A Brivele der Mamen

The Hanassi Blog does not usually carry reports on what happens at our weekly se’udah shelishit—but last week’s was different. It was sponsored by Geoffrey Gilbert in memory of his mother, for whom he has yahrzeit this week, and Geoffrey’s words so touched Pessy Krausz that she sat down after Shabbat and wrote her recollection of Geoffrey’s words. We share them with you here: 

Many readers may have heard the Yiddish song A Brivele der Mamen (A Little Letter to Mama) written in 1938, describing a mother’s pain when her son, who left Poland for America, forgets to write a letter to the mother he left behind. Last Shabbat, when Geoffrey Gilbert, who together with his wife Judy, sponsored se’udah shelishit, the very reverse was true. 

In his usual low-key gentle tones Geoffrey proceeded to explain about his grandma, who lived to the remarkable age of 103; she only visited Israel once in her life but returned to England with a small bag of its holy soil which she requested to be buried with her. He then told us of his mother, who came to be in their family home in London for the last 20 years of her life until she passed on aged 97. 

With a small gesture Geoffrey opened the ruby red Chumash in front of him, drawing out a pure white page. You could hear the proverbial pin drop as he unfolded it, explaining that throughout the years his mother, and in his lifetime his father also, had read the weekly portion from it. It was to her dear son that she entrusted this precious volume in the knowledge that he would treasure and use it too. 

Geoffrey’s mother’s words created a lump in our throats—but more was to come. Geoffrey had dedicated this evening not only to the memory of his beloved mother, but to the one who had so lovingly looked after his mother throughout those years. His wife Judy! It seems that Geoffrey’s mother also appreciated Judy—and enjoyed playing her part in looking after their children and feeding them: he might get a phone call to his surgery and, when this skilled orthodontist was told “Your mother is on the phone!”, being a most devoted son, he would take the call, only to be told “Geoffrey, it’s pasta night. Take Judy out!” 

Ending with his thoughts on this week’s Torah portion, Geoffrey focused on the word “Achuzah” (אחוזה, a special portion), as Israel is described. He mentioned how, if we are not deserving, the land will throw us out. On the other hand. we must strive to be worthy of it and cherish it. Obviously both Geoffrey (Gershon Yitzchak) and Judy (Gittel) have done just that. Though neither like to be in the spotlight, they have lit up the Hanassi community with their thoughtful sponsorships and by running events on many occasions, not least by being among those who created a memorable Shul breakfast celebration to mark Israel's 77th birthday. 

Mother would have been proud of both of you! Her memory is indeed for a blessing. 

If you’ve not heard A Brivele der Mamen, you can listen to it here. 

When imagination is the mother of invention: Tazria-Metzora 5785

This week’s double parashah presents to us a difficult set of rituals regarding a type of disease that evinces physical manifestations. The rabbis associated this disease with the sins of improper speech and personal slander. We no longer have any real knowledge of the disease, its true appearances and effects, its quarantine period and the healing process that restored people to their community and society. The ritual laws of purity and impurity no longer apply in our post-Temple society and, since the Babylonian Talmud offers no specific analysis of these laws, they are not subject to the usual intensive scholarship and study that pertain, for instance, to the laws of money and torts in the Talmud. 

In the nineteenth century a great and learned Chasidic rebbe composed a “Talmud” regarding the laws of purity and impurity. This feat of erudition however met with criticism from other scholars, remaining controversial and largely ignored in modern yeshivot and the world of scholarship. Accordingly this topic remains mysterious and relatively inexplicable to us. When these two parshiyot occur together, as they do this year and in most years, the question of their relevance becomes even more acute and perplexing.

The Torah, which always challenges us to understand it, retains its inscrutability. And perhaps this is the message of the Torah to us. There is a world that is beyond our earthly eyes and rational vision. Modern man dreams of space aliens and universes other than the one we inhabit. An almost innate sense pervades us that there is more to creation than what we sense and feel. It fuels our individual drive to immortality, our dreams and imaginations, and it allows us to think creatively and to invent.

There is a popular saying that necessity is the mother of invention. I do not feel that this is so. Imagination is the mother of invention. There was no real necessity for the astonishing advances in technology that our past century has witnessed, but people who lived in a place beyond our own real world imagined the computer, the wireless phone and the internet. This capacity to deal with an unseen universe and bring it to fruition is one of the great traits of the human mind.

The Torah indicates to us the existence of an intangible world, a world of purity and impurity, of holiness and of the human quest for attachment to the Creator of all worlds. Even though our mindsets do not quite relate to this concept, the Torah wishes us to realize that such a world does exist beyond our limited human vision. And that is a very important and essential lesson in life. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein      

Getting paid the going rate

 Continuing our series of pre-Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Avot Perek 2.

The mishnah in Avot that was most frequently cited online last year is taught by Rabbi Tarfon (Avot 2:21):

לֹא עָלֶֽיךָ הַמְּלָאכָה לִגְמוֹר, וְלֹא אַתָּה בֶן חוֹרִין לְהִבָּטֵל מִמֶּֽנָּה, אִם לָמַֽדְתָּ תּוֹרָה הַרְבֵּה, נוֹתְנִין לָךְ שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה, וְנֶאֱמָן הוּא בַּֽעַל מְלַאכְתֶּֽךָ שֶׁיְּשַׁלֶּם לָךְ שְׂכַר פְּעֻלָּתֶֽךָ, וְדַע שֶׁמַּתַּן שְׂכָרָן שֶׁל צַדִּיקִים לֶעָתִיד לָבֹא

It is not up to you to finish the task, but neither are you free to quit it. If you have learned much Torah you will be well paid—and your employer can be trusted to pay the price for your work. And know that the righteous get paid in the World to Come.

To be frank, it’s only the first part that gets cited, about not being able to finish the job or to abandon it—and that’s often by politicians, civic dignitaries, communal leaders and captains of industry. But the mishnah taken in its entirety paints a comforting picture for us:  we keep on toiling in Torah and God picks up our labour costs, settling up with us in a better world than this: a world where there is lots of leisure and no household chores, no taxes, plenty of opportunities to learn a bit more Torah, and so on. In other words, a great incentive.

But in last week’s perek, Antigonus Ish Socho teaches (Avot 1:3) a mishnah that begins:

אַל תִּהְיוּ כַּעֲבָדִים הַמְשַׁמְּשִׁין אֶת הָרַב עַל מְנָת לְקַבֵּל פְּרָס, אֶלָּא הֱווּ כַּעֲבָדִים הַמְשַׁמְּשִׁין אֶת הָרַב שֶׁלֹּא עַל מְנָת לְקַבֵּל פְּרָס

 Do not be like workers who serve their master on condition that they will receive payment. Rather, be like masters who serve their master without the condition that they will receive payment.

So while Rabbi Tarfon reassures us that we will get paid even if we don’t finish the job, Antigonus cautions us not to work in the expectation of being paid at all. Are these rabbis arguing with one another. And, if they are, can they both be right?

One answer is that even though you know for sure that you will be rewarded (as Rabbi Tarfon says), you have to put that prospect out of your head and just get on with the task of learning Torah. But if it completely slips your mind that you are going to receive a reward, you can’t truly be doing it only for the pay-off (as Antigonus suggests). There is an analogy here with top footballers, tennis players and other athletes who receive vast sums of money for their work. When they are involved in their sport in mind and body, the only thing that matters is the game or competition in which they are engaged. All thoughts of pay disappear.

Another answer is based in the Hebrew words themselves. Rabbi Tarfon’s word for payment is שְׂכַר (sechar). This is typically the going rate for the job. Antigonus however uses the word פְּרָס (peras), which is more like a tip, a gratuity that the worker receives in addition to any regular pay. On this basis it is reasonable to work for one’s ordinary pay, but one should not work in the expectation of picking up unearned bonuses.

The Torah being what it is, there are many other commentaries and explanations based on the theme of reward versus altruism in the service of God. The words of Torah are always open to us and there is no end to the way we read and understand them.

Why are sirens called sirens?

Why are sirens called sirens? Classical scholars among the Hanassi membership may recall reading the  sequel to Homer's Iliad, this being the Odyssey--an epic poem that relates the ten-year journey faced by Odysseus on his way home from the siege and eventual fall of Troy.  On his way, his ship encounters sirens. These are female beings that resemble humans but possess irresistibly alluring voices. The best way to cope with their songand not to fall into their clutches is either to stop up one's ears with beeswax, which is what Odysseus told his crew members to do, or (as he did himself) be tied to the mast so that he would not be compelled by the attraction of these voices to throw himself after them into the sea.

The tale of the sirens raises an interesting point of Jewish law. Would the enticing songs of the sirens be subject to the halachot relating to kol ishah? Do those rules apply only to human female voices? And, to come to think of it, would the same issues arise in respect of female voices generated by AI? That's something to think about!

Sirens: the sounds of warning

 Rabbi Wein wrote the following opinion piece a few years ago. Now that our lives are conditioned by an increased need to listen out for sirens, these words  (which have been slightly updated) are of particular relevance.

One of the many skills that those of us living here in Israel rapidly acquire is the ability to discern between the different sounds of similar-sounding sirens. We live in a noisy environment and it is more than likely that in everyday living here we will hear some kind of siren. Most of the time the siren is from an ambulance transporting people to the hospital for treatment. The wail of that type of alert is easily recognizable and becomes almost part of the background noise that marks life in a large city. The wail of an ambulance siren is more of a staccato nature, with pauses in the noise before it resumes its sound.  

As I mentioned earlier, we are all accustomed to this siren, and it is mainly produced to warn oncoming or crossing traffic that an ambulance is about to pass, which will not necessarily observe the speed limit or even stop signs. Extra caution is needed by all the other automobiles on that street at that time, to avoid an accident or collision. The ambulance services here in Israel are quite efficient, and they provide life-giving assistance with alacrity and compassion. No one likes to hear the sound of an ambulance, indicating that someone requires dire and instant medical treatment. However, the sound of an ambulance siren does not strike fear or terror into the hearts and minds of those who hear it, for we think of it as a part of the ongoing regular cycle of life as we know it to be.

 

There is another type of sound or siren that is often heard here on the streets of Jerusalem, and that is the siren of a police or security vehicle. The sound of this siren is much lower and more growling than the ambulance siren. It is easily recognizable, and its purpose is, as was the case with the ambulance siren. to clear a path in traffic, to allow the police vehicle to arrive where it is needed quickly and safely. The police siren is often accompanied by a spoken warning emanating from the loudspeaker of the police vehicle, so that in most cases the purpose and mission of the police vehicle is immediately understood by all those that otherwise would somehow block the street or go through the intersection. 

 

Police sirens often engender anxiety and worry. They usually mean that there is a bad accident or an act of violence that had been reported, and the police are rushing to it, to sort matters out and help restore the situation to some sort of normalcy. If we hear a large number such as three or four police sirens one after another speeding down our streets, we are immediately concerned that the matter is indeed serious, one that the radio will inform us of quickly. If we do not hear any news regarding any special occurrence, then we are immediately filled with relief caused by the police sirens.

 

However, there is a third type of siren that we have recently experienced, here in the holy city of Jerusalem. That sound is the up-and-down wail of the siren announcing that an attack, usually concerning rockets and or missiles, is taking place. It was once rare for us here in Jerusalem to hear that siren and, until quite recently, I heard it only a few times. It now signifies rocket attacks by Hamas and the Houthis at Israeli targets throughout the country. 

 

That siren sound does cause an immediate emotional response. It not only warns of imminent danger, but it opens a vista of a very unknown and dangerous future prospect. When that type of siren sounds, one is to find shelter and await confirmation that all is clear, when one can return to one's own apartment. The effect of this siren is long-lasting, so that even after it was last heard, which could be weeks later, its echoes remain vivid in the ears and minds of the civilian population of the city. 

 

The prophet Amos already stated that when the morning siren of the shofar is sounded in the city, the people will be filled with terror. The sounds of this last type of siren fit that bill and description accurately.

The Book of Books, by Azriel Eisenberg (Book of the Month, Iyar 5785)

The Book of Books is one of the more handsome tomes you will find on the shelves of Beit Knesset Hanassi's Marvin N. Hirschhorn collection. 

In this volume Azriel Eisenberg, himself a seasoned educationalist, takes the reader through the mysteries of the Torah scroll, starting from the specific way the scribe copies the Torah on to the parchment scroll to the illuminating history of the Bible text and the important role the Sifrei Torah have played in the life and history of the Jews. It's an enjoyable and easy read, with large, clear print and plenty of illustrations. 

This engrossing book is said to be the only comprehensive guide in English to the many facets of the Torah scroll, the most sacred and precious possession of the Jewish people.

The Marvin N. Hirschhorn collection is located in the Beit Midrash, at the far end of the raised area that is reserved as an Ezrat Nashim during davening times. This Shabbat we marked Marvin Hirschhorn's 5th yahrzeit.Chaim arukhim to Myrna and all the family. 

Holiness and hubris: Shemini 5785

The death of the two sons of Aaron remains one of the great mysteries in Torah narrative. Midrash and the commentators offer various explanations as to the cause of this tragedy: the sons did not want to marry, they had drunk wine and were inebriated, and other faults were ascribed to them. Since the work of the priests was so holy, they deserved to die. However, this is a difficult way to explain—if human beings can ever explain—why bad things happen to good people.

Some commentators see the deaths as retribution against Aaron himself for his role in allowing the Golden Calf to be created, causing the Jewish people to be seen in such a hideous fashion immediately after receiving the Torah. The problem with this explanation is that we learn that the sins of the father are not to be visited upon the children, nor the sins of the children to be visited upon their parents. Because of these difficulties, no matter what type of explanation we wish to explore, it seems to me that the response of Aaron to this tragedy is really the only response that human beings can make. That response is silence.

Aaron does not say anything and, in that silence, there is an acceptance of the fact that the judgment of heaven is always inscrutable to humans. Despite our best efforts and the wisdom of our commentaries, many times in life the question remains stronger than any potential answer that can be offered—and this itself draws the line between the Creator and the created, between heaven and earth.

 While we would naturally like to be able to understand everything, it is basically hubris on the part of human beings to assume that they can figure everything out for themselves. You will notice that this trait is ever-present within young children, who want to do everything on their own, and who believe that they can. This human trait has a positive side to it because it allows us to be creative and inventive, to attempt new things, and to gain new insights into life. However, it also has drawbacks. We eventually run up against a wall of ideas that we do not understand and which, to our mind, are irrational and even unjustified. We are, therefore, left in confusion and disappointment. The only solution is silence, acceptance, and, so to speak, to be able to move on even if we do not understand the events themselves.

Whenever there is a major crisis in our lives and in our society, there will be many who will assign reasons and causes for its occurrence. However, whatever reasons and whatever ideas are assigned, these will eventually be found wanting on the scale of human judgment and rational understanding. We must accept events for what they are and attempt to move on. Just as Aaron did, we will move forward and accept the judgment of heaven and renew ourselves in the service of God and of Israel.

 Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Cry, the Beloved

 To mark Yom HaShoah, we are reproducing here the latest published work of our dear member, poet and author Pessy Krausz. The relevance of this poem to Yom HaShoah is self-explanatory. 

CRY, THE BELOVED

Grandfather Berel last seen thrown off a bus

limping after it at the Polish-German border

forgot his velvet bag with Tefillin for daily prayer

the leather box on his brow with strings attached

He and grandma Malka – though strung along

to Holocaust's killing machine – arise from its fiery furnace

embrace fledgling Kfir and little/big brother Ariel

don't cry on Mama Shiri's lap snatched from Nir Oz

Yarden, husband, father October 7th survivor of the Bibas family

my heartstrings with yours entwine – our history

dictates we not be taken hostage to a brutal past

but prompts us bravely to sing a different tune

"Cry, the Beloved" was first published in ESRA Magazine, just before Pesach. You can find the original here.

A Hidden Gem

 As a Kohen himself, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom naturally takes a deep interest in the priestly blessing that he and his fellow Kohanim bestow on us in Israel daily. In the following piece he enlarges on aspects of the famous three-fold blessing we have come to know and love so well.

The First Birkat Kohanim: A Hidden Gem in Parashat Shemini

Tucked away in Parashat Shemini, between the detailed descriptions of the Chanukat HaMizbe’ach—the dedication of the altar—and the intricate halachot of kashrut, lies a historic and touching moment: the very first Birkat Kohanim, the priestly blessing, given by Aharon HaKohen himself.

This is not merely a ritual act. According to the Torah, after completing the sacred service, Aharon turns to the people and blesses them. The actual text of the blessing—Yevarechecha Hashem veyishmerecha—does not appear here (it is found later in Parashat Naso), but the concept is born here: the initiative of blessing the people as an act of love and spiritual connection.

Aharon’s Initiative, A Heartfelt Blessing

Rashi, quoting the Midrash, tells us that Aharon said the familiar three-part blessing we're used to hearing today. Remarkably, Ramban points out that Aharon was not explicitly commanded to give this blessing. He did so from the depth of his heart, unprompted, in a spontaneous gesture of warmth and hope for Am Yisrael. This moment is not just ceremonial; it is deeply personal and profoundly moving. It reveals Aharon's character—a leader whose instinct is to bless, to give, to uplift.

Understanding the Threefold Blessing

The Birkat Kohanim contains three verses—each one short, but powerful. The Arizal teaches that these three blessings correspond to three major Yamim Tovim and their spiritual themes.

The Ba’al HaTurim draws this precise connection between the three parts of the blessing and the three core offerings: chatat, olah, and shelamim. Each one mirrors a dimension of human life—atonement, aspiration, and harmony.

1. Yevarechecha Hashem veyishmerecha – “May Hashem bless you and protect you”
    This is the berachah of shemirah, protection. It resonates with Pesach, the "Leil Shimurim"—a night of divine safeguarding. Just as Hashem protected the Jewish people from the dangers of Egypt, this blessing asks for continual divine protection from harm and from the consequences of past mistakes. It’s the korban chatat—atonement for human fallibility.
   
   
2. Ya'er Hashem panav eilecha vichuneka – “May Hashem shine His face upon you and be gracious to you”
    This represents or, divine light and illumination. It echoes the experience of Shavuot, the giving of the Torah, which enlightens and inspires our lives. It’s the light of guidance, clarity, and divine wisdom that helps shape our spiritual aspirations—what the korban olah symbolizes: elevation and striving for higher spiritual realms.
   
   
3. Yisa Hashem panav eilecha veyasem lecha shalom – “May Hashem lift His face toward you and grant you peace”
    The blessing of shalom—peace and wholeness—connects to Sukkot. The Sukkah envelops us in divine embrace and symbolizes unity and harmony, both within ourselves and among people. This reflects the korban shelamim, which brings peace between the body and soul, and between humans and God.

A Contemporary Insight

In human terms, these blessings can be seen as three spiritual pillars:

●      Shemirah is about healing and protection—having the ability to fix, to apologize, and to move forward after a mistake.

●      Or (Light) is about spiritual growth—the yearning to learn, to rise, and to connect more deeply to Hashem.

●      Shalom is about building peace—within ourselves, our families, our communities, and ultimately within Klal Yisrael.

Each time the Kohanim raise their hands, they are channeling not only divine energy but the selfless spirit of Aharon HaKohen, who first reached out with love to bless his people.

The Deeper Calling of a Blessing

It’s worth noting that when Avraham Avinu is chosen, he is given a mission: "Ve’heyei berachah" – “And you shall be a blessing.” This is not a casual compliment; it’s a job description. The Jewish people are meant to be conduits of blessing for the entire world. But to bless, we must first be blessed.The Birkat Kohanim, born in Parashat Shemini, is the divine energy that empowers us to carry out our role. It’s not simply a nice ceremony—it’s a spiritual plug-in. And it began with one man, Aharon HaKohen, who, without being told, looked at his people and chose to bless.

May we merit to receive that blessing with open hearts, and may it ripple outward—bringing kedushah, healing, and peace to ourselves, our communities, and the entire world.

Judging others favourably: a double-edged sword

It’s a longstanding tradition to learn one perek of Avot in the afternoon of each Shabbat between Pesach and Shavuot. Possibly because of the popularity of Avot, most communities that observe this custom have extended it from Shavuot to Rosh Hashanah—not just the beginning of the new year but the end of the long summer days in which our sages perceived an increased risk of sin which the study of Avot might reduce.

Each week we hope to post a short discussion of something from Pirkei Avot. To start off, here's a post on one of the mishnayot from Perek 1.

Hillel teaches (Avot 1:12):

הֱוֵי מִתַּלְמִידָיו שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן, אוֹהֵב שָׁלוֹם וְרוֹדֵף שָׁלוֹם, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמְקָרְבָן לַתּוֹרָה

Be a disciple of Aaron—love peace, pursue peace, love people and draw them close to the Torah.

Aaron was a holy man, the first Kohen Gadol (High Priest) and, according to midrash, knowledgeable in Jewish law. Yet the way we are taught to emulate him has nothing to do with his holiness or his scholarship: it’s to do with the way we feel about other people and behave towards them. 

Loving people in general and bringing them close to the Torah is not as simple as it seems, and it's easy to get it wrong. Rabbi Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos) brings the following story to illustrate how not to do it:

“A Jewish woman who was not mitzvah-observant was befriended by a kiruv-oriented couple who regularly invited her for Shabbat meals. She became close to them and greatly valued their friendship. One day she told them that, after thinking it over, she decided that Orthodoxy was not for her. The Shabbat invitations ceased, the couple drew away from her, and she told me that she felt cheated. The ‘friendship’ was like that of a used-car salesman pushing a product—nothing more”.

R' Miller rightly observes that we should not befriend someone in order to sell them the benefits of Torah observance. We should befriend them because we are students of Aaron, on the basis of our sincerity.

But Pirkei Avot has another side to it. At Avot 1:6 Yehoshua ben Perachyah teaches us to judge other people favourably where that is possible. Have we done so? Rabbi Miller only gives us one side of the story, so we have not been able to look at it from the other side. What if the couple understood the woman’s statement as a brush-off? What if they had children who were upset at what she said? What if the couple felt that their hospitality was being cynically exploited? Maybe what was needed here was an ‘Aaron’ to go between them and heal the fractured friendship if that was a possible option.

This miniature case-study illustrates both the complexities of human relationships and the subtle interplay of guidelines by which we are taught to conduct them.

Yom HaShoah and the Valley of the Dry Bones

This evening begins Yom HaShoah, the day we remember the Holocaust and the tragic loss of one-third of our Jewish brethren, together with the generations unborn and uncounted that would have come from them. In the following piece, culled from the Destiny Foundation archives, Rabbi Wein speaks of what this day means to him, and of how he was able to find hope and resilience even among the ashes of the destroyed generation.

The advent of Yom HaShoah this week always engenders within me an inner turbulence and discomfort. It is not only the fact that the Holocaust destroyed six million innocent people simply because they were Jews—a  third of our nation and co-religionists-though that alone causes me to have great angst in my soul. Human beings are somehow built to withstand tragedy—even enormous indescribable tragedy—and to continue with life. Rather, part of my discomfort is that I, and I think the Jewish people generally, have not found a truly meaningful way of commemorating this historic tragedy. 

All  the Holocaust museums worldwide, and especially Yad Vashem here in Jerusalem, are magnificent in their historic presentation of the awful facts of the Holocaust. But one never leaves the museums with a sense of comfort or even consolation—let alone closure. There is no museum that can speak to the soul of the Jew. It speaks to our senses, even to our intellect, to our hearts, but somehow never to our soul. And it is that emptiness deep within our soul that gnaws at us and leaves us unfulfilled, no matter how magnificent the museum or meaningful the memorial ceremony may be. 

There are numerous groups within the Jewish society that do not participate in Holocaust memorial days or events. Many reasons are advanced for this seemingly insensitive behavior, none of which are satisfactory to my mind or soul. Yet I feel, deep down in my being, that the spiritual and soulful emptiness that always accompanies these commemorations reflects the absence of so many Jews. 

I say this not in criticism of any of the commemorations. They have an impossible task and therefore one should almost expect them to fall short of the mark. But the intellectual acceptance of this fact still does little to quiet the turmoil in my soul. 

I have always identified myself and our post-Holocaust generations with the great imagery of the scene described by the prophet Yechezkel. The prophet views a large valley covered by bleached scattered human bones. The Midrash teaches us that these were the remains of the tens of thousands of the tribe of Joseph who attempted to escape Egyptian bondage before the actual redemption from Egypt by Moses took place. They had fallen victim to the ravages of the desert and the enmity of the pagan tribes that persecuted them. The prophet sees no hope for their revival. After all, by his time they have already been dead for millennia. And the prophet also senses that they have never properly been mourned and commemorated. 

The Lord informs the prophet that these bones are symbolic of “the entire household of Israel.” The household of Israel is itself overwhelmed with its anonymous dead who have no graves or monuments to somehow mark the fact that they once lived on this earth. The prophet despairs of their revival or continuity. But the Lord tells him to prophesy over the dry bones and restore them to their physical human form. Then the spirit of the Lord enters them and they come back life and rise up from the valley floor as a mighty host. 

The prophet does not tell us what the end of this story was. What happened to this mighty host of newly and miraculously revived Jews? The Talmud offers two different insights on this matter. One is that the revival was only a temporary phenomenon and that they all reverted immediately to being dry dead bones. This opinion was contradicted by the sage Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira. He rose in the study hall and stated: “God forbid that we should advance such a pessimistic opinion. Rather, they married, raised children and lived a full life thereafter. And I am a descendant of theirs and as a proof of the matter I hold in my hand the tefillin of my ancestors [that they themselves wore.]” 

I feel that the only closure that can reach our soul regarding Jewish tragedy is the recognition of the continuity of generations and tradition that binds the Jewish people together. Our past, those that are gone and even those who are unknown to us whose ashes and bones litter the landscape of a cursed continent, live on through us - through our achievements and struggles on behalf of Torah and Israel. 

We wear their tefillin, many of us literally, all of us figuratively. This realization regarding the tefillin will always speak to our souls and help us to truly commemorate the Holocaust and the resilience of the Jewish people in overcoming a tragedy of even such incalculable dimensions.

Days of memory

Now that we have passed Pesach and entered the zone of Sefirat HaOmer, a sequence of special calendar dates will soon be upon us.  In a piece written some years ago for the Destiny Foundation, Rabbi Wein explains.

These few weeks are crowded with special days of memory here in Israel. Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron L’Chalellei Tzahal, and Yom HaAtzma’ut come upon us in swift succession. They are really the framework for the Israeli psyche—both political and national—that governs our national mood and policies. The rest of the world does not, and perhaps cannot, understand where we are coming from. 

Yom HaShoah has taught us that if someone arises and, as a matter of principle, means to exterminate the Jewish people, there are no real protectors in the world on whom we can rely upon to arise and use force to defend us. Yom Hashoah comes to remind us that reality differs from the naive hopes on which we would so much like to rely. The fecklessness of the world in the face of militant Islam, unabating terrorism, and rogue nuclear armed states inspires little confidence here in Israel; there is no comfort for us in platitudes and statements about commitments to Israeli security. We may say “never again” but deep down in our hearts we know that “again” remains, God forbid, a distinct possibility. 

The world wants us to get over the Holocaust while at the same time creating a scenario that constantly reminds us of the Holocaust. People who are bitten by large dogs do not walk on the same side of the street where rottweilers are present. 

The Jewish people have paid a heavy price for maintaining our little state. Tens of thousands of Jews have been killed and continue to die for its preservation. The Arab world has basically never come to terms with the reality of the existence of the State of Israel. Constant war, mindless terrorism, unceasing incitement, never-ending accusations, fabrications and biased UN resolutions have been the daily fare of the State of Israel since its inception. 

We can never, God forbid, lose a war—but we are never allowed to win one either. So Yom HaZikaron L’Chalellei Tzahal becomes tragically a regular occurrence in our lives. Golda Meir may have famously expressed her regrets over the deaths of the Arabs in their struggles against our existence. But the Arabs have never expressed such sentiments. 

The Ayatollahs of Iran have said that they were willing to lose fifteen million(!) Iranians in order to eradicate the State of Israel. It is hard to see how one can come to an accommodation with such bloodthirsty and uncaring fanatics who value human life, theirs and certainly ours, so cheaply. So Yom HaZikaron comes to remind us of the real world and of the heartbreaking cost that Israel paid and pays to survive in that world. 

Again, pious platitudes about peace do not change the reality of murderous intent on the ground. We have been down that road too many times in the past to be seduced to go there again. 

The miracle of the past century was and remains the reestablishment of Jewish sovereignty over the Land of Israel. Yom HaAtzma’ut has to be viewed in that light. The tragedy is that this miracle, unlike Chanukah and Purim, had no religious leadership that could have cloaked it with the necessary ritual that would have made the day so meaningful to all sections of Israeli and Jewish society. Having a barbecue in the park hardly makes it a memorable day, a tradition of observance that can be passed on to later generations. 

Those of us who were alive when the State came into being and experienced all the pangs of its establishment are a fast-disappearing breed. The deniers amongst us, and certainly in the non-Jewish world, already distort and falsify the story. The victim has become the oppressor and Goliath struts around the world stage as David. Yom HaAtzma’ut should come to remind us of the real story, of God’s grace unto us in a dismal century, of Jewish heroism and purpose and of triumph against all odds and powerful enemies. 

It should also remind the world that even though it is popular and oh-so-politically correct and progressively noble to damn Israel, in the long run it is highly counterproductive to do so. So let us take these days to heart and stand tall for our God and land.