Vacation or Holiday?

It says in Ecclesiastes that “God has made one corresponding to the other,” meaning:  G-d designed the world to operate in a perpetual balance.  Good and evil are equally opposed; hence the greater someone is spiritually, the greater is his evil inclination. Likewise, spirituality and physicality are constantly in balance with each other, and a slight increase in one will automatically cause an elevation in the other.

During the summer, nature is at its prime. The sun shines, the days are long, and life’s pleasures are abundant.  Instead of taking advantage of the good weather and beautiful scenery by relaxing our religious observances, let us remember that an increase in physicality comes along with the potential to increase our spiritual growth. The good things we decide to do in the summer will be successful as the spiritual energy is also flourishing. The summer is a perfect time to start learning a new topic in Judaism and to do another mitzvah.

It is interesting to note the etymological differences between the words vacation and holiday. Vacation is related to the word vacate, or empty, whereas holiday referrers to making each day holy. It is surly the Jewish perspective is to go on holidays but never take vacation. We must make sure to take each day of so called summer “vacation” and make it into a summer “holiday” by filling it with Torah and good deeds. 

Smiling within Tears

A few rabbis were pensively walking through the ruins of Jerusalem contemplating its destruction when all of a sudden, a small fox leapt out from amidst the rubble. Recoiling in horror, the rabbis tore their clothing and wept bitterly, bemoaning the loss of the beloved temple and its current degradation. Astonishingly, Rabbi Akiva, who was with them at the time, laughed joyfully.

“Why do you laugh?” they questioned. “Are you not heartbroken to see the fulfillment of the Prophets’ predictions? See how low our nation fallen!”

“My friends,” replied Rabbi Akiva. “I laugh because just as I see the realization of Jerusalem’s destruction, I rest assured knowing that the many prophesies foretelling our redemption will yet come to pass.”

For three weeks during the Hebrew months of Tammuz and Av, the Jewish nation mourns the loss of both the first and second temples, and many other tragedies throughout history. We mourn the absence of our homeland of old, the divine, open relationship with G-d that we experienced when the holy temples stood, and a unified nation. It is a time of sadness, grief, and diminishment. However, it must be diminishment with joy. We are sad yet we maintain our positive outlook.

When tragedy strikes, it is important to grieve. It shows that the loss affected us profoundly and shook us to our core. The best way to show that we loved and cherished that that is gone, is by honoring and celebrating its contributions. Instead of grief that leads to depression, we need to use sorrow as a catalyst for action. Whilst mourning the temple, we increase in positivity and good deeds, knowing that the redemption is coming.

What is redemption? In Hebrew, the words exile and redemption are spelled exactly the same except redemption has an additional letter; Aleph. In Judaism, the letter Aleph, the first letter in the Hebrew alphabet, represents G-d.  In exile, we are slaves to society and external pressures. Redemption is when those pressures are removed and we are calm knowing that a Higher Being is in charge. By consciously realizing that it is G-d orchestrating everything in the world, we are, in a sense, living in a state of redemption. When we are aware how everything in this world is divinely designed, we free ourselves from the limiting mindset of exile and reveal the Aleph, a state of redemption, within our lives.

The Midrash relates that as the temple went up in flames, the Mashiach, the potential of redemption, was born. Amid anguish and suffering, the seeds of tranquility take root. By using these three weeks of sadness as a springboard for growth, we show G-d that we are ready to leave exile and merit complete redemption.

Celebrating Our Freedom

Passover, also known a The Season of our Freedom in the liturgy, is a time when we remember our forefathers' slavery in Egypt and celebrate their liberation. We gather family and friends and reenact the exodus. We consume bitter herbs, matzah, and wine whilst recounting the great miracles G-d performs.

It says in the Haggadah that "every person must look upon himself as if he personally left Egypt." Living in a free country with so much abundance around us, it seems difficult to imagine ourselves as slaves yearning for freedom. But if we stop and think about slavery and freedom, we may realize that we can relate to them all too well.

A slave is someone who is unable to act upon his own will. He may have deep potential waiting to be accessed but he cannot to do so as his time and actions are completely controlled by someone other than himself. In fact, the Hebrew term for Egypt, Mitzrayim, means constraints. How many people in our contemporary society are slaves to addiction, fashion, technology, and money? Unfortunately, many of us are still in Egypt.

So what is freedom? Freedom is the ability to be who we intrinsically are. It's when our true colors are revealed and when we tap into our greatest potential. Real freedom is not to do what we want, but to be who we are. A Jew's essence is Torah, and only with Torah can we truly be free. As it says in the Mishnah, "There is no free person other than one who occupies himself with Torah."

Although Passover is celebrated only once a year, we mention the exodus of Egypt daily in our prayers. Each day is a new opportunity to free ourselves from the shackles of modern day pressures and start living a life of liberty. Just like G-d helped our ancestors escape the constraints of Egypt and lifted them up as people by giving them the Torah, He will surely help us leave our personal Egypt if we make the effort.

Melting the Ice

The winter season storms in fiercely, and with just a few gusts of biting wind, all sun-baked summer memories are suddenly forgotten. The bright summer sunlight becomes diffused, and the dark endless nights stretch ever longer. For many, these cold months give way for depression and sadness, yet the message of Chanuka gives us warmth, joy, and motivation.

A person is compared to a menorah, a lamp that lights the way for others to see. Like fire, we each are capable of transmitting warmth and light without becoming diminished in the process. Additionally, the light we create is not limited to our physical presence since every lamp we ignite can continue to spread light to others. Chanuka shows that notwithstanding the cold, we can tap into our inner reserves of warmth and radiate energy to others.

The menorah is placed inside the home to demonstrate that our homes are the base for this warmth and vitality. We show our family that Torah values are integral to the fibre of the home and not something practiced only in the synagogue. Chanukah celebrations, surrounded by family and tradition, clearly mark our homes as central sources of light and inspiration.

Nevertheless, a Jew cannot feel complacent when this Jewish passion is found only inside the home. We place the menorah at the window or door frame so this magical energy radiates outward. Anyone walking in the icy streets can feel the joy emanating outward, and be warmed.

The book of Proverbs tells us that "A candle is a good deed and Torah is light.’’ By sharing good deeds and Torah we manage to melt the frosty winter ice and heat it with joy, and happiness.

The Tree and Me

While still blanketed by snow and frost, the dormant trees are starting to wake up from their winter slumber. Within their dry, gnarled trunks, sap is beginning to flow. Tiny, premature buds are swelling on their branches. Spring is approaching and within a few short months, the trees will blossom. The seeds will sprout, the saplings will take root, and all of nature will be renewed.

The fifteenth day of Shevat, otherwise known as Tu B’shevat, celebrates this awakening. Since the Torah compares man to a tree in the field, we can explore the nature of trees to find personal insight and inspiration.

The paradigm of a healthy tree is one that has abundant, leafy foliage, and many deep roots. The Mishna associates the tree’s verdant branches with man’s wisdom. Wisdom is like a crown that glorifies and exalts its wearer. People appreciate wisdom and view it as splendor. Additionally, just as a tree is constantly adding more branches and leaves, a person’s thoughts and understanding are constantly being developed and expanded. Although branches and leaves are important, the Mishna cautions that without strong roots, the tree is frail.

Strong roots are good deeds. Although good deeds may not show personal distinction in the way that wisdom does, positive action is most essential for a healthy being. It is action that sets the course for growth, just as it is the roots that nurture the rest of the tree. A tree with strong roots stands firm, and no wind in the world can topple it.

By training ourselves to be good starting with simple, reflexive actions, we will eventually affect our wisdom and thought processes to be positive as well. Then, we will be likened to the tree that the prophet Jeremiah speaks about, "He shall be as a tree planted upon water, who spreads his roots by the river; who fears not when comes heat, whose leaf is ever lush; who worries not in a year of drought, and ceases not to yield fruit".

Twenty Years...

Twenty years ago today, I was five years old
Twenty years ago today, the family jumped into the car and drove back to the city
Twenty years ago today, I didn’t understand what was happening
Twenty years ago today, I was upset at being pulled away from my toys
Twenty years ago today, my sister (two weeks old) cried the whole car ride, waiting to be fed
Twenty years ago today, the corner to our house was blocked by police and crowds of people
Twenty years ago today, we cried
Twenty years ago today, we, physically, lost our leader
Twenty years ago today, we were lost and confused
Twenty years ago today, we did not know where we would get the strength to go on
Twenty years ago today, the Chabad community and the world mourned
Our Rebbe, our guide.

Today, I am twenty five years old
Today, I have a bit of an understanding of what happened
Today, I understand what we are missing
Today, we went on
Today, we grew
Today, I go to work at the Rebbe’s organization
Today, I teach young children about their heritage
Today, I see the Rebbe’s influence in all that I do
Today, I pray for Moshiach
Today, I ask “How much longer?”
Because enough is enough.
Our Rebbe, our guide.

Written on Gimmel Tammuz, 5774

The Shofar's Message

Moshe had lived in the same small village since the day born. As the years came and went, Moshe became restless and decided to venture off into the big, unknown world. After trudging the muddy country paths for many days, he finally reached the paved road leading to the grand city behind the mountains.

Moshe's eyes widened with amazement upon seeing the wonders of city life for the first time. Here people wore suits and lived in brick houses. Instead of bartering chickens and eggs, people were using strange objects called currency. He even saw kerosine lamps burning in the windows at twilight. Although deeply astonished at all these new sites, one episode stood out to him in particular.

It happened as Moshe was wandering through the city outskirts towards nightfall. Suddenly he heard shrill screams. "Fire!" "Fire!" A burly man in a red, brocade uniform ran to the panicked scene. He took out a special fire horn, and began to blow. The fire brigade responded quickly to the call, and together with the local residents, they formed a human chain reaching the river. Passing buckets of water back and forth, they rapidly extinguished the fire.

Moshe was astonished at the great turn of events, and immediately convinced the fire chief to give him the fire horn. Stashing his new treasure deep in his coat pocket, Moshe marched towards home, ready to enlighten his neighbors to the city wonders.

"Fellow villagers," he called, upon arrival. "I have been to the city beyond the mountain and have seen incredible innovations. Gather around and I will show you the most incredible invention I've encountered; the fire horn."

Moshe struck a match and held it to a thatched roof in the village center. Within moments, the shack was engulfed by angry flames that threatened to spread. Smiling confidently, Moshe withdrew his horn and began to blow. And blow. And blow. No miracle happened and the fire raged on. Eventually, the entire village burned down and a crimson faced, perplexed Moshe was left to contemplate his failure.

A horn is necessary when battling a fire, but not because it does something magical. Blowing a horn does nothing to extinguish a flame. The fire horn is essential since it alerts the populace, and summons the people to take action.

This Rosh Hashanah when we hear the shofar blast, let us remember the story of Moshe and the fire horn, and not make the same conclusion that he did. The ram's horn is an alarm that should arouse us to correct our deeds and repent. As Maimonides writes, the shofar calls, "Awaken you sleepers from your (spiritual) slumber. Search our your ways and return to G-d in Teshuva." The shofar, like the fire horn, rouses it's listeners to move and do what needs to get done. May the shofar's true message resonate within us all and may we merit a good sweet New Year.

(Based on the teachings of Rabbi Yaakov Kranz, the preacher of Dubnow 1740-1804)