99999 or 100000?

Yesterday, my car went from

to

For some reason, the former was more exciting to me than the latter. Not sure why.

Either way, I brought the car in for the Check Engine light this morning, to find out this car isn't going to make it much further...

Defining "Middle Age"

A morbid thought occurred to me in the run-up to Rosh HaShanah (I am post-dating this for after Yom Tov; it's too sad for Erev):

Middle Age is when you stop davening for what you want to happen, and start davening instead regarding what you are afraid will happen...

There is a great deal to say about this, but do you know what I mean?

Nothing if not consistent

I was just preparing for the daf yomi shiur this Shabbos (Nedarim 34a), and having difficulty following the discussion. I noted that the Ran's edition was the reverse of the one that appears in the standard Vilna Shas, and I wrote in the margin, "לר"ן גירסא אחרת בכל סוגיין" ("The Ran has a different edition in our entire passage.")

After struggling further, I pulled out an old gemara, which I had used for Nedarim 20-25 years ago. I opened to that page, and found I had made the following notation, in the identical part of the page: "לר"ן יש גיר' אחרת בסוגיתינו" ("The Ran has a different edition in our passage").

Consistent, if nothing else...

...and I think I'm going to work with the Rosh on the passage.

Easier not to write

I thank those who have been emailing me to check in. Thank Gd, all is well. I am actually making progress on a sefer, finally!

Yes, I still think about blogging, pretty much daily. I have had many topics on my mind.

Israel, of course.

The rabbinate: The economics that drive the low salaries of shul rabbis. The problem of the well-meaning shul rabbi. Different models for an assistant rabbi position.

General: The fear of mediocrity. The difference between being a non-conformist and being original. Lebron James.

Personal: I've bought a house in Toronto instead of Israel, and that has upset my internal equilibrium; I'm having a hard time accepting the mazal tovs.

And so on.

But I have broken the habit of blogging, and now the fear of writing something that doesn't really capture my thoughts, or that doesn't impress me as good writing, is greater than my fear of leaving the page blank. These days, I find it easier not to write than to write, and I reach for the keyboard and then fall back, to work on something else.

I don't know what this means for the future of this blog, but that's where things are right now.

YU made me who I am today

The other day, I had a conversation with someone about all of the great Torah options available in Toronto for university students. That person wasn't wrong; our own Beit Midrash offers a very flexible "Chaverim" opportunity for students to fit in learning around their university studies, and other, more structured options are available around Toronto as well. More than a dozen university students spend significant hours in our Beit Midrash each week, and I am regularly impressed by the way they make time and design their schedules around learning.

Nonetheless, no part-time program built around a university schedule can compare with the Torah opportunities at Yeshiva University in New York – and while that sentence won't surprise anyone who went to YU, I want to take a minute to spell it out further, because I don't know that I have ever thought through fully the ways in which YU is responsible for the Torah I learn and teach today.

First, in terms of the educational experience:

• The Mazer Yeshiva Program required a daily morning seder of study from 9 AM to 12 PM, followed by shiur from 12:45 PM to 2:30 PM. Having this schedule, every day, regardless of midterms and papers, trumps any part-time learning program I can imagine – and that's before the night seder which was voluntary, but which was taken as normal.
• I studied under true talmidei chachamim every day, so that I had the opportunity to learn their Torah as well as see how they conducted themselves.
• The Beis Medrash, augmented by the Gottesman Library, has a collection of sefarim superior in scope and depth to most batei medrash.

Second, in terms of the community of learning:

• There were hundreds upon hundreds of us. People point out that in such a large group of students it's easy to become lost, but it is also true that in such a large group you are apt to find some truly outstanding minds, who can help you learn and who can serve as role models. I was fortunate to find excellent role models.
• The sheer number of people learning creates an atmosphere which is inspirational, motivating greater diligence.

Third, in terms of the future it gave me:

• Being in YU, I was able to build connections with rebbeim I would feel comfortable contacting years later when I had questions.
• I was not a social person, at all; I am hard-pressed to remember more than a dozen or so names from my shiur. And yet, somehow, wherever I go, I meet people who were classmates of mine, or who knew me, and I have an instant YU network.

But perhaps most of all, the advantage I gained at YU was in the expectations that I came to set for myself:

• Because of the tools: When your rebbeim are top of the line, and your beis medrash is top of the line, and you have all of this time given to you, then you expect yourself to truly accomplish.
• Because of the community: When you are one of several hundred who are learning for five hours each morning/afternoon, as well as night seder, then your expectations are high, because they are calibrated based on the people around you.

When I was in college, I was not terribly self-aware, so that I didn't consciously set expectations of look for role models. Nonetheless, I somehow found them without knowing it, and long after I left YU they stayed with me, demanding that I do more.

I know well that enrolling at YU doesn't mean that all of these benefits will accrue automatically; you do need to be self-motivated in order to really take advantage of the opportunities that YU offers. And in truth, my experience in Kerem b'Yavneh was at least as strong an influence for me; I was in YU for a year before I went to Kerem b'Yavneh, and there is no comparison between what I did before and what I did after.

But having said that, I still conclude this: I could have gone to another university and made time for Torah when I wasn't in class, and I wouldn't have done half-badly. But there isn't a chance that I would have had the life I've had since then. In a very real sense, YU made me who I am today.

It's a bird!

Last week I received one of the best birthday presents of my life: My Rebbetzin bought me a bird!

I grew up with a cockatiel; it's still alive after more than 30 years, believe it or not, although not in my family anymore:

Our family also had many tanks of fish, as well as lizards and turtles and guinea pigs and a boa constrictor. But our Thornhill rental doesn't have a lot of space for creatures beyond us six homo sapiens, and I was sure I wasn't going to be able to have another pet. And then, out of nowhere, my Rebbetzin surprised me with this cute yellow budgie. Unbelievable. She knows me so well.

I was going to solicit names here, but then one came to mind: Zimmer, for the brilliant Jewish composer of the music for the Dark Knight trilogy. And, of course, Zimmer-זמר-song, so it all makes sense.

I have a bird!

What's cooking, Rebbetzin's Husband?

[This post is for my friend from Chicago.]

I read a piece the other day on cnn.com, "Why are some lawyers killing themselves?" Scary stuff. This passage, in particular, resonated:

Instead of eight hours of sleep a night I was able to get by on six hours and finally four hours. The next things to go were my hobbies. I didn't have time for reading, so I stopped reading for fun. I didn't have time to take off from work so I stopped taking vacations. Then I stopped socializing because I didn't have time to waste away from work.

I am prone to that sort of thing, so I try to make sure to maintain some non-Rosh Kollel activities, but there really is no time for it. For the past couple of years, one of my only non-"Rosh Kollel" activities has been to cook dinner for my kids once a week.

I've enjoyed cooking since college; when we were first married and my Rebbetzin was in law school, I did a significant portion of the Shabbos cooking. It isn't that I was a homebody - I was holding down 5 jobs, including a part-time shul rabbinate – but I get satisfaction from doing it. Of course, part of that is likely because I don't do it every night, but I think part of it is the opportunity to invest myself entirely in something that isn't routine, that is new every week, that has an opportunity for creativity, and that offers immediate results.

Here are some of the recent recipes, with added notes:

Lemon Basil Lasagna Rolls

I found this by searching for lemon basil recipes, because we had some growing in our yard. It was great, except for kids who weren't as into the heavy tomato sauce presence.

Eggs and Hash Browns

Good, but too much work – I only have an hour to work with.

Swiss Chard Omelette

I love chard – and surprisingly, so did the kids.

Lentil and Swiss Chard Soup

With our newfound love of chard, we went Martha Stewart – and it was a hit!

And another chard recipe – Teriyaki Vegetables. Also well-received!

And again – chard and cheese omelette, and again it went over well.

Shifted gears for a potato and scallion omelette (we do lots of omelettes, although usually winging it).

I tried this twice and I couldn't get it right – there was far too much potato, in proportion to the eggs. I think "boiling potatoes" might mean the small round ones.

This focaccia was very easy to make – and possibly my greatest hit with the kids. I highly recommend it.

Sauteed cabbage as a side dish. I liked it; the kids weren't as into it. But then I started adding cabbage to every soup I made, and they are very into that.

Capellini Pomodoro – now, this was very good. But see above re: kids who don't like a lot of tomato sauce.

Pollo en Salsa, made when our vegetarian child was away. I took the easy route, baking it in the sauce instead of doing all of the time-consuming steps, but it was good enough to make again for Shabbos.

Pasta e fagioli! This went over very well.

Celery soup. Frankly, a dud. Needs way more salt, and the rice turns to mush too quickly, and absorbs the insufficient liquid. Oh, well.

And then there was this beer chulent I made up on the fly, when my Rebbetzin was away. It was based on an internet recipe, but I can't remember where I saw it. The goal was to minimize the starch, to avoid having to spend a lot of time cleaning the crock pot:
Flanken
3 bottles Guiness Stout
2 onions, quartered
1 potato, cut in thick slices
1 clove garlic
A little soy sauce (I didn't measure, sorry)
Salt and pepper sprinkled on
1/6 cup brown sugar
2 tbsp mustard

Feel free to send more ideas my way…

My tefillin were taken

I am beyond despondent.

I never leave my tefillin in shul, unless they are in a locked locker, but I did it on Monday because I knew that I would be in a rush on Tuesday morning. Then, Tuesday morning - today - they weren't there. I searched, others searched. The shul put out an email. I offered a reward on Kijiji and Craigslist.

I jump ever time an email shows up in my inbox, but there is no news.

It's not just the tefillin. Really, to be honest, it's not the tefillin at all - it's the tefillin bag, which my grandmother a"h made for me - you can read about it, and see a picture, in my post here.

Everyone leaves their tefillin in that shul (Clanton Park Synagogue). I saw someone else's tefillin on the same shelf this morning, while looking for my own.

Of course, people said, it could be that someone took yours by accident. And that could be - but it's very unlikely, given that my bag is very distinctive, and that my bag has my contact information in it and I've heard nothing.

Searching the Internet turns up stories about tefillin ending up in pawn shops. Should I scout out Toronto's pawn shops? I've thought about it.

I had to give a shiur today, which I did. I skipped a chuppah, but did go to a shul dinner (different shul) for a time, but had no taste for it.

I'm supposed to be working on a few shiurim and speeches tonight, and a new shiur theatre, but I have no taste for that either. I answered a few old emails.

I'm not used to being at such loose ends, but tonight I'm feeling a lot of guilt for leaving the tefillin there, and mourning for losing this connection with my grandmother.

You know how people say, "If I could just take back X"? That's me right now.

For a while today I was sure this was just a dream, and I was going to wake up, but no luck.

Just despondence.

What do you do about an impaired driver?

So here's a practical question I faced the other night:

I was driving home from a shiur on Sunday evening; it was about 10:15 PM, and I was five minutes from home after a very long day. I was on a long, relatively busy street (heading north on Bathurst, just south of Steeles, for those who know Toronto). Two cars in front of me, a Toyota, some sort of SUV, stopped significantly short of the light. I thought it odd, but not unprecedented.

The light changed, and the SUVish vehicle started moving - not only forward, but also veering a little into the lane to its right, then back into its lane, and over to the oncoming traffic on its left side. Then far into its left, so that it nearly hit someone who was coming the other way in a turning lane - they missed colliding by perhaps five feet. Then they veered back into their lane.

So it went for the next couple of blocks, before I turned off of that street, as they continued.

To me, this was pretty clear evidence of an impaired driver. The veering was so consistent that it seemed more likely to be intoxication than texting or poor vision.

I imagined calling the police to give them the plate number and approximate location, but knowing that plenty of people get on and off that street at every light, and that I rarely see patrol cars in that area without a specific cause, I didn't think that it would accomplish anything.

I imagined staying behind that car - but to do what?

And so I did nothing, which isn't my usual approach to problems in a public space. Maybe it was just because I was very tired, from giving 3 shiurim that day, and writing up another 2 shiurim. But it's been bothering me. So my question is: What would you have done? What should I have done?

The Reb, z"l

I entered Yeshiva University expecting to major in English; I had a vision of becoming a writer. That changed, for numerous reasons beyond the scope of this post, but in my freshman year at YU, before I went to Israel to study, I had the opportunity to take a course with Rabbi Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter, who passed away last week.

I don't have that much to write about Rabbi Dr. Wohlgelernter, to be honest. I remember him vividly, of course; it would be hard to remember him in any other way, with his energy and his arch humour. I can see him in front of me. We called him The Reb; I remember him telling us, on numerous occasions, that the administration wanted to "get rid of the Reb." I remember him talking about the challenge of writing, about how he had difficulty writing because he would review his work and want to change every sentence. And I remember, to a certain extent, the way he taught us about symbolism in poetry - the meaning of death, actually, for example.

But I don't remember enough, and hearing of the Reb's passing, hearing people's reminiscences about him, reminds me that this is entirely my fault, and the fault of the immaturity I shared with my friends in our college years. Part of it was that I went to YU "early admissions", skipping my senior year in high school and starting college before going to Israel; the result was that I was younger than my classmates, and still very much in a high school mindset of getting away with as little work as possible, instead of maximizing my opportunities. And part of it was my own superficiality; despite some good teachers in high school, I didn't really think about what a quality learning experience could mean for me.

The result is that I am now in what I suspect is the July of my years, and I look back in wonder at the way I have wasted certain opportunities, like those years in college. No courses in astronomy or oceanography or Chinese culture. Credits crammed in, courses cut. Worthy professors whose words I listened to only for the sake of excelling at exam time. What a foolish young man I was; I've spent years since then reading up on many of the subjects I missed, but all of the reading I do now cannot replace what could have been, and how it could have impacted upon my growth.

Note to self: I hope that well before my children go to university I will sit down with them and encourage them to be smarter than I was. It would be a shame if they, too, missed out on their Rebs.

Family Photo

This old family photo resurfaced recently; it is believed to come from the retirement party of my great-uncle, Professor Naftali (Harry) Tur-Sinai, from Hebrew University.

The professor is not actually in this photo. Instead, we have Israel's President Zalman Shazar (2nd from left, back to the camera) and Prime Minister David Ben Gurion (center). Further to the right, turning to the camera, is my paternal grandfather.

On the left, partially obscured, is a cousin of my father, and on the right side, half in the picture, is my cousin Jacques Torczyner, about whom I wrote here upon his passing this past March.

As I've noted on this blog a few times, reflected glory shouldn't mean a whole lot. But it does teach us that we are part of a continuum, and I see great value in that.

Squirrel at the Seder

I'm sure you've heard the old story about the bees going to the bar mitzvah [they need to wear yarmulkas so they aren't mistaken for Wasps].

Well, here's a new one: The squirrel at a seder!

Backstory: Our family eats leftover matzah all year round, but last week we decided to make room for our Pesach 5773 leftovers by disposing of the three pounds we still have from Pesach 5771. As an experiment, we put some out for the birds [to use as nest material if not food] - and landed this squirrel. He seems to has a taste for the unleavened, even though these pieces became soggy in a morning rain...

Cousin Jacques

More than four years ago, I blogged about my father's first-cousin, Jacques Torczyner, here and here. I greatly regret to inform you that he passed away a week ago.

All week, I've been reading the canned bio's put out by JTA and the like; they are pretty underwhelming for someone who lived the life he did. I was glad to read something more real on Friday, from JWeekly. Here's an excerpt; the full article is here:

Urbane, multilingual, well traveled, Jacques Torczyner came across as a citizen of the world. He was. Yet his life’s work focused on one place, Israel, and one cause, Zionism.

With Torczyner’s death March 7 in Saratoga, the world lost one of the last pioneers of modern Zionism. He was 98.

The Belgian native spent many evenings in his youth at the feet of Zionist visionaries. He later fled Hitler for the safety of America, where he rallied Jews to the cause of a Jewish state. He spent the rest of his life stirring others to align with Israel.

“Jacques was a monumental figure in the world Zionist movement,” said Torczyner’s friend, radio personality and author John Rothmann. “He was part of Israel’s history from 1948, he witnessed all the great movements, knew all the Zionist leaders and was committed to bringing Israel to future generations.”

Said Robert Torczyner of his father, “He had extremely good political insight and was a very persuasive person. He was very instrumental in the creation of the State of Israel, from the standpoint of gathering support needed for the Zionist movement leading up to 1948.”

Torczyner grew up in Antwerp in a strongly Zionist household. His father was president of the Belgian Zionist Federation, and their home was a mandatory stop for Jewish leaders from Palestine, among them Nachum Goldman and Chaim Weizmann.

Soon after Germany invaded Belgium in May 1940, Torczyner and his wife, Berthe, as well as members of their extended families, fled to France, then Spain and, eventually, to Cuba. Once they obtained visas, the couple settled in Manhattan, living in a cozy West Side apartment for 55 years.

Though he maintained the family’s diamond business, Torczyner focused on Israel. He became active with the Zionist Organization of America and in July 1945 attended a pivotal New York meeting called by David Ben-Gurion to organize American support for the Jewish armed forces in Palestine...

יהי זכרו ברוך.

Someone is going to hear this derashah (Mishpatim)

I was supposed to speak in a shul in the US this Shabbos, but due to what can only be called a remarkable series of unfortunate events, including:

1. An airliner that was de-iced on Thursday afternoon with a hatch open, so that fluid entered and damaged an electrical panel...

2. A 45-minute trip back through Canadian customs after disembarking, so that we ended up missing any possibility for boarding a new flight before the storm hit...

3. A trip to an airport hotel in which our shuttle was struck by another shuttle; we eventually reached the hotel close to midnight...

4. A fresh attempt early this morning on a flight that boarded on time - but would have missed our connection by over an hour had we actually stayed on board, instead of disembarking when the delay started looking likely...

5. A scary, 90-minute drive home through snowed-in highways and streets...

...we never made it out of Toronto.

In order to get some mileage out of the derashah I was going to give, here it is; enjoy!

Shemitah in the wilderness?

Have you ever asked your children to do something that seemed perfectly normal to you, and had them look at you with an expression of pure incomprehension? I imagine that Moshe received such a reaction in our parshah, when he stood at Sinai and told the Jews about the mitzvah of Shemitah, saying, "Plant your land for six years… In the seventh year, leave it alone. The needy will eat, and that which they leave will go to the animals.[1]"

"Plant your land?" What, the sand outside our tents? The rocks on Mount Sinai? Sure, we're headed to Israel someday, but right now all we see is desert! And by the way, Moshe, why did you insert this among the laws of keeping an honest judicial system and letting non-Jewish workers rest on Shabbos?

Perhaps Shemitah is taught to the Jews at the start of their journey because of a philosophical lesson it conveys, about building community by being people of berachah [blessing].

To be a blessing and so build community

Another agricultural mitzvah is that of Peah, which requires us, at harvest time, to leave the last part of our standing grain for the needy. Writing in the 13^th century, Rabbi Aharon haLevi explained in the Sefer haChinuch that one benefit of this mitzvah is that it trains us to stop short when we could take for ourselves. A person who observes Peah, declining to take his entire field for himself, develops what the Sefer haChinuch calls a נפש ברכה, a spirit of blessing.

The Sefer haChinuch's key words, נפש ברכה [a spirit of blessing], actually come from Mishlei [Proverbs], a book of Tanach attributed to King Solomon. The author praises a נפש ברכה,[2] [a spirit of blessing], and the commentators there explain that term as the Sefer haChinuch uses it – for a person to be וותרן בממונו, forgiving his right to material wealth, leaving it for others.

It's about our own improvement

But the help we give to others is not really the point. As the Sefer haChinuch explained, the point is in the personality we develop, and the way we will be better off, and therefore society will be better off.

It is axiomatic that the hand that grasps the world and all of its riches tightly in youth will one day be compelled to relax its grip and, one by one, release its acquisitions and relinquish its ambitions. Even before that mortal day arrives, the reach of the hand will never encompass everything the heart desires. A human being who feels a compulsion to take hungers perpetually, and is frustrated eternally. And a human being like that is an unreliable neighbour.

On the other hand, a human being who, as the Sefer haChinuch said, is aware that Gd has filled him with goodness, a human being who is a וותרן, forgiving rather than grasping for more, is שמח בחלקו, rejoices in his portion without concern for that which lies beyond its boundaries. This is a person of blessing, because people like these are the foundation stones of community. The strength of the community depends on the strength of these individuals.

Be a blessing upon entering Israel

Our mission of becoming a וותרן, and thereby a piece of a strong society, was of primary importance when our ancestors first entered the land of Israel.

Avraham and Sarah make their way from the familiar eastern portion of the Fertile Crescent, through the way-station of Charan, heeding a Divine call of לך לך, Go. Their caravan is buoyed along by a Divine promise of protection, but also a Divine command: והיה ברכה. Be a berachah. Be a blessing.[3]

We now know what that means: As we saw King Solomon use the term in Mishlei, as we saw the Sefer haChinuch explain: Avraham and Sarah! Be a blessing! Gifted with holy land, do not become people whose identity is defined by that which you hold in your grasp.

Avraham and Sarah heed the call:

• After a war, Avraham is offered spoils, and he declines them;
• Gd personally offers Avraham every material blessing, and Avraham says he is not interested;
• Sarah surrenders her place in the household so that Avraham will have a child through Hagar;
• Avraham parts ways with his greedy cousin Lot – and Avraham, who has been promised the land, offers Lot the chance to choose territory first.[4]

Avraham and Sarah's family are commanded to be a blessing, to be וותרנים, relinquishing claims, and so to become people of blessing within the society they will build.

The lesson of Shemitah in the wilderness

And now, to return to our initial question regarding the value of shemitah in the wilderness: The Jews stand at Sinai, an adolescent nation, newly unshackled beginning to grow into its muscles. They expect to return to that land of Israel of Avraham and Sarah, and there to evolve from families into tribes into a nation. At the inception of this journey, Moshe admonishes them: Do not focus on what you can take.

• Maintain an honest judicial system; don't take the property of the vulnerable.
• Let your non-Jewish workers rest on Shabbos; don't take advantage of your right to their service.
• And learn the lessons of the Sabbatical year. In Shemitah we are taught to withdraw our hands. We choose not to take. Shemitah is about staying our hand.

Israel today

Avraham and Sarah are told to be that berachah when they enter Israel, the Jews at Sinai are told likewise by Moshe, and today, when we are again home, in our land, we remain under this command. I speak not of the way we interact with our Arab neighbours, a relationship governed by a complex set of laws and realities, but how we interact with each other.

In our time we have witnessed the realization of our millenia-old dream with the establishment of an autonomous Jewish state in Israel. We have observed the incredible flourishing of a country in which Jews of all ethnicities and all types of observance can thrive, in which the government funds Torah study, in which a Jewish army warns the world, as Rav Soloveitchik said, that Jewish blood is not hefker, to be spilled with abandon. It is a land where every Jew belongs. It is a miracle of incalculable scope, for which we should give thanks every day. But the task of Avraham and Sarah, the charge of Moshe with shemitah, remains relevant: Not to perpetually hunger for more, but to relate to each other without taking and grasping, to develop lives of blessing.

Us

And beyond Israel, in our own personal lives, here in Denver, we are also challenged to be וותרנים, and so to be a blessing.

The idea is simple, but its implementation is not; sociologists around the world, from the US to Europe to the Far East, label our modern era "rights-infatuated" and condemn our society as acquisitive. Scholars of government and philosophy debate the relative value of Aristotelian virtue, the Kantian categorical imperative and lofty Confucian ideals, but at the end of the day many of us live in the unsophisticated fear of losing that to which we have claim. We have difficulty achieving the personal strength to hold back.

I am not naïve; I know that there are times when we must take, and not forgive. Even our matriarch Sarah did not forgive everything, as we know from her battle with Hagar and her eviction of Yishmael. There are rights we must defend; there are times to hold the line, to litigate, even to go to war. But our first choice, our gut reaction, in our daily life and our communal life, is to learn the lesson of shemitah from our parshah, to learn the lesson of Avraham and Sarah, to trust in Gd and to be a berachah.

In our personal lives:

• When a neighbouring driver tries to cut into the lane in front of us, or when someone cuts to the kiddush table in front of us, to respond first with the Berachah reflex;
• When our children come home from school and immediately clamor for first rights to snack or the computer or some toy, to train them in the Berachah reflex.

And in our community as well, our vision ought to include the full ambit of Berachah:

• To create a shul in which individuals are looked after, so that they can safely exercise וותרנות, declining to take;
• To lead Jewish institutions which function in a generous culture of community, not jealously guarding resources but acknowledging that there is a need for, and there is space for, everyone;
• To recognize our citizenship in the broader city, and adopt a policy not of asking, "What are my rights," but instead, "What can I provide?"

This is what it means, on a day-to-day level, to be a blessing for our community, to be a descendant of Avraham and Sarah, to be a practitioner of the mitzvah of shemitah.

Closer

When the Jews returned from Babylon to build the second Beit haMikdash, they were frustrated by the slow pace of their work, by the poverty they suffered, by the foes they faced. But the prophet Zecharyah pledged to them that if they would remain loyal to Gd, then Gd would aid their efforts. "And it will be," he said, "As you were once a curse among the nations, House of Yehudah and House of Yisrael, so now will I rescue you – and you will again be a Berachah.[5]" As Avraham and Sarah were a berachah when they entered the land, so will you be a berachah today.

When we fulfill this, when we are loyal to that mission of Avraham and Sarah and of shemitah, when we learn to relinquish our demands, then we will be a blessing and we will build a strong community, and for us Zecharyah concluded with a promise: "אל תיראו, תחזקנה ידיכם." "Be not afraid – your hands will be strengthened."

---

[1] Shemos 23:10-11

[2] Mishlei 11:25

[3] Targum renders it as "and you will be blessed," to make it consistent with the surrounding verses, but this is difficult. Rashi, in his first comment, is sensitive to the problem.

[4] It is most telling, too, that Lot chooses to live in the selfish city of Sdom! And we know how that story ends.

[5] Zecharyah 8:13

Gardening

At the moment, I'm looking at an orchid that sits on the only windowsill in our home. The plant was given to us when we moved in, and it has bloomed faithfully every several months; judging from the plumpness of three closed flowers currently adorning its branches, it is maybe two or three days away from blooming yet again. It has slim company - a pot of mint and aravah branches I am nursing along for a friend. Not much room on this windowsill.

Elsewhere in the house, a gloxinia is hibernating. A cactus I've owned for 23 years is probably alive, although I must admit it's hard to tell. A terrarium lives in a fog. Outside, the ground of a postage stamp backyard contains more than fifty plants I have buried in the rented soil.

I enjoy gardening, but I'm not sure why. Not that it matters much on a rented plot in a shoehorned development in a cold climate, where the chance to really create a garden is fairly limited, but I still think about the day when I'll have more of an opportunity for this sort of growth.

Part of it, of course, is the aesthetic beauty of the plants as they grow. In our home in Allentown, we created a beautiful perennial garden in front of the house, and we kept all sorts of plants in different parts of the backyard. This wasn't exactly a cultivated beauty - in some sense it resembled what happens when I go the supermarket without a perfectly defined list of items to buy. Some purple here, some red there, grasses here, bulbs there, and a motley arrangement of vegetables. Blueberry bush. Aravah bushes. Mint. Horseradish. Oakleaf hydrangea. Impulse purchases galore. But yes, they were attractive to the eye, or to my eye at any rate. Colors and textures and curving silhouettes...

Part of it was the gratification of seeing a result to my labors. I was never that good about fertilizing the soil, but I did the rest of it, from mulch to weeding to watering, and it paid off. Who wouldn't feel satisfaction at crocuses poking up from the soil, or berries emerging on a branch? Certainly, the plants were doomed to an ultimate death, but as Rabbi Akiva said, we celebrate at the time of celebration, and at that moment the effort is worthwhile, more than justified.

And, of course, one could connect this gardening to Torah sources and the redeeming value of working the soil and producing with one's hands. Adam and Chavah. Kayin and Hevel. Noach. Lemech's kids. The sin of the Tower of Bavel, per Ibn Ezra, was a desire to leave the land and move to the city.

And then those first, wonderfully agrarian Hebrews. Ever since rural Avraham declared his suspicion of those big-city Egyptians, the Jew has not trusted a life apart from the soil. Even in our most urban days, even in the beis medrash and synagogue, we understood where the Jew's true display of emunah [Shabbat 31a] was. We knew that Seder Zeraim was calling us, with its myriad complex laws, its kilayim and tithes and offerings and so on, of which much more should be written here. [Note: The suspicion of city life existed beyond the beis medrash. Many Jews who would never crack open a sefer agreed with the patronizing 18th century Europeans who said the children of Israel could become civilized if only we were trained properly; our blight had come from centuries of enforced urban life. Was this only out of desire to ingratiate ourselves with the Europeans? Or was it ideological, born in a yearning for the land?]

But I suspect the greatest benefit of gardening for me, back when I really did it, was the enforced distraction. You can't properly tend plants if you are constantly looking at your watch. Or, at least, I couldn't. I needed to detach from everything else, and "be the garden". I tend to get caught up in things, and having a cause that pulled me away from those things - and that demanded pulling away at regular intervals - was good for me. Clears the head, clears the heart, not a bad thing after a week of funerals or classes or whatever. One can accomplish the effect with a daf of gemara, of course, and that's another option, but one needs more than one way to do it.

Nothing deeper than that here; I'm just looking at the orchid, waiting for it to bloom.

Death of a Go'el

In biblical terms, the import of the title go'el is more than its literal translation, "redeemer". A go'el is someone who feels a close connection to someone who is suffering, and who therefore acts on his behalf.

In Vayikra 25, a go'el redeems the property of an indigent relative, who had been forced to sell it.

In Bamidbar 35, a go'el avenges the murder of his relative.

In Ruth 2, Boaz is described as a go'el because he is a close relative of Naomi's family, and he will marry the widow Ruth and take her into his protection.

In this week's parshah, Moshe sees a Jew beaten by an Egyptian and he steps in to halt it. The Torah doesn't use the term go'el, but this, too, is an act of geulah, performed by the greatest human go'el.

Jay Scherline, a beloved friend, was a go'el. He passed away on Monday. I will not be able to make it to his funeral, and I need to express what I am feeling somewhere, so on the blog it goes. I know many of the blog's readers are friends from Allentown; you will know what I am talking about.

Jay cared for everyone, but particularly for those in need. Russian Jews. People who needed legal help, of all kinds. A family he knew couldn't afford an expensive kiddush for their special occasion, so he wrote a check anonymously to upgrade what they had. These were his people, and he loved helping them.

Jay would cut off his right arm to help you, and then he would plead with you to take his left arm as well.

Jay cared for his shul. He raised funds. He single-handedly created a philanthropic society to encourage people to leave bequests to the shul. He took on minyan when he could over the years. He called me up a few weeks after I arrived in town, to make sure I knew about different groups in the shul who might not be in shul regularly but who needed my attention. He sat opposite me at the negotiating table at contract time - and even though it was at my expense, I couldn't help but appreciate his sincere concern for protecting the shul's funds.

Jay was forever asking if I needed anything; he used to joke with me that every rabbi came to him for help eventually. I know I frustrated him by declining, but he still found ways. When I came to give a shiur at his office, he would arrange to have food for me, making sure I noticed the kosher certification symbol, and he would also make sure I left with a check for the Benevolent Fund.

There is so much to remember. Without any effort, the memories come flooding in; Jay is that type of guy, you don't forget a minute with him. The first time I met him, on my proba (tryout) shabbos, when he buttonholed me right after davening on Shabbos morning and introduced me to one of his sons. Those Bnai Brith Chanukah dinners he put on, with their remarkable entertainment. A kosher business card networking event for Bnai Brith – at Lobaido's restaurant, of all places. Political fundraisers. A Jewish Federation mission to Israel together. Jay and Lorrie coming to Toronto for Amram's bar mitzvah. The text messages wishing me a good whatever-the-day-was. And always talking about Lorrie and the boys.

I just scrolled through my archived emails that include his name, and all sorts of additional stories were brought to mind.

Helping an immigrant from Eastern Europe looking for work.

Fixing graves in disrepair at the shul cemetery.

Volunteering an engineer contact of his to help with a child safety issue in shul.

Writing a legal letter on behalf of a woman whose former employer owed her money.

Or this one, when Jay found out I was headed to Toronto: "Mazel Tov on your new adventure. I love Toronto, and I'm sure you and your family will too. If you want me to review any documents concerning your new position, please advise. I am running a special-no charge. Best of luck, and please teach me as much as you can before you leave."

And on, and on, and on.

I suspect many people only saw Jay superficially, a good-natured, talkative local celebrity, and didn't see what was underneath. People should know what the world has lost. A true shirt-off-his-back go'el. A man who felt a close connection to anyone in need, and would immediately pull out all the stops to make things happen. I can't tell you how many times I saw it over the years, the checks he wrote, the legal work he contributed, the events and organizations to which he gave his name and his time.

Gd is the truest Go'el, the One who is close to everyone, and will act for everyone. I can only pray that the Go'el will look after the go'el and his family, and send the rest of us more such go'alim. We need them.