Hug Sameach!

Today is a day suffused with emotion.
Baruch Hashem!
Laughter. Smiles. Hugs. Cheers. Tears.

After two years, Israel and the Jewish people are turning a corner.

It is not the end of anything.
It’s an inflection point.
The remains of two dozen Israelis still must be repatriated.
What happens with Hamas, Gaza, the greater Middle East?
What will the next chapter of Israel look like?

All I know – and it’s blurry having stayed up past 5:00 am to watch those incredible first images – is that we need to be grateful and hug each other closer.

The list of thank yous is long. (We would be played off the stage at the Academy Awards before being halfway finished.) God. President Trump and his team – especially Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner. Prime Minister Netanyahu and his team – especially Ron Dermer. All sorts of interlocutors and mediators and intermediaries.  All the families and loved ones and supporters of the hostages being released. Those who walked and baked and prayed and protested.

And the IDF.

We know of the heroism, valor, strength, dedication, and determination of the Israel’s soldiers. October 7 was a horrible, dark day, yet the IDF responded to the call of the hour. For 738 days, they have been driven to destroy Hamas and restore security to the citizens of the State of Israel and ensure they never face a similar threat. Soldiers – both new recruits and veterans – and reservists – many who served hundreds of days – have fought a war unlike any other in history – and won.

And sacrificed.
915 soldiers have been killed since October 7.

Today’s celebrations would not be possible without the soldiers of the IDF.
We must salute them. Thank them. Remember them. Support them. Hug their families close.

On Saturday night, Jared Kushner concluded his remarks in Hostage Square in Tel Aviv with mention of the soldiers: “I just want to thank the amazing soldiers of the IDF. Without their heroism and brilliance and bravery, this deal would not have been possible.”

Amit Segal remembered IDF soldier Eitan Fisch, who drew the above image of a hostage being rescued by a soldier before he fell defending his homeland. Returning the hostages home was the primary motivation of every soldier. As the hostages were being released, Amit wrote:

But the ultimate credit? That goes to the brave soldiers of the Israel Defense Forces. Throughout this morning, I was receiving photos of soldiers in Lebanon, who, after four rounds in Gaza, were watching the hostage release live. So too was I receiving similar photos from soldiers still in the strip. Neither can we forget the 915 soldiers who never wanted to join the list of the Jewish state’s fallen, but nevertheless fought to defend the homeland, return the hostages, and defeat Hamas. In the end, this achievement belongs with them.

As we acclimate to the end of the war in Gaza and hope for a bright future, we need to be vigilantly grateful to the IDF and unite behind them. I appreciate how Chag Samech can also be written Hag Sameach. That’s close to Hug Sameach (as in the image above). Sounds like a pretty good strategy for the upcoming holiday and beyond.

Amit Segal quoted a beautiful poem posted on Instagram by Elyasaf Ezra:

915 soldiers, men and women,
Heroes and heroines,
Are currently sitting in heaven,
On God’s balcony,
In the angels’ sukkah.
Holding hands,
Wiping the tears from their eyes,
Looking at one another,
Looking at us,
And shouting:
We did it.

Thank God, the IDF did it. The hostages are home. We are grateful and look ahead to what comes next. That’s up to us. We will be the ones to tackle the challenges and take advantage of the opportunities, to persevere, to be resilient, to be worthy of the sacrifice of so many. We can – and must – do it!

Kohelet, Jewish Joy & the Impending Hostage Release

Start worrying. Details to follow…”

That’s the classic content of the Jewish telegram about what to expect.

Then there’s the conversation between the Jewish pessimist and the Jewish optimist.

Pessimist: “I don’t think things can get much worse.”
Optimist: “You’re very wrong, I’m sure they can.”

Are Jews optimists or pessimists? Both.

Our experience gives us reasons for despair and hope, exultation and trepidation, and the glass being both half empty and half full. I just read about a news report of how October 7 prompted some Jews to make aliya and others to leave Israel.

Right now, we are all cautiously optimistic as we await the release of the hostages. We are reliving what our ancestor’s experienced more than 2,000 years ago as described in Nechemia 8:17 – “The whole community that returned from the captivity made booths and dwelt in the booths…and there was very great rejoicing.”

The expected release of hostage as we celebrate Simchat Torah and commemorate the anniversary of when the dark saga began is particularly powerful. The convergence of these multiple emotions is appropriate this Shabbat as we read Kohelet, the Book of Ecclesiastes.

“Haveil havalim amar Kohelet, haveil havalim ha-kol havel - Utter futility! - said Kohelet - Utter futility! All is futile!” (Kohelet 1:2)

Kohelet is not a very cheerful book. In fact, the Talmud (Shabbat 30b) teaches that the Rabbis wanted to hide Kohelet because it contains such contradictory and difficult teachings. The most sobering element is the recurrence of the word, “hevel,” translated as futility, vanity, folly, meaningless, or the like. If we read repeatedly how worthless things are, I can see why we might want to hide the book.

The custom is to read Kohelet on Shabbat Chol Hamoed Sukkot so that the book’s sobering nature ensures the celebrations of the festival don’t get out of hand. Sukkot may be z’man simchateinu but let us not forget that life is futile. We use Kohelet as a buzzkill, to remind us to be happy but not too happy.

I think there is a deeper lesson to be found in Kohelet. Kohelet abides because it provides perspective – maybe a corrective – on simcha, Jewish joy.

Kohelet isn’t all doom and gloom. There are flashes of optimism, meaning, and even celebration. Wee just need to look for them, to mine them out. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that when Kohelet (King Solomon) focuses on himself, the tone is more pessimistic. When his experience includes others, there is more optimism.

Verses such as “I built for myself, I gathered for myself, I acquired for myself…” (Kohelet 2:4-9) end on a negative note. When Kohelet writes about being more productive (Kohelet 5:11) or social or even being happily married (9:9), he sounds more positive.

True Jewish joy must take others into account.

Take simchat yom tov, how we celebrate the festivals.

Rambam reminds us that we need to include others in our holiday meals. If not, our joy isn’t a religious experience; it’s “rejoicing of the belly.” Rambam notes that including others in our celebration of the festival isn’t about charity. He specifically mentions inviting those who are troubled or sad. We need to take others into account – their physical, spiritual, and emotional needs. Otherwise, our celebration is merely performative and limited to ourselves. To paraphrase Kohelet, it’s havel.

It's only true “Jewish joy” when it involves others. We know deep down this is true, but it is easy to get lost in our own emotions. As we, please God, celebrate the hostages returning home, we must filter our joy through the hearts of those for whom the moment will not be as celebratory.

There is a long road to recovery for the hostages and their families.

There is the mourning for those who loved ones’ remains will be returned but who are coming to grips with their ultimate absence.

There are those who bear the scars of wounds of war: missing limbs or loved ones killed in action, scars and trauma from injuries during battle, or the difficulty returning to normal after two years of war.

Iris Haim’s son, Yotam, was taken hostage by Hama and then accidentally killed by IDF troops. She posted the following online, reminding us of the complexity of the moment and mixed emotions people will be having.

Today, when you rejoice, rejoice reservedly, rejoice quietly, rejoice with a trembling voice.
Yes, it is right to rejoice, to release a sigh of relief, to ask forgiveness.
Yes, it is right, at the same time, to remember — in every moment — those who were not granted to embrace again, those who were starved and did not return, those who ran and would never again receive the laughter of their fair-haired child.
Rejoice within your homes, not in the city squares. Rejoice in your sukkah.
I give thanks for this moment that is coming — yet there is no joy in my heart.
At this moment, I yearn, like everyone, to see them home.
Still, the heart is torn again by the feeling of despair — mine is not coming.

Are Jews optimists or pessimists? Yes.

Kohelet takes us on a winding tale of ups and downs, highs and lows, optimism and pessimism, and celebration and sadness. We will find true meaning, purpose, and joy when we extend ourselves to others, feel their pain, and lift them up so we can all be redeemed together.

Who's in Your Sukkah?

Every year, as we decorate the sukkah, I think back to the sukkah of my childhood. Alongside the chains, fake fruit, and other accoutrements, we had a poster entitled “Gedolei Yisrael Rishonim V’Acharonim - The Earlier and Later Great Rabbis of Israel.” It had illustrations of famous rabbis who let an indelible mark on Judaism like Rashi, Rambam, Rabbi Yosef Karo (author of the Shulchan Aruch), and Rabbi Moshe Isserlis (the Rema, primary source for Ashkenazic practice).

We liked to comment on who had the longest beard or most exotic headgear or how did the designer know what any of these rabbis looked like anyway.

Notably, on the bottom row, there were two rabbis separated by a text box: Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chasidic movement, and his primary opponent, the Vilna Gaon. My father would joke that they were so diametrically opposed to each other that even their pictures couldn’t be side by side. I am happy to report than an updated version of the poster has the two great rabbis (smiling) next to each other. There’s peace between the Chasidim and their opponents!

Over the years, other rabbis joined the “classic” greats on my sukkah wall. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Reb Shlomo Carlebach, and Rav Kook to name a few. These days, our kids add new names and faces to the “Rabbis Wall” of the sukkah.

Sukkot is the holiday of visualizing our spiritual influences.

The most well-known spiritual visitors are the seven Ushpizin, whose presence is meant to elevate our sukkah experience: Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Moshe, Aharon, Yosef, and David. We welcome one each night as each represents different aspects of our relationship with God.

This is not just an exercise in imagination. Any spiritual benefit from inviting the Ushpizin is only relevant if we share our holiday with those in need. We are not interested in exalted religious experiences alone. Exalted religious experiences are those we share with others. As Rambam writes, true simchat yom tov, rejoicing on the festival, is only experienced with others. Whether it’s assisting those who need help celebrating or giving someone an emotional boost. That’s true joy.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Judaism recognizes the power of images to inspire. Isaiah (30:20) proclaimed, “Your eyes shall behold your teachers.” The Radvaz notes that seeing one’s Torah teacher creates a mystical connection — a sharing of spiritual energy. We look to be - and do - better by visualizing our spiritual greats. The Midrash teaches that Yosef resisted temptation in Egypt by seeing in his head an image of his father, Yaakov. Even a mental picture is worth a thousand words.

The sukkah is aspirational space. When we invite the ushpizin or hang up pictures of rabbis, we invite not just famous figures but ideals: hospitality, humility, courage, and devotion. Today, we have new ways to visualize that inspiration — not only through imagination, but through photographs and posters. Each face we hang in the sukkah, each role model we “invite in,” reminds us of what we value and who we want to become.

We’re not only inspired by pictures — we can be inspiring pictures ourselves.

The Chafetz Chaim was once returning by train from a rabbinic gathering. At each stop, people crowded train stations just to catch a glimpse of the saintly rabbi. Out of humility, he stayed inside the train — until Rabbi Meir Shapiro urged him otherwise. “Throngs of Jews will have pleasure from seeing you,” he told the Chafetz Chaim. “Aren’t you willing to accept a little discomfort if it brings them joy?”

From then on, the Chafetz Chaim went out to greet the people.

As we enter the sukkah this holiday, let’s look for inspiration – from family, from rabbis, from the heroes of the IDF. In addition to who’s in our sukkah, we should ask ourselves who’s sukkah can we be in. Do we radiate kindness, conviction, and courage that others would want to “invite in?” Are we living in a way that inspires others?

May our sukkot — and our lives — be filled with the presence of those who inspire us, and may we, in turn, become the kind of people whose very image brings light, strength, and joy to others.

Bob Dylan & Ha’azinu: Listening to the Music

On Yom Kippur, we were “Knockin' on Heaven's Door” in the hopes that with all the difficulties we are experiencing, “The Times They Are A-Changin’.”

The above sentiments are song titles of Shabsi Zisel ben Avraham, better known as Bob Dylan. I enjoy – and am even moved – by some of Dylan’s songs. He is also pretty cool and mysterious. He’s an enigma. Dylan’s religious odyssey makes for an interesting story, and he’s one of the few rock icons who had his son’s Bar Mitzvah at the Kotel and played Hava Nagila on the harmonica on a Chabad telethon. His son-in-law, musician Peter Himmleman, is an observant Jew.

Dylan, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2016, is unique in that his songs have been analyzed for the deeper meaning of the lyrics. Professors of literature dissected Dylan’s imagery and significance in ways which they have never done with George Gershwin or Irving Berlin. People search for biblical, religious, and even mystical allusions. No doubt they can be found if the seeker uses their imagination. Whether they were intended by the author is another matter.

This week’s parsha, Ha’azinu, is a song which contains depth, meaning, and beauty.

וַיָּבֹא מֹשֶׁה וַיְדַבֵּר אֶת כָּל דִּבְרֵי הַשִּׁירָה הַזֹּאת בְּאָזְנֵי הָעָם הוּא וְהוֹשֵׁעַ בִּן נוּן:

Moshe came, together with Hosea son of Nun, and recited all the words of this song in the ears of the people. (Devarim 32:44).

What exactly is THIS song?

On a simple level, the song is the parsha. Ha’azinu is an enigmatic song. It describes the ups and downs of the Jewish experience. One the one hand, Jews are special and are admonished to follow God. On the other hand, there will be difficult patches. It is like a song that has a rough edge – like punk rock. You like the beat, but some of the lyrics can rub you the wrong way.

On a deeper level, the whole Torah is a song. Songs are an amalgam of lyrics and music. Some songs have lyrics that would qualify as a good poem without the music and some songs have music that would be just as good with no words at all. Yet when there is a combination of quality lyrics with good music, both aspects are enhanced.

The Torah is a multi-faceted, complex song. It is much more than a narrative or a book of laws. There are rhyme, rhythm, and poetry. The Torah contains a rich tapestry that is full of life, meaning, energy, and inspiration.

The Talmud (Megillah 32a) teaches that one is censured for reading the Torah without a melody or studying Mishnah without a tune. It is not only when the Torah is read publicly that there is musical cantillation. Enter any study hall and you will hear the traditional sounds of students exchanging ideas through the medium of melody. We sing the song of Torah all the time.

The Torah ends with a song because Moshe knew that music ensures the future of the Jewish people. It is the song which will enable the message of God to endure for all the generations to come. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks captures the power of song: Music speaks to something deeper than the mind. It speaks to the soul.

Rabbi Ally Ehrman, an educator in Israel, shares a story he heard from a Yeshivat Hakotel alumnus.

A Yeshivat Hakotel student’s parents lived in Israel and hosted their son’s entire class for a Shiur Shabbaton. The only "rule" was that each student had to give a d'var Torah at some point over Shabbat.  At Seudah Shlishit, the last student to present was older than the others in the group. He said that, instead of a dvar Torah, he wanted to tell his story.

I grew up in what is often described as an ultra-Orthodox community and attended a prestigious yeshiva. I had a bad experience with some of my teachers and began to question my religious lifestyle. I left the community and much of my observance. I headed to the West Coast and ended up in Venice Beach California, a far cry from where I came from.

Late one Friday night, I was wandering aimlessly on the beach when a tune in the distance caught my ear, and it sounded strangely familiar to me. It was the niggun, “Dovid melech, melech Yisroel…siman, siman tov…mazal, mazal tov..”

You can imagine my shock when I discovered that the mystery singer was a non-Jewish, homeless, African-American man sitting on the beach. I asked him how he knew that tune. He explained that, years earlier, he had met a Rabbi by the name of Shlomo Carlebach. This rabbi was nice to him and would give him a few dollars and spend some time with him and sing a little to cheer him up. It worked and the tunes stuck.

I didn't know much about Reb Shlomo at the time, but I did recognize the niggunim and was touched by this man's story. I decided that I would visit my new homeless friend and sing with him. This got me thinking about the way of life I left behind, and the rest is history…

Needless to say - everyone in the room was SHOCKED... and inspired. The power of a song.

This Shabbat, we sing the song of the Torah, of Jewish life. Life is a song. Just as we each play different roles, we hear the music differently. Similarly, there are lots of instruments, notes, lyrics, and sounds. Sometimes, they are all in harmony, and sometimes, things are out of tune. Whether you like Bob Dylan or Shlomo Carlebach or Fill in the Blank, there is so much beautiful music to be heard in our lives and in our Judaism.

The answers my friends are not “Blowin’ in the Wind,” but meaning can be found by listening to the music. We must try to listen to the song of celebration, the beautiful music of everyday life, the song of family and friends, the song of those in need, and the song of Torah and Judaism.

Let’s conclude paraphrasing Shabsi Zisel ben Avraham’s “Forever Young:”

May God bless and keep us always. May our wishes all come true. May we always do for others and let others do for you. May we always be courageous, stand upright and be strong. And may our song always be sung.

And, with Sukkot approaching, let us NOT experience “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.”

Are You a Ba'al Teshuva?

Teshuva (repentance) can be complicated.

The Talmud teaches that repentance and Yom Kippur atone for sins between man and God. When it comes to sins between people, we must ask for forgiveness and right the wrongs we committed. Some sins are serious. Some aren’t easily forgiven.

One example of a sin that is complicated to fix is lashon hara, gossip.

There is a well-known parable of a man who spreads lashon hara about another member of the community. Realizing his grave error, he turns to his rabbi for advice how to repent. The rabbi instructs him to take a down pillow to the top of a hill, cut it open, and let the feathers fly in the wind. When he returns, the rabbi tells him to now gather every feather. The man, startled, protests, “But that’s impossible!” The rabbi answers, “So it is with your words.”

Maybe it’s the difficulty of teshuva which earns the Ba’al Teshuva (penitent) such praise:
“In the place where penitents stand, even the full-fledged righteous do not stand” (Berachot 34b).

This teaching was articulated by Reish Lakish – himself a Ba’al Teshuva. The penitent, unlike someone who has always been observant, has “tasted the forbidden fruit.” They know what’s out there and, nevertheless, decided on their own to embrace observance and draw nearer to God.

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz (1937-2020) was a revolutionary scholar and author. His commentary on the entire Talmud puts him the rarefied status of greats like Rashi. Rabbi Steinsaltz’s parents, Avraham and Leah, were fervent communists and non-believers. Leah adamantly refused to light Shabbat candles. Nevertheless, they wanted young Adin to study Talmud. Avraham told his son, “I want you to be an Apikores (heretic) not an Am HaAretz (ignoramus.)” Young Adin rebelled and went to a religious high school. The rest is history.

There are all different kinds of Ba’alei Teshuva because repentance is not one-size-fits-all. Rambam writes (Teshuva 7:1):

“Since every person is endowed with free will, as we have explained, he should try to perform teshuva and confess his sins verbally and renounce them, so that he may die penitent and thus be worthy of the World-to-Come.”

Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein notes that the Rambam’s formulation “he should try” is uncharacteristic. We don’t find it said anywhere that we should “try” to observe Shabbat or keep kosher or daven. One is obligated, and there should be nothing more to say. The same should be the case with repentance.

We see that being a Ba’al Teshuva is not merely one who has fulfilled the commandment to repent. Rather, it is “the molding of the human personality, the maximization of one’s spiritual self and the realization of one’s psychological, moral and religious potential.” Based on Rav Lichtenstein, we encounter a Ba’al Teshuva who isn’t necessarily a sinful or nonobservant individual who has been reformed. It can be any individual who already serves God but is also aware of how much more is possible, how much higher to climb.

Each of us should think of ourselves as a Ba’al Teshuva since we should all be asking ourselves: Is this the best we can be?

Winston Lord is a former US diplomat, who worked closely with Henry Kissinger. He recounts how Kissinger always demanded excellence when it came to speeches. Lord once left Kissinger with a draft of a speech. Lord continues telling the story:

Kissinger called me in the next day and said, “Is this the best you can do?" I said, "Henry, I thought so, but I'll try again."

So I go back in a few days, another draft. He called me in the next day and he said, "Are you sure this is the best you can do?" I said, "Well, I really thought so. I'll try one more time." Anyway, this went on eight times, eight drafts; each time he said, "Is this the best you can do?"

So I went in there with a ninth draft, and when he called me in the next day and asked me that same question, I really got exasperated and I said, "Henry, I've beaten my brains out - this is the ninth draft. I know it's the best I can do: I can't possibly improve one more word."

He then looked at me and said, "In that case, now I'll read it…"

This is the season for appropriately repairing our mistakes and asking for forgiveness. At the same time, it’s also essential to take stock of what we do right and ask if we are doing enough.

We give tzedakah. Can we give more?
We believe in Jewish education. Can we study something new? Can we be more supportive of Jewish educational institutions?
We love our family and friends. Can we be more attentive, responsive, or supportive?

It is not only the sinner who can become a Ba’al Teshuva. Each of us must make a reckoning of how much more is possible. While we may not always think of ourselves as Ba’alei Teshuva, maybe we should.

The fifth rebbe of Ger, Rabbi Simcha Bunim Alter (1898 – 1992), was once speaking to a teacher in a yeshiva for newly-observant young men. The man was detailing the pedagogical methods used in the institution and the radical changes that many of its graduates had made in their personal lives. The teacher realized that he might have inadvertently given a mistaken impression of his own background. "Don't get me wrong, Rebbe,” he said. “Though I work with them, I myself am not a Ba’al Teshuva."

The rebbe responded, "Why on earth not?”

On Yom Kippur, we engage in the process of rectifying our misdeeds while also figuring out how to be the best we can be. I want to be a Ba’al Teshuva. I think we all should. Why on earth not?

Bring the Kids to Shul!

When a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is around, does it make a sound?

When a baby cries in shul, it most certainly does.

When a baby starts crying in shul, reactions often range from “Shut that kid up!” to sympathy for the parent to “I’m glad it’s not me” to “Should children come to shul in the first place?”

I think it’s great.

I don’t think it’s great that the child is disturbing others. (It only rarely breaks my rhythm.) I think it’s great that we have children coming to shul. Who wants a shul without children?

Some places do.

I read about a large synagogue in the South whose respected rabbi did not tolerate noise during services. When a child made a fuss, he halted the service and announced, “Little children, like orders, must be carried out.” Ouch.

I saw another account entitled, “When My Synagogue Banned My Baby on Yom Kippur” about a congregation that didn’t allow babies until later in the service, or they could attend an alternate venue. The author describes other experiences of being denied entry to services with his child in tow, or being asked to leave if the baby made noise.

I get it.

People come to shul to daven - and, of course, listen to the rabbi. At the same time, if we want adults to love Shul, we need to train them as children by bringing them to shul.

This is the message of the Hakhel ceremony that took place every seven years.

“Hakhel - Gather the people – the men, the women, the little children, and the strangers in your communities - that they may hear and so learn to revere Hashem, your God, and to observe faithfully every word of this Teaching” (Devarim 31:12).

The Talmud (Chagigah 3a) notes that this verse is puzzling: If men and women come to learn or listen, why do the little ones come? They’re not mature enough to understand what’s going on. The answer is they come for God to reward those who bring them. In other words, God credits those who bring their children to the assembly.

The medieval rabbis note that this is the source for people bringing their small children to the synagogue.

Not everyone embraces this practice. Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe (Planting and Building: Raising a Jewish Child, pp. 61-63), cautions:

“We must be careful not to bring our children to synagogue when they are too young. A very young child has no idea what is going on in shul. He is unfamiliar with the prayers, can’t read a siddur, certainly doesn’t pray, and he makes it difficult for others present to pray too. We often see such children roaming around the shul during prayers…They run around the Aron ha-Kodesh and bimah, and on Rosh Hashanah can sometimes be seen mocking the shofar-blower. It is irresponsible for parents to allow insufficiently mature children into shul.”

Some of you are nodding your heads right now…

On the other end of the spectrum, Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter, the Sefat Emet, teaches that enduring noise and disruptions from the children, while it might detract from the adults’ personal prayer experience, achieves the lofty goal that they grow up to become shul-going, observant members of the community. We can give up a little of our decorum, and even peace of mind, if it helps ensure the Jewish future.

In the High Holiday Beginners Service at which I officiated, we attracted Jews from various Jewish backgrounds, affiliations, and observance levels. We had an open-door policy, which meant we drew many families with children. Whenever a child would cry, I would announce, “You might hear crying, but I hear the music of Jewish continuity.”

A shul without children is boring. Their wide-eyed innocence as they run to kiss the Torah, the sense of excitement when sitting with parents who try to engage them in the service or Torah reading, and joyful anticipation as they clamber under their father’s tallit during birkat kohanim. What kind of shul would deliberately reject their own future and opt for a sterile, dull, child-free environment?

I once read learned analysis of the various pros and cons of bringing children to shul. However, I don’t believe in the cons. Bring the children! Try to keep them quiet. Give them some candy. Give them a role. At the same time, parents need to model the right way to sit in shul and daven. That’s right. No talking! I don’t think anyone who talks in shul can be so annoyed when children disrupt the service. We can all do better to make the shul experience more meaningful for everyone.

Our children – and all of us – benefit from davening in shul. We’ll pick up some tunes, encounter God, better appreciate our connection with others, and strengthen our Jewish identity to ensure the future of the Jewish people.

Connecting the Dots

You’re not seeing spots. It’s not an error.

If you look inside a Torah scroll, there are ten places in which dots appear above the letters. This is a Masoretic tool, based on the word mesorah, tradition. We maintain a specific tradition of how the Torah is written as well as a variety of idiosyncrasies meant to draw attention to a deeper message being conveyed by the specific text.

One famous example are dots above the word “va-yishakeihu” when Esav kissed Yaakov. Was it a real kiss of brotherly love? Maybe it was forced. Maybe Esav tried to bite Yaakov. The dots are a point of departure for deeper discussion or analysis.

In Parshat Nitzavim, we see dots. 

הַנִּ֨סְתָּרֹ֔ת לַה' אֱ-לֹהֵ֑ינוּ וְהַנִּגְלֹ֞ת לָ֤ׄנׄוּׄ וּׄלְׄבָׄנֵ֙ׄיׄנׄוּ֙ׄ עַׄד־עוֹלָ֔ם לַעֲשׂ֕וֹת אֶת־כׇּל־דִּבְרֵ֖י הַתּוֹרָ֥ה הַזֹּֽאת׃

“Concealed acts concern Hashem or God; but with overt acts, it is for us and our children forever to apply all the provisions of this Torah.” (Devarim 29:28)

There are dots written in the Torah on top of the words “lanu u’l’vaneinu ad.” Why?

On this Shabbat in particular – the last Shabbat of this year, let’s try to connect the dots. They contain crucial lessons of continuity, complexity, and visibility.

1)  Continuity
Rashi explains that the dots draw attention to Jewish interconnectedness. As the children of Israel enter the Promised Land, they need to keep in mind that there is collective responsibility. Lanu u’levaneinu ad olam - Us and our children forever. The dots are a way to highlight and draw our attention to this fact.

As Moshe steps off the scene - and as the Jewish people face the responsibility of living a full Jewish life in the land without the divine protections of 40 years in the desert, they are reminded that it is up to them. Lanu u’l’vaneinu ad olam. It will be sad when Moshe dies. It will be difficult to live up to the high expectations God set for us. But lanu u’l’vaneinu ad olam. We will take what we have been taught and carry it forward.

Ad olam – We are a forever people.

2)  Complexity
There are things we understand and things we don’t understand. Both are part of our Judaism.

Rabbi Chaim of Tchernowitz, the Be’er Mayim Chaim, explains that we must reveal that which is hidden. Part of the Jewish mission is to find the holiness inherent in all things and in all places all over the world and actualize that holiness. Elevate the sparks.

This Kabbalistic idea is a very empowering concept. It means there is goodness and light even in the darkest places. Rabbi Nachman of Breslav highlighted this principle many times:

“Afilu b’hastarah - Even within the most hidden-most recesses can be found aspects of God…When a person, God forbid, commits a transgression going against the will of God, there’s still an aspect of goodness hidden within that action.” (Likkutei Maharan #56)

As believing Jews, there is no reason for despair. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. It’s no coincidence that one of Rebbe Nachman’s most famous expressions is “v’ha’ikar lo lefacheid k’lal - have no fear at all.”

The dots highlight that, forever, we will exist in a world where there is a revealed reality along with a hidden realm. No matter what, there is hope.

3)  Visibilty
Rabbi Aharon Rokeach, the fourth Belzer Rebbe, suggested that the verse can be interpreted as follows: Hanistarot l'Hashem Elokeinu - If we hide our mitzvot by doing them privately, then only Hashem will know about our righteous ways. On the other hand, v'haniglot lanu ul'vaneinu - If we make sure to reveal our good deeds to our children, then our religious priorities and values will remain ad olam - for all eternity.

One afternoon in Jerusalem, Rabbi Yakov Vann was on his way to the synagogue for the afternoon prayers when somebody called out from a doorway asking him to complete a minyan in a house of mourning. He gladly agreed. Upon entering the apartment, he was surprised to observe that although it was full of Jewish books, the mourners themselves did not appear to be religiously observant.

After the prayer service had concluded, Rabbi Vann took out a volume of Mishnah Berurah to examine it, and he was even more taken aback to see that its margins were full of astute insights and comments. He inquired about the owner of the sefarim, and one of the mourners replied that they all belonged to the deceased, his father.

Rabbi Vann probed further, asking whether any of the other family members used the books. Sadly, the son responded that although his father had been a very pious and learned Torah scholar, none of his children had followed in his ways. He explained that when his father came home each night, he would lock himself in his study and spend hours poring over his beloved books. Since his Torah study only occurred behind closed doors, his children never observed him learning and therefore did not absorb his passion for Torah and mitzvot.

V'haniglot lanu u’levaneinu as olam. Jewish visibility matters. Publicly being Jewish is the key to Judaism moving forward forever.

We’ve connected the dots to understanding that the core of Jewish continuity is the fact we are a forever people. We recognize there is a link between the hidden and the revealed, and we must not be discouraged when things don’t go our way. And maintaining our visible Jewish pride ensures our children follow in our footsteps and that our enemies will never prevail.

If we connect the dots, we will go a long way in ensuring that the year ahead will be even better than this one.