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Thursday, June 11, 2009

Hebron

Last Shabbos, Porat Yosef, our four year old cousin, tragically drowned.

His parents, a beautiful young couple, sat Shiva in the city of Hebron, just a few meters away from one of the holiest sites on Earth - the Mearat HaMachpela.

I never drove to Hebron before and I have to admit that I was a bit hesitant.  With my broken AC in the car I somehow did not feel like the road to Hebron was the right neighborhood to drive around in with the windows rolled down enjoying the summer breeze. The normal way of getting to Hebron is by bullet proof bus but that was an option that I just didn’t have time for.

I parked my car on a street that Avrohom Avinu most certainly once parked his donkey. As I looked around I realized that the local press goes out of its way to portray the Jewish inhabitants of this city as political nudniks. A better description might be ‘heroic selfless tzadikim that are willing to do whatever it takes to live according to their beliefs’. Many talk the talk - here lived people that walk the walk.

When I walked into the Shiva house something happened. I entered a house full of men and women comforting an obviously very distraught mother and father. As a rabbi I have visited hundreds of Shiva houses, but this was different. The dress, the mood, the discussion, and the look on everyones face transported me to a different time. AsI walked through the wide open door I walked back 2000 years. Somehow the mood and the spirit of all the laws of mourning, which I know all too well, were active in this room. I was humbled to sit amongst what felt like the students of Rebbe Akiva or Rebbe Chananya Ben Tradion. This is what it looked like. An entire community suffered a tragedy. Family and friends were sitting together struggling and stregnthening their faith and their resolve to do whatever it takes to serve Hashem.

I’m probably not explaining it well - I guess you had to be there; but I was priveleged to see and experience that there are still Jewish heroes. Fearless heroes for Eretz Yisroel, heroes for Torah and Mitzvos and champions of Jewish communitty! May G-d bless them - and us. I want to be a hero too!

We stopped for a few moments to pray at the Mearat HaMachpelah and I thought about how this was once the most coveted piece of land on Earth.

As we drove the wandering road out of Hebron we received a call. “ Mazal Tov! (Our daughter) Henna Gittel had a baby boy!”

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Obama On Cruelty

US President Barak Obama speaking in Buchenwald a few days ago made me think.

”It’s important to remember that the perpetrators of such evil were human, and that we have to guard against cruelty in ourselves.”

Indeed a powerful message. The Nazis were not demons from outer space that invaded the world for a few years and then somehow disappeared. They were humans! We are humans! Humans are capable of cruelty and unspeakable horror. The large-scale evil of the Holocaust was so extensive that it gave opportunity for the revisionists to claim that it is just incredible.

I wonder if there is not some light in that observation. Perhaps the human capacity to create unspeakable horror tells us just how powerful we humans are. 

Maybe by looking at the human potential for evil we can gain insight into how much positive might we humans have. Can one man or woman save six million? 

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

My Meeting With The Rema

Almost 30 years ago I contracted a pretty severe case of the flu. We were living in Buffalo, NY or more specifically Williamsville, and I was going totally stir crazy lying in bed. My wife, always at my side, offered to go to the library and get me some books; she had one simple question, “What do you like to read?”

She couldn’t have asked me a more difficult question. I was stumped! I had been years away from novels and mysteries, my interest was Torah and Halacha which was not a specialty of the Buffalo Public Library, and I was way too embarrassed to ask for some back copies of MAD magazine.

For some reason, unclear in my memory, I asked her to get some books about Jesus.  I was somewhat curious about the founder of Christianity who popped up smack in the middle of Hillel and Shamai. Having left the incubator of Kiryat Mattersdorf and Kollel in Jerusalem, I felt I should know more.

An hour or two passed and in walked my wife with a pile of books that would outlast even the worst case of influenza. Books with titles like Rabbi J; Jesus the Assyne; Christianity in the Second Temple era and more.  Over the next three days in bed I learned more about Yushka and Paul than any Yeshivah Bochur would ever want or need to know. I felt like walking downtown and daring the first missionary to an open debate – but I fell asleep instead.

Then the phone rang.  “We don’t know each other!” the caller said. My caller was a professor at Buffalo State College. He was a really nice man and a very intelligent one.  He explained that he was involved in an intellectual discussion group with a group of his colleagues who are all very strong believers in Christianity. They are urging him to get involved or at least give Christianity a try. The caller was torn between his assimilated but still Jewish Neshama and the peer pressure of his colleagues. He needed an intelligent response and he needed it quick.

Well he came to the right place. I was an expert in Christianity and had been so for over an hour! I quoted him chapter and verse from the New Testament pointing out the historical background of Paul and the textual contradictions that could not be resolved. By the end of the conversation not only was he convinced and knowledgeable but we were friends. I thanked G-d for giving me the flu and finally asked the man his name.

“My name is Morey Isserlish!” The very name made me tremble. “There was a great 16th Century Rabbi by that name,” I said. 

“The Rema of Krakow is my direct ancestor” he answered.  “My Hebrew name is Moshe. I am named after my grandfather who was called Reb Moishela of Krakow who was a direct descendant of the Rema.” He explained to me that he didn’t know much about this illustrious rabbi and if I had information he’d love to know more.
So Morey came to classes, we studied Torah together and we became close.

Today, Lag B’omer , is the 437th Yortzeit of the Rema.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rema . I hope the Rema stands before Hashem and asks Him to watch over all of his children like he watched over Morey. May his neshama have an Aliya.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Mazal Tov!

Mazal Tov! Hashem just blessed us with a new granddaughter to Tzvi Hirsch and Raizy. The master of “Doing it Right”
http://www.torahlab.org/doitright

Sunday, May 03, 2009

The Last Class

In “Stories That Tug At the Heart” Artscroll / Mesorah Publications 2009,Rabbi Binyomen Pruzansky tells a story that I once shared with him. The story is true and close to my heart. In the book Reb Binyomen changed the names of those involved to protect their privacy. With permission of the family I am putting the correct names back in. The names are part of the story! The comments in parenthesis are mine.

The Last Class

The clock ticked inexorably toward Shabbos as Rabbi Yaacov Haber put the finishing touches on his preparations. Another hour or so, he assessed, and he would be finished. As he leafed through a brand new sefer searching for a quote he would utilize in his Shabbos morning sermon, the insistent ring of the phone pulled him away from his task.

“Rabbi Haber?” the voice on the other end asked hopefully. “Yes, it is. Who’s calling?” “It’s Jarom Haber,” said the caller. “I live here in Monsey and really must speak to you right away. Could I come over today?” (I assumed that the purpose of the call was to compare notes from Galicia and figure out whether we are related. Although this is a task I enjoy - Friday afternoon just wasn’t the time. When I tried to make an appointment for the following week he became desperate.)

Hearing the desperate edge in the caller’s voice, Rabbi Haber began quickly weighing the possibility of fitting one more item on his Erev Shabbos agenda. Alas, it appeared impossible. “I’d be happy to speak to you,” Rabbi Haber told the caller. “But today will not be possible. How about Sunday?”

“No, Rabbi, I’m sorry, but this really can’t wait,” Jarom replied firmly. “I need to speak to you today.” Clearly, Jarom Haber, whoever he was, would not be taking “no” for an answer. “In that case,” Rabbi Haber conceded, “come right over.” He gave Jarom his address and returned to his work, hoping he would be able to finish in the half-hour it would take for Jarom to reach him. Methodically recalling the names and faces of former members of his Monsey shul, he tried to put a face to the name Jarom Haber. However, he had no memory of anyone by that name. The mystery was soon settled by Jarom’s arrival. Entering the foreign territory of the Rabbi’s study, Jarom appeared a bit tenuous. His tall, broad frame was a bit stooped, as if he were carrying a heavy bundle on his back. Yet one could see that such was not his normal bearing; his direct, blue-eyed gaze, the thick, tousled shock of sandy brown hair and deep laugh lines framing his mouth created the image of an energetic, self-assured man.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an inconvenience,” Jarom began. “I realized on the way over here that Friday afternoon is probably a busy time for a Rabbi. But I won’t take too long. I just have one question to ask.” “It’s no problem,” Rabbi Haber assured him. “Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

“Well, I just have to preface it by explaining to you that even though I was born Jewish, I am an atheist. Not just an atheist, but you might say I’m a professional atheist. I’m a professor at Rockland Community College, and I teach courses on atheism. In fact, I’ve written several books on atheism. “The reason I came to you is because this morning, I went to my doctor to receive the results of some tests, and he informed me that I have pancreatic cancer. I don’t know if you know anything about pancreatic cancer, but it has an almost-zero survival rate, and mine is already in a very advanced stage. In a few weeks or at best, a few months, I’ll be finished. There’s nothing for me to do about it.

(“Here is my dilemma) what I really want to do now is to pray. My problem, of course, is that I don’t know how I can possibly pray. How can an atheist pray? Who would I pray to? (I am the proverbial ‘athiest in a fox hole’I want to pray but I really can’t) I’ve been hearing about you from some of my neighbors and I thought that you might be able to advise me. What should I do?”

Observing the lively spark in Jarom’s eyes as he spoke, Rabbi Haber could hardly believe that he was speaking to a terminally ill man. Nevertheless, he was aware that this particular disease often progressed rapidly, and he had no doubt that the situation was dire. Jarom was like a drowning man struggling to find something to hold onto, begging Rabbi Haber to throw him a lifeline. “What comfort is there for an atheist facing death?” the Rabbi wondered. “How alone he must feel with his fears and pain!” Regardless of Jarom’s lifelong misconceptions, however, Rabbi Haber knew that G-d was indeed there for him. The challenge was to convince Jarom that this was so; that he, like any other person born into this world, had the ability to call out to G-d for help.

“Tell me something, Jarom,” Rabbi Haber said. “When you say you’re an atheist, what exactly do you mean? Are you saying that you are 100 percent certain that there is no such thing as G-d? Or is there perhaps a small 5% window of possibility that you may be wrong? “

Jarom drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and rolled his eyes upward as if searching the ceiling for an answer to the question. He had never considered his level of certainty about his beliefs. Now, using nothing but his own considerable power of logic, he had to admit that his atheism (or anything else for that matter) was not a 100 percent certainty. If it were, why would he be sitting in a rabbi’s office? “Well, I guess I could say that there’s a five percent possibility that there’s a G-d,” Jarom replied cautiously, as if the very proclamation might cause some unseen cosmic cataclysm. These were not words he had ever expected to hear from his own mouth.

“Good!” Rabbi Haber declared. “So here’s what I want you to do. Pray through that window that is open 5 percent. Aim your prayers there, and I am sure they will reach G-d.”
The Rabbi’s words painted a picture in Jarom’s mind. There was a splendid palace, and Jarom stood outside it, facing a window that was open just a few inches. From that little crack at the bottom, Jarom could sense the majesty and power residing within. He didn’t own a key to the palace; the guards didn’t know him at the gate, but he would pray through that narrow opening, and his words would be heard. Jarom Haber’s words would reach the ears of G-d. Jarom’s cool façade crumbled as he pictured himself, a lost child trying to get his Father’s attention, calling through the window from outside.

His eyes instantly overflowed with tears and he began to cry aloud, “I can pray! Thank you, Rabbi. There’s a way for me to pray.” Rabbi Haber sat quietly watching this troubled man gratefully grab the lifeline he had been thrown. Jarom regained his composure and turned urgently to the Rabbi once again. “What will I say, Rabbi? Even if I can pray, even if G-d will listen to me, I don’t know what to say!”

“Do you know how to read Hebrew?” asked Rabbi Haber. Thanks to a few years of Hebrew school in Jarom’s pre-bar mitzvah years, he had indeed learned alef-bais. With a small measure of pride, he answered, “Yes, I do.” “Alright,” said Rabbi Haber. He took a slim volume of Tehilim off the top of his desk and handed it to Jarom. “Let’s start right now, then, by saying this chapter of Tehilim.” Jarom took the sefer into his hands. He had handled thousands of books in his life as an academic; some of the volumes were rare antiques. Yet now, handling a simple volume of Tehilim, his hands trembled. He began to haltingly read the chapter Rabbi Haber designated, all the while imagining that slightly open window, and hoping that inside the palace, his praises were being received with pleasure.
When Jarom finished his recitation, Rabbi Haber helped him understand the meaning of what he had said. The words were full of encouragement and comfort, stirring in Jarom the beginnings of a sense of trust in G-d. No longer was the issue whether or not G-d existed; he had prayed and felt certain that his words were heard. Now the issue was how to build a relationship with G-d in the short time he had left.

“I think the most important thing we could do at this point is to learn some Torah together,” Rabbi Haber suggested. Jarom agreed, and they arranged to spend 15 to 20 minutes a day learning. “What is it that you would like to learn Jarom?” Jarom had no ready answer. He was not sure where to find what he felt he needed in this crucial period of his life. He wanted a little time to consider the possibilities. On Sunday morning, Jarom called Rabbi Haber. He had done some reading and some thinking, and had decided. “I want to learn the laws of repentance,” he told the Rabbi with conviction. Rabbi Haber was moved by the man’s sincerity. Indeed, all he wanted now was to get his affairs in order both in this world and the next. Like a man moving to a new home after many long years, Jarom wanted to shed all the useless items he had accumulated and go forward carrying only that which he would need.

Starting that day, Rabbi Haber and Jarom became learning partners, poring over the Rambam’s laws of Teshuvah (repentance) with depth and focus. Jarom’s scholarly abilities were turned in a new direction, exactly 180 degrees opposite of the path he had pursued throughout his life. Rabbi Haber enjoyed the challenge of Jarom’s insightful questions, and marveled at his quick grasp of the concepts they learned together.

As expected, Jarom grew weaker by the day. His athletic build began to shrivel, his posture to droop; his bright, intense eyes contrasted eerily with his pale face. Finally, too weak to deliver his lectures, he was forced to resign his teaching position. Nevertheless, Jarom persisted in his journey toward G-d. He purchased tzitzis and a yarmulke and began to wear them. Every day, he put on his tefillin and prayed as well as he could, injecting the overflowing contents of his heart into the Hebrew words he was just beginning to master. Rabbi Haber watched with mixed emotions as his new student’s Torah learning blossomed and flourished, and his physical presence withered away.

One morning, as Rabbi Haber and Jarom learned together, they reached a point in the Rambam’s work that describes the process of complete Teshuvah. “The final step,” Rabbi Haber explained, “is when a person has the opportunity to commit the same sin again, but he holds himself back and refrains from doing it.” “There isn’t enough time left in my life for me to revisit every sin I’ve committed,” Jarom commented somberly. “I wish there was some way I could do a complete Teshuvahh, but I’m afraid that’s just never going to happen.” The weeks passed quickly, and as they did, Jarom’s condition deteriorated further. He and Rabbi Haber completed their study of the Rambam’s work, but Jarom continued to pay frequent visits to his mentor.
One day, Jarom walked into Rabbi Haber’s study looking more energized than he had in weeks. “Rabbi, I’ve got it!” he exulted. “I figured it out! I found a way that I can do complete Teshuvah!” “That’s great!” Rabbi Haber responded. “What do you have in mind?”

“I called up the college where I had been teaching for all these years and I asked them if I could give one final class before I die. Well, of course they couldn’t say no to a request like that, so they are letting me give a lecture.” “That will be great, but what does it have to do with complete Teshuvah?” Rabbi Haber asked. “I am calling my lecture ‘The Last Class.’ With this lecture, I am going to prove to the students that (absolute) atheism is false, and I am going to prove to them that there is a (strong possibility of) G-d.  I am going to do Teshuvah just as the Rambam describes it: the same place, same situation, but this time, instead of turning people away from G-d, I am going to teach them that Hashem is the Master of the World.”

A few days later, Jarom arrived at Rockland Community College to speak to the students. Standing in front of the lecture hall, the once vibrant professor was gaunt and tired looking. But when he called the class to order and began to speak, his passion for his subject opened up new reserves of strength within him. If the class had come in expecting the raspy whispers of a dying man, they would be taken aback by the clear, bold words Jarom was speaking. “Everywhere you look around you, you can see there is a Creator who designed the world,” he told them. “If you pay any attention at all to your life – to the people you meet and the things that happen to you and to others, it is clear that (there is at least a possibility that) G-d is running things. Even if you can’t be so sure, you cannot prove beyond a doubt that there is no G-d. Hold open a small window of possibility – a five percent chance – that there is a G-d,” he urged his students. “And make it your business to pray to Him. Pray through that small window you’ve left for yourself, and you will find, as I have, that it opens wider and wider for you. You’ll find some day that G-d has become a certainty in your life – that he’s there for you 100 percent.”

A few weeks later Jarom passed away. He left this world as a Torah Jew whose lips had uttered prayers, whose keen mind had been rededicated to Torah learning, and whose longing for repentance had been satisfied.

Rabbi Haber said in his public address at Jarom’s funeral, “Jarom Haber died as a great Jew.and his story is a lesson for all of us”.

Stories That Tug at the Heart - Click here to buy on Amazon

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Helping Out A Fellow Jew

Due to the international economic crisis, many highly credentialed and very qualified people that I am in touch with in Israel have recently been laid off. I’d like to try and help the situation by reaching out to my network on their behalf. I am in touch with CPA’s, attorneys, technical writers and many others that may be able to do work for you or someone you know from Israel. I am looking for contacts and creative solutions. If you can help (or if you need help) please contact me.  All emails will remain confidential.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Will The Real Yaacov Haber Please Stand Up!

Someone recently thanked me for an inspiring story that I posted on http://www.beyondbt.com . After graciously accepting the compliment I inspected the website to learn that indeed I did not report the story at all; it was the other Rabbi Yaakov Haber. Yes, there is another Yaakov Haber, who tends to spell Yaakov with a ‘k’ rather than a ‘c’. Thank G-d, Rabbi Haber is a wonderful Talmid Chacham so when people mistaken me for him it is always an upgrade. Anyway, I read the story and was duly inspired, so I thought I would pass it along. Thank you Rabbi Yaakov Haber.

The story concerns an American Oleh of some time ago who is a Rav Tz’va’i, an Israeli army Rabbi.

As the soldiers got the call for the ground incursion last Shabbos, the Rav, together with his colleagues debated the halachic permissibility of their riding with them to the embarkation point to provide moral support. They compared this case to a husband traveling with his wife in labor to the hospital which is permitted according to many for similar reasons. They went and took a Sefer Torah with them for Mincha (presumably also for morale boosting purposes). When they arrived, the Rav, after exiting the bus, requested of a soldier to pass him the Sefer Torah from the bus to minimize the prohibition of carrying. After waiting a while with the Torah not coming, the Rav re-entered the bus to find each soldier hugging and kissing the Sefer Torah not wishing to part with it. Finally when they left the bus, one Rav was wrapped in a Tallis, the other held the Sefer Torah, looking like Kohanei M’shuchei Milchama perhaps. The soldiers one by one approached the Rabbanim asking for b’rachot. (Mostly the secular , not the Yeshiva boys!) Due to time constraints and the great demand, the Rabbanim spread the Tallis over a group of soldiers’ heads as on Simchat Torah and blessed them all together. Some soldiers told the Rabbanim that their presence strengthened them more than all of the professional talks they received from their commanders earlier! As the soldiers entered into Gaza, the Rabbanim, with Torah in hand, called out after them, “Hashem Imachem!” (Hashem is with you) “Y’varech’cha Hashem!” (Bless Hashem) and passages from the Rambam’s directives in the Mishnah Torah to Jewish soldiers. The soldiers, in turn, turned back to kiss the Torah as they passed it.

Monday, January 05, 2009

It’s The Least We Can Do!

Last night my son Eliyahu was in a taxi in Yerushalayim on a “Your man in Jerusalem” mission and the driver shared with him his beautiful simcha. His wife had given birth to a baby just two weeks earlier.

During their short conversation the taxi driver received a phone call from the Israeli Army. He was instructed to report for reserve duty on a particular corner of Jerusalem at midnight last night, where he would be taken into the Gaza Strip. He told Eliyahu that he is a tank driver and an expert in the area of the Gaza Strip battlefield. He also told him that his name is Yaakov ben Tikva. Eliyahu said he will keep him in his prayers. I have been doing the same.

During the Second Lebanon War my wife Bayle said to me that everyone of us that is not actually fighting the war should adopt one Israeli soldier to care about, pray for and study Torah in his zchus.

Today I learned that thanks to the wonders of modern technology the mechanism has been put into place and “Operation Tefillah, Torah & Troops,” has been launched. Endorsed and guided by Rabbi Simcha HaCohen Kook, the Chief Rabbi of Rehovot, Israel, and the Bostoner Rebbe (Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Horowitz) of Har Nof, Israel, people from around the world are partnered with soldiers in the IDF. Each person who takes part in “Operation Tefillah, Torah & Troops” is paired with an Israeli soldier, and is responsible to say tefillot (prayers), learn Torah, and do special acts of chesed (kindness) on behalf of that soldier.

Rabbi Kook and the Bostoner Rebbe note that this concept is one that has been a part of the Jewish people for thousands of years. When Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses) led the Jewish people to war with the nation of Midyon, for every person who went to battle, there was a designated person who was responsible for praying and learning for him. Throughout his reign, David HaMelech (King David) utilized this practice as well.

To participate in “Operation Tefillah, Torah & Troops” and receive the name of an Israeli soldier who needs your prayers,
send an e-mail to the office of Rabbi Kook at maortlmo@gmail.com.

Every tefillah makes a difference! It’s the least we can do.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Klal Yisrael at Risk

A preview to an interview with Horizon Magazine

by Yisrael Rutman

Rabbi Yaacov Haber has for many years been one of the most creative forces in Torah education. He was National Director of Jewish Education for the Orthodox Union, and founder of the Australian Institute of Torah and the Torah Center of Buffalo. He is also one of the founding members of AJOP, the Association of Jewish Outreach Professionals. Presently, he is Rav of Kehillah Shivtei Yeshurun in Ramat Beit Shemesh and head of TorahLab, which furnishes materials for adult education.

Horizons: I just recently came across another warning against the dangers of the internet to the spiritual wellbeing of our children. Maybe we can begin our discussion by asking how much is the internet to blame for “kids at risk”? Or is that merely scapegoating?

Rabbi Haber: The internet has proven to be capable of a great amount of damage to Jews of all ages. However, it is important to remember that the internet is a reality. There will come a time in the not-so-distant future when it will be impossible to pay a bill, bank, make a phone call or even turn on a light in your house without using the Internet. Instead of forbidding the Internet and non-kosher cell phones, it would seem to be more prudent to teach students how to interact with the Internet responsibly. If we were to forbid everything that we can use the wrong way we must include cars, mp3 players, and for that matter---women! We have to be very careful with internet technology---but forbidding it is not the answer in the long term.

When a teenager leaves us for a more exciting lifestyle, we have to ask ourselves why they are not finding that excitement in our homes and communities. In his remarkable sefer, Tzav V’Ziruz, the Piacezner Rebbe teaches an important lesson in education: Nature abhors a vacuum. The sustenance of the neshama is regesh (emotion). The neshama wants to be filled with a regesh of kedushah. If it doesn’t find kedusha, it will search for any form of regesh, even violent or disgusting regesh. We have to fill our children’s neshamos with healthy Torah regesh. Then the urge to look elsewhere will disappear.

H: So it’s we, the parents and teachers, who are responsible for “kids at risk”?

RH: I don’t think the issue is “kids at risk.” That expression is used because it makes us feel good. It implies that it’s the kids’ fault, that something is wrong with them. The underlying assumption is that the system is okay, just something went wrong with this or that kid who “fell through the cracks.” Really, the opposite is true. They are being pushed through, not cracks, but gaping ditches and huge holes. We have to decide if we’re willing to lose them.

H: You make it sound as if we were making a conscious decision of some kind to send them away…

RH: That’s right. They are lost by design. Our educational system is elitist. It caters to the brightest students. Most teachers do not pay much attention to the average and below-average students. Those who do not excel academically are offered no option. Everything is stigmatized. To tell a kid to get vocational training is tantamount to calling him mentally retarded. Or in Israel to serve in the army, is like telling him he’s a failure. The kids understand this and feel rejected. They say to themselves, “I don’t see myself in this system, so I’ll find my own way.” They find their way on the streetcorners of Har Nof and Ben Yehuda.

H: How did this elitism come about?

RH:  There was a decision made after the Holocaust that Yiddishkeit in the U.S. and Israel has to be rebuilt. And that meant producing gedolim, the next Rabbi Akiva Eiger, the next Brisker Rav. And I’ve heard it said that it was understood, perhaps even stated at the time, that since not everybody is going to be a gadol b’Torah, “we are going to have to lose a few.”

What took place over the next forty years was the rise of an elitist system. When I was growing up and went to school, the teachers would speak to the average student, trying to involve and reach everyone in the class. But in an educational system geared to the elite, the teacher cares primarily about the geniuses, certainly not the slower students.

In this system, there are certain known yeshivos at the top, and everybody wants to get into them. From the earliest years, parents and their kids are aspiring and planning to achieve acceptance in those elite schools. The teachers and principals are also caught up in it.

Nor is the issue only one of getting into yeshivos. Even for those in the ‘right” yeshivos, they must have highly trained and capable eyes to learn about each individual talmid and advance him according to his unique potential. The yeshivos all advertise that they cater to the individual. But do they?

H: What reaction do you get when you say things like this?

RH: They admit it’s so, but they say, “What can I do? If I lower my admissions standards, then the parents won’t send their kids to my school. And if I don’t get the best students, I’ll lose my standing with the yeshiva ketanos.” The yeshiva ketanos are in the same bind, having to provide the top students for the yeshivah gedolos, who will accept nothing less. Certain yeshiva high schools offer virtually automatic entry into the elite yeshivos.

H: And naturally parents are ambitious for their kids and want the best for them.

RH: It’s an issue of shidduchim too.

H: An elite shidduch for an elite school graduate.

RH: No, it’s getting into the top yeshiva in order to get the best shidduch. And, of course, that translates into financial support for the future rosh yeshiva who will continue learning in kollel. There’s a joke going around that they want to lift the ban of Rabbeinu Gershom against having more than one wife, because the financial situation being what it is, you need two fathers-in-law to provide support…

I want to emphasize that nothing I am saying here should be taken as a criticism of Gedolei Yisrael. I have the greatest respect for them, have never I made a serious move in my life without consulting gedolim. And they understand that we have to address the needs of all the children. For example, HaRav Aharon Leib Steinman shlit"a endorsed the establishment of Nachal Charedi (a special Israeli army unit for the Torah-observant, which affords boys who do not see their future in Torah learning to discharge their military obligations in a suitable environment prior to entering the work force---Y.R.)Rav Shach zatza"l advocated a quota to ensure the acceptance of Sephardi boys in the Lithuanian yeshivos. They fully realize that Jewish education does not exist for any one group.

Throughout history, Gedolei HaDor that were faced with unusual challenges used Hora’as Sha’ah (emergency measures) to save the day. Often a Horaas Shaa requires a sacrifice of the individual for the Tzibur, but they did what they had to do. From Hillel to the Rambam to pre-war Europe, “work” was never considered a dirty word and was always the option for the majority of frum Jews. The question for today’s Gedolei HaDor is, “Given today’s realities, is it time to go back to tradition, or should this be a permanent change in the culture of Judaism?”

H: Here’s a stupid question: Why not assemble all the educators whose fault it isn’t, and have them decide all at once together a broader admissions policy so that nobody loses standing relative to anyone else in the competition for the top students?

RH: Well, there’s a problem with achdus.

H: Oh.

RH: You know, not everybody can be the tsadik of the generation. Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twersky tells of a discussion he once had during a visit with the Steipler Gaon, whom people often consulted for medical advice. Since he had heard that Rabbi Twersky was a psychiatrist, he inquired about medications for mental illnesses.

“Is anything available that can cure someone from delusions?” asked the Steipler. Dr. Twersky replied that there wasn’t much in the way of medicine for delusional thinking.

“But what if someone has the delusion that he is the greatest tzaddik in the generation?” the Gaon asked.

“No medication can cure that,” Dr. Twersky laughed.

The Gaon shook his head sadly. “Too bad,” he said. “That malady is so widespread.”

H: Sounds like the system is designed to spread the malady.

RH: You know, I would say that it’s not “kids at risk, it’s “Klal Yisrael at risk.” I have worked with hundreds of so-called “kids at risk.” Most of the time these young people are the cream of the crop.  Adel, sweet, caring individuals. The kind that, if you say “Well, I have to be going into the city now,” they’ll immediately offer to give you a ride. And it’s often because they are not aggressive or bullying by nature that they are swayed by bad influences, make bad decisions. But they are good kids.

You have to ask yourself : What would happen if they would not fall through the cracks? They have tremendous potential and a role to fill in the Jewish people. There are so many different mandates: tefilah, chesed, writers, administration, etcetera. In an eltist system, these are all b’dieved. But is that really the emes? No one should be an extra. Everyone should feel needed and important---because they are. This is how Yaakov Avinu spoke and blessed all of his children before he left this world: “Each man according to his blessing did he bless them.”

So, if we allow them to fall thorugh the gaps, Klal Yisrael loses. So it’s not just a matter of saving this kid or that kid; but of saving Klal Yisrael. As I said, we have to decide if we can afford to lose them.

H: Do you have a solution?

RH: Well, the beginning of a solution starts in our description of the problem; we have to change the terminology. Calling them “kids at risk” only exacerbates the problem because it makes it sound like they have an illness. Somebody actually suggested that if one in ten children fall into this category, it could be that they are the same one in ten who suffer from learning disabilities.

We need to create options, without a stigma, to encourage respect for ba’alei batim, for people who work and are not roshei yeshivos. And if there’s someone who can start a school which is not elitist, that would, of course, help.

H: Thank you, Rabbi Haber.

RH: Thank you.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Ordained By The Shoah

Here’s a story as it appeared in the New York Jewish Week as part of an article entitled “Ordained By The Shoah” by Steve Lipman

http://www.thejewishweek.com/viewArticle/c39_a13912/News/International.html

A stranger who called Rabbi Yaacov Haber in Buffalo had an unusual accent and a more unusual request.

The stranger, a minister in the Hungarian Reformed Church, wanted to meet to discuss the “Old Testament.”

Rabbi Haber, spiritual leader of a small Orthodox synagogue and director of an educational outreach center, usually was wary of possibly missionary-inclined Christian clergy. But he invited the stranger – the rabbi, who now lives in Jerusalem, calls him Rev. Andre Fekete, a pseudonym, to protect his anonymity – to his study.

Why are you so interested in Jewish scriptures, Rabbi Haber asked.

“I’m Jewish,” Rev. Fekete answered.

“What do you mean you’re Jewish?”

Rev. Fekete explained – raised in a secular Jewish home in Budapest, he and his sister were sheltered in a convent on the outskirts of the capital after the Nazis occupied Hungary in 1944. Bar mitzvah age then, he stayed in the convent after liberation and converted to Christianity; he eventually married a Jewish girl who also had been protected by the nuns, became a minister in the Hungarian section of the Protestant church, moved to the United States after the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, took over a pulpit in Buffalo, and struggled with his Christian faith.

Then he read an article about Rabbi Haber and requested a meeting.

The day after his first meeting with Rabbi Haber, he went to a class at the rabbi’s Torah Center of Buffalo. He kept going for more than a year, attending Shabbat services at the Saranac Synagogue and becoming a frequent guest at the Habers’ Shabbat meals.

The more he learned about Judaism, the more Rev. Fekete came to doubt the tenets of Christianity. He and his wife raised their children, he told Rabbi Haber, without a religious tradition.

How did he preach on Sundays without mentioning Jesus?

“I listen to your sermon” on Saturday “and I say it over in Hungarian” the next day, Rev. Fekete told the rabbi.

He began coming less frequently to Shabbat services, to avoid driving on Shabbat.

Finally, tired of “living a lie,” Rev. Fekete left his church. He quit his job, and with his wife, a nurse, opened a nursing home in a wealthy suburb of Buffalo.

Before he died about a decade ago, Fekete, no longer a reverend, lived as an identified, if not a fully observant, member of the Jewish community.

“He definitely lived as a Jew,” Rabbi Haber says. “He definitely died as a Jew.”

Thursday, October 23, 2008

My Grandfather From Izmir

This is a story about my mothers father Eliyahu Canyaz that I heard as a child. It was recently beautifully written by Pesi Dinnerstein and published in Small Miracles of the Holocaust: Extraordinary Coincidences of Faith, Hope, and Survival. I would like to share it with you.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Canyaz. Running a little late today, aren’t you?”

“Bonjour, mon ami. Yes, running a little late, as usual.”

Eliyahu Canyaz was a familiar figure on the streets of Marseilles, traveling from home to home, a bit behind schedule most days, delivering fresh eggs to his Jewish and non-Jewish neighbors. An exceptionally tall and stately man, clean-shaven, with his beret tipped slightly to one side, he looked as if he could have fit comfortably in either world.

But any Jew living in France in 1942 knew exactly which world he belonged to. Hitler and his steadily advancing army made certain of that.
Eliyahu, however, needed no reminding.

An Orthodox Jew whose life was totally immersed in his religion, he never forgot for a moment who he was or why he was here. Even in these difficult times, his commitment remained unshaken.

Originally from Turkey, Eliyahu and his family found a warm and welcoming community of Sephardic Jews in Marseilles. Here, he also found the most beautiful synagogue he had ever seen in his life. And seeing was not something that Eliyahu Canyaz took lightly.

Even with his bottle-thick glasses, he could barely recognize a figure two feet in front of him. Nevertheless, within his limited circle of vision, he managed to engage in most of the meaningful activities of his daily life. With a considerable amount of squinting and repositioning, he was usually able to see his family and friends, the customers to whom he sold his eggs, and the holy books with which he studied and prayed every day.

Beyond that point, however, the rest of his world seemed to be enveloped in a shadowy cloud of haze, a sad fact of life which Eliyahu endured with relative equanimity. Except, that is, when it came to his synagogue. Not being able to experience the full richness of its beauty was profoundly disturbing to him.

He knew that the synagogue was magnificent, embodying the simple elegance and fine craftsmanship of another age, an edifice worthy of the spiritual treasures it contained. And he appreciated the special beauty of each element--the delicately arched windows, the hand-carved wood, the translucent tiles of polished marble, even the graceful chandelier spiraling down from the cathedral ceiling, far beyond the reach of his sight.

But, more than anything, he longed to see the majesty of his synagogue in one grand, expansive sweep; a never-experienced panoramic view. Instead, he had to settle for a series of individual close-ups, each frame disconnected from the next, as he drew near enough to bring the scenes, one by one, into his narrow sphere of vision. Only in his mind’s eye did all the fragments converge into a single breathtaking picture.

Although Eliyahu would never be able to see the synagogue as others did, he dedicated his life to caring for it and preserving its sanctity. Eventually, he became the official shamesh, the person who enables the synagogue to function spiritually by attending to all of its physical needs. In the Sephardic community of Marseilles, this was a position second in importance and holiness only to that of the rabbi; and Eliyahu took the responsibility very much to heart.

Orthodox Jews meet three times a day in the synagogue for prayer, and Eliyahu--although not generally known for his punctuality--made certain that whenever the congregatlon arrived, the large wooden door was unlocked, the tea kettle was boiling, the chairs were neatly arranged, and the service was ready to begin. Even as Hitler’s troops marched steadily through France, Eliyahu saw to it that the synagogue offered comfort and refuge to the Jews of Marseilles.

But by 1942, there was little left for Jews anywhere to call their own. And, so, it should have come as no surprise that one day, as the men of Marseilles approached their synagogue, they were greeted by a large sign announcing that the building had been officially confiscated by the Nazis and would henceforth be used as a clubhouse. Expected or not, the news came as a crushing blow.

However, a curious thing happened. Several weeks passed, and the Nazis never returned. Whenever members of the community walked by, they saw that the building was obviously not in use. But, still, to risk their lives and go in....No one was ready to do that just yet. Until, one day, Eliyahu couldn’t bear it any longer.

Determined to reclaim his synagogue at any cost, he showed up early one morning, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and started to prepare for services. Little by little, inspired by his courage, the members gradually came back. The Nazis, it seemed, had forgotten all about this building and gone on to bigger conquests. Before long, the men were once again assembling for prayer three times a day, and Eliyahu was busy attending to their needs. Many months passed with no disruption. Life seemed to have returned to normal.

But, as history has since taught us, for the Jews of Europe in the 1940’s, life would never return to anything even remotely resembling normal.

The day that would forever be remembered by the Jews of Marseilles began, as any other, with the men walking together to the synagogue and chatting pleasantly along the way.

“Spring is in the air this morning, Avraham, don’t you think?”

“Oui, Binyomin. Any day now, I’ll be planting my garden. I can already taste the tomatoes. An early spring this year, for sure, wouldn’t you say, Yaacov?”

“Non, non, mes amis, not just yet. Winter, I’m afraid, will return once more.”

Slowly, the men walked into the synagogue, stopping, as Orthodox Jews traditionally do, to raise their right arm toward the ark that holds the sacred Torah scrolls and, then, to touch their fingers to their lips, signifying their love of G-d’s holy words. Each man then donned his tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries), opened his siddur (prayer book), and began to recite the morning blessings, the sweet harmony of their voices echoing gently throughout the room.

Suddenly, without a second’s warning, the heavy wooden door crashed open. Before anyone had time to react, a group of enraged Nazis in full uniform burst into the sanctuary, with rifles raised and ready to fire.

“Jewish cockroaches!” they screamed. “How dare you defy our orders and trespass upon our property?!”

The Jews of Marseilles immediately found themselves surrounded, with no chance of escape. Shouting at the terrified men in French and German, the Nazis tore the prayer shawls from their shoulders and pushed them to the back of the synagogue.

At that moment, the large wooden door began to open once again, but this time the movement was extremely slow and deliberate. A tense silence filled the room, as all eyes turned toward the entrance. No one knew whether the door was being pushed by Nazi sympathizers, armed Partisans, or more unsuspecting Jews. Whoever walked in, however, would surely see a sight never to be forgotten--a historical synagogue of legendary beauty about to become a blood-stained dot on Hitler’s map.

Finally, the door opened all the way, and in stepped the one person incapable of beholding such a sight.

Eliyahu Canyaz, totally oblivious to what was transpiring, did what he usually did when he arrived a bit late. He stood quietly in the doorway, gently placed his boxes of eggs on the floor, and raised his right arm toward the Torah scrolls. In that moment, two antithetical realities collided, and an unexpected miracle was produced.

In Eliyahu’s reality, he was entering the synagogue that he loved and that he risked his life three times a day to care for and pray in. And, as he always did, he lifted his arm in the direction of the ark to bring his mind and body closer to the Torah, to link heaven and earth in the service of G-d.

But the Nazis existed in a separate reality. When they looked at Eliyahu stepping through the door, they saw a tall, beret-clad Frenchman, whose only purpose in coming to the synagogue was obviously to deliver eggs to the Jews. And in his arm-raising gesture of connection to a higher world, the Nazis saw an unmistakable salute to their Fuhrer.

“Heil Hitler!,” they shouted to a startled Eliyahu, as they raised their arms and sharply clicked their heels in response.

Before Eliyahu could fully grasp what was happening so far beyond the range of his vision, one of the Nazis called out to him in French, “Leave immediately, Monsieur! You have no reason to be here.”
Without a word, Eliyahu Canyaz turned and walked away. As he stumbled toward the street, he began to pray intensely for all of his friends trapped inside. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he thanked G-d for helping him to escape--and, in the process, for answering the one question that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.

Now, at last, he understood that, rather than being a curse, his poor eyesight was, in fact, a very special blessing. It was, after all, only because of his virtual blindness, coupled with the distorted vision of the Nazis, that he was still alive. And it was also, perhaps, only because of his selfless devotion to a synagogue he could never fully see, that G-d chose to make it the site of the miracle through which his life was spared.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Exciting New Beginnings

Rosh HaShanah is tonight and I’m actually very excited about it. I love change; I love the opportunity to begin anew; I love new people and new challenges and I love Rosh Hashanah.

What’s new?

First of all we have a new granddaughter. Reb Moshe and Ester Malka Becker gave birth to a brand new baby girl on Shabbos in Yerushalayim. By the time Shabbos ended the new baby already had a name, Naama, inspired by the beautiful view of the sun setting over Yerushalayim ushering in a new Shabbos and an all new and precious neshamah.

Second, this evening I begin my new position as Rav of Kehilas Shivtei Yeshurun in Ramat Beit Shemesh. I am very excited about the opportunity to teach and lead a community of young families that don’t seem to have anything on their mind or agenda other then growing in Torah and becoming close to Hashem. A rabbi’s dream!

Of course that means that this year, with G-d’s help, we will be moving into a new home, (which is really nothing new to us being our eighteenth move!)

Most important is the new year - 5759. Life is not one long continuum. Every year on Rosh Hashanah Hashem positions us anew. He gives us the chance to start fresh - what can be happier then that?

I wish all my friends a year full of fresh new blessings full of peace in your families, in Klal Yisroel and in the world.

Yaacov Haber

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Georgia, Russia and Bnei Brak

From my research it seems this story is verified and true. This is an article in this mornings Jerusalem Post.

Aug 12, 2008 16:57 | Updated Aug 13, 2008 1:22
Georgia’s PM asks for rabbi’s blessing
By MATTHEW WAGNER

Georgian Prime Minister Vladimer (Lado) Gurgenidze made a special call to Israel Tuesday morning to receive a blessing from one of the haredi community’s most important rabbis and spiritual leaders, Rabbi Aharon Leib Steinman.

The nonagenarian rabbi from Bnei Brak, known as the father of the yeshiva world, acquiesced to Gurgenidze’s request and blessed the Jewish community of Georgia “and all who live in that place.”

According to Steinman’s followers, shortly after the rabbi uttered the blessing Russia announced a cease-fire with war-torn Georgia.

During Tuesday’s morning prayers, Rabbi Shimon Bruk, the chairman of the Israel branch of The Council for Saving Lost Jews (Hava’ad L’hatzalat Nidchei Yisrael), a haredi organization that builds educational institutions in Eastern Europe, received a phone call from Georgia.

“I was in the middle of my prayers so all I could do was grunt into the phone,” recalled Bruk.

“Shortly after I finished praying the amida my phone rang again. ‘This is Prime Minister of Georgia Vladimer Gurgenidze speaking. You brought me a letter from a man named Stumen [sic]. Is he still alive? I’ve heard that he is a holy man. I want him to pray for us and our state.’”

Bruk said he had met with Steinman around noon on Tuesday and presented Gurgenidze’s request to the rabbi.

“There were a lot of raised eyebrows when shortly after Rabbi Steinman made the blessing, we heard about the cease-fire,” recalled Bruk.

Bruk had met with Georgia’s prime minister in March to thank him for his support for Jewish educational institutions built in Georgia by the council. During the meeting Bruk presented Gurgenidze with a letter from Steinman in which the rabbi referred to the Georgian government as a “regime of loving-kindness.”

Steinman’s letter is reportedly hanging on the wall of Gurgenidze’s office.

The council has been operating in Eastern Europe since before the fall of the Berlin Wall and the disintegration of the Soviet Union.

In Tbilisi, Georgia, the council runs a nursery school, two grade schools, a yeshiva for boys and a high school for girls. Many of Tbilisi’s Jewish educators and rabbis, including Chief Rabbi of Georgia Ariel Levine, are products of the local educational institutions.

... and from YNET: “You can’t ignore the fact that during the precise moments in which the meeting took place at Rabbi Shteinman’s house, Russian President Dmitry Medvedev announced a ceasefire,” the Vaad’s public relations representative, Betzalel Kahan, told Ynet.

Monday, August 11, 2008

The New Way To Teach Torah

Yesterday, Rabbi David Aaron, Rabbi David Fohrman and I taught Torah online. Nothing new about that. To be sure there are hundreds of online shiurim and MP3 downloads available to anyone in the world with internet acsess.

What was different about this program was the interactivity. As I spoke questions and comments came pouring in in real time. It was a conversation without borders and without any geographical limitations. There were glitches, but as those glitches appeared I told myself that I have to become more comfortable with the features and controls of the software; the technical end has to be polished up a bit; and the program itself needs some improvements. (It would be much easier if the participant questions would come up in a font someone over the age of 20 can read.)

I believe we are ushering in a new era of Torah learning. We are creating an environment, not only where people can hear words of Torah and even see their teachers, but where everyone can join the conversation of Torah and make their contribution.

Thanks to my friends Rabbi Refael Butler, Ricky Magder and Afikim for giving me this wonderful opportunity. Let’s do it again!

YH

Friday, August 08, 2008

An Exciting New Initiative

There is nothing I love more than being part of initiatives that bring Jews together.

The Internet is a tool, that when used correctly, can do just that. The good people at Afikim have put together a system wherein thousand of Jews can interact and study Torah together. This Sunday, Tisha B’Av, I will have the privilege of being part of a beta seminar which you too can tune in to. Scroll down and join the crowd!

http://afikimfoundation.org/email/tishabav/index.html

Project Sinai is beta testing their new and exciting technology that will allow us to deliver regular live and fully interactive classes that allow you the viewer to participate in the class with me directly.

Note that not all the links on Project Sinai are active as of yet.

Thanks for participating with us.  We look forward to your feedback.