
Father is crying!"
"But what can I do?" replied my mother. "Can I
send him to a teacher? Go and ask your grandmother.
Perhaps she will be able to do something about it."
Hastening to follow my mother's advice, I went to
put my innocent question to my grandmother.
"Your father is a great chasid and a tzadik," she
said. "Before any single word leaves his mouth he first
thinks of its exact meaning."
As I now recall, her answer set my mind at rest.
From that time on I related differently to my father, for
I now knew that he was different from all other
people. At every single step I began to see just who
my father was. Other people talked, and talked
excitedly; my father was silent most of the time, and
when he spoke he spoke softly.
In the course of one month in the summer of 5649
I became a different boy. My father showed me such
closeness that I felt all the warmth of a father, all the
love of a compassionate father. I went to sleep with
the thought that now I, too, had a father and a mother
to whom to say goodnight, and in the course of the
following two years I completely forgot the bitter
conditions under which I had previously lived.
In the course of those next two years I attained
understanding. I was now able to appreciate the great
difference between my father and his brothers, that is,
between his aspirations and theirs. For over a year
now I had been listening to his discourses of Chasidic
philosophy, standing behind my father as he delivered
them. My father was expounding Chasidut and I was
there to hear it.
In the course of those two years the Sabbaths
were holy and the festivals were devoted to prayer and
joy. Every Sabbath I would listen to the Reading of the
Torah while following attentively in a Chumash, and in
the course of the day I would study the commentary
of Rashi as well. Rosh Hashana of the year 5650
(1889) [when the author was nine years old] was the
first Rosh Hashana on which I did everything like an
adult. And from that day on I was a grown-up.
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All is Well
By: Dr. David Nesenoff
I only remember his first name, Michel. We all sat at Rabbi Yossi
Schildkraut's Shabbat table in S. Paolo, Brazil. There were families,
friends and visiting businessmen. Michel, a father of four, had moved to
Israel from Brazil; he was now back in Brazil just for a couple of weeks
for some meetings.
After the fish, meat, rice, beans, and saying l'chaim, we sang.
Nigunim, melodies without words, songs with words, and then the old
favorite "Jerusalem of Gold" crept into the medley. We smiled when
Michel continued on after the first stanza; after all, who knows all the
stanzas to that song? Michel sang all three, and the rest of us only
joined in for the refrain, "Yerushalayim shel zahav."
Then Michel quietly noted to all that the golden song about
Jerusalem had been written right before the 1967 war and that
following the battle an additional verse was added. He began to softly
sing that final stanza in Hebrew, the words that captured an eternal
moment of time when Jerusalem was once again home, "We have
returned to the market, the cistern and the square; the shofar calls on
the Temple Mount in the Old City."
And Michel began to cry. The Shabbat table was still. His voice
cracked and he paused. Soon, I was tearing as well. The reality of our
people's history, legacy, frailty and future emerged right there among
the challah crumbs and the tablecloth stained from my spilled wine.
I was on a 10-day speaking tour in Brazil with audiences in S. Paulo,
Curitiba and Rio de Janeiro, delivering the message of the Rebbe, "We
are b'nai Yisrael; we are the children of Israel." Yes, children are eternal
and that is why we have an eternal relationship with the land that G-d
gave us. I have had the merit to offer my humorous presentation, laden
with the Rebbe's words, in Australia, Ireland, England, Canada and
throughout the entire United States. But there in Brazil, at that Shabbat
table, the children of Israel did what children do. They cried.
The Portuguese greeting "tudo bem" ("all is well") was uttered by all
the shluchim during my journey to South America. These emissaries
indeed fulfill their personal commitment to the Rebbe's vision of
reaching every Jew in the world. And the Jewish souls they have found,
collected and gathered are warm and searching and eager and
questioning and learning and trying and struggling, but tudo bem, all is
well.
I must admit that although my Chabad global speaking tours have
made me a seasoned traveler, I was a bit nervous prior to this trip to
Brazil. When I arrived at the Miami airport departure gate as I waited
for the boarding announcement, I noticed a white-bearded chasid
sitting there.
"Are you Chabad?" I asked.
In a secretive manner he replied, "I try to be."
He kept his cards close to his chest, not revealing very much about
himself while he interrogated me. He then borrowed my phone to make
some local calls; he had me watch his luggage while he left to pray;
and upon his return presented his business card. The One Above quells
our fears and protects us on our travels. My new flying companion was
none other than Rabbi Shabsi Alpern, Brazil's head emissary.
When I arrived in S. Paulo, Rabbi Dovid Goldberg shared with me
some of the woes of the largest South American country that he now
calls home. There is crime, corruption, and a high cost of living, but
tudo bem, all is well.
The Jews filled the synagogue that evening and they laughed
and they cried and they laughed as I spoke. I am often told in
various countries and in regions of the U.S., "The Jews are
different here; their humor is different." But it is proven time and
time again that the very first Jew who was born to Abraham and
Sarah was not named "Sadness." His name, Yitzchak, meaning
"laughter," still runs through our veins. Like children we cry; but
like our very first of kin, we also all giggle and laugh the same.
There was a brit while I was in S. Paolo. Rabbi Schildkraut
mentioned that the parents of the baby and their siblings all met
at his synagogue and they all married Jews as well; and there
have been many brisim. I asked the "what ifs." What if the shul
wasn't here? What if Chabad wasn't here? What if the Rebbe
didn't send emissaries to Brazil?
Rabbi Schildkraut, who is so loved for his personal genuine
warmth, simply shrugged and answered me with his beautiful
silent wide smile, that can only be translated as "tudo bem." His
wonderful sons whom I met, Shmuli and Berel, obviously learned
well from their parents who have successfully raised a family and
a community while mastering a foreign tongue in a far off
environment.
To hear Rebbetzin Schildkraut tell a story in fluent Portuguese,
one need not comprehend a word to thoroughly understand her
enthusiasm and zest for teaching Judaism.
Rabbi Yossi Schildkraut opined, "We shluchim (emissaries)
stepped foot into these unchartered places not knowing what to
expect, but I believe the Rebbe knew very well from the start
what we would accomplish." Reb Yossi grinned under his full,
wise, beard, "We shluchim said to the Rebbe that we have no
experience; we don't know the language; we have no business
skills; we are shy and not trained for this." And Reb Yossi said
that the Rebbe answered, "Perfect, you are the right ones for the
job, go."
My missioin also continues as I travel and speak at Chabad
centers and Jewish communities and institutions. Students lined
up so respectfully to chat with me after my presentation at the
Renascenca Jewish School in S. Paulo. One young man decided
that he would now put on tefillin everyday; another student told
me that he would "upgrade" his Shabbat observance. Three
teenage girls told me how they were inspired and wanted to "do
more Jewish." My speeches encourage the "doing" of Jewish and
not just the "feeling" of Jewish.
And so at Rabbi Schildkraut's Shabbat table, I wiped away the
embarrassing tears from my eyes hoping no one would notice
that I was also crying along with Michel.
Perhaps Michel cried for missing his wife in Israel; perhaps he
cried for missing his little ones back at home. Or perhaps he cried
because we are indeed just children. We are forever the children
of Israel who cry and yearn to return to the Temple in Jerusalem.
And I am learning first hand that we will also return to our
Temple Mount, our Judaism, our Torah and our mitzvot by way of
Brazil ...and by way of all the foreign lands and sacred homes of
all the Rebbe's emissaries. Yes, thank G-d, all is well, tudo bem.
“OUR INVESTMENT TODAY FOR A BRIGHTER TOMORROW”
Rabbi Dovid Shapiro
Rabbi Yitzchock Teitelbaum
Directors
Rabbi Zev Katz
Director of Chabad on Wheels
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